So Paris it is

I dragged my heels and dragged my heels and dragged my heels some more.  

Well, that’s not entirely true.  I walked a lot of city streets and hiked a lot of city stairs, giant green backpack on my back, secondary black backpack on my arm, day bag slung over one shoulder.  Collecting my bags from the pile in the Dubrovnik airport, as I struggled into the straps of my primary pack, I commented to the group at large, “Is it just me, or is this backpack as big as I am?”  One group member’s confused reply, “It is, Charlotte… but it has been this entire time.” 

It really is about as big as I am.  Walking along, I keep startling myself, catching something out of the corner of my eye, thinking someone is walking right up on me, only to realize it is my own bag, riding high, the top of it falling just above the top of my head.

I know the title I’ve landed on for this blog and the possible follow-on book cooking just beneath the surface is “My Life In Two Bags,” but after two weeks of boats and buses and planes and, oh, so very much walking and climbing stairs, my friends, the title may continue, but I can almost promise that second bag will not.  The whole lead-in to this journey has been all about minimalizing, paring down, learning what I can do without.  I thought by the time I got it all into two bags, I was rockin’ it.  I am not.  Although I’m having a fabulous time watching porters and drivers raise eyebrows at me as I heft the giant green bag onto my back, then chuckle and shake heads in admiration as I actually land it in place, buckle all the buckles so my hips take the brunt of its weight, and reach for that wretched black backpack (the one whose already short days are numbered).

But I digress from today’s fun-filled lessons learned.

While traveling with the tour, life was easy and already pre-planned, and all I really had to do was tag along on adventures I already signed up to participate in.  Once the tour ended and the group disbanded, I even tagged along with one member of the tour group on her pre-planned adventure for the day and crashed in her Airbnb last night.

But that was yesterday and last night.  Today I am officially, unequivocally, utterly alone in a sea of people.  And while all the pre-planned fun and adventure commenced and while I was surrounded with new friends who already had plans and didn’t seem to mind me as a lost little tagalong, I did not one time bother to actually make even a loose version of a plan for even the very next step.  I would think about the fact that I still needed to book my next accommodations and travel arrangements (or even figure out where that might be) for fleeting moments as I flung myself up or down another flight of stairs or dropped, exhausted, into my bed at the end of each packed day.  But as I am painfully aware, thinking about things doesn’t actually accomplish said things.  Thinking is just thinking.

So there I found myself yesterday, end of another action-packed day (A Day of Borders and Bridges), sitting on the open couch bed, laptop in front of me, trying to force various apps and web pages to allow me to search for check-in dates the very next day.  They don’t particularly like it when you do that.  Oh, and, whoops, it’s actually past midnight, so I’m now looking for same-day check-ins, pretty, pretty please.  By the fourth or fifth time whatever search I was using automatically defaulted me a day or two out, I couldn’t stand my drooping eyelids or the frustration any more, so I dropped the laptop’s lid and followed my drowse into sleep for a few hours.

When I awoke around 5 a.m., I hastily snatched my laundry from the washing machine and laid it out on the patio, urging it to please, please dry fast.  And while draping my wet laundry across chairs and tables, I sent up a feeble plea to the universe at large.  “I have no idea what I’m doing here.  I am so lost, and I don’t know what to do or where to go.  Please give me a hint, nudge in the right direction, please, please.”

And then, with the very best intentions of finally solving this blasted no place to stay tonight problem once and for all, I promptly laid back down and fell back to sleep.  

…where I dreamed I was at the airport, ready to board an airplane bound for Paris.  In the dream, I balked, “Paris?  I’m not ready for Paris.  It’s not even all that high on my list of must-gos.”  But the attendant assured me I was booked on the right flight and in the right place, and my new friends, in passing on their way to their various flights, all nodded and encouraged and assured me that I would love it there.

I woke up actually giggling to myself a little.  That was a pretty clear nudge.  Thank you, Universe!

I got online, Googled ways to get to Paris from Dubrovnik, and found that outside of the obvious airplane, it’s about twenty different public transit transfers or a 300-hour walk.  I know I’ve been kinda a tough bitch lately, hauling all of my stuff around like a very large, determined, tired turtle, but I’m definitely not ready for either of those options.  And I also decided I’m not ready to transit via plane again just yet.  I really kind of need a few days with minimal travel to decompress, take a few deep breaths, and finally get some semblance of a plan in place.  

So I abandoned the silly dream-based Paris plan and doubled down on the efforts to find a relatively nearby place to rest my head and my soul.  I finally found a very lovely hostel on a nearby island with one room left available and booked it for the next few days.  

And then, hostel booked, I busied myself figuring out exactly how to get there.  

And the answer?  Can’t get there.  The only ferry crossing the narrow waterway between mainland and island left at 6 a.m.  The next one will leave tomorrow at 6 a.m.  It is now closing in on 10 a.m., checkout time for the Airbnb, and my clothes are still strewn all over the patio and the sofa bed as I languished the morning away on laundry, sleep, and Google.

Back to no direction.  And now with fresh urgency to get things in bags and get the hell moving.

But wait!  It looks for all the world like there is a shuttle from the airport that will take me directly from the airport to my hostel.  The airport is in the opposite direction, but if that’s what gets me where I’m ultimately going, so be it.  I shove all of my things in my bags, haul the whole miserable mess down the bajillion city stairs to the cab stand (a lot easier down today than up last night, but still not the easiest of feats), and leap into the cab with my departing friends bound for the airport.  This can still work.  I just need a very quiet place to be alone for a minute, unwind, completely unpack all of my belongings so that I can eliminate more dead weight before continuing to lug too many things too many places.

But the answer at the airport doesn’t change.  There is one ferry to Korcula Island.  It left at 6 a.m.  It will not leave again until 6 a.m. tomorrow.  Yes, I can take a very long, expensive cab ride, and, yes, I will most likely be able to find a bus or book a shuttle.  But no matter which transit I take, all options can get me to the ferry dock on the mainland side and not a step (or swim) farther until tomorrow morning.  I did contemplate, for a moment, how long that swim might be and how many of my things I might be able to strap to my back before they’d sink me.  Brought swim mask and snorkel, will swim for lodging.

So lesson number 1, a lesson I feel I’ve already been taught the hard way multiple times and for some reason refuse to learn, do not attempt to buck the system when the Universe sends you your path, especially when that path is irrefutably clear (and especially, especially when you stinking asked for the directions!)

Lesson number 2, a brand-new one for me but one I feel should have been a no-brainer, never book lodging somewhere until you know for sure you can actually get to said lodging.

So Paris it is.  I mean, I’m already at the airport with all of my things anyway.  In some ways, in this moment, Paris is closer than Korcula Island.  

Booked my ticket, found a bathroom, unpacked and repacked as best I could to force that stupid, stupid black pack to be carryon size and weight, took a few deep breaths, and went to find a coffee and a sandwich.  

Flight boards now, so laptop up, friends.  See you all when next I write from Paris.