First Sisterhood Trip

It struck me as I read a Facebook entry made by a younger cousin. She had just come back from a trip to Paris with her husband. It reminded me of the first trip I made to Europe: London to Paris with another cousin in 1985, we called it the DIY sisterhood. I thought about it as I drove to work this morning, top-down, along A1A. Often we beat ourselves up for not being or doing enough. We also think some guy is the answer to our so-called problems. Woaaah, sister, listen to this…..

Back in 1985 my cousin and I booked a trip to France with a stopover in London. It was more like we just booked a flight, planning to meet her sister in Grenoble where she was studying. Seemed easy enough, right? Today if your daughter was making that trip you would check her ticket, hotel, and itinerary.
Our parents? They smiled and waved goodbye….

We got on that flight, got to London, and then ‘realized’ we needed a hotel…. Once we figured out how to book a hotel from the airport we arrived in the city via a train and stumbled our way through Piccadilly Circus dragging huge suitcases not intended for European train travel. Searching for our first stay in Paris at the Eros Hotel. Boxed up part of that luggage and sent it back home! Next jet-lagged morning we boarded another train to France (Chunnel?) and arrived in Gard du Nord, on a Sunday at 11 pm, also with no clue as to a hotel.

Textbook French

Armed with school-learned textbook French, which meant we could say, “I would like to buy some cheese”. What were we thinking? Of course, this problem was averted as we ‘befriended’ a cute Australian tennis player who spoke both English and French and assured us that he and his friends would help us with accommodations. And that he did, in a rundown hotel near the train station. Later we found out all Parisian hotels looked that way.

We had to exchange our traveler’s checks for Franc’s… another… detail… done in that train station in a long line where the pickpockets could size you up for a fall. No planning on our part that’s for sure. But we did it and got to the hotel and were treated to a taxi tour of Paris by our newfound found Aussie-friends. Seriously could you let your kid do that today? I woke early, anxious to finally be in Paris…. My cousin wanted to sleep!! I could have killed her, but here we were finally in the City of Lights, Paris with all its romance and she was too jet-lagged to get out of the lumpy sunk–in–the–middle bed. I took off outside found a bakery and bought a pain au/du Chocolat. It was still warm. I have never tasted anything close again.

Wake Up In Paris

Finally, awake, my cousin joined me for a walk all over Paris and we shuffled into some small shop on the left bank. The shop owners fussed over the Americans, LA, and NY girls… that was the best we could do to explain where we were from. (Orange County and Columbus were a little too obscure for them) We explained in our half-French half-charades that you were getting married and looking for a dress, and boy did they show us dresses. You fell in love with the cream strapless, tulip-skirted dress, and how could we not fall in love with it!! We were in PARIS, on the LEFT BANK buying a 4000F wedding dress (that translates into $400 which wasn’t cheap but totally on the low end of wedding dresses of the day). I am sure the sheer fantasy of the whole day led to the pleasure that the dress offered. Dress in hand we hailed a taxi, which was a cream-colored Mercedes (quite common in Europe, however a big deal for us). We felt like movie stars! What a day! I would never trade these memories for anything!
Our travels moved us along toward Grenoble picking up your sister and her college mate which enabled us with considerably more translation power since they had been studying in the language for the past 6 months. We went onto Menton, which is on the border of France next to Italy, right smack on the Mediterranean.

Sisterhood in Menton

Arriving at the train station, and getting a taxi, I remember asking the girls to tell the taxi driver, “Tell him to take us to the best hotel they have”. At the time I was accustomed to paying at least $100 a night in NYC- this is 1985, today that would translate to $350. The college girls wanted to go to a youth hostel which would cost $2 a night. I thought- no friggin’ way, I am not sleeping in a dormitory, sharing a bathroom with a bunch of teenagers. The taxi took us to Hotel Bristol, right on the Mediterranean Sea.

The Hotel boasted kingly rates of something that came to about $32 a night…. I said my treat! The traditionally costumed bellhop took us to a giant suite with big doors out onto a balcony, with a view of the sea. This was like being in one of those Cary Grant, and Audrey Hepburn movies we watched on Saturday afternoons. On one wall there was a monster fireplace that you could stand up in, (ok memories are always slightly embellished) and a funky bathroom en suite… with a bidet. We were soooo continental. I remember the bellhop proudly showing us the room also had a TV. Okay, we’re on the coast of the Mediterranean; I don’t think we’ll be watching, but thanks. This was how we spent my 27th birthday. I took us and the guys we picked up on the beach to dinner in one of the best restaurants in the city, we all had the prix fixe menu- but I still couldn’t give my money away with the 10F/$1 exchange rate.

The Bristol, 1985

What I remember most about this hotel was the big sunny breakfast room, easier to see in the photo from 1959. (top photo). Mornings, I would have café au lait with a croissant, butter, and jam. The butter was so amazing. Later when I lived in Germany and visited France I could taste that amazing butter again. Why go through all these details just to make a point? What better way to make a point… we did it. By ourselves.

No one bought us the ticket, no one booked our room, and no one showed us the way. We figured it out and we made it all work. All of it. My cousin went on to figure out a way to raise 3 kids alone, own a house, and a car, ski, start a business, and still paint. I figured out a way to live in Germany for 15 years, move back to the States, and start over. Alone. We are the DIY sisterhood.

Take the Risk

When we start thinking we need someone’s help to achieve a certain goal we just need to stop and reflect on the trip to Europe. Risky at the time, I left for a 10-day vacation which was strongly frowned upon by a boss who didn’t like me and in the middle of a divorce. My cousin left with a wedding being planned and I am not sure about how steady my employment was at the time. The key is that we jumped and the net appeared. Give ourselves credit for having the guts and moxie to manage a trip like that and not end up in some dire situation. I believe it is because we have some magic DIY. Not that there is anything wrong with having a husband take you to Paris and to have the unending support and adoration of another person in their corner.

Become a Sister

They don’t know what it is like to be from the DIY sisterhood. Nice for them, they are just in a different place. Not better or worse. Just different. This is not for them, it is for us. It is a big congratulations for being there, doing it, and doing it again and again…. Never give up.

Sure it could be nice to sit back and let someone else drive, but I think somewhere in our DNA we have an aversion to that, we like to drive and drive fast. So here’s to you and here’s to me and here’s to us driving down A1A with the top down!

We are members of the D.I.Y. Sisterhood.