We had to leave half the family in Montparnasse, at the side of the train station. They had to go home. We reached the halfway point in our trip.
But wait, I left you in Versailles. To get out of Versailles earlier that morning, imagine us on the street in front of the palace, checked out of the hotel with all our bags. One of the train stations was closed so we had a momentary fluster of Emma Mapgirl freaking out because we couldn't get a bus to the train station that wasn't 30 minutes away, there were no ubers, we had to get back to Paris quick, it was hot and we could walk but it was cobblestone and uphill and that would not work for some of our passengers. We flag a cab that is emptying out a couple in front of us, and we jam B and Bruce and some of the bags into the cab to haul them to the train and then we walk lugging our stuff. It can't be that far and yet it is and there is no shady side of the street. Why did we not put more in the cab. It is a loonnnnnng walk and we are slowly losing power. Bruce is waiting in air conditioning and texts if we want some food, so I say yes get everything.
Then we get sweating up the last cobblestone incline to the train station JUST as the train is getting there so there is a MAD DASH to get everyone including Bruce who is running from the food store, to get on that train. We had to get inside, find our bendy gum wrapper metro tickets, cram thru digital turnstiles, run flat out with all our stuff and we made it on the train back to Paris.
SO. We had reached Paris, and this side of the Montparnasse train station. A black taxi waited to take half the family to the future, back home that waited, in the States. Bess had school, Barry had to take care of her, work, and watching over my brother with my mom. Bruce was hugging us saying he wished he could do the next half of the trip. We hugged him heartily, thank god you're not though! They had to take two trains alone, one back to London and one from London to the airport, and then find a shuttle to the airport hotel for their plane in the morning. And all of this with Barry holding his and Bess's passports in his open back pocket with a missing button.
We had eaten our last meal together, a few moments earlier, when we first got to the Montparnasse station, in a patch of hot sunlight around tables and chairs that were cemented and immovable, and we had much discussion about the passports in the open back pocket and the missing button. B was flipping out just like he did about not having wheels on his luggage. I HAVE A WAY OF DOING THINGS he roars. Yes, and now Bruce will be carrying your two heavy backpacks. If you had a button, it would be okay. Anyway, we said it enough that some part of it got in and he made it all the way back to the United States of America without carrying a bag or losing a passport.
But here we are after trying french train station bagels which were so bad we had to actually throw them away, and we lug all our stuff out and I give the white souvenir bag to Bess and say please don't lose this, you're in charge. I packed it with half my clothes I wasn't going to use, and all the stuff we got for other people. Giving it over to backpocket passport guy, other guy who forgot his guitar on a train and absent minded 15 year old, I was pretty sure I was saying goodbye forever to this bag but I just gave up at this point. Lose everything and spend your life in a French prison, who cares about this bag, I've enjoyed knowing you.
We gathered in the shade with our luggage, this midget posse of rolling burdens around our legs someone had to stay with when we ushered them to the taxi. We took turns. It was hard to pack their stuff in and to be having us break up after all these days on this European mission impossible. I don't like people to go anywhere I'm not going, unless it's the gas station or any sporting event.
My littlest baby who never cries or shows any indication that she cares about any of us, cried that day. Was she crying cause Emma was going to school for 4 months in London and they had just spent the whole 10 days together sharing a motel bed, and walking these foreign streets? Or was she crying cause she might actually miss her mom for a minute, I've never been away from her not once in her life? Or because the trip is over for her? No idea. But the tears unglued us and we were a little bit of a mess while they crammed in a taxi and how can this be over? This part and then they were pulling away and half of our campers were speeding off into I hoped a better life.
It was measly, the little group of luggage now down to three of us, and sad that they wouldn't be seeing the things we would be seeing as hard as it had been. We had figured it out and we had done it, together.
But there was no turning back, we had a plane to catch and suddenly as we were once again rolling our sweaty crap toward our train to our plane I felt a tiny bit loose to have less ducklings to "manage," only half the trouble and now we could actually sprint thru europe without people bored lost or limping (their law firm name) slowing up the process. (We found out, the trip is tiring no matter how many people you ship off to America. Turns out it's not the people, it's the ambition.)
We get to the Paris airport a million hours early and get on a sweaty (first of many sweaty) modes of transport that will define Italy in fact all of europe, a plane this time but only 2 hours. The highlight of this trip was there were not goats onboard, and they gave us the WORST vegan cookies that have ever been made. It was like if you left paint brushes out to dry, and then cut them up. Anyway, just when we were used to the plane it was over and we were landing in a place I hadn't been in 30 years and never at the airport anyway. It was sunset, we got off the plane on one of those Fantasy Island outdoor stairways, and at the bottom there were two already OVERFLOWING with HUMANS buses waiting to shuttle us to the actual airport building. We had to get on last cause Emma had to run back up and get her one bag she left on the plane, so we were literally folded into the standing room by the bus door with a butter knife.
We find the train, I think we already have tickets and they demand a mask which we haven't used at all in europe and luckily I saved three from that souvenir bag I gave Bess. So we get on the right train and it feels very late now and we're waiting to feel if we like Rome or not. The train is not going, it's way past the train's departure time because apparently there's something on the tracks that they have to shovel off like chef boyardee took his own life or something so it's an extra whole HOUR but then we're going.
It's nighttime, we're wondering if Rome has a beach, can we please find water of any kind, to float in and then we're out of the train station and dragging our shit to our train station hotel (never a good idea) but it's 3 blocks away at least and it's nice. It's all red and beige and the lady at the desk is like a young italian mother so we feel bathed in love after coming that day all the way from Versailles, on the edge of the known french universe. Even though I gave half my clothes away to have room in my suitcase for buying other stuff, my suitcase still seems unfortunately bulky. But maybe I'm tired and we're in a different language and maybe we'll rent mopeds in this city so we don't have to walk.
We dump our stuff in this first hotel with just the three of us in one room, and it's dark because we can't figure out that you have to leave your keycard in the light switch to make the lights stay on. So at first we just assume we don't get lights. Then we figure it out. Weird. There's a mini fridge in here and it's set to room temperature with no knob to cool it more. At least the shower is not like the RV shower we had a Versailles. And the best part, there is air conditioning. Emma and I bunk together and Nathan gets the nice foldout by the fridge.
We go outside to eat spaghetti and pizza down the street at 11pm with literally crowds of people in outdoor cafes on a weeknight including babies. Emma is determined to find the best italian pasta. She doesn't find it here, however. Turns out italy has a different idea of alfredo sauce. It has more of a dog food flavor, she notes.
That night we are in Rome, missing half of us. The other kids are in London. Waiting to get on the big bird to fly them home. Tomorrow we will enjoy being assaulted by Rome. But we have no idea.
