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This is it, the beginning of my year abroad, where I'll studying in a city I never expected to see again and living alone for the first time in my life. It's 6:32am and I'm waving goodbye to my parents, ascending the escalator. When I said farewell to my brother yesterday I cried like a blubbering whale (I'm not sure what sort of image this is supposed to conjure up in your mind). Now, sitting in front of gate 43 in LAX waiting for my 7:30am boarding time I realize I'm incredibly lucky. I have learned to love people immensely and without fear and have done it unknowingly. When I arrive at JFK, the flight before did not feel quite as long as I'd anticipated it to be. The process of getting to my new gate at JFK; however, felt incredibly long. I first asked like 4 people, was mislead twice, and ended up having to grab a map. An hour later and I found my gate, bought an overpriced smoothie and started mentally prepping for the big flight. Actually landing in Paris was not what I'd expected. You know those aerial shots of the Eiffel Tower you see in the movies. Then there's a plane touching down, and cab being hailed, and then more video footage of the Eiffel Tower. It all seems easy, right? Yeah, well, what a lie. First, I got off the plane and realized my phone had no service. After going through customs I walked right out of the international baggage claim are without my bags. I cannot stress this enough: it is imperative for people traveling to a foreign country to NOT leave the international baggage claim area because trust me it will be so incredibly hard (and insanely embarrassing) for you to get back there. The panic set in, as I wandered around using my limited knowledge of the French language, communicating with people that no, my bag was not lost, I just walked out of the baggage claim area without it. They'd then look at me blankly and try very hard not to laugh. A man escorted me to the British Airways station, where annoyed employees sent me to the lost baggage area. From this lost baggage desk to the Gate G sign where I met a different tiny old man who led me to the baggage area that I was supposed to go to originally. Once there I discovered that my bag was indeed lost. Basically making my epic struggle of communicating in broken French and walking around ORLY a gigantic waste of time. To this day, I still have no idea how I got to my apartment.