For Lack of a Better Title: Paris

March 27, 2009 BLOG

Bonjour à tous. I realize that my last blog gave little to no actual detail about what I’ve done in France thus far. You now all know that you should look both ways before crossing the street in France and acquire a taste for strong coffee and macadamia nut flavored vodka, but I thought I should be a little bit more specific with my experiences in Paris. Besides, I’m on the train to Avignon right now, and I simply have nothing else to do (other than read The Count of Monte Cristo, which is far too academic for my level of fatigue right now).

Where to begin...where to begin. I haven’t a clue where to begin. I suppose Monday would be a good place to start, even though it feels as though it were a year and a half ago.

Monday I left my house and headed to the airport. I won’t report on the details of this, because they really aren’t that interesting. Personally, I find no problem with this relatively unexciting time. It was much better to be bored on my three hour layover in New York than to be running around frantically trying to find my missing passport (or something of the sort). No, the only truly eventful thing that happened was on Tuesday morning in the Charles de Gaulle Airport when Zoe mysteriously went missing. However, to be honest I can barely recall this time. I was far to exhausted to formulate memories.

After figuring out the whole transportation ordeal and arriving safely at our hostel (barely arriving safely...again, French drivers are terrifying), we decided to head out. At the suggestion of a random French guy (whose name I never learned) with whom I was speaking outside a café near our hostel, we headed to Notre Dame. I won’t relay all the details, my pictures will be far more adequate. All that really needs to be said is that Notre Dame surely is famous for a reason. The artwork was sublime, really. From Notre Dame we went to the Bastille, which frankly isn’t all that impressive. It was pretty, yes, and Paris did a good job installing good lighting. It is also interesting due to its connection with the French Revolution, but seeing it from across several lanes of traffic wasn’t exactly awe inspiring. No matter though...I have now seen the Bastille. Famished, we decided to eat something. We wound up near Notre Dame where we settled down at a nice restaurant (whose name I cannot recall). The entire back room was lined floor to ceiling with stacks of books. Needless to say, I was delighted. Our waiter was quite charming, and recognizing that we were American, defiantly proclaimed that he did not speak English. He was very helpful as we bumbled over difficult words and tried to figure out what Vitell is (it’s bottled water, for all who care). He did speak English, however, but he was delighted to help out a few students whose purpose in France was to learn French. I also would like to mention that at this particular restaurant I ordered my first legal alcoholic beverage. Unfortunately, due to an order mix-up, I never received my first legal alcoholic beverage, but no matter. By this point we were too tired to function, so heading back to the hostel early was a perfectly acceptable option.

Wednesday. Wednesday began with a knock on the door from Adam, reminding us that we did in fact need to eat breakfast. Sakinah, Catherine, and I (who were sharing a room) were all surprised that the night had passed so quickly. It was honestly one of the best sleeps I have had in years (and it wasn’t in any way chemically induced!). Breakfast was included with the hostel price, and we learned for the first time that all the stories about French breakfasts are true...bread = meal. At least it was good bread. Still a little groggy, we took a while to get ready. It didn’t help that my straightener had been fried the day before, and that my hair was a wretched mess. After some bumbling around and a few cups of coffee from the nice cafe down the street, we headed to Les Champs Elysées. Due to our incredibly sore legs, we were smart enough to buy an all day pass for the metro. A better decision has never been made. After a short and uneventful ride, we popped out in the center of the world...Les Champs Elysées. Perhaps that was an overly presumptuous statement and Les Champs Elysées aren’t truly the center of the world, but it did seem as though absolutely everything was on the most well known avenue in Paris. We took a brief jaunt through Louis Vuitton and all loathed our light pocketbooks (especially when we found adorable 2000 euro dresses). Our walk down the avenue led us the L’Arc de la Triomphe, which was surprisingly large and magnificent. Our stomachs led us to find food on Les Champs Elysées, and a brief awkward cafe moment led us to Quick (aka: French fast food). I must say, however, that French fast food is far superior to anything McDonalds could dream up. Now that our stomachs were satisfied, we were tempted into Virgin Paris. Much to our surprise and utter delight, we walked into an acoustic Metro Station concert. Yes, you should all be jealous. I saw Metro Station...live...acoustic...in Paris...in Virgin. I took many, many pictures. Beaming, we decided to leave after Adam bought Dark Side of the Moon in vinyl and Metro Station pleased the crowd with Shake It. (We all shook along to Shake It.) After watching Metro Station, we headed back to the metro station to catch a train to the Eiffel Tower. In the best interest of our wallets, we decided to take the stairs to the second floor. Yes, we saved a few euros, but the second floor is 668 stairs up. My legs still hurt. Despite the terrible climb and the biting wind, the experience definitely had more positives than negatives. I got quite a few good shots from the first and second floors and the very top of the Eiffel Tower and I smoked cloves on the top. Also, as mentioned in a previous blog, the French are attractive. The line for the elevator was quite a savory experience (no, I’m not shallow). As hard as it was to leave our French and Italian and Croatian darlings, we were frigid, so we descended. Our dinner consisted of crepes from a very good place right across from the Eiffel Tower. Unfortunately, we were accosted by street vendors selling glowing Eiffel Towers. Like I said before, “non, merci” translates to “yes, I would like to buy 35 of your glowing Eiffel Towers.” It’s exhausting. Licking the chocolate from our lips from the delicious crepes, we made our way back to the metro and then back to the hostel. Although we were all quite fatigued, the night was not quite over. While wandering around, someone had found a Scottish bar very near to our hostel. We decided to check it out. It ended up being quite fantastic. The bar tenders were lovely, and at one point poured out a shot of macadamia nut vodka for each of us. It was truly the smoothest vodka I have ever tasted. Nothing compares. We laughed, we spoke Frenglish, and we made good friends with the Scottish bartender, David. We went to bed happy.

