What's a proper eurotrip without a visit to Paris? Everybody knows what Paris is all about, so I'm not going to bother introducing it. |
"DEJA VU"
I arrived at Gare de l'Est, one of the six train stations in Paris. SIX!
Morning in Paris. I was surprised it wasn't more lively
and
bustling at 7:30 in the morning. Where were the fishermen
fishing and bakermen baking to the bells of Notre Dame?
Disney lied.
Even if I really had to go, I would never go in one of
these. The stench coming from them was nauseating.
Unexpected.
There's bitter dispute over whether Turkey joining the European
Union would enhance or undermine it. Turkey is predominantly
Muslim and well... not very European.
No holding hands with triangular beings.
Morning street sweeping. The clear plastic trash bags
are an unsightly but clever security measure.
Speaking of the Notre Dame, here is it. At over 800 years old, the Notre
Dame de
Paris is one of the earliest, historical, and magnificent Gothic Cathedrals ever built.
It was smaller than I imagined, especially after seeing the one in Ulm.
The imposing bell towers on the western facade.
Where's Quasimodo?
For a small offering, you can light a prayer candle. Since I didn't have
anything to pray about, I took one of the big candles as a souvenir.
What? Did I steal from a church? The sign read "suggested
donation",
I just didn't follow their suggestion.
A breathtaking stained glass rose window.
Notre Dame is a tourist attraction, but it's a functioning church as well,
and mass being held that morning. The black priest was a surprise.
Whoa, I didn't know they opened like that.
Me looking grubby.
Oh god... more Chinese people. Looks like I beat the tourist crowd.
It was really cold out. I didn't like it.
A man setting up his street shop in the morning.
East view of the Notre Dame. Flying buttresses are ugly.
I had to make a call Mari and Faustine who were expecting me.
Ugh... I never imagined having such difficulty at a phone booth.
For one thing, the labels were all in French (go figure), and the
voice instructions on the line were in French too. Usually I can use
my logic skills to figure things out, but combine that with country
codes, calling card codes, navigation inputs, and my lack of sleep,
nothing was making sense. The worst part is that the lengthy
menu
system ate up all the minutes on my calling card, and every
time I hung up
and dialed again it would automatically deduct a
huge block of talk time. After only a few tries, I had to buy a new
one at the station for a preposterous€7 with only 40 minutes on
it. Finally I gave on trying to figure things out myself and asked a
guy sitting at a cafe nearby for help (this I was proud of, because
I used the little French I knew). He came up, looked at the number
I was trying to dial and showed me that I had to put in a special
code before dialing since it was a cell phone number. He did this
for me and voila, the call went through. Ughhh... how was I
supposed to know that???
Backpacker Rule #21: Don't be such a guy. Ask for help (sometimes).
I finally got on the phone with Faustine, and she told me which lines
to take on the Metro to reach her. It was confusing. Ever seen a map
of the Paris Metro? It's like a tangled ball of yarn. I crossed my fingers
and descended to the into depths of Paris.
What city am I in? Where are all the "French" people?
Faustine!
Faustine brought me to a boulangerie to buy some fresh baguettes
and
pastries for lunch (so French).
A can of sardines, fresh butter, fantastic bread, what can be more
simple and delicious?
Mari returned to the apartment in the afternoon, and we
all caught
up
on life after Killarney. I asked what they would've been doing on a
beautiful Saturday
afternoon if I wasn't there. Shopping, they told me,
so we went shopping.
I want it.
French people are so stylish. I can never be French.
A strange alternative punk rock themed clothing boutique decorated with
newspaper clippings of President Kennedy's assassination and dead rats.
Le Marais is the gay neighborhood in Paris, but it's where much
of the young and trendy nightlife is, gay or mainstream.
I'll never look at poppy seeds the same way again.
Pompidou Centre is the city's modern art museum. There were other
museums I was more eager to see, so I passed on this one.
While Mari and Faustine were looking for THE perfect black
button down shirt in the eighth store they visited (I don't
understand girls and shopping, I don't even want to try),
I checked
out Rue
Montorgueil, an exciting fresh food street
market. In that one afternoon, two of my preconceptions
about Parisians were realized. They are Fashionable... that's
with a capital F... and they are extremely picky about their
food... to the point of pretension.
