Au Revoir, Mes Amis!

I’m going to Europe, y’all. I’m flying to Paris on Monday, on to Toulouse and then to a retreat (a self-renewal type of thing) in the medieval village of Puycelsi in the Pyrenees. My family will be glad that I’ll finally stop whining about being the only person who’s never been abroad (even my kids have traveled, one of them on my dime.)

I have a virgin passport, shiny and unstamped, a neck pouch for my valuables, and a book with pictures of objects to point to, as I’m unable to speak a word of French and might as well pretend to be a deaf mute.

My friends and family, knowing this is my first venture across the pond, are concerned about me traveling alone.

They have provided lots of helpful hints; for instance, the handy neck pouch to be worn under my shirt. I’ve been warned to pin the neck strap to my bra strap so no one knows it’s there, and also to keep my passport in a sweat-proof bag, since it will essentially be sitting in the path of rivulets running from my armpit to my waist.

The perspiration factor persuaded me to buy my own rather than borrow, although two were generously offered. I also invested in a backpack with slash-proof straps and zippers that lock, although there’s nothing to stop a band of thieves pulling the whole thing off my back.

That band will be made up of gypsies, according to my mother. “They’re very charming, you know,” she said. “They’ll use their kids to engage you while they pick you pocket.”

This theory was confirmed by a friend just back from Rome. “They dress like tourists and carry guidebooks,” she said. “You’ll never spot them.”

All this talk about getting robbed is making me a bit uneasy. Of course, they probably issue warnings to Europeans visiting San Francisco: Keep moving, don’t make eye contact with panhandlers, and don’t ask strangers for directions, right? I wonder if they tell them that some people will chase you down the street calling you unspeakable names if you don’t hand over enough money. And that’s just the Muni drivers.

I’m trusting my own common sense, which has saved me from both an attempted purse snatching and a very sophisticated pocket-picking in the past. If I keep my wits about me, I’ll be fine.

I’ll miss Keeper, of course. We have studied the time difference and decided that we can chat before I go to bed (he’ll still be at work). He is looking forward to eating all the food I don’t like while I’m gone. He’ll have curry breath when I return – I’d bet the house on it.

Meanwhile, I’ll be enjoying world-famous eats. My mother-in-law is French and tells me the region I’m visiting is known for having the best cuisine in France, which is saying a lot. I’ve been warned I might be served unfamiliar things (escargot, anyone?) and that I should not ask, just eat. I hope to avoid gaining weight on my trip by walking all over with my bullet-proof backpack.

Wish me luck.