A rush-rush trip to France. A business trip of sorts. I arrive in Juan-les-Pins in mid September, my favorite time of year.
But within hours after landing, my daughter and I have started work that involves her renovation projects in the South and Paris area. Life in the fast lane. Estimates. Rendez-vous. How does she keep track of everything! I begin to wonder how much help I will actually be.
We take the TGV to Paris for a 24-hour séjour. The calm of our train stations at Cannes and Antibes contrasts with the Gare de Lyon, where we are pushed along quais by travelers and noisy suitcases and down into the métro. A change at Châtelet. Where is the escalator?
Just north of Paris, we are pushed and shoved by more crowds in rainy, chilly weather. No hot water in the apartment where we are staying to wash off the dust and soot of our work. In a little more than 24 hours, we return to the Gare de Lyon this time by taxi, hoping the SNCF will not be on strike. By now, I am succumbing to a cold. . . .
Back to the Côte d’Azur. Now, appointments with governments agencies for that paperasse they always seem to need. Lines that resemble immigration at JFk with matching attitudes of employees. Even my daughter, experienced with the mentalité functionnaire, seems disconcerted. . . . .
Even with a few setbacks, we are progressing but at a slower pace. It is the South of France, after all. And the next stop--the pharmacy. . . .
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