People walking with a baguettes in their hand...
that's my enduring memory of Paris.
A story needs to be told here.
This sort of sucked. We planned to go to an opera, but we got
stuck in a downpour on the way there.
For the life of me, I can't figure out what this building is. Like in Rome,
walk in any direction in Paris, and monuments pop up out of nowhere.
Hey, that was in the Da Vinci Code. God awful movie by the way.
Anyway, the the rest of the night was pretty strange. The girls met up with a
friend of theirs, and we headed to some palace of government ministry. They
made
a couple calls on their cell phones, and next thing I knew, we were
sneaking in the side entrance and being ushered up a flight of stairs
into a
small apartment. Apparently, the friend lived there because his
parents were
government officials. For the next hour, they smoked cigarettes and spoke to
each other in French, while I sat there drinking wine while thinking to myself
"Well, this is a strange place to be. Where would I be on a Saturday night
if
I was at home?". Suddenly, the sound of footsteps came from down the hall.
We
quickly exited, walking past a black guy without making any eye contact.
I'm guessing we weren't supposed to be there.
It was great that Mari and Faustine let me stay with them. They lived in
the 11th
arrondissement, a neighborhood in the central part of Paris,
but away from touristy areas. I got a good impression of what
it was
like to live in the city.
Now THAT guy looks French.
Quiche Lorraine for breakfast. Delicious.
Museums in Paris are free on Sundays. Musée d'Orsay for free?
Hell YEAH!
The Musée d'Orsay is packed with Impressionist masterpieces, but to see
Renoir's Bal au Moulin de la Galette in person, one of my favorite paintings
ever in the history of paintings, tears almost came to my eyes... really.
For €5, you can purchase an audio tour guide. It was weird...
like everybody was busy talking on a cell phone.
Museum cafeteria. Grossly overpriced. Bring your own food.
The museum used to be a railroad station in the early
20th century.
A HUGE painting.
Observe how man needs to adjust his fanny pack.
Another one of my favorite paintings ever.
I couldn't believe how
large it was in real life.
A view of
Sacré Coeur is the distance.
We have the Lutz Children's Museum,
they have the
foundations of Western modern art. Not fair at all.
An amazing Rodin sculpture.
Pigalle Place, the "red light district" of Paris. The Moulin Rouge was
around somewhere, but I couldn't find it.
Bad time to run out of your mutant powers.
Overpriced bistros and
cafés line the streets of touristy Montmartre.
It's cool that berets are still fashionable in France.
La Basilique du Sacré Coeur de Montmartre. AKA...
that funny church from Amelie.
At the eastern end of the Champs-Élysées stands the Obelisk of Luxor. At 3300
years old, it might be the oldest thing I saw on my entire trip.
The Champs-Élysées. It wasn't as ritzy as I thought it would be. Sure,
there were super chic retailers, but fast food joints dumbed it down.
Quick is like the French version of McDonald's.
aghhh!!! dangerous.
Louis Vuitton... on the Champs-Élysées... in Paris. I can't think
of a more uncomfortable shopping experience for myself.
The
Arc de Triomphe at night.
That night we went to
Le Pub Saint Germain, a famous,
four story, 24 hour bar/restaurant/lounge. I've learned
that I'm not comfortable with big city life and big city
prices. Look at this menu... 33 cl for €7... translated...
12 ounces for $9. That's a can of plain old Budweiser
for nine dollars! WHAT??? And Tsing Tao... I bought
a can of that in China for
about a dime. Ridiculous...
...But for every yin, there's a yang. Next morning, I headed to the
Franprix across the street to do some food shopping. Parisians are
so picky about their food, even the bread I bought at the grocery
store was better than anything I ever had at home. And the whole
loaf was only ¢60! What is that all about???
Plan of the day... Visit the Louvre... The museum that puts all others
to shame. Woooohhhh so excited... I'm going in the pyramid.
