When I visit a new city or country I prefer going in with absolutely zero expectations about what I'll find there. The less I know or think I know about the sites, the people, the climate, the food, the drinks, everything, the more I feel I enjoy the experience. So far on this trip I've been fairly successful in this aim- many cities I visited I didn't even know the location of the bus/train station I was arriving at, much less where to go from there.
With Paris, however, I knew going in that objective was going to be flatly impossible. I've seen way too many movies set in Paris, among them some of my all time favorites. Some of my favorite musicians hail from Paris, some of my favorite works of art were made, conceived, or inspired by Paris, and most of my favorite authors lived and wrote in Paris at one time or another. My favorite drink, absinthe, was even popularized there. And most importantly, just about every single person I've met outside of the US has been to Paris and has informed me of their opinions- what to see, what to avoid, what's awesome and what's lame.
So as you might imagine, when I arrived worn out and hungover from the insanely fun and outlandish days in Le Mans, the prevailing feeling was "what the heck am I even doing here- I already know everything about this place." And for the first two cold, rainy days in Paris, I didn't even venture out of the hostel. But when I finally pulled myself together and set foot on Parisian soil what I discovered was a city with thousands of nuances- little nooks and crannies to seek out and conquer- creating, if you looked for it and opened yourself to experience it, a city of hundreds of smaller unique cities. It was in this way that Paris reminded me so much of New York. And because of that I felt at ease, I felt at home.
But before I got out and about in Paris, I had some business to attend to. And the first thing on that list was trying a croque-monsieur, which is basically just a ham and cheese (usually emmental) sandwich that is grilled and then topped with more cheese or a bechamel sauce. Kind of like trying a francesinha in Porto. Luckily the hostel I was staying in offered one in the bar, and even luckier, they also offered a croque-madame which is a croque-monsieur... but with an egg on top! Stone cold lead pipe lock.
Overall it was pretty good but not something you want to include in your daily (or even weekly for that matter) dietary intake. This was pretty much all I accomplished on the day I arrived in Paris. Day two found Paris cool and rainy and I was still exhausted from the past 2 weeks so I decided to spend the day uploading pictures and updating the blog. So here is pretty much my only photo of the day:
Also, when I went to the bathroom downstairs in the hostel I was greeted by these curiously shaped urinals. I found this at first disarming, however, how can you deny a mouth that inviting? Still, to be honest, it was a bit creepy.
The next day I figured I owed it to myself (and more importantly to the great city of Paris) to actually venture out of my domicile and take in the sites and sounds and smells of wine and baguettes and croissants and pastries of every imaginable description and... well car smoke, people smoke and urine that glorious Paris had to offer. So, since I awoke 30 minutes after the start of the free tour I did the next best thing: I acquired a makeshift map and engaged myself on the "Mike Steele I Really Have No Idea What I'm Looking At But I'm Sure It Has Some Sort of Historical Significance One-Man Free Walking Tour" or MSIRHNIWILABISIHSSOHSOMFWT. Ok, I'm still working on the title.
The general plan was to follow the canal down until it hits the Seine and then follow that until Notre Dame, etc, etc, yatta, and blah. The first thing of some historical significance I came across but didn't realize was the Bastille. In fact, it wasn't until two days later when Dan and Tim insisted (despite my indignant claims) that the Bastille was in fact IN Paris that I finally "realized" I had been there. These days there's not much left of it- a big column in the square and I think part of the building which is now used as a theater or opera house or something. Honestly I don't know- as you may recall, I was on the MSIRHNIWILABISIHSSOHSOMFWT. Anyway, one of the coolest things I saw was the old school Parisian bookstands. I was "this close" to buying an old print (like mid 1900's) Arsene Lupin novel. Unfortunately it was in French which I can't read, and for some reason I was stupid enough to not take a photo. But here is the stand.
Next I actually found something I knew about- Notre Dame. What you probably already know about Notre Dame: (1) it was one of the first (and perhaps best) examples of the use of flying buttresses as exterior wall supports; (2) it was completed in the mid 1300's (so yea- really really old); and (3) the cathedral gained immense international popularity with the publication of Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame in 1831. What you likely may not know about Notre Dame: (1) there is no hunchback actually living in Notre Dame (I know, I was disappointed too!); (2) according to the free walking tour (which I only heard second hand as, despite being in Paris for 8 days, I never got around to taking) it was at one point scheduled to be demolished and replaced prior to the acclaim gained from the publication of the novel; and (3) the cathedral is in fact NOT affiliated with the University of Notre Dame Fighting Irish (a win for Catholicism). Anyway, here is a picture of the back of the cathedral all flying buttressed out.
Next, I wandered along the river until I came to the Louvre which, much to my dismay and embarrassment, despite similar phonetics is not pronounced the same way as Favre. Since it was Tuesday the Louvre ("Loov-ray" hehe) was closed so I resigned myself to returning on a subsequent afternoon. From the Louvre you can walk west-ish up the Champs-Élysées until you reach the Arc de Triomphe. From the gardens of the Louvre you can even see the Arc in the distance and it appears to be a lovely stroll.
