I ended up changing less of this than I first anticipated. Enjoy entry one: Paris.
7/31/2003 - 8/2/2003
After a very stressful start, here we are! In Nice!
(side note: in my journal, the word "NICE" is underlined twice, then scribbled out)
In PARIS!
Sorry, I'm still reeling from my hangover.
When we first left Charles de Gaulle airport on the "RoissyBus" I wasn't impressed with the Paris I was seeing. We passed through urban sprawl for some time before we came upon a reason to believe the cognomen: "The City of Lights."
We were all right arriving to the hostel. It was, in fact, quite comforting, for we were both a bundle of knotted nerves about our train tickets to Nice. Hours of playing with the machines at the station, trying to get them to say something other than "Train Complete" "No tickets available." It was also nice to see the looo-vley James' face at check-in. He was wonderfully laid back- he seemed to have taken on the grounded, hippy-vibe of the Three Ducks hostel. We were pleased to find it full of backpackers buzzing off the 2.50 euro "blondes" they were ordering from James (check-in-man and bartender extraordinaire).
He shoved us off to our room with a simple "See you girls at the bar later".
After arriving to our room and having a good laugh at the condition of our mattress (Imagine: red plaid about the thickness of this book, white and worn in the center and a pathetically gnarled once-soft-flannel comforter haphazardly folded at the foot. No pillowcases.), we opted to spend our first minutes of relaxing in Paris down at the bar. No sooner did we come to this decision than we chatting up James and savoring every last drop of our 3 euro Heinekens.
Having unraveled some of our nerves, we began the 10 minute walk to the Eiffel Tower. We walked straight, simply turned a corner then ...out of nowhere... there this tremendous monument of glass panes with the word Peace inscribed all over it in different languages . It's built so if you look through the center you see the Eiffel, perfect in the middle. There is a long flat lawn with people picnicking and looking at the tower. I suppose it
is a sight to gape at.
Budget conscious Corinne and I decide it would be very healthy for both us and our wallets to pay 3.50 to walk up to the second level of the tower. Hint: 2nd level = hell of a lot of stairs. It was worthwhile. We read interesting facts posted on plaques about the tower on the way up... i.e. some guys rode down the stairs on bike; that the tower sways with the sun and wind etc.
At night the Eiffel tower sparkles. Lights periodically go off in in a frenzy, like a bunch of caffeinated fireflies, and all the aforementioned gaping people picnicking on the lawn let out a collective "Ooooooooooooooooooh".
When we had our fill we decided on some Parisian alimentation before we retreated back for our 2AM curfew. It was our first experience with Rude Frenchman. We shared a meal and the waiter rolled his eyes at us. Corinne set him in his place with a "Is there a problem?"
And he said "Yes, please!"to EVERYTHING.
When we got back to the hostel, we wanted more beer and we got some - and we also wanted to go to sleep. But our recently arrived roomates, two boring German guys in boxers, were snoring peacefully and soon Cors was feeling "playful". She got us both up and downstairs, barefoot, and me all wrapped up in a blanket like (what Cors called) a "mummy".
We were both very out of it and for some reason James thought we were inviting his friend Mike to a threesome. Way out in left field. But... this
is France.
Next-day, Cors and I missed the stale baguette breakfast and headed straight for the fruit market where we bought 8.40euro worth of fruit between us. It sufficed until lunch. We spent a good four hours still fruitlessly trying to figure out our train stuff, petrified we'd be stuck in Paris.
We got to the Louvre and the famous (but amazingly small) Mona Lisa was there, in a crowd of way too many people. Now, Cors and I were done being sweet at that point. We knocked good lot of 'em out of our way to have a look. It's strange in person. You can't tell if she looks young or old, pretty or ugly, sad, mad, happy---contemplative. That is the whole idea. It's rare to have that kind of range portrayed in one moment.
Museum fatigue set in quickly and we dazed through the Notre Dame. We stopped on the way back to the hostel and bought some pasta and sauce. We made a nice pasta dish in the decrepit kitchen that night. While we were enjoying our sauce with sauteed mushrooms with garlic and balsamic vinegar, James wandered into the garden of the hostel and told me his plans for the night.
I promptly informed him that Cors and I would be joining him.
Around the same time a Mexican tennis player boy walks into the hostel speaking nothing but Spanish. It was late and he wanted a room, but they were booked. Remembering our earlier adventures in San Sebastian, Cors and I felt took pity on the bedless englishless lad. We worked it out with the hotel owner that he could take the top bunk of our bunks because we were sleeping together anyway.
It all worked out. The guy turned out to be really sweet. He even gave us bracelets from Mexico as a Thank You. Cors helped out the most with him because her Spanish is better. I used some though. Odd. No one in France speaks Spanish. When we want to talk bitchily about people who annoy us in France we speak Spanish. More on that later.
So we hung out with Mike and James. We went to the Marais, Paris' gay district, to this a chic bar where James' sister was working for the first time that night. We got this drink first, a sugary concoction with mint leaves that is very hard to pronounce (as it is, I can't recall the name). Then after a sojourn on this cushy couch upstairs we went down for another drink and we asked the suave looking babe-like bartenders for a recommendation. They recommended a "Gin-Fizz" but we think the bartender was drunk because he screwed up the drink and ended up making us two, a rum-fizz first, then a gin. They tasted the same to me! Especially after a couple of sips...
Our taxi back to the 3 ducks was a Mercedes. Just thought I'd throw that in there. The whole night was incredible and cost us 6 euro each. I was going to stay out later with some wine and Cors was getting pretty sleepy -- but we both ended up at the same time, back in the same bed, passed out cold.
This morning came around and we missed the wonderful Three Ducks breakfast again. But we made up for it. With popcorn. And two oreo cookies. Healthy, I know.
We went for a third time to figure out tickets to Nice. Corinne somehow ended up with a ticket after two days of hearing "Complete!" Some guy let her use his French credit card and she gave him cash. It was perfect, except
I didn't have a reservation, and the train was to leave that night!
Trying not to worry, we went to this disturbingly large and quite expensive looking cemetery where Jim Morrison is buried. His tomb was the smallest there. Humility or poverty?
Next we went to the Arc de Triumphe - the meeting point of the 12 avenues, including the Chams-Elyseeys. We just so happened to end of trading "Take my picture, please!" favors with the great-great-great-great-grandson of one of the colonels whose last name is on the Arc. He gave us a history of the arc. All I can remember of this impromptu lecture was that Napoleon commissioned the arc to commemorate his victories. There was a most adorable French vet from WWII saluting for people to take his picture. He was standing next to the eternal fire that is there as a memorial to all the soldiers who died and were never identified. "For the heroes only known to God" - and there is an unidentified soldier buried there.
We went back to the Three Ducks to meet the guys for ChiChi (the French word for my beloved hookah). They didn't show so we went ourselves to the Tunisian place, and Corinne and I smoked some apple together.
We wanted to go for this vegetarian restaurant after but Corinne wasn't feeling well and we had a bit of trouble finding it, so we settled for good ole Chinese. Nothing special - but food nonetheless.
After, we began the somber trek to the train station with plans to bribe, cry and offer money. We waited until everyone was on the train and it was 2 seconds away from departing before half-teary-eyed pleading our case to the very French looking conductor.
Well.
I am on the train right now. The conductor was even
nice enough to find me an empty couchette so Corinne and I don't need to crowd.
Now we are listening to a beautiful classical guitar rendition of "Memory" from Cats playing over the train speakers. I feel wonderful. In a little bit, we'll have some wine to tire us up -- then wake up in Nice!
I'll be smiling for awhile...
----Kae 8/2/03.
