First day in Paris

Yes, I realize I haven't posted anything in a while. I've been busy committing various sins of the flesh before I return to the ascetic life of a graduate student. Anyway, here's the account of my first day or so in Paris.

I caved and bought a first class ticket on the intercité from Caen to Paris, because second class was nigh unbearable. In first class, there was air conditioning and plenty of room to put my luggage. I got my own little seat with a table and an outlet to charge my laptop, so I kind of zoned out and half-payed attention to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid while doodling in my sketchbook for the couple of hours on the train. After all the stress and discomfort, it was nice to sit around and chill without cuddling with a sweaty stranger.

Once I got off at Saint-Lazare, though, everything got stressful and uncomfortable again. It was nigh impossible to exit the building through the sea of Vespas parked out front. I hailed a cab. I told the lady the address of my hotel and then she proceeded to take me on what was probably one of the more terrifying car rides I've ever had in my life. This chick was crazy.

She drove really fast and was rather cranky with me the whole time.

Once I got to the hotel, there was nobody in the lobby and I had to stand there for ten minutes until I got the idea to call them. The phone brought the desk boy running and it turned out he'd been in the dining room, hitting on two girls from Seattle. Then he proceeded to hit on me, trying to woo me with his English skills. I spoke only French to him.

After hauling all my junk upstairs, I proceeded down to the street to find food. Mind, I hadn't had time to eat anything since breakfast in Caen and I'd been walking all day. A short jaunt down Boulevard de Magenta, past many creeps with half-drunk bottles of wine, and I found myself in a rather nice but reasonable place whose name I've sadly forgotten. Everything was candlelit and accentuated with crimson. I sat out on the terrace because it wasn't as hot as it was inside for some reason. The waiter was brusque with me the entire time, but dinner was good, so I didn't really care. On the other hand, they were playing a CD of ABBA's greatest hits, which, for me, is nigh unforgivable.

Penne au chèvre and a glass of Côtes du Rhône. Possibly one of the best bowls of pasta I've ever eaten. It was made with real cream and the chèvre tasted more like double-crème Brie and that bread was soft, crusty and chewy in all the right places. I honestly only ordered the Côtes du Rhône because it brings back fond memories of Lyon.

After stuffing my face, I marched, straight-backed and stony-faced, past the drunken hoodlums. There's this odd little sound I'd been hearing a lot when I walked past people in France. That night I realized that it wasn't people, it was men, and it was a little kissing noise. That's one of the ways they show interest in you aside from incessant staring and the occasional follow-you-for-blocks strategy. I heard the little noise walking back to the hotel and I looked back at a couple of men, probably around my age, who were both giving me insufferable grins. As if I'm supposed to swoon over them. As they turn back around and start walking again I contemplate chasing after them, yelling, "Wait! You handsome devils have stolen my stupid American heart with your crass kissing noises! I thought that the way to someone's heart was through good conversation and mutual interests, but you've shown me better! I must have you both, you darling rascals!" My better judgment told me to make like Tammy Faye Bakker's mascara and run.

I tore up the stairs to my room and forced myself to take a shower even though it was 11pm. After running around Caen all day, I was a mess. After the shower I couldn't sleep, though, and I ended up watching movies most of the night before falling asleep halfway through Fight Club. (I think I treat movies like most people treat security blankets.) My alarm got me up about an hour later at 5, when I rolled out of bed, called a cab, and jammed out to Charles de Gaulle to pick up Justin.


When we got back, we slept like embryos. Poor thing hates flying. But then when we got up we headed over to one of those horrible double-decker tour buses to get the lay of the land.

A strange species of primate I caught wandering the streets of Paris, begging for bananas.

Just a bit of a bridge over the Seine, nothing special. Seriously, it's not that special. You'll find grandiose stuff like this all over Paris.

See what I mean about the Vespas? They're everywhere!

We didn't really do too much the first day because we were exhausted. I dragged Justin to the Indian restaurant next door to the hotel where I stuffed myself with yet more delicious baingan bharta and naan while being snubbed by yet more rude waiters. Oh, Paris. The food was good there, but honestly, Lyon is where I left most of the shards of my poor, splintered heart.