This story is about surviving an international trip without money.

October 15, 2015

Paris

Paris has a population of 2 million, but 12 million are employed there and commuting daily to the big city.  Only 50% of its citizens own vehicles. These cars are tiny because the people are petite in size; they are slim and wear beautiful, colorful coats and tie their scarves in unusual twists and turns.  Their shoes are equally fashionable, boots, tights, gloves with stylish hats. Just as you watch them, they observe us.

I’ve been to Paris several times, but this trip was an eye-opening experience. Suddenly the streets had bigger vehicles like SUV’s and fancy, high-end sports cars. These vehicles belong to the transplants from Middle Eastern countries. They stay at the five star hotels because they most likely own them; the Four Seasons George V, one of the most luxurious, is owned by a prince from Saudi Arabia and Bill Gates.

Only 50% of the French own their own apartments; the minimum rent runs 1,200£ per month and the average salary is 2,000£. Of the 67 million citizens, 70% are Catholic but only 10% are believers. What does that mean? The French have lost their way with God and the outcome is evident.

France’s countryside is breathtaking, but you can’t help noticing the nuclear cooling towers sharing the grazing grass with the cows. Eighty-nine percent of France’s electricity comes from nuclear reactors; in fact they produce so much that they sell it to Germany as well.

The Stinking Soup

Our first day was uneventful, settling in and most of the day was lost with a nine-hour difference. Craving French onion soup, several of us went on foot looking for a quaint restaurant.  Reading the menu outside the cafe, it read French onion soup. We sat down and wasted no time in ordering the authentic soup.

I made sure the waiter and I had no miscommunication, nothing lost in translation. He assured me that it was the real deal. My mouth was already savoring the baguettes buried under the melted, charred cheese oozing in fresh-cut onions from a French garden. As the waiter was approaching, the steam from the soup was reaching my nostrils and it smelled funny. Again I asked, “French soup?” Nodding my head, “yes.” Again the waiter said, “yes, yes.” Well, he was right; it was cheesy soup but it was goat cheese. My first bite was sending hateful messages to my brain. The second bite was even worse. I could not stand the gamey smell, and the taste was the biggest food letdown of the year.

My friend Natalie and I could no longer put up a facade, so we paid the bill and left. The worst part is this:  the soup accompanied us all the way to the hotel, belching most of the way.

The Forbidden Metro Ride

Day two started with a meeting with Joanne, our leader, collecting our passports and instructing us not to use the metro. Four of us, including Father Leonard from EWTN, had our hearts set on visiting Sacre Coeur at Montemarte. We  looked into taxi fares, but it was going to run 50£.  We did not want to spend that type of money. The metro, on the other hand, was only 3£.  We all disregarded the earlier warning and decided on the metro, and we were not going to share this information with Joanne.

I felt like a local on the metro and was surprised to learn how effortless it was to use.

Sacre Coeur Basilica

Sacre Coeur Basilica has over 200 steps to climb and is known for its perpetual adoration of the Holy Sacrament. Adoration is a form of prayer before the Exposition of  the Holy Eucharist.  It is a prayer of the quiet that many Catholics practice. The Basilica’s Grand Organ is by far the best I have ever heard. The sound is so sacred it pierces your soul and makes you feel like you are entering the pearly gates. We stayed and prayed for all the requests from home. It was indeed a most holy experience.

The Metro Passengers

We stopped for lattes and crepes filled with rich, dark chocolate, then headed back to the hotel. I offered to pay for the metro tickets, and, as I was handing them out, Father Leonard was speaking to a local priest and introduced him to us. In the distraction as  I was putting away my wallet, I zipped up my purse and we boarded the metro. At every stop more and more passengers were boarding. Many students were loading and unloading; it was uncomfortably cramped and impossible to move.

As a group of French students exited, I called out for them to be careful. A young man turned back and. in a mocking voice. repeated what I said (he was a suspect). We were almost at our exit when I noticed my purse was unzipped. I quickly rummaged through it looking for my wallet, but it was gone! Father Leonard attempted to calm me down, “Wait until we exit the metro to take a better look.”  Sitting on a city bench I unloaded everything out of my handbag. But still no wallet; two credit cards and all my euros and American money gone, and it was only day two! What happened? I knew I zipped up my purse. Did that smart mouthed kid lift it from the metro ride?  Only God knows.

Mike

I had to make a call to Mike back home to break the bad news. He had to cancel my  cards. This was a Marian Journey with hectic travel plans of one-day stops, so it was impossible for him to wire me money.

The Dinner

Dinner that night was most unpleasant. By this time Joanne had gotten wind of our metro adventure. With every bite came a deserving reprimand. Seriously, even dessert was not spared the lecture. Father was texting me to lift my spirits, but it did not work. This incident did not take away from my spiritual blessings of the day. The only thing that saddened me was the crystal rosary that I purchased in Lourdes; it was in my wallet.

One Hundred Dollars

Father Leonard gave me a 100 dollar bill, and I promised to pay once we got home.  There was some sort of problem with the French not accepting American $100 bills due to counterfeits. So I had to wait about a week later to go to a bank.  Not having money for a shopper like me was a hard lesson in humility. No rosaries, holy medals, or shoes. It was painful to pass shoe stores. I dared not ask anyone for a loan for something material.

St. Catherine Labouré

The following day we were on the Rue du Bac to visit the Church of St. Catherine Labouré, an incorruptible. An incorruptible means that after a body is exhumed it is found to be intact; it did not decompose.  In 1830 St. Catherine experienced visitations of the Blessed Mother and was given instructions to design a medal of Mary that is known as  ” The Miraculous Medal.” This  medal is a simple sign of the inner devotion the wearer has to Mary and her Son Jesus (Rev 12:1). St. Catherine’s body is located on the right side of the main altar of the church. We prayed there and stayed awhile to take in the holiness.

