Tourists

We don't recommend carrying 300 lbs of luggage through Paris.  However, if you're moving to another country, and have to bring gifts along, it makes for good (or funny later) memories! The little machine I am happy standing in front here was just the beginning.  First, I stood there, ready to walk into the little doors, when two young African guys walk up to the other side talking on their phones.  They take a look at me, loaded down with baggage, and walk right in to go through before me.  Nice. When I finally pulled my 150 lbs in, doors shut behind me, there was a voice that repeatedly said the same thing that I couldn't understand while people looked at me.  It was so funny I almost started to cry (it's the baby) and finally understood the word "Sortez" which means "get out." So, I pulled my luggage back out, my red bag fell on the ground as the doors opened to welcome me in for round two.  I ignored the bag, put in my ticket, which this time the machine accepted, and then forged my way out of the other side.  Zach handed me my bag over the glass wall, and it was his turn. Every gate is meant to shut behind you, but most people aren't 5 feet long, so our bags got caught every time.  Thankfully, 2 other very kind older African men helped us get our bag off the train.

 

Zach said later he was trying to pull a "Christy" (feeling relaxed in a rather stressful situation).  It worked.  We got our bags off the train with the help of our African friends (I told them I was pregnant so I couldn't lift the heavy bags-- A line someone told me to use often and without restraint, and that made them happy to help.)

After one last stressful struggle with a glass door that included an older Frenchman who stood with our stuff on one side while Zach held open the door as it tried to squeeze shut, and my red bag kept falling off as I tried to shuffle it through, I left Zach with his load in a median and went to the guest house so I could help him better.  See, at one point Zach had been trying to get me through a door with MY luggage and as he pulled mine, he tumbled over his red bag which had sneakily fallen behind him. Landing on the floor, he quickly scurried up...I'm sure no one rushing by us to load the train noticed.  Not funny, but kind of funny.  Needless to say that red suitcase has not been the same since so the brilliant stack of suitcases just wasn't cooperating any more.  

On my way to the guest house, I met a woman who said she'd help me.  I started speaking French to her, assuming I wasn't saying things right, and she said in Spanish, "Are you here for the women pastors conference?" Honored, but "No" I said, confused because I thought I was in France and I was pretty sure they spoke French in France.  Turns out she was staying in the guest house, too, and was from Argentina.  After making a big fuss again about being pregnant and needing help getting up the stairs with my luggage, I returned and found Zach happily watching people pass by, and around, him. 

Well, needless to say, we made it to the guest house, together, with all our luggage, thanks to all our little helpers along the way!