THIS IS AN OPTICAL ILLUSION: DO NOT BE DUPED. It takes a virtual eternity to walk from the Louvre to the Arc. Every ten minutes or so I would poke my head out into the street to see how close I was only to discover I had barely made any progress at all! It's some sort of horrible time-space warp. Do yourself a favor and take the subway or a cab or just honorably admit defeat, retreat to a cafe and nurse your bruised ego with a carafe of cheap and delicious red wine. Anyway, here's the Arc. Note: my feet were bleeding when I took this so you're welcome dear reader.
After way too much walking (why didn't anyone tell me Paris was this big?! I mean, you told me everything to do and not to do- "don't try to walk the entire city" would have been nice!), I finally made it to the Eiffel Tower. I must say, I was prepared to be underwhelmed but I was actually very impressed. It was a cloudy day but I got a decent shot from the bridge (better shots forthcoming).
After walking around ET and taking a few more photos I checked my map and made the executive decision that my poor feet couldn't take the long hike back to the hostel so I hopped in the subway and repaired to St. Chris. As usual, the best remedy for a long day is a drink and upon meeting my new roommates Tim and Dan, we headed downstairs to knock back the bottles of cheap Bordeaux I procured from the grocery store down the street. Drinking wine and watching the Euros was the supposed relaxed-gentlemanly theme of the night, but we made a number of new friends including some Aussies who decided it would be a rather good idea for the large group of us to partake in a beer drinking challenge: losers to jump in the canal outside the hostel.
I know what you're thinking... this already sounds like a bad idea. And you, dear reader, are correct. But I had one ace up my sleeve: me. Physical impossibilities of that phrase aside, I really mean my nearly three months of beer-drinking training; including my doctoral thesis only days before in Le Mans. I figured there was no way we would lose the challenge. And, shockingly, I was correct. We won handily. What I didn't anticipate, however, is that the Aussies on our team would decide to jump in anyway and thereby, in order to not lose face for America, I would of course be obligated to follow suit. So... against well, ALL judgement, into the canal I went. Yes, it was gross, really gross. As soon as I climbed out I showered three times and went straight to bed. Thankfully, despite my fears, I didn't contract hepatitis or any other communicable disease that I'm aware of. Thank you immunizations! Add this to the list of things I would not recommend in Paris. But... it was kind of fun.
The next day demanded a reprieve. Honestly what I really wanted to do in Paris was simply to sit in a cafe, have a coffee (and perhaps later a pastis), and write. So, Wednesday morning I set out for Montmartre in search of a place to do just that. Montmartre in the 18th arrondissement is probably known to most people for either it's cafes, the residence and studios of artists such as Picasso, Dali, and Monet, or the myriad of movies set in the charming district. I set off from the metro with two intentions: (1) make my way to Sacré Cœur; and (2) find a cafe where I could simply sit and write. On my way up the hill to Sacré Cœur I passed something that took me totally by surprise: the Two Windmills cafe from Amelie. In reality, I think they just call it the Amelie cafe now but it was the one set in the movie. Since I love that film, this was quite the early morning boon.
I eventually made my way up the winding streets (which I highly recommend you check out the photos of Montmartre on flickr) to Sacré Cœur. It was very impressive and, I think, also the set of the scene in Amelie where she is giving Nick the runaround to get his photo album back. Walk to the balcony at the edge of the steps and take some pictures of the city; you will not be disappointed (unless of course it's smoggy like it was that day, in which case you will).
After wandering around some more in the increasingly impressive streets of Montmartre, including a place that had its own vineyard (!!), I made my way to a cafe that seemed reasonable. I walked in and scored a table outside on the patio. Unbeknownst to me this particular cafe is apparently a big tourist attraction as people kept coming up right to where I was sitting and taking photos of me (ok, of the cafe but with me in them!). I ended up ordering two coffees and a creme brulee which cost me a meager 17 euro. So maybe I didn't pick the most affordable cafe. But everything was tremendous and here is a picture to prove it.
Also, it should be noted that by this point in the trip I had run out of shampoo, and with only days left until my return to the states, buying another bottle seemed economically unfeasible. So, for posterity's sake, here is perhaps my second favorite shot from Paris: me as the bearded, unshowered, struggling writer.
I spent about 6 hours writing in Montmartre and then it was time to head back to the hostel. The night before (post-beer challenge and pre-jumping the canal) I had conjured up a brilliant/stupid idea: the first ever Drinkathlon. My English friends and I had been discussing the Olympics and I was proffering that perhaps my favorite event was the Decathlon where athletes compete in 10 disciplines to determine who is best all-around. Naturally, the next step while drinking was to apply this to booze. So I came up with the Drinkathlon: 10 drinks of all different type and variety, drank in succession. Last man standing considered a champion (we weren't operating on that competitive of terms). The competitors were me (USA), Sioni (UK), Dan aka: "the Scarecrow" (UK), and Tim aka: "the Big Sleazy" (UK).