The Meals

I could not purchase food, so I packed part of my complimentary breakfast for lunch. Our ministry had practiced this for as long as I can remember; we even bring plastic bags from home for our lunches. We do this not only to save money but because most of the time our schedule is so hectic that we have no time to eat.

The autoroutes in France offer easy access to restaurants/gas stations, and the food is really quite tasty and fresh and the lattes are wonderful. Most of the time Father Leonard treated me to a latte.  These stops are similar to our rest stops but much better equipped. From Paris we journeyed on to Lisieux!

My Prayer

Dear Lord, I thank You for all Your wonderful provisions. Adapting to travel without funds was teaching me to depend on You for everything. Amen.

Psalm 37:4   New American Standard Bible

The Holy Land

Each year our ministry leader, Joanne, announced that we were going to the Holy Land; then her voice dropped, as she said,  “This may be our last trip.” This statement always bothered me because of my secret obsession to purchase original artwork. How was I ever going to have enough money to pay for a painting?

How I managed to convince my husband Mike to give financial support for these missionary trips is still a mystery. His reaction was always the same because he worried about my overseas travels – not so much for my safety but of the expenses I would incur. Only through the providence of God was I able to make all these trips. Mike always supported my missionary efforts, but after the fifth trip to Israel, he took a different role.  He decided that he would only pay for half of the expenses of the trip. How the rest of the money came together is somewhat of a conundrum.

Funding

I was employed but my position was more of a volunteer, teaching Bible studies at several public schools. On the last  year of my employment, I earned  a total of $600! I also tutored after school, and for years I had dedicated one day a week to watching my grandchildren, also receiving a stipend. I’ve been blessed to be surrounded by benevolent friends and family who graciously donated cash to help me pay for my trips. The money may come in at the last minute, but for us missionaries it always comes through.

The Guide

Part of our ministry was to carry the Cross down the Via Dolorosa in drama on Good Friday, so our travels were always during Holy Week. On this particular trip we were assigned a new tour guide, Dov, pronounced with a long O.  Dov was a tall, slim Jewish man who left a lasting impression. Since we spent so much time with our guides, we got to know them pretty well. Dov was different, as his gentle mannerisms and kind words filled with knowledge of the Holy Land made him unusual, even unique.

Dov’s eyes revealed his pain, and it took several days for him to share that he had recently lost his son to suicide. His pain was raw, but he knew to place it on the shelf when he came to work. Our group was different because we were in one accord, we ate the same spiritual food, and Dov was safe with us. We were praying for God to give him and his wife special graces to get through their horrendous trial.  We bonded because of his broken spirit, and our love filled his heart with hope. He was our physical guide but we were his spiritual balm to comfort.

Dov knew all the ins and outs of the Old City. We had just visited the Temple Institute, an organization that is dedicated to getting all the instruments prepared for the coming of the Jewish Messiah. Our team was in the gift shop when I asked Dov if he knew of any local artists. Dov said that he had a friend who was an artist, and that his gallery was within the Old City. I told Joanne that I wanted to go with Dov to the artist’s shop and her reply was to not take too long.

The Painting

For about  half an hour, Dov and I ran through the worn cobblestones of the Old City, passing all types of different shops. I had never been to this section of the Old City, but we were focused on reaching the art studio of Dov’s friend, so there was no stopping us.

By the time we arrived in this section of the Jewish Quarter, I was winded. As I was catching my breath,  Dov introduced his friend Eli Olayon. I looked around the art gallery until my eyes fixated on a beautiful painting of the Western Wall. I had a total of $200.  We still had a few more days in Jerusalem, plus an extension to Turkey. I thought to myself,  “I could sacrifice for this purchase and borrow a few dollars from other members of the team.” I picked up the painting and asked, “How much is this one?”  Eli answered, “$500.” I quickly set it down and asked if he had anything similar. He pulled out a whimsical copy of a painting on thick paper. “This one is $45.” I took a deep breath of disappointment and said, “I’ll take it.”

God’s Favor

As he was rolling up the artwork to place  into a tube, I told him that our ministry traveled to the Holy Land every year. I explained “For more than 30  years our  team has been coming here.” Then Eli  said, “Well if that is the case, why don’t you make payments on the painting that you really want? Give me your credit card and I will deduct $100 a month.” I looked over at Dov for approval. Dov looked surprised that I would question his friend’s integrity. I gave the stranger $100 cash, and much to my surprise, I  agreed to the deal. I was in shock and felt so foolish that I handed over my credit card information to a total stranger. Again, Dov reassured me that his friend Eli was trustworthy.

When we  returned to the group, it was well over an hour later. Joanne did not hold back about how inconsiderate my actions were. While she was berating me, her voice fell on deaf ears.  All I could think about was that I had given a stranger my credit card information. I told no one in the group about my foolish venture, not because I was being discreet, but because I was afraid of their criticism as well.

Return To The United States

After I returned to the United States, I’d check my bank statements every morning for any unusual activity, but all was well. As per our arrangement, Eli was deducting the agreed amount.

Happy Father’s Day

Before the painting was paid off, I received a package from Israel. It was Eli’s painting! The first thing I did was thank God that Mike was not home. Otherwise I would have a lot of explaining to do.

So on Father’s Day Mike received a beautiful original painting by Eli Olayon with a rather lengthy explanation. And, as usual, Mike  finished paying for the painting. He always does!