Thursday, we didn’t exactly wake up happy, mostly because of Wednesday. Our legs were aching from the walk up the Eiffel Tower and our bodies were sore from fatigue. Regardless, Catherine and I decided to get a move on the day and take advantage of our last hours on Paris. We took the metro again to l’Opéra Garnier (where The Phantom of the Opera is set). I cannot describe to you my excitement. Having been obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera since the age of seven (ask my parents, it’s true), actually visiting the opera house was a dream come true. I realize that sounds cliché, but no matter. After far too many pictures and astounded sighs and oos and ahhs, we left the opera house with smiles on our faces. Starving, we decided to look for food. Catherine and I stumbled awkwardly into a cafe far too nice for our tastes, but we ended up staying for fear of looking even more awkward. Give the high prices of the entrées and the plats, I ended up having a black coffee for lunch, and Catherine ate yogurt. It’s no wonder the French are so darn skinny. Our appetites not entirely satisfied, we moved on anyhow, hoping to do some shopping. I spotted a Rug Shop across the street and I just had to stop in (I have a random obsession with well made rugs...it’s a long story). Then, while walking down the street, we saw a few adorable dresses displayed in a window. We casually walked in and, much to our surprise, were greeted by Zavia, the French fashion designer. She has designed for Vogue, had a dress in the 2005 Miss America pageant, has worked with Bon Jovi, and is in the process of designing a dress for a princess (like, a real princess with a real title and a real country). It was absolutely astounding. She was the kindest woman and told us her story and her rise to fame. I won’t go into all the details just now, but please ask. I’d love to tell the story in further detail. I must mention, however, that Zavia let us try on gorgeous velvet capes. As Catherine likes to say, “très chic.” When Catherine and I met up with the others at the Louvre, we were beaming. We were so happy we decided to get out of bed instead of lounging the morning away. We then visited the Louvre as a group, but only Katie, Adam, and I stayed after seeing the Mona Lisa (or La Jaconde en français). The Louvre is horribly overwhelming, and it immediately exhausted me, but it was nice seeing certain classics. I’m more a fan of Impressionistic and post-Impressionistic painting, but I did manage to seek out the sole Degas painting in the Louvre. Although we could have stayed for hours longer, the Louvre closed at 5:30, so we headed back to the hostel to freshen up before dinner. I was supposed to meet Sakinah, Catherine, and Kyle in Montmartre to see Moulin Rouge and Sacre Coeur, but I unfortunately lost my room key. Although I would have liked to see the north side of Paris, I had quite an interesting experience instead. While sitting in my room listening to Radiohead and blogging, I heard a sharp knock on my door. Thinking it was Adam seeing when I wanted to go to dinner, I answered, only to find five French boys standing in front of my door, looking awkward. Our communication was slightly fragmented, but we talked for quite some time. It was hilarious. They invited me to go out with them, but I told them I was going to the discotheque with my American friends, and that they were welcome to come with us. We parted ways and I immediately ran to Adams room, proclaiming, “I found French boys!” (Again, no, I am not shallow.) After some more blogging and some power naps, Katie, Adam, and I went to dinner at a restaurant close to our hostel. I ate la salade niçoise (finally) and had a very good glass of Merlot. We were met by Sakinah, Catherine, and Kyle back at the hostel and we prepared to go out to the Scottish bar again and then to a discotheque. It gladdens me to know that the French will in no way find it strange when someone wears Chucks with a dress (as I did on Thursday night). There was live music and good company at the Scottish bar, and after a coctail/beer/wine each, we said goodbye to David, our friend the bartender. Wednesday night David had decided that I seemed like a “leader,” and apparently holding the same sentiment on Thursday night, he gave me a set of detailed instructions. The discotheque to which we were going was right next to an Irish bar, apparently owned by a friend/rival of David’s. I was instructed to go to the bar, ask for Ricky, and flick him off. I did as I was told. I found Ricky at the Irish bar playing pool in the back room. Telling him I had a message from David, I flicked him off. We each received free shots of caramel vodka. We reveled in general merriment for a little while and then walked next door to the discotheque, where we all danced like maniacs. Noticing the time, however, we had to run to the metro station in order to catch the last train before the metro shut down at one in the morning. Unfortunately, much to our dismay, the last train from La Bastille to St. Paul had just left. We proceeded to get incredibly lost and run around the streets of Paris. Realizing the incredibly dangerous nature of this situation, Kyle and I asked a restaurant doorman how to find our hotel. Although we arrived after the 1:00 am curfew, we were let back in the hostel and happily found our beds.

This morning (Friday morning) was a little bit depressing. It was sad saying goodbye to our French friends and our friends at the local cafes and shops. However, fruit, bread, train tickets, and coffee having been purchased, we had to head to the train station at Gare de Lyon. Similar to my airplane ride, nothing too traumatic happened. Sakinah managed to get herself and her bag stuck in the ticket machine and I was attacked by a pigeon, but other than that we found no problems getting on the right train and having our tickets stamped. Now I sit, moving very quickly through the French countryside, blogging.

I apologize for this being an atrociously long blog. Most of you probably didn’t want to know about my experiences in this much detail, but oh well. It’s your right to read or not to read. For now I think I am going to go back to reading The Count of Monte Cristo and perhaps snack a little on le pain brioche that I bought at a Jewish Bakery this morning. I will communicate with you all at a later date. (That reminds me, I will be getting on Facebook sometime within the next two days. For all the posts that I have seemingly been ignoring, don’t take it personally. I simply have not had internet access for five days.)

Passez une bonne journée, tous.