If you want to do something really really stupid, this is the list of drinks in the Drinkathlon in order. I would highly recommend you do NOT do this. Leave it for the professionals kids. Anyway, here it is:
1. red wine
2. lager beer
3. pastis (because we were in France, but Sambuca/Ouzo/Raki/etc.- anything anise will do)
4. hard cider
5. whiskey (bourbon, blended, or scotch is fine)
6. guinness or ale
7. vodka Red Bull
8. white wine
9. gin/rum
10. tequila
Next, I wandered along the river until I came to the Louvre which, much to my dismay and embarrassment, despite similar phonetics is not pronounced the same way as Favre. Since it was Tuesday the Louvre ("Loov-ray" hehe) was closed so I resigned myself to returning on a subsequent afternoon. From the Louvre you can walk west-ish up the Champs-Élysées until you reach the Arc de Triomphe. From the gardens of the Louvre you can even see the Arc in the distance and it appears to be a lovely stroll.
THIS IS AN OPTICAL ILLUSION: DO NOT BE DUPED. It takes a virtual eternity to walk from the Louvre to the Arc. Every ten minutes or so I would poke my head out into the street to see how close I was only to discover I had barely made any progress at all! It's some sort of horrible time-space warp. Do yourself a favor and take the subway or a cab or just honorably admit defeat, retreat to a cafe and nurse your bruised ego with a carafe of cheap and delicious red wine. Anyway, here's the Arc. Note: my feet were bleeding when I took this so you're welcome dear reader.
After way too much walking (why didn't anyone tell me Paris was this big?! I mean, you told me everything to do and not to do- "don't try to walk the entire city" would have been nice!), I finally made it to the Eiffel Tower. I must say, I was prepared to be underwhelmed but I was actually very impressed. It was a cloudy day but I got a decent shot from the bridge (better shots forthcoming).
After walking around ET and taking a few more photos I checked my map and made the executive decision that my poor feet couldn't take the long hike back to the hostel so I hopped in the subway and repaired to St. Chris. As usual, the best remedy for a long day is a drink and upon meeting my new roommates Tim and Dan, we headed downstairs to knock back the bottles of cheap Bordeaux I procured from the grocery store down the street. Drinking wine and watching the Euros was the supposed relaxed-gentlemanly theme of the night, but we made a number of new friends including some Aussies who decided it would be a rather good idea for the large group of us to partake in a beer drinking challenge: losers to jump in the canal outside the hostel.
I know what you're thinking... this already sounds like a bad idea. And you, dear reader, are correct. But I had one ace up my sleeve: me. Physical impossibilities of that phrase aside, I really mean my nearly three months of beer-drinking training; including my doctoral thesis only days before in Le Mans. I figured there was no way we would lose the challenge. And, shockingly, I was correct. We won handily. What I didn't anticipate, however, is that the Aussies on our team would decide to jump in anyway and thereby, in order to not lose face for America, I would of course be obligated to follow suit. So... against well, ALL judgement, into the canal I went. Yes, it was gross, really gross. As soon as I climbed out I showered three times and went straight to bed. Thankfully, despite my fears, I didn't contract hepatitis or any other communicable disease that I'm aware of. Thank you immunizations! Add this to the list of things I would not recommend in Paris. But... it was kind of fun.
The next day demanded a reprieve. Honestly what I really wanted to do in Paris was simply to sit in a cafe, have a coffee (and perhaps later a pastis), and write. So, Wednesday morning I set out for Montmartre in search of a place to do just that. Montmartre in the 18th arrondissement is probably known to most people for either it's cafes, the residence and studios of artists such as Picasso, Dali, and Monet, or the myriad of movies set in the charming district. I set off from the metro with two intentions: (1) make my way to Sacré Cœur; and (2) find a cafe where I could simply sit and write. On my way up the hill to Sacré Cœur I passed something that took me totally by surprise: the Two Windmills cafe from Amelie. In reality, I think they just call it the Amelie cafe now but it was the one set in the movie. Since I love that film, this was quite the early morning boon.
I eventually made my way up the winding streets (which I highly recommend you check out the photos of Montmartre on flickr) to Sacré Cœur. It was very impressive and, I think, also the set of the scene in Amelie where she is giving Nick the runaround to get his photo album back. Walk to the balcony at the edge of the steps and take some pictures of the city; you will not be disappointed (unless of course it's smoggy like it was that day, in which case you will).
After wandering around some more in the increasingly impressive streets of Montmartre, including a place that had its own vineyard (!!), I made my way to a cafe that seemed reasonable. I walked in and scored a table outside on the patio. Unbeknownst to me this particular cafe is apparently a big tourist attraction as people kept coming up right to where I was sitting and taking photos of me (ok, of the cafe but with me in them!). I ended up ordering two coffees and a creme brulee which cost me a meager 17 euro. So maybe I didn't pick the most affordable cafe. But everything was tremendous and here is a picture to prove it.
Also, it should be noted that by this point in the trip I had run out of shampoo, and with only days left until my return to the states, buying another bottle seemed economically unfeasible. So, for posterity's sake, here is perhaps my second favorite shot from Paris: me as the bearded, unshowered, struggling writer.
