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Paris, 5-8 June
Horrid train ride into Paris, horrid horrid horrid. The tacky and obnoxious roommate from Hell (worse than the woman in the Florence hostel), the two-hour delay in Blois, the lack of basic sanitation, the air conditioning (four years of Spanish, and all I can say is "I am in room 74 and I need air conditioning and I don't have it"), the motion sickness, etc.
Mar-Mar was not a happy camper upon getting into Paris. Lyah nearly slugged me with punk-rock Toby in the Metro station.
Getting out of Paris was also hell - we found out that there are actually TWO Avenue de Charles de Gaulle, one at each end of Paris, and we'd gone to the northwest one and the bus station was in the southeast. We walked for about four miles, clear into the suburbs, horrendously heavy and scratchy luggage tearing my shoulder to bits (the safety pin holding the strap in place broke and gashed open my back), before realising that we might be in the wrong place. Then came the exercise of finding out whether this was in fact true, and if so, finding out which Metro the bus station was actually near. LUCKILY, we'd left ourselves about five hours to get to the bus (we had to be out of the hostel by a certain time, and the late bus was cheaper, so we decided we'd sit around and read. This was a fortunate choice). So we tried calling the French customer service line, we tried calling the British customer service line, we tried asking directions (nobody in Neuilly speaks English, or if they do, they enjoy pretending they don't), and then I sat down on the street corner and cried.
Finally, Lyah called the Emergency line and made them repeat three times the name of the Metro that the station was at (she took about five minutes to convince them that we KNEW we were in the wrong place, we just wanted to find out WHERE the RIGHT place WAS), and made them spell it for her, and then picked me up, dusted me off, and told me she didn't hate me for getting me lost.
So we found the station, and got on the bus, and there was NO security equipment and we were going through the Chunnel, and I started freaking out again about possibly getting blown up, and just as the bus was about to leave, they brought out ... (dun dun DUN!!) the security system. i.e. one German shepherd.
So we get going, and I think I get about an hour of sleep, before we screech to a halt in Calais, get herded barefoot off the bus at about three in the morning, and forced to go through French customs. An hour later, we get back on, travel about twenty feet, and ... go through British customs! Yay!! The actual Chunnel ride was eery (inside a bus inside a train, no windows, so no sense of motion), and then we were in Dover and white chalk horses and cottages and the Sussex downs, and home home HOME!!!!
So anyway, here's what happened in Paris BETWEEN those two transportation disasters:
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About a block from our hostel. We stayed at the Peace & Love Hostel in the Rue de Lafayette. Nice balcony. This was taken as we were eating chicken paninis the first day we were there. The rest of our time there, we ate: 1 great dinner at Susan's sister Gretchen's place, involving fantastic cheeses and bread and salad, 1 pound of pasta and sauce, followed by chocolate, 1 hot dog (in French bread, yum), 1 large bag of peanut M&M's, 1 large bag of potato chips, 2 croissant. This was the total for the two of us over four days. We were a bit broke.
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Sacre Coeur, at the top of 257 steps. We were resting at the bottom (the steps are on top of a large hill), getting ready to hit the climb, when a tiny and fragile old woman lurched into Lyah, and fell down practically on her face. Seriously scary, considering we didn't speak the language. Lyah meanwhile, had not seen her coming, and was screaming. I was trying to help her up and saying "d'accord? d'accord?" over and over like an idiot, until a young waiter from a nearby cafe came and took control of the situation.
We have officially reached the surreal portion of the trip.
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Literary pilgrimage # 1 - Oscar Wilde's grave. People leave carnations (occasionally green), and British money (he died penniless) and lipstick kisses. I left tuppence and a kiss. This is in the Cemetere Pere Lachaise, along with Jim Morrison's grave, Isadora Duncan's, and a whole bunch of Romantic poets that nobody else has ever heard of. (Paul Valery ring a bell? Didn't think so. How about Auguste Sainte-Beuve? No? Okay, I'll stop showing off now).
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The Holy Grail. Literary pilgrimage # 2. We got there half an hour before closing, but it was free!! They have Leopoldine Vacquerie's gloves and jewelry, and a bunch of INCREDIBLE portraits of the various family members, including a whole lot done by Adele (the woman was GOOD). And just thinking what went on in those rooms, both romantically and literarily (is that a word?) was somewhat awe-inspiring.
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Another in the "Please Tell Me You Know What This Is" series.
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And the inside of it. My eyes have been compared to a certain window in this building. I am never going to stop bragging about that. Why is it that ALL my good compliments have come from WOMEN?? Not fair.
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Random pretty street scene outside Notre-Dame.
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The Abbey Church of Saint-Denis, in ... surprise, Saint-Denis. Almost all of the original glass, and a groundbreaking ambulatory. AMAZING. I wish I'd had four euro to spare to go into it. Next time.
