I hauled my heavy luggage out of Ourcq station, and up the Metro stairs. It was starting to rain. Fat drops pelting against my glasses with increasing intensity. I was bone-tired and unprepared. The 18-hour flight made my vision blurry, and all the sugar I've ingested made me fidgety. I looked towards Borgy already struggling with multiple bags. A soft-eyed gentleman making his way up the Metro offered me a hand with carrying my luggage, but I politely refused, not wanting to cause any trouble for anyone. I dashed across the pavement dragging my damp bags. The brown awning of
Le Concorde gave us temporary shelter. We looked out at the empty avenue. Hardly any cars passed the street. Only a few people were around, a handful in parkas and coats bent over and, like us, running to the direction of restaurants' awnings, trying to escape the rain. Belatedly, I realized that this dreary day is the first real look I'm getting at Paris.