I spent about 6 hours writing in Montmartre and then it was time to head back to the hostel. The night before (post-beer challenge and pre-jumping the canal) I had conjured up a brilliant/stupid idea: the first ever Drinkathlon. My English friends and I had been discussing the Olympics and I was proffering that perhaps my favorite event was the Decathlon where athletes compete in 10 disciplines to determine who is best all-around. Naturally, the next step while drinking was to apply this to booze. So I came up with the Drinkathlon: 10 drinks of all different type and variety, drank in succession. Last man standing considered a champion (we weren't operating on that competitive of terms). The competitors were me (USA), Sioni (UK), Dan aka: "the Scarecrow" (UK), and Tim aka: "the Big Sleazy" (UK).
If you want to do something really really stupid, this is the list of drinks in the Drinkathlon in order. I would highly recommend you do NOT do this. Leave it for the professionals kids. Anyway, here it is:
1. red wine
2. lager beer
3. pastis (because we were in France, but Sambuca/Ouzo/Raki/etc.- anything anise will do)
4. hard cider
5. whiskey (bourbon, blended, or scotch is fine)
6. guinness or ale
7. vodka Red Bull
8. white wine
9. gin/rum
10. tequila
Any of the spirits may be mixed with whatever but the vodka must be done with Red Bull (or other energy drink) and the tequila must be done in shot form. Also, when the majority of people finish a round, the remaining people must kill their drinks and move on to the next round. Those are pretty much the only rules. Here's a shot of us at the end (tequila). It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
After finishing the Drinkathlon, the four of us and our two lovely cheerleaders Amy and Gina attempted to revel in the Parisian streets. Not 10 feet from the steps of the hostel, however, we lost Sioni who ended up spending the remainder of the night on those very steps. It should be noted we left the hostel at approximately 12:10pm. Outside we met up with our Canadian friends from the canal jump and apparently proceeded with them to nearby the subway station where everyone was drinking beer/red wine out of the bottle and generally rabble-rousing. Somewhere therein I or Amy acquired roses and this picture was taken. Haha.
Subsequently, I took the night's final picture of Dan "the Scarecrow" at approximately 12:45. This was the last we saw of him until after 10am the next day. At some point I ended up in the children's park nearby the hostel hanging out with one of the Canadians- evidently somewhere acquiring a 6-pack of Kronenburg. :-/ ? Anyway, the next photo on my camera was of Tim "the Big Sleazy" passed out halfway in his bed at 4am.
The next morning at breakfast, much like in the Hangover, we went through my (and others') photos to try and determine what the hell had happened to Dan. Around 10am he finally reemerged (he had somehow ended up on a boat in the canal having beers??). In all, the Drinkathlon was a resounding success and/or (depending on your point of view) failure. In any event, I doubt I'll be competing for the US in any Drinkathlons in the future, near or far. But it did serve for some great stories and pictures.
The next morning, as you may imagine, our stomachs, livers, and souls were feeling a bit tender. The best remedy we could come up with to deal with this peril was, obviously, a trip to the Louvre. As you likely know there are a ton of great things to see at the Louvre, most notably probably the Mona Lisa and the Venus di Milo. My personal favorites were sculptures of Poseidon spearing some sort of sea monster with a trident and a man beating a serpent to death with a stone. I would tell you what these were actually called but I couldn't read the French titles on the tags, so tough titty. Also, it was a rainy day (perfect for the Louvre) and I managed to get a really great shot of the courtyard from one of the windows.
My favorite single thing in the entire Louvre was discovering that the Louvre was once a former palace BEFORE it was a former palace. Go back and read that sentence again, yes I wrote it correctly. Best of all, the foundation for that even older palace, built in the 12th century by Philip II, can be found in the basement. AWESOME! Also, it was really cold down there which was wonderful for Dan, Tim and I who were still suffering from post-Drinkathlon hangovers. Here is a shot of what the medieval Louvre fortress looked like (a good portion of the bottom 1/5 of which you can see downstairs).
When we got back to the hostel we came to discover that this particular night was the Fête de la Musique, an outdoor street music festival whereby hundreds of musicians perform music all over the entire city of Paris. It geared up in mid-afternoon and went well into the next morning. Around 10pm, Tim, Dan, two of our Canadian friends, and I set off for the Latin Quarter to see what was going on down there. Right out of the metro we came across this crazy scene.
We then ducked into a bar for some locally brewed beer (a great reprieve from the liters of crappy Kronenburg I'd been ingesting) where much revelry ensued until somehow we lost Dan and one of the Canadians (surprise... only not).
The other one wanted to head back at some point so Tim and I put her on the metro and made our way back out for the festivities, ok probably not the most chivalrous thing to do but chivalry has been dead in France for centuries so as OneRepublic says "it's too late to apologize." Whoa, did I just quote OneRepublic? Wow, hold on while I punch myself in the face...
