to make that happen no matter what sacrifices we both might have to make. You babysat and did odd jobs. I found work running that lunch counter at Woolworth's. I also did catering on the side, mostly for some of the old, regular customers from the Olympia. We scrimped and saved. Do you recall how proud we were each month when we balanced our check book and reviewed our accounts watching the numbers grow as we slowly but surely accumulated a small reserve for your education.
In all those years I spent money on me as was humanly possible. I guess I was living completely through you in a rather unhealthy way.
You probably have figured out by now that the story I have to tell you is about the vacation I took when you went away to college. I don't think I've ever told you how grateful I was and still am that you chose to share the gift that your grandparents sent you from Greece to pay for your education. We had saved enough money to send you to school but we would have to continue to live very frugally. That $25,000 gave us a cushion that made me breathe a lot easier.
I will never forget the combined feelings of love and pride when you came home late from school with a satchel full of papers, sat me down at the table, and pulled a bunch of travel brochures from your satchel. You had arranged for me to go on a trip to France. You pushed all the papers across the table and said, kind of impatiently, "I've done all the rest. You have to fill this out, and you'd better derned well have a copy of your birth certificate somewhere so you can get a passport."
I completed the application, attached all the proper documentation and took it to the post office the next day. Later that week we visited the travel agent together, where I paid for the airfare, a Eurorail pass, a carnet of bus tickets, a deposit on the hotel in Provence and another one for a couple of nights in a hostel near the Bois de Bologne in Paris.
You and the travel agent tried to talk me into adding a leg to my journey to visit Kris's family in Santorini, but I was afraid to try to go to Greece. Besides English, I spoke only French. After my mother's death, I had regularly attended Alliance Francaise meetings at the local college to keep in practice. I feared I might have some difficulty understanding rapid-fire, native French, but I was confident I would be able communicate at least in a rudimentary way. I only spoke a few words of 'real' Greek and I was afraid to venture into a country where I didn't speak the language. I guess I was a coward. I preferred to think of it as understanding the limits of my tolerance for risk.
It is one of my greatest regrets that I was too afraid to visit Kris's parents after the wonderful way they treated you and me, but I was afraid, and, besides, I wanted to spend every possible moment in Provence, the magical place my mother had told me stories about since I was a tiny child. I did not want to waste one moment of my once-in-a-lifetime trip venturing anywhere else.
We planned for my trip to take place the week after I dropped you off for her first term at the University of South Carolina. You were not fooling anyone by timing the trip the way you did. I know you worried for a long time about what I would do when you were no longer living at home. We had been together every day of our lives since you were born. I was as afraid as you were about how I would cope with an Empty Nest.
Planning a once-in-a-lifetime dream trip to Europe gave me something to do over the summer besides fret about your departure for college. I would drop you off in Columbia on Saturday and then fly to Europe on Monday. It would not put off my mourning your departure forever, but it would give me something to look forward to, and it would postpone any meltdown over my newly empty nest at least for a little while. I also thought traveling alone would give me the opportunity to do some serious thinking about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
You packed and re-packed her boxes for college all summer.
I packed and re-packed my suitcase.
By Labor Day, we were both nervous wrecks and so excited neither of us could speak a coherent sentence, in French or in English.
I delivered you to you dormitory the following Saturday and returned home, where I found myself alone for the first time in my entire life. I didn't like it, but I had my trip to look forward to, so I didn't freak out - at least not until the next day.
On Sunday, I stayed in bed and cried all day. Mostly I cried because I was bereft at the loss of my precious daughter. But, some of my tears arose out of fear about my upcoming trip. I had never traveled farther than Pawley's Island. I had never been in a plane. I had never gone anywhere alone. I was so scared, I could not get out of bed. I knew I had to go through with the trip, however, because it was all paid for and because you intended for me to have the trip as your gift to me. I could not back out without hurting your feelings, which I could not bring myself to do, no matter how terrified I felt.
On Monday, Kris's sister took me to the airport in Charleston. It was the first time I had traveled by plane. Come to think of it, I haven't been on a plane again since then. I took only one suitcase, but I had a second bag packed inside of it in the event I bought things 'over there.' As the plane taxied to the end of the runway in Charleston, I thought my chest would explode. I am still not sure which was the more predominate feeling: excitement or abject terror.
I flew into Laguardia and took a bus to Kennedy. I arrived late in the morning and waited in the uncomfortable departure lounge for hours until they called my afternoon, overseas flight. I think I was the only person over 25 years of age on the Icelandic flight to Luxembourg. It was 1973. Every kid in America seemed to be headed off to go backpacking around Europe.
All those kids on the plane made me feel positively ancient. I was a grown woman, with an adult child. I planned to celebrate my 40th birthday in France. On the up side, the enthusiasm and fearlessness of all those kids made me less afraid. Their anticipation of their travel adventures rubbed off just enough to prevent me from chickening out.
1 - Arrival in Europe
The plane landed in Luxembourg in the wee hours of the morning. I waited with virtually all of the rest of the passengers on the sidewalk outside the airport until the first bus of the day came to take us to the train station. I rather envied the kids who carried bedrolls; they stretched out on the sidewalk and snoozed. The rest of the kids sort of sat around on the concrete. Given my advanced age bordering on decrepitude, at least compared with most of my traveling companions, I sat on one of the few benches.
Once I got to the train station, I did not have long to wait. My train was scheduled to arrive in Paris at midday. I was never sure when we left Luxembourg and entered France. The train rolled through countryside of Normandy with its quaint farms and fat cows and then, closer to Paris, the land became flatter. I remember there were some vineyards - the first I had ever seen. I was surprised at how little suburban sprawl there was. It seemed that one minute we were in the countryside, and the next we were in the city. The northeastern "suburb" of the city was not the most beautiful part of Paris; it appeared crowded and rather grimy. Nevertheless, I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect of just being in Paris.
My train journey ended at the Gare de L'Est. I was not so silly as to say anything out loud, but I stood on the sidewalk outside the station and thought, 'Oh my God, I'm in Paris, France!! I can't believe it!' The very words sounded enchanted to my inner ears. I am sure I must have looked like hundreds of other bleary-eyed American travelers stumbling out of trains from all over Europe, bound for cheap hotels in various corners of Paris. I had written down the directions to the pension hotel on the right bank just in case I was so nervous or tired I couldn't remember the words. When I got in the taxi and gave the driver the directions, I had a moment of panic.
I rattled off the address and directions in what I thought sounded like pretty decent French. The driver just stared at me with a completely baffled look on his face. For a second I panicked, thinking my French was not as good as I thought and, therefore, incomprehensible to him. I couldn't imagine what I would do if that were the case. All of my travel arrangements wer
e premised on the expectation I could communicate with the locals.
I asked him what was wrong. He told me he'd never heard an American speak such perfect French, and with a distinctly Proven?al accent. I was amused that he didn't seem pleased by that. I sighed and muttered something about being half-French. I was so relieved I had a hard time breathing. I really could speak good French! I had never actually known for sure. My confidence started to build just the tiniest bit.
The cabbie started the car and, soon afterwards, deposited me at the door of my hotel. I tried to tip him but he waved me off. It was my first lesson in tipping, European style, as in: don't do it. He asked if this was my first trip to France. I told him it was. He shook my hand and then patted my cheek saying gently, 'Enjoy, Cherie.' No one in my whole life had ever called me that besides my mother. I had to stop on the sidewalk and compose myself before I checked into the hotel.
That afternoon I explored the neighborhood around the hotel. After all those hours cooped up in planes and trains, I needed to walk around. I soon discovered it was a total thrill to walk into shops and have conversations with others in French. My mother was a native speaker and we