Justene Musin - To Paris, Venice and Rome

To Paris,Venice and Rome

JusteneMusin

Copyright 2017 Justene Musin.All rights reserved.

Cover design by JenniferParker

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

NEW ZEALAND

PARIS

VENICE

ROME

NEW ZEALAND

NewZealand

DAY 0

I often heard timeticking away. My first instinct was to run.

I had to get out. Any way possible. I had become so used to the anxiety, that Icouldnt remember when it truly started. It was constantly gnawingaway. Quietly and cleverly, at most times barely perceptible. Butalways lingering. At my worst moments, it would make me completelypowerless. Reminding me that for all the time that has passed, Ihad not yet defeated it. There was a chance I neverwould.

We ve all had thosetimes where we lose ourselves. Freefalling into the abyss. I waslooking for an anchor, a purpose. Something. Frequently I felt likeI was floating in space, no gravity. Drifting. I had to changethings up. I had to get out.

T hats how I foundmyself on a plane. Departing from New Zealand and arriving inParis. Twenty-Six. On my own. People told me I was brave but I knewI had to go. In my mind, there was no choice. To me it requiredmore bravery to stay. Do you ever get that feeling in the pit ofyour stomach? That feeling followed me everywhere for the last yearand a half, an unwanted shadow. To me, it was my mind telling mybody I needed a change.

No looking back. Only forward. The thing about fear is thatthe more time you give it,the bigger it grows. The less power it has, the less it can takeyouover.

It was the trip I hadwaited, dreamed and strived for, for such a long time. One I longedfor in the toughest year of my life. And Ive had a few. My fatherdied when I was thirteen.

But n ow that it wasfinally here, my gusto had surreptitiously slipped out the backdoor. Ive never been someone who likes flying, the best I can hopefor is to tolerate it. I attempted to distract myself with a gossipmagazine at the airport. Focussing on the disastrous love lives ofcelebrities.

When I thought of who I was and who I wanted to be, it wasnight and day. This was a large step in the right direction, a pathto mend the ruins of the past year. A year of failed romance, ofthwarted independence, uninspiring work and a soul-crushing person who had tormented me in somany ways.

The anxiety ruled me. Fear was my go-to emotion. My daily companion. I was inconstant flight or flight mode, always fearful of a million wayslife could go wrong. I just wanted a reset button.

I decided to get away from it all. Far away. This was the ultimate escape. To Paris,Venice and Rome. Never having set foot in Europe, I couldnt waitto see all the magic, life and history. To leave my world behind.For a month, at least. In less than thirty hours, I would bethere.

Paris

DAY 1

Stepping off the plane in Paris was heavenly, like walking on clouds. Something I hadimagined for so damn long was real and touchable. And the best partwas that it was even better than I imagined. Ever feel like youreliving in a movie? Every breath of Paris is cinematic. From thelanguage to the culinary aromas to the captivating scenery. Theretruly is no place like Paris. Of course, youve probably heard thisbefore, but as you and I know; clichs always materialise from thetruth.

I hurried to the baggage cl aim, amongst repetitive speakerphones warning me not totake taxis from unregistered drivers - only at designed taxistands. Nearby, Parisian twenty-something hipsters chatted inquick-paced pitter-patter, with those beautiful rhythmic sentencesthat sound like sonnets. A familiar word here and there jumped outat me, but for the most part it fluttered above my head.

As I entered the main airport, the song A Sky Full Of Stars by Coldplay was playing. I already loved that song,but now it reminds me of Paris and feeling on top of the world. Ilingered around an airport patisserie, reluctant to test out Frenchfor the first time in France. Listening intuitively, I casually letothers go before me in the line before my ravenous stomach got thebest of me. The cabinet was stacked with delectable offerings -pain au chocolate, croissants and fresh baguettes.

Bonjour, je voudrais un croissant, sil vouspla t.

Alors, thebuxom lady gathered a croissant from the cabinet and popped it onthe counter.

Trois Euro,madame.

I passed over some coins a friend from work had bestowed mewith and glided away. I was a madame now. That wassomething I enjoyed hearing.

I hovered around the airport,excited just to be standing in Paris. I checked out the touristgifts at the stationery store, eavesdropping on the conversationsand casual banter. I perused the French confectionary and magazinesand all the parts of this antipodean universe.

Things got off to a dodgy start though. I headed towardsthe doors, labelled as a taxi stand, when an African man corneredme telling me that I would have to wait a long time and that Ishould come with him because it would be faster. I had a strangefeeling, that intuition in your gut. I wasnt sure where thiswas going to go. Before I knew it, he was wheeling my suitcasetowards a lift and taking me down to the basement. There was no choice but to followhim, my suitcase had become the hostage or perhaps the bait. Out ofthe lift, it was disconcertingly quiet in the basement, somethingwas not right. There was hardly anyone in sight, no witnesses. Iprotested that I needed to go upstairs to call my friend andgrasped my suitcase away from the man. He told me I could use hiscellphone. This man had an answer for everything. Flustered, Itripped on my way back to the elevator and fell on my suitcase in acrumpled mess. The man was quickly at my side again to grab thesuitcase but I flapped him away, telling him no, I didnt want hishelp. You know that feeling you get in your gut? Alwaysright.

You can imagine I wasnt too keen to get into a taxi at that point after thatdebacle. The only thing pushing me on was my tiredness andeagerness to see Paris. I carefully avoided the taxi exit where Ihad encountered the predatory man and headed to an alternativeexit, praying that the same thing couldnt happen twice.

A French-Algeriantaxi driver offered his services, but not before I quizzed him onwhether he knew where I was staying, how much it would cost and howlong it would take to get there and was he sure about all thesethings. He assured me so I held my breath and jumped in.

We had a delightful conversation whilst we sat in traffic,while the windscreen wipers erased the raindrops. Half in French,half in English. His English was passable, though he didnt alwaysunderstand what I was saying. He told me he arrived in Paris seven years ago, and threemonths in he was fluent in French. I gave it a go speaking French,explaining that I was from New Zealand, I worked in television, andI was staying in Paris for 12 days and meeting my friends there. Atthis point I realised that the phrases I knew were predominantlypresent tense and not always grammatically correct. It waslimiting. But still, I felt French-ish and it was a nice way topass the time, and keep my mind awake. Although I had to explainthat Australia and New Zealand were not the same country and eventhough their accents can sound similar to some people, they are notthe same. Meet any New Zealander and youll know what I mean. Ireminded him of the most iconic Kiwi items of popular culture, suchas Lord of The Rings, The Hobbit and of course, Lorde.

Oddly, when I mentioned I was visiting in July to seeBastille Day, he had no idea what it was. I explained it was whenthe Bastille was stormed but all I got was a complete blank. It was only later I found out thatthe French dont call it Bastille Day, its simply their nationalholiday.

It soon became apparent that this taxi driver was plainlost . He was relying onhis GPS but whenever we got to the spot where my hotel should be,we couldnt find it. He slammed on the reverse and then back on theaccelerator, back and forth, trying to decipher where this hotelwas. Then he proceeded to drive around the block three times. If Ihadnt been so completely jetlagged I would have gotten out myselfand figured it out.