There, much better. Anyway, eventually we decided to take the metro ourselves only to discover, much to our horror and completely contrary to the intel we had received, the metro was closed! Not understanding the bus scheme, and not speaking French, and under no circumstances delving into any sort of mime, we had no choice but to walk back. When we finally arrived back at the hostel the sun was just beginning to come up so I decided to take a break and watch the sun rise over Paris (or at least the scummy canal I had jumped in a few nights before).
After falling asleep post-dawn, I awoke late with a powerful lust to scale something. Very Rampage of me. Thankfully, Paris offers just such a treat- the Eiffel Tower. And, as I had witnessed during my initial reconnaissance mission, there is an option to avoid the long lines by simply taking the stairs. Clearly the only gentlemanly answer.
Also, at this point I should note that when I awoke and shuffled myself into the bathroom to take a shower I managed a brief glance in the mirror at my visage. The first thought into my mind was "who the hell is this person?" Upon realizing that it was in fact me and not some ghastly apparition, my next thought was "wow, I honestly look like a homeless person." So I decided the only reasonable thing to do was to bail on the shower and impose my homelessness all over the people of Paris. In the process of making my way to the ET (and this time I took the metro to limit my inherent idiocy to the best of my ability), I snapped undoubtedly my favorite photo of Paris:
Once in line it was a quick climb to the second level where I could catch the main elevator all the way to the top. The best part of my ET climb was that not only did I look homeless, but for some reason from the night before I had acquired a massive quantity of euro coins which jingled in my pocket with every step. I can only imagine that the other tower-goers' prevailing opinion of me was that a poor drifter had panhandled enough coins to afford himself a long-awaited trip up the Eiffel Tower. What a French Patriot! And I'm sure the Next Stop Shanghai shirt only served to at best enforce, or at worst mildly confuse, this general theme. But never-mind all that nonsense- here is a picture of me looking vagrant and TOTALLY RAD from the top of the ET. If you want to see the other pics from up there, I suggest you check out flickr with all due haste.
After the ET, I took a few more pictures but eventually had to retreat to the hostel as I really had to pee and couldn't find a single public urinal in all of Paris. Normally I would just go on a tree but I've seen signs all over specifically prohibiting that and, after watching Catch Me if You Can, the last thing I want is to end up in a French prison. I'd rather my kidneys just explode.
So yeah, uh, where was I? Ah yes, pee adventures aside, that night at the hostel the crew and I continued our normal course of business which is to say we had wine and beer and half-way watched the Euros. At some point Amy wanted someone to accompany her to find something to eat, a task I gladly volunteered for given my penchant for late night wanderings. Eventually we came across a McDonald's (not before stumbling upon an Iranian grocer who more than happily sold me some ice-cold Hoegaardens). On the way, she was going to take a picture of me on the streets of Paris when two random French girls ran up and demanded to be in the picture. (If you guessed third favorite picture of Paris you are correct.)
Btw- doesn't it look like my beer can is a rocket blasting out of my hand with a super-badass blue flame? No?! What?? Fine, whatever. After, that absurdity and about 10 more minutes of walking, Amy got down to business. I have to admit, I was a bit jealous of the voracity in which she tore into that sandwich. I've only known one other person to devour a Big Mac like that. Meanwhile, the security guard pretended to scold me for bringing in beers, but after I chatted him up (i.e. gave him a couple swigs) I was suddenly a McD VIP. Bribery, the greatest form of flattery.
After what felt like minutes, but what must have been hours, discussing the great philosophies of our times and merely solving the world's problems via Hoegaardens and sheer gusto, we retired to the hostel. Of course this was not before being approached by a crack dealer who summarily told me I had great chest and arm muscles but not great abs (thanks, beer), and then offered us some crack. Hooray, Paris. Remember when I said it felt like NY? Well this felt more like NC. Anyway, we made it back to the hostel successfully abstaining from crack, and what seemed like even less time later, I awoke to the horrid rays of sunlight and realized defeatedly that today was the day I needed to make my way out to Versailles. Balls!
Like the ET, Versailles is something you HAVE to visit when you go to Paris, otherwise the gendarme track you down and castrate you with a rusty baguette knife. Having experienced enough rusty knife castration in Morocco, I felt it in my best interest to make the trek out to Versailles.
Have you been to Disney Land/World? Have you stood in line for Space Mountain for like 2 hours and been so frustrated with waiting you would hammer-punch a crippled kid in the clavicle just to move up five spots? Well, Versailles is like that but without the cool roller-coaster at the end. I swear I spent more time in line than I did actually seeing the palace and gardens (which by the way you need to stand in separate lines to get tickets for! I swear they are just doing that to screw with tourists...). Here is a picture of me at the back of the palace looking happy just to be out of the damn lines!
Honestly there is more to see in the gardens than there is in the palace. In fact, once you get out of the "grove" area it's really like Central Park. A great place to picnic and just chill out (and I think you can somehow get into these areas without paying for a ticket). Every time I saw a lone couple in the middle of an expansive field I had an almost irresistible desire to go sit right next to them and pretend I had no idea how uncomfortable it was making them. I'm a French personal-space urban terrorist! But the groves themselves were excellent and they play classical French music to make you feel authentic and it's hard to pick a favorite so you better just check flickr. My favorite part of the entire gardens, oddly enough, was the Orangery Gardens. Something about exquisitely mowed grass...
