While Pam satisfies her e-mail addiction, I drink a couple glasses of white wine. We then head for dinner. We choose a nearby brasserie, L'Entracte. We have a superb meal. I discover on this trip that I and my companions seem to get better food when we pick a restaurant that we see and like rather than choose one recommended by either hotel staff or a guidebook. I think that European food is generally very good and so it's hard to go wrong. It's at the crowded popular places I am more likely to be disappointed.
After dinner, Pam and I walk the streets of Orleans: partially to learn our way around, partially to walk off our dinner but mostly to find tomorrow night's restaurant. We stroll across Place du Martroi and are charmed by the architecture of the buildings with their wrought iron balconies and arched windows. Down a side street off the square, we discover what looks like a restaurant row and decide to return tomorrow night and choose one of them for dinner. Orleans turns out to be much more interesting than I thought it would be.
We return to our room hoping there is not too much street noise so we can leave the window open. It's Sunday night so we are fine. The evening breeze keeps the room cool and we sleep well.
We arrive at Gare du Nord and I must make my way to Gare d'Austerlitz. But first, I must run a gauntlet of dark hued, apparently dispossessed women with cards in English asking for money. First, they ask if you speak English, then if you answer, "yes," they shove this card in your face, which I'm sure relates a sad story of fatherless children and political oppression. I do not have to actually read the card to know the gist of its contents. I say no, three or four times each time a little bit louder. These are the situations where being "The Voice" is a positive attribute. I think following the Nancy Reagan advice to, "Just say no" might have worked better.
I retreat to the public toilets which are fee-based depending on what you wish to do. Washing your hands is free. Urinating costs �.50. Dumping is �1.00. Showering is �5.00. I take the �.50 option, relieve myself and am washing my hands when one of the "card" ladies enters the toilet area and shoves her card in my face as I'm washing my hands. I lose it, slightly, and summoning the full power of "The Voice," inform her of my total disinterest in her plight. In return, I get the dirtiest look I've gotten since I left a small tip at an over-priced under-serviced New York City restaurant.
Now, in my agitated state I must find the entrance to the Metro and figure out how to make my way to Gare du Austerlitz. I manage to calm down, find the Metro, read the map, make my destination known to the cashier, buy my ticket and struggle with my bags to the loading platform. The Paris Metro is no more user-friendly than the London Tube for baggage-challenged people like me. Getting the bags onto the train is even more challenging as the train is quite full and my baggage and I take up a lot of space. I finally get to the Austerlitz station and struggle up the stairs to the railroad part. Now I must find Pam.
I head for the departure area and look up at the departure board to find out which track our train is leaving from, when I hear a slightly distressed American woman trying to communicate what she wants to know with a young, female information agent who speaks almost no English. Yes, it's Pammie. I rescue her from the situation and after a long hug, point out that our train is posted on the departure board and we can best take care of ourselves by having some wine or beer while we wait. She enthusiastically agrees and after only a little confusion about which part of the eating area is for those who only wish to drink, we catch up on what's been going on for the both of us.
Pam has just come from the Canary Islands where she was attending a Company meeting for those who achieved their annual goals. So it was mostly fun and food with a minimum amount of work involved. I fill her in on my Hadrian's Wall adventure and soon it's train time.
The train to Orleans is not air-conditioned so we ride with the windows open. It's not terribly hot but every time a train goes by in the opposite direction, the sound of the compressed air makes us both jump about a foot in the air. No-one ever checks for tickets and we never see a conductor. On arrival, we head for the TI only to find it's closed on Sunday. We know our hotel, the Terminus; is across from the train station. We just don't know which exit. Naturally we pick the wrong one. When we do get to the hotel, since it's Sunday, the clerk is very inexperienced and speaks almost no English but we manage to get to our room only to find that Pam can't connect to the Internet.
We get a late start this morning: partially because we decide to take it easy and partially because Pam hits the internet after a pedestrian breakfast in the hotel dining room. The desk clerk is one of the most unhelpful hotel people I run into on this whole trip. When asked for information, he refers me to the TI office, which is closed and when I point this out he gives me the well known Gallic shrug. I decide I prefer inexperienced clerks like the young woman from last night to a surly experienced clerk like I am confronted with this morning. I decide to take the high road and ignore his behavior.
Pam finally shows and we head for the Ste Croix Cathedral. It is a very beautiful church and has a memorial to the U.S. soldiers who died in France in WWII. You can see pictures of the church in the Loire Valley Album on my photo site. Unfortunately we discover that all the tourist offices and many of the sites are closed on Monday as well as Sunday. We decide to see what we can and then do laundry. Not very exciting but it fits in with our "take it easy" day.
(Continued)
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