Venus de Milo, the most famous work of ancient Greek sculpture (I like
making bold unsubstantiated claims). I can't begin to describe how absurdly
massive the Louvre is. Three stories tall, hundreds of rooms, thousands
upon thousands of priceless masterpieces. It would take weeks look at each
piece individually. I didn't have weeks, so I turned my museum visit into a
little game. The map I picked up at the entrance had photos of about thirty
notable items situated all over the museum (notable meaning super
famous,
as opposed to just famous). I made it my objective to see every single one of
them. To get this done, I literally had to jog through parts of
the museum.
The Mona Lisa... ohhh the Mona Lisa. Let me tell you something
about her. In a museum where other important works fight for
wall
space and attention, Mona Lisa is treated like a princess, hanging
all alone behind a sheet of bullet-proof glass. Security guards keep
a watchful eye on the huge crowd jostling for position to see her,
making sure no one even thinks about taking a picture (though
the shameless Chinese tourists sure tried). The painting is smaller
in person than I imagined. It's stunning. But in my opinion, if you
go to the Louvre expecting an up-close and personal view of the
painting, buy a souvenir art book on your way out.
Nooo photooooooooo....zzzzzzz
Bastard... he's the reason I can never Google my name.
A Jacque Louis David painting. His monumental paintings that I really enjoy,
as well
as Delacroix's and Gericault's masterpieces were in the "large
format"
room, which was off limit to cameras. The other camera free areas were the
Italian Renaissance paintings and crown jewel rooms. It's so arbitrary what
could and couldn't be be photographed. That annoyed me.
I don't know what these are, but they're a bit disturbing, like Final Fantasy summons.
Code of Hammurabi... you know... eye for an eye.
I correct myself, dating from 1760 BC, this is probably
the oldest thing I saw. It's crazy something can survive
that long.
And I know what you're thinking, it looks
like a giant erect black co...lumn.
My delicious picnic lunch. I love camembert cheese. At home, I hardly
ever buy
it because it's so expensive. But in Paris, a ring of the cheap
brand only costs about one euro. That was my diet every day, bread,
cheese, random fruits and vegetables, and juice.
The medieval castle ruins underground.
Yeah... suck it. ooohh... Suck it good.
Okay, I correct myself again. Dating from
over 4500 years ago, THIS
is the oldest thing I saw (I just don't know anymore... museums are
full of old stuff).
The Seated Scribe is supposedly the most important
piece of ancient Egyptian art. The realistic styling surprised me. I
didn't know Egyptians created work like this... especially that long ago.
"Pardon monsieur, no photo". Too late, surprised looking woman, already did.
Uhh... so the Grail is under here right?
That night, I felt like finally visiting the Eiffel Tower. I figured, it's tall,
I'll just walk towards it, forgetting that roads in Paris or organized like
a box of toothpicks scattered on the floor. It took forever to get there.
That night, I had my quintessential
Paris moment. I was at the far end
of the Champ de Mars enjoying my picnic
dinner away from the tourists,
but
feeling sort of depressed. There it was,
the icon of romance
glittering
in the distance, but here I
was, all alone. Suddenly out of nowhere,
I
saw something streak in front of me. What was that? It passed by
again,
this time stopping for a brief moment. It was a tiny mouse... probably
weighing the risk and reward of going after my tasty cheese. I tossed
out a piece and waited. A tiny head popped up from under the wooden
planks sniffing the air. The mouse ran up, paused, ran away, paused, ran
forward again, this time snatching the cheese before darting back into the
hole. I threw it a few more pieces, and each time it did the same dance
before carrying the cheese away. I don't know... it just made me happy.
After it gets dark, the tower starts sparkling for ten
minutes every hour. It shocked me the first time I
saw it happen. I had no idea it did that! I didn't like
it though... too gaudy.
A view from below, looking straight up the center of the tower.
Beautiful, but freakin' cold and rainy night. I was only
wearing a thin shirt and shorts. At one point, I sat over
a metal grate that blew hot air up from under the street
just to warm up. People must have thought I was crazy.
Backpacker Rule #22: Dress appropriately (in every sense).
I began to accept the fact that there's nothing quaint about Paris.
It's a lot like New York...
...with baguettes.
The Colonne de Juillet, or July column, stands where the
Bastille Prison used to be. That's where the "Storming of the
Bastille" took place, igniting the French Revolution and
changing the social and political course of European history.