Inside the palace there are lots of great things to take pictures of as well. Tragically, about 10 minutes into the tour I dropped my camera on the lens. This was the last image of said camera which saw me through thousands of pictures in the past 3 months and made it 80 out of 82 days. I must say, I'm impressed camera- you ruled Little Grey. Rest in peace. This photo, from a rather mortal perspective, makes me wonder if this type of image is perhaps akin to what we see in our last dying moments. A blurry, off-center, partially obscured view of whatever happens to present itself right before our last breaths. A bit morbid, perhaps, but I like to think that my camera at least took in its last images in a great heritage site such as Versailles. Most of us just die old and alone in some hospital.
But it's not all morbid jibber-jabber here. I did manage to get a shot (albeit with my iphone) of the infamous hall of mirrors which is without a doubt the highlight of the palace of Versailles. So, here you go... in all its low resolution glory.
After fending my way onto the train ride back to Paris, I decided to embark on the organized pub crawl since it was my last real night and Saturday night (and despite the fact that France was playing in the Euro semi-finals). I made a huge mistake. Even had France not been playing (and therefore the pubs not been packed) this pub crawl was a rip off. The best part of the entire pub crawl was when two Aussies and I LEFT the pub crawl and pounded tall-boys with a French vagrant named Giuseppe on a park bench 2 blocks from Moulin Rouge. Pass on the pub crawl, hang out with Giuseppe. The only good thing to come out of the pub crawl was that it was in Montmartre and thereby I got some good shots of the area at night- specifically this cool one of the Moulin (which means windmill!) Rouge at dusk.
My final day in Paris I had planned to lay low (maybe go up into Montmartre and write) and then eventually make it to the ET at night to see the lights. But, tragically, it was cold and poured rain the entire day. So me, and my few remaining conspirators, laid low at the hostel for the day. I got some more writing done on the blog (pretty much up to where it is prior to this entry) and had some coffee, etc. No drinking or antics on this day. I had to be up at 6am to catch my flight back to the States. Stint 1 effectively complete.
In all, I really liked Paris. The people, food & drink options, metro, pace, size, and of course prices- it all reminded me of NY, but much much older and with a bit of romanticism that the casual NY-goer would overlook in that great city. I hold it high but it didn't quite live up to the mystique I had anticipated (nor did I think it ever would). What I look forward to the most is returning in the late autumn when it's cold and the tourists are gone and the festivals are over. That's when you get the real vibe of a city. So, until we meet again Paris, you'll be in my mind... just not quite in my heart.
To sum up- I think I'll ultimately do a Stint 1 recap provided I have time before I need to get after Stint 2. But don't hold me to that. To close out, here is a shot of me at Dad's after I had arrived home. No haircut in 3 months and I hadn't shaved in at least 6 weeks. Europe!
Bonus Photo: a sign at the hostel. I love the message. I honestly live this and I wish everyone could live it with me. But even if you can't live the travel life just yet, or if what you desire is other than a life on the road, take this to heart- live life to the fullest, take chances, and never be afraid to change anything and everything. "Many of the best things in life come when you embrace the unknown." I believe it's true. Let's prove Kev right.
After finishing the Drinkathlon, the four of us and our two lovely cheerleaders Amy and Gina attempted to revel in the Parisian streets. Not 10 feet from the steps of the hostel, however, we lost Sioni who ended up spending the remainder of the night on those very steps. It should be noted we left the hostel at approximately 12:10pm. Outside we met up with our Canadian friends from the canal jump and apparently proceeded with them to nearby the subway station where everyone was drinking beer/red wine out of the bottle and generally rabble-rousing. Somewhere therein I or Amy acquired roses and this picture was taken. Haha.
Subsequently, I took the night's final picture of Dan "the Scarecrow" at approximately 12:45. This was the last we saw of him until after 10am the next day. At some point I ended up in the children's park nearby the hostel hanging out with one of the Canadians- evidently somewhere acquiring a 6-pack of Kronenburg. :-/ ? Anyway, the next photo on my camera was of Tim "the Big Sleazy" passed out halfway in his bed at 4am.
The next morning at breakfast, much like in the Hangover, we went through my (and others') photos to try and determine what the hell had happened to Dan. Around 10am he finally reemerged (he had somehow ended up on a boat in the canal having beers??). In all, the Drinkathlon was a resounding success and/or (depending on your point of view) failure. In any event, I doubt I'll be competing for the US in any Drinkathlons in the future, near or far. But it did serve for some great stories and pictures.
The next morning, as you may imagine, our stomachs, livers, and souls were feeling a bit tender. The best remedy we could come up with to deal with this peril was, obviously, a trip to the Louvre. As you likely know there are a ton of great things to see at the Louvre, most notably probably the Mona Lisa and the Venus di Milo. My personal favorites were sculptures of Poseidon spearing some sort of sea monster with a trident and a man beating a serpent to death with a stone. I would tell you what these were actually called but I couldn't read the French titles on the tags, so tough titty. Also, it was a rainy day (perfect for the Louvre) and I managed to get a really great shot of the courtyard from one of the windows.
