Day 9-12: September 10-13, 2015 –
Day 9: Paris
The Thalys train from Brussels to Paris takes about 90 minutes. The seats were incredibly comfortable and there were outlets under the seats for charging laptops and cell phones. The second class cabins were the nicest that we’d ridden in, so far, and we sort of wondered how nice the first class cabin was; probably pretty nice.
When we arrived in Paris, our heads were spinning all over again. The Paris Nord Station was the busiest station that we had encountered, so far on our trip. Compared to Grand Central Station in New York, Paris Nord was a madhouse. Like most of the major train stations in Europe, it could also serve as a shopping mall.
I had wanted to try to pick up the Paris Museum Passes from the tourism office the first thing, because I didn’t want to have to travel to the campground and then come back to the city, only to find out that the tourism center was closed. It was about 2pm and the tourism center closed at 5pm, so we had 3 hours to make it out of the train station and make it there before the doors locked. While it seems like a lot of time, this is Paris. I have hardly retained my 3 years of high school French after not using it for almost 20 years, and Elizabeth was pretty happy to only speak English. So, we’d see how far we could get.
In Paris, when you need to take the metro (subway) or bus, you need to have a bunch of little tickets to use at different steps in the process. When you get on the bus, you put your ticket in a slot and it shoots back out, invalidating it. When you get want to get to a train, the gate makes you slide a ticket when entering the metro AND exiting.
If you are there for a month, you can just buy a pass for regular use, but if you are there for a few days, there isn’t a convenient option. I stood in line with the masses and bought 10 tickets to start. We made it through the gate, but just as we started walking in circles, an old Jewish man offered his help. He was in his 50’s and slightly overweight and sported a yamaka, so we knew that he was working for good and not evil. He guided us onto the metro toward the tourism center and then disappeared into the masses.
It was only a few stops away on two different trains. When we climbed up the stairs to the sidewalk with the sun shining down from above. It was like we were entering heaven and we weren’t far off, because it was Paris up there. We walked out to the street and it was like we were entering a different world, as if we were walking into a movie. It was about 70 degrees Fahrenheit, which was much warmer that it had been the previous few days. So we were sweating as we carried our heavy packs. Each time you put it on, you have to rebuild the muscles that had gotten lazy, while you left it behind to go on daily adventures. Luckily, we only had to walk about a half mile to get to the tourism center and we could handle that.
When we arrived at the tourism center, we were already tired of carrying our packs and were dripping with sweat. There was no way that we were going to be carrying our full packs around Paris for the next 4 days, so we decided that when we got the chance, we would put them in a locker.
Quite a crowd was accumulating to pick up and purchase the Museum Passes, but because of the columns in the middle of the office, it was difficult to see if there was an actual line or if people were just standing around. These type of offices always seem to be understaffed for the occasion and there is always that one person that is using a computer at the customer service desk, but is officially “closed”.
We slowly negotiated our way up to the desk and we were able to get the process moving. I showed her my confirmation sheet, she handed us our passes, and the started going through her speech. She pulled out a map and a list of the places that we would have admission to enter, and then sent us on our way. Before we left, however, we asked her, if she knew of a train station or other public place that had lockers, where we could stash our bags. She pulled out a map and gave us directions to the closest train station, the St. Lazare (Opera) train station.
She told us that it was just down the road from where we were and if we kept walking forward, we couldn’t miss it. We put on our packs and started walking where she suggested. 20 minutes later, we made it to the station. We hobbled around looking for an icon that would imply that there were lockers in a certain area of the station, but we weren’t having any luck. While we were able to see another public piano, and heard someone playing a little tune, we couldn’t find the lockers. We also discovered that the stereotype is true, that most French people prefer not to speak English. We went up to an information desk and politely inquired about the location of the stations lockers, and she just started speaking French, and acted like no one had ever spoken to her before in English.
We continued searching the station and eventually stopped and sat down for a moment. Our saving grace would be the free wifi that was available, that would allow us to find out that every train station in Paris has lockers available, except the one that we were in. We looked on the metro map to see where the next closest station would be, and then planned the route back to Gare du Nord.
When we arrived at the station, we were already getting hungry. Since we were there, we stopped at a little kiosk, to get some coffee and a pastry to fill us up for a little while. Then, we were able to follow the signs to the lockers. We put our packs and personal items through the security x-ray machine, then priced out the timed lockers. We were able to fit both of our packs, minus the tent and a few items of clothing into a locker that was € 9 a day.
We headed out towards the concourse, when I noticed that I didn’t have my plastic bag with my travel book and train tickets for our whole trip on me. I ran back to the locker to make sure that it was locked up safe. It was going to cost an additional € 9, but it was worth the peace of mind.
I opened the locker and searched through everything. I pulled all the clothes and drawing materials and addition maps out onto the floor, but the tickets were nowhere to be found. As I put everything back, I thought that I should retrace my steps and see if I had simply set them down somewhere. My blood sugar had been so low at the time, that I could’ve set the plastic bag down, when I picked up the pastry and coffee. So, I walked back to the kiosk. They had closed.
I looked around and out of the corner of my eye, I saw through a plastic trash bag hanging on a metal wire rack, the drawings that I had done on my travel guide, while stoned in Amsterdam. I dug through the trash and pulled out the bag in victory. I must’ve left it on the counter and instead of the clerk, holding on to the bag, filled with hundreds of dollars, worth of train tickets, until the owner came back, they simply threw it in the trash. I sighed.
By now we had become more than familiar with the Gare du Nord Station, so we were able to easily locate the metro trains and proceed to the proper platform. We rode two metro trains and 20 minutes later we arrived at La Defense. La Defense is the last stop on the line and is just across the Seine River from the center of Paris. This did not look like the type of place where one would be able to camp, but we proceeded to follow the directions that we had written down.
Across the river was what appeared to be a park and we concluded that the campground was in the park somewhere. We crossed the bridge back towards the city and turned right down a residential street that ran parallel with the river. All along the Seine, there were small boats, which looked like they had been docked there for years. Are for those people who want to live in Paris, but can’t afford the high cost of housing, so they will simply sleep on their boat?
The long walk was becoming tiresome and our backs and feet were already starting to hurt. We were still at least a mile away according to our directions and Elizabeth wanted me to carry her pack; which had somehow seemed to become heavier the longer we walked. We finally arrived at the beginning of the park, Bois de Boulogne, where the Indigo Paris Campground was located. We were now walking in the grass and under the trees and inching towards the place where we would finally be able to stop and take a break.
The campground was a total of 3 Km away from the train station. If we would’ve done a bit more research, we might have found out that there was a city bus and shuttle from the previous stop on the metro; which would’ve brought us within a quarter of a mile. Next time, we would know better and be able to save our energy for the museums.
The Seine was not terrible to look at and the park that we walked through was a nice change from the mayhem and concrete jungles that we had been battling through. This was one of the few days that it actually hadn’t rained on our trip, so we were grateful.
When we arrived, we checked in at the front desk and learned about the shuttle to the train station that operated throughout the day. We were also able to see where we would be able to charge our electronics and use a computer, that was connected to the internet. There was supposed to be wi-fi available, but it wasn’t very reliable. If all of the computers were being used, then you just had to wait.
You might ask, why did we decide to go tent camping in Paris. First, it costs a minimum of € 100 a night to stay anywhere in Paris. We looked at all of the hotels, hostels, and Air BnB’s. I even looked at the cost of staying at places that were way outside the city. We were already going to go over our budget, so if we could pay $70, instead of $400, then we were going to pinch those pennies.
Elizabeth had been talking about this cousin that lived in Paris, Versailles actually. Elizabeth hadn’t met him, but her mom, aunt, and uncle all said great things about him. If he was really so great, then when he found out that we were staying at a campground, he would insist that we stay with him. Elizabeth said that he hadn’t offered thus far. He had said that Versailles is a little far from the center of Paris, and he was going to be out of town, some of the days. So, we booked the campground, just in case he didn’t change his mind.
We followed the map to the tent camping area, beyond the cabins and RVs. It was up a small hill, but once we reached the top, we were standing on flat land. We pitched our tent, changed our clothes, and then hung out in the little cafe on the grounds. There, we charged our phones, had a drink and a snack. We had arrived in Paris close to 7 hours earlier and we spent the bulk of our time walking in circles inside train stations and walking to the campground. It was still pretty early in the evening, but we were exhausted.
We hung out in the cafe until it closed. There were other people playing billiards and watching a movie in French. I decided to just sit on the couch and flip through one of the books, which sat on a shelf on the wall, which ran all around the room. My French was so rusty, that I decided to just finger through and look at the pictures. When the cafe had closed, we went back in the tent, and got settled in for the night.
When we first arrived in Copenhagen, we left our blanket that we had brought somewhere, and it wasn’t until we laid down, that we knew sleeping in a tent, on the cold ground, was going to be really roughing it. It was cold! We had brought some air mattresses, which were really just inflatable pool rafts. So, it was more comfortable than sleeping on the floor of the tent, but it was also probably the coldest night that I had ever spent outside. Even as we cuddled tightly, the warmth our bodies was hardly a match for the low evening temperature.
Day 10: Paris
I barely slept the entire night, so when morning broke, I couldn’t wait to start our journey to the Louvre. It was only around 7am, but I couldn’t lay in the tent any longer. When Elizabeth woke up, we left the campsite and took a trail that lead to the bus stop. We rode the city bus to the metro station and took the metro to the Louvre. We arrived the Louvre early enough, that we would be able to get some breakfast at a little cafe across the street.
The cafe was nice and what you might describe as Parisian. There was a bar to the right as you walked in, where you could order espresso, wine, or beer. Initially, we thought that we could order some food for take away, but we finally decided that we would just sit down and eat. The menu was essentially a list of different types of crepes that could be made, so I picked one that I was sure would be safe. I ordered a ham and cheese crepe and an espresso. I think that we also got a complementary crescent roll. The crepe was delicious and because it was so large, it really hit the spot, and filled me up for our long tour of the Lourve.
We walked across the street to the backside of Louvre and saw a walkway through the museum. In the middle of the walkway, there was a line in a secret spot and we figured, that since we had the museum pass, this was our “premier access entrance”. As we saw a few people turned away, we learned that we weren’t that special after all, and that this entrance was for only for the true elite. We had to line up at the pyramid like everyone else.
The line outside the pyramid wasn’t too long and with the museum pass, we were able to cut a little bit, in front the masses. Once we got through security, we were free to explore the halls of the most beautiful museum in the world. Like a stupid tourist and art lover, the first thing that I wanted to see was the Mona Lisa. There were signs on the wall with a picture of the Mona Lisa and then an arrow pointing, so we followed the arrows and saved every other piece of amazing art, until later.
We power walked down the hall and climbed the steps to the Winged Victory! Around the corner, we dashed past the Venus de Milo. Then there it was! Excalibur! People always say that they aren’t impressed with the Mona Lisa. People always say that they thought it would be bigger, which made me imagine it, in my head, the size of an 8” x 10” photograph. The painting looked like it was probably 