I want it.
obscene
Spurs vs. what??? I didn't know NBA teams toured.
I'm stupid. Here's why. I bought a cornet of 10 metro passes
instead the weeklong pass. I didn't realize Paris was such a
massive city, and you simply can't walk from place to place.
I used
up the passes real fast and eventually
paid
more for
individual ones, which aren't cheap. This picture reminds me
of another stupid thing I did. I wanted to see the Arc de la
Defence, the strange hollow structure in the distance. Instead
of taking the metro all the way down to the commercial district,
I took it to the middle of Champs-Élysées thinking I'll just walk
the route and enjoy the sights along the way. The thing about
skyscrapers is that they look nearer than they really are. About
and hour later, the building were not getting any closer and
I was walking on a highway. oops.
Empty chairs and empty tables.
The Arc de Triomph is the center of a wild traffic circle... no lanes, no law,
just every man for himself.
An obligatory picture of me at the Arc.
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
"Hey, umm, dude. Your hand is up my crotch"
"I know"
Well, we know where these young soldiers AREN'T going.
If the guy on the right doesn't make you laugh... you've got no soul.
WARNING, gross picture in 3...
I don't know what this gathering of veterans was all about, but it was
interesting to watch nonetheless.
...2...
There's no substitute for a proper hygienic shower, but baby powder
goes a long way in keeping a backpacker somewhat fresh when there
are no other options.
...1...
AGH! My heel. I know... it's gross, but calloused, blistered, sore, chapped,
destroyed feet are a reality of backpacking. Ehckk... just looking at the
picture reminds me of the dry, itchy, stinging, pain that followed me with
every step. It didn't totally heal until two months after I returned home.
Backpacker Rule #23: Backpacking hurts.
Mari suggested I check out Père Lachaise... one of the most visited
cemeteries in the world, just blocks from their apartment. I grabbed a
map,
marked my route, then went on a little scavenger hunt.
"You're a Bastard!"
"I KNOW!"
Jim Morrison of The Doors' grave is the most popular grave at the
cemetery. I don't see how the the metal rails would really keep out
deranged fans.
tasty
Great pianist Frederich Chopin's well kept grave.
A crematorium. Morbid.
This black cat ran in front of me... isn't that bad luck
or something?
Oscar Wilde's grave marked with the kisses of his admirers.
On my last day in the city, the clouds finally yielded to the sun.
Time for a proper Eiffel Tower visit.
Looking up at the first deck. There are three platforms
accessible to the public. For €11, an elevator take visitors
all the way to the top (but I wasn't going to make it that
easy for myself). I paid €3.80 to climb the
674 steps up
to the second platform. After all the climbing and hiking I'd
done already, it wasn't too bad. But I DO have a mild fear of
heights,
so climbing an open iron structure and seeing the
ground hundreds of feet below made me a little woozy.
But once I got up there...
...What an amazing view of the city. That is La Défense, the modern commercial
district powering France's economy.
Back in the days of the great war with Mars, the Eiffel tower was an
important Earth defense stronghold. The laser turret gun still stands.
So here I was on the second deck, looking at the magnificent giant
pulley system that guides the elevators and thinking to myself, it would
be a shame if I went all this way and didn't go to the very top. I looked
in my wallet, just enough to pay for the €3 ticket... and up I went.
Around the inside of the highest observation deck are distance markers
for locations around the world.
Home... 5800 km away.
Tiny people on the
Champ de Mars way below.
The Paris within actual city limits is surprisingly flat. There must be some building codes
to preserve the history of the city.
Sunlight glittering on the Seine.
The necessity for a tower to broadcast radio signals from saved the
Eiffel Tower from being demolished after 1889 Universal Exposition.
The metal cage surrounding the upper deck forces jumpers to resort
to jumping from the second platform... less messy of a clean-up.
Some entertaining break dancing at the
Place du
Trocadéro, across the river from the Eiffel Tower.
At the end of the show, they delivered a wholesome
message to the kids about not doing drugs. awww...
how sweet.
My last night in Paris, I hunted down Faustine for dinner
at a Brasserie (it's like a diner in America, but good).