My favorite single thing in the entire Louvre was discovering that the Louvre was once a former palace BEFORE it was a former palace. Go back and read that sentence again, yes I wrote it correctly. Best of all, the foundation for that even older palace, built in the 12th century by Philip II, can be found in the basement. AWESOME! Also, it was really cold down there which was wonderful for Dan, Tim and I who were still suffering from post-Drinkathlon hangovers. Here is a shot of what the medieval Louvre fortress looked like (a good portion of the bottom 1/5 of which you can see downstairs).
When we got back to the hostel we came to discover that this particular night was the Fête de la Musique, an outdoor street music festival whereby hundreds of musicians perform music all over the entire city of Paris. It geared up in mid-afternoon and went well into the next morning. Around 10pm, Tim, Dan, two of our Canadian friends, and I set off for the Latin Quarter to see what was going on down there. Right out of the metro we came across this crazy scene.
We then ducked into a bar for some locally brewed beer (a great reprieve from the liters of crappy Kronenburg I'd been ingesting) where much revelry ensued until somehow we lost Dan and one of the Canadians (surprise... only not).
The other one wanted to head back at some point so Tim and I put her on the metro and made our way back out for the festivities, ok probably not the most chivalrous thing to do but chivalry has been dead in France for centuries so as OneRepublic says "it's too late to apologize." Whoa, did I just quote OneRepublic? Wow, hold on while I punch myself in the face...
There, much better. Anyway, eventually we decided to take the metro ourselves only to discover, much to our horror and completely contrary to the intel we had received, the metro was closed! Not understanding the bus scheme, and not speaking French, and under no circumstances delving into any sort of mime, we had no choice but to walk back. When we finally arrived back at the hostel the sun was just beginning to come up so I decided to take a break and watch the sun rise over Paris (or at least the scummy canal I had jumped in a few nights before).
After falling asleep post-dawn, I awoke late with a powerful lust to scale something. Very Rampage of me. Thankfully, Paris offers just such a treat- the Eiffel Tower. And, as I had witnessed during my initial reconnaissance mission, there is an option to avoid the long lines by simply taking the stairs. Clearly the only gentlemanly answer.
Also, at this point I should note that when I awoke and shuffled myself into the bathroom to take a shower I managed a brief glance in the mirror at my visage. The first thought into my mind was "who the hell is this person?" Upon realizing that it was in fact me and not some ghastly apparition, my next thought was "wow, I honestly look like a homeless person." So I decided the only reasonable thing to do was to bail on the shower and impose my homelessness all over the people of Paris. In the process of making my way to the ET (and this time I took the metro to limit my inherent idiocy to the best of my ability), I snapped undoubtedly my favorite photo of Paris:
Once in line it was a quick climb to the second level where I could catch the main elevator all the way to the top. The best part of my ET climb was that not only did I look homeless, but for some reason from the night before I had acquired a massive quantity of euro coins which jingled in my pocket with every step. I can only imagine that the other tower-goers' prevailing opinion of me was that a poor drifter had panhandled enough coins to afford himself a long-awaited trip up the Eiffel Tower. What a French Patriot! And I'm sure the Next Stop Shanghai shirt only served to at best enforce, or at worst mildly confuse, this general theme. But never-mind all that nonsense- here is a picture of me looking vagrant and TOTALLY RAD from the top of the ET. If you want to see the other pics from up there, I suggest you check out flickr with all due haste.
After the ET, I took a few more pictures but eventually had to retreat to the hostel as I really had to pee and couldn't find a single public urinal in all of Paris. Normally I would just go on a tree but I've seen signs all over specifically prohibiting that and, after watching Catch Me if You Can, the last thing I want is to end up in a French prison. I'd rather my kidneys just explode.
So yeah, uh, where was I? Ah yes, pee adventures aside, that night at the hostel the crew and I continued our normal course of business which is to say we had wine and beer and half-way watched the Euros. At some point Amy wanted someone to accompany her to find something to eat, a task I gladly volunteered for given my penchant for late night wanderings. Eventually we came across a McDonald's (not before stumbling upon an Iranian grocer who more than happily sold me some ice-cold Hoegaardens). On the way, she was going to take a picture of me on the streets of Paris when two random French girls ran up and demanded to be in the picture. (If you guessed third favorite picture of Paris you are correct.)
Btw- doesn't it look like my beer can is a rocket blasting out of my hand with a super-badass blue flame? No?! What?? Fine, whatever. After, that absurdity and about 10 more minutes of walking, Amy got down to business. I have to admit, I was a bit jealous of the voracity in which she tore into that sandwich. I've only known one other person to devour a Big Mac like that. Meanwhile, the security guard pretended to scold me for bringing in beers, but after I chatted him up (i.e. gave him a couple swigs) I was suddenly a McD VIP. Bribery, the greatest form of flattery.
