Before you are in Paris...

In front of Merci shop, a wonderful concept store in Blvd. Beaumarchais where YOU GOTTA GO

... You have to arrive there!

Does it sound like the most stupid and banal sentence of the century? 
Ok I've got to admit that it is indeed, but I just want to tell you about my trip of Friday because for me it was kind of something strange. 

I don't know, I travel alone so much, and this trip was really nothing special or adventurous, but somehow it made me laugh once I finally stepped out of the train at Paris Nord, so I feel like I want to share... usually I would call my mom or a close friend to have a laugh but they followed the story live broadcasted (I swear! My phone company must have loved me that Friday!) so I can't make a recap with anyone. 

Sorry to tell you, you are the unlucky chosen to listen to my bla bla bla.


So no fashion or drawings or whatever slightly interesting here, I'm sorry, you're authorized to step directly forward to the next post if you prefer! (that I hopefully will publish tomorrow... I'm so busy these days, sigh... )

So Tommy was already in Paris for his "secret mission" (he asked me not to talk about it, maybe later on!) that started at 3 PM, I went to work instead (after a night of three hours and a half sleep), had my department presentation (imagine to talk one hour about your lab results and studies of the last six months in front of a bunch of quite smart people... Believe me, it's kind of exhausting). 

So imagine me pale and super tired after work, with a 10 kilos-backpack on my shoulders and a big heavy bag, feeling literally stoned by the tiredness and the release of tension, running to the bus for the station and calling happily Tommy. It was 5 so he should have finished what he had to do by then. Phone shut down, no Tommy.
"Ok, maybe it takes longer"
I call him again at the station half an hour later. Then after 20 minutes again. Then after 10. Black-out. I'm starting to worry.

I call him again, the phone is still off, I'm on the train for Lille, it's 7 PM and since I am totally not an anxious person I start to freak out. 
I call Veronica "What should I do?? Is it possible that he's still there (doing what he was secretly -ahaha-doing)?? How do we do for the keys of the apartment, the guy is waiting for him from 6:30 to 7:30!!! Is it possible that he forgot?? Oh my God, what if something happens, he never travels alone!! TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" She tries to reassure me, I try to call him again and by then is 7:20. Panic.

At this point I called my mom, burst into tears for the anxiety, the guy in front of me on the train was looking at me full of hate while trying to read his book (do you have any idea of how an Italian worried woman sounds at the phone with her mother? Something like this, but even worse for your ears)

I was just about to call the Belgian armed forces, the French army, the MI6 and the CIA when Tommy finally called me and explained me the situation. Everything OK, no panic, calm down.

I finally return to my usual self (I still don't know if it was the effect of tiredness or if I just discovered a new crazy side of me, we'll see...) and I am already arrived in Lille.

I decide to buy some cigarettes. In this moment I need or some nicotine or an injection of Valium so I decide for cigarettes, which should be the easiest to find near a station.

Apparently it is not. Easier, I mean.

So I wander a while, I decide that my backpack is too heavy for any kind of adventure, I enter a bar and ask the bartender in my spotless Belgitalfrench (where the Belg- is a very nice, very comprehensible I would say,  mixture between English, my Italian accent and the Dutch accent of my friends and the people from Gent):

"Esskussé muà, esskevvusavé ù sjjé pé asssheté dé sssigarrretttess?" (Should I translate my Belgitalfrench for you?)

I think he understood the word "cigarette" and also what kind of French-speaker he had in front of him so without a word he left his bar, a baguette half open and 4 people waiting for their drinks (and one for a baguette sandwich, apparently) at the counter, showed me to follow him with the hand and walked down the street until the corner (in the meanwhile I was really trying to imagine what the 4 people at the counter and the baguette were thinking...). 

"Là! là! Tabac!" He said pointing at a sign big as an elephant on which was written TABAC in red neon light. Needless to say he made me feel a bit stupid (just a LITTLE...) but he was so nice and funny that I just thanked him with a very big (and stoned) smile "Merrrssi!"

I arrived at the cigarette shop laughing and when I asked for my cigarettes apparently the Belgitalfrench worked again because the guy asked me, very nicely, where I was from:

"Ssjje suiss Italiennnne... mé sjj'abitte en Beljjikk!" (No translation? Sure?)

So he laughed. And I felt even more stupid. But then he gave me as present, again with a very big smile and a wink, a cute lighter.

Actually, that's when you start to think that your skirt and the leather perfecto that suits you so well are starting to do their job.

At this point my energies left me (for the presentation - or the fear of half an hour earlier that Tommy could be in the Seine stubbed to death - or the embarrassment for my stupid Italian accent - or maybe all of them - I don't know...) I really needed some fuel but the only place I found to eat something was McDonald's. 

And I entered. 

I.went.to.mac.donald.s.O.M.G. 

Immediately after the first bite to my Big Mac I felt like a truck full of fat just deposited its greasy contain right on my hips. Oh yeah, 5678 Kcal in a bite, now I call it life!

Anyway, I had something in my stomach and (lots of) sugars in my blood again that could keep me alive until Paris, I never felt so much thankful and friendly to fatty acids, believe me. 

Time to get to the train track, (I warn you if you ever take a TGV in your life: check every single number of the coaches, because the order in which they are positioned defeats any logic), the "Relais" (the magazines/newspaper shop) closed LITERALLY in my face one hour before, when I was trying to find some cigarettes so I had to deposit my fat (even Big Mac-fatter) bottom on the first class seat (not because I am classy and cool of course, it's first class because it was 27 euros thanks to an offer ahah) of the TGV without even a magazine to read.

As always I find a very good solution: sleep!

I didn't even notice that we were moving and suddenly I find myself in Paris Nord station, my (alive and safe ahahah) boyfriend waiting for me, together with a nice and cosy night in a bistrot in the Marais...

Finally, Paris!

And now I leave you with this very boring flood of words and I'll come back tomorrow, well rested and fresh as a rose, with my usual way of blogging and drawings and Fashion monomanias (and maybe some pics of Paris, but I'll see: I still have to check them!) 

A very big kiss in Belgitalfrench, a very good night and see you tomorrow!

Al