The highlight of the meal
was the crème brûlée. My
taste buds could've died and gone to heaven right there.
This is the most popular brand of guide books in France.
Faustine actually just moved to the city to attend university
at La Sorbonne (ooo, fancy), so she was unfamiliar with the
area as well. That morning, I said my thanks and goodbyes
and continued on my journey.
Down I go for one last time.
Really, where are all the French people?
The Brasserie we ate at the night before.
A fruit stand underground... now THAT is new to me.
This was weird. In all the train stations were patrolled by
heavily armed soldiers, like in America soon after 9/11.
But I was wondering... would they ever really use their
automatic weapons? If a young man snatched a purse from
the woman and fled, would the guards pursue him, gun
him down in a hail of bullets, plastering his blood soaked
body against the wall? I'm truly curious.
My cafe. One great thing about Paris being all snooty
is that they've, for the most part, kept McDonald's and
Starbucks from establishing a strong presence. Paris
has really kept its charm with neighborhood cafes and
bistros that attract their regulars. Like the one in Amelie.
Even metro exits in Paris are stylish.
French Lovers... ehhck... get a room.
Overlooking the river Seine at Pont Neuf.
Come here birdy, there's plenty for both of us.
Back at Gare de l'Est. I was taking the train to Reims to visit my
good buddy Jason; another Killarney reunion.
"FAKE FRENCH"
HAHA! Just as I remember him!
First stop, the biggest attraction in the city, Notre-Dame
de Reims. This 13th century gothic cathedral is where
the kings of France used to be coronated.
Kaleidoscopish.
The French have a strange fixation with cutting off heads.
Yesss... I get to ride in a Peugeot.
Hmm... What do we have here?
Let me give you a hint... cavalry.
mmm... Fresh HORSE!
Perfect for washing down your
al-Qaeda
Nachos.
I've had champagne before, but never IN Champagne.
So cool.
We played a drinking game where the objective is to knock the bottle
cap off of each others bottles. I have no throwing skills whatsoever
and
didn't last long. Jason tries to defeat his friend in an epic standoff.
"nice try"
Boozalicious.
The Reims Cathedral at night.
I don't know, it amused me.
Sometimes, I feel like life gives us subtle clues to some great puzzle
we're supposed to solve. We just don't know what it is yet.
I told Jason I wanted to try some traditional French
cuisine. He had me try a specialty from Strasbourg.
It was a flat oven baked flatbread topped with cheese
and
other yummy stuff. But who are we kidding here?
It's pizza.
The French have a preoccupation with what's going on in America.
The streets of Reims.
I was there.
It feels so long ago now.
It's scary, I don't like it.
The stained glass windows are quite inconsistent in design. A few are originals
from the medieval times, but most are restorations or replacements
after being
destroyed by WWI bombings and kids playing baseball outside.
A modern stained glass design by
Russian-born artist, Marc Chagall. It reminds me
of a child's drawing (a child living in the nightmarish visions of judgment day).
I wonder if they ever open the real doors. I think they
should've done it for me. Don't they realize who I AM???
I'm an American Goddammit!
I wish I had more time to visit the vineyards and do wine tasting
and stuff. Maybe next time.
Imagine bringing one of those to a dinner party.
"I brought a little something"
"Oh, you didn't have t-... what the hell???"
Fall is coming.
Jason and his lovely sister Lucy. So I was wondering to myself, why
were they so friendly and... normal, when a lot of the people I met
in Paris were so unfriendly and strange. Turns out, they're only half
French. The other half is Welsh, or something. Okay, that didn't explain
much, but it did explain their perfect English which I was curious about
as well. I said goodbye to Jason one last time, and Lucy joined me on
the train ride to Paris. She was visiting home for the weekend and
her
hometown was along the way.
I returned to Paris to take a train headed south. I didn't care where,
maybe Marseille or Bordeaux.
Dinner, tabouli and a can of tuna fish stewed in tomatoes. Delicious,
cheap, and satisfying.
"Excuse me sir, how does this work?"
"Just stick it in the slot."
If I could get myself to bear the dreaded acting and sluggish pacing,
I'd watch the movie again just to say, "I WAS THERE!!!". But I don't
think I can.