After what felt like minutes, but what must have been hours, discussing the great philosophies of our times and merely solving the world's problems via Hoegaardens and sheer gusto, we retired to the hostel. Of course this was not before being approached by a crack dealer who summarily told me I had great chest and arm muscles but not great abs (thanks, beer), and then offered us some crack. Hooray, Paris. Remember when I said it felt like NY? Well this felt more like NC. Anyway, we made it back to the hostel successfully abstaining from crack, and what seemed like even less time later, I awoke to the horrid rays of sunlight and realized defeatedly that today was the day I needed to make my way out to Versailles. Balls!
Like the ET, Versailles is something you HAVE to visit when you go to Paris, otherwise the gendarme track you down and castrate you with a rusty baguette knife. Having experienced enough rusty knife castration in Morocco, I felt it in my best interest to make the trek out to Versailles.
Have you been to Disney Land/World? Have you stood in line for Space Mountain for like 2 hours and been so frustrated with waiting you would hammer-punch a crippled kid in the clavicle just to move up five spots? Well, Versailles is like that but without the cool roller-coaster at the end. I swear I spent more time in line than I did actually seeing the palace and gardens (which by the way you need to stand in separate lines to get tickets for! I swear they are just doing that to screw with tourists...). Here is a picture of me at the back of the palace looking happy just to be out of the damn lines!
Honestly there is more to see in the gardens than there is in the palace. In fact, once you get out of the "grove" area it's really like Central Park. A great place to picnic and just chill out (and I think you can somehow get into these areas without paying for a ticket). Every time I saw a lone couple in the middle of an expansive field I had an almost irresistible desire to go sit right next to them and pretend I had no idea how uncomfortable it was making them. I'm a French personal-space urban terrorist! But the groves themselves were excellent and they play classical French music to make you feel authentic and it's hard to pick a favorite so you better just check flickr. My favorite part of the entire gardens, oddly enough, was the Orangery Gardens. Something about exquisitely mowed grass...
Inside the palace there are lots of great things to take pictures of as well. Tragically, about 10 minutes into the tour I dropped my camera on the lens. This was the last image of said camera which saw me through thousands of pictures in the past 3 months and made it 80 out of 82 days. I must say, I'm impressed camera- you ruled Little Grey. Rest in peace. This photo, from a rather mortal perspective, makes me wonder if this type of image is perhaps akin to what we see in our last dying moments. A blurry, off-center, partially obscured view of whatever happens to present itself right before our last breaths. A bit morbid, perhaps, but I like to think that my camera at least took in its last images in a great heritage site such as Versailles. Most of us just die old and alone in some hospital.
But it's not all morbid jibber-jabber here. I did manage to get a shot (albeit with my iphone) of the infamous hall of mirrors which is without a doubt the highlight of the palace of Versailles. So, here you go... in all its low resolution glory.
After fending my way onto the train ride back to Paris, I decided to embark on the organized pub crawl since it was my last real night and Saturday night (and despite the fact that France was playing in the Euro semi-finals). I made a huge mistake. Even had France not been playing (and therefore the pubs not been packed) this pub crawl was a rip off. The best part of the entire pub crawl was when two Aussies and I LEFT the pub crawl and pounded tall-boys with a French vagrant named Giuseppe on a park bench 2 blocks from Moulin Rouge. Pass on the pub crawl, hang out with Giuseppe. The only good thing to come out of the pub crawl was that it was in Montmartre and thereby I got some good shots of the area at night- specifically this cool one of the Moulin (which means windmill!) Rouge at dusk.
My final day in Paris I had planned to lay low (maybe go up into Montmartre and write) and then eventually make it to the ET at night to see the lights. But, tragically, it was cold and poured rain the entire day. So me, and my few remaining conspirators, laid low at the hostel for the day. I got some more writing done on the blog (pretty much up to where it is prior to this entry) and had some coffee, etc. No drinking or antics on this day. I had to be up at 6am to catch my flight back to the States. Stint 1 effectively complete.
In all, I really liked Paris. The people, food & drink options, metro, pace, size, and of course prices- it all reminded me of NY, but much much older and with a bit of romanticism that the casual NY-goer would overlook in that great city. I hold it high but it didn't quite live up to the mystique I had anticipated (nor did I think it ever would). What I look forward to the most is returning in the late autumn when it's cold and the tourists are gone and the festivals are over. That's when you get the real vibe of a city. So, until we meet again Paris, you'll be in my mind... just not quite in my heart.
To sum up- I think I'll ultimately do a Stint 1 recap provided I have time before I need to get after Stint 2. But don't hold me to that. To close out, here is a shot of me at Dad's after I had arrived home. No haircut in 3 months and I hadn't shaved in at least 6 weeks. Europe!
Bonus Photo: a sign at the hostel. I love the message. I honestly live this and I wish everyone could live it with me. But even if you can't live the travel life just yet, or if what you desire is other than a life on the road, take this to heart- live life to the fullest, take chances, and never be afraid to change anything and everything. "Many of the best things in life come when you embrace the unknown." I believe it's true. Let's prove Kev right.
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