Okay, I admit it. I’m a little terrified of being in Paris all alone. I’ve read about the pickpockets on the métro and the scams along the Sacré Cœur. I’m scared of being a target–a single, overweight, middle-aged woman alone in a big, big city. I know enough not to dress like a tourist, and to look around me as I walk, but deep down inside my reptilian brain I’m afraid of having something happen over which I have no control. I have nightmares about falling and hitting my head on the pavement; I have actually fallen for no reason a few times (once on the streets of DC) and the experience isn’t pleasant. The thought of being incapacitated, for whatever reason, in a foreign country is simply petrifying. I know my fears are probably unfounded, but they keep nagging at the back of my head. I have a history of walking “tête en l’air,” too, which doesn’t add to my confidence. I’m scared of not finding a place to sit down if I get tired. I’m scared of getting totally lost in a questionable area of town. I’m scared of not having enough cash if my credit card is denied. I worry about not getting a chance to do all the things I want to do while I’m there. I worry about having a terrible meal in a city of fabulous restaurants. I worry about planning too much, or not planning enough.
The die is cast, however. Les jeux sont faits. I leave for Paris in about seven weeks — school gets out June 13th, and I’ll have the time between then and the 24th to fine-tune my strategies. A little judicious concern will keep me safe, but fretting too much is not conducive to maximizing my trip experience. I need to find that delicate balance between abject terror and blind self-assurance. With any luck, I should be just fine.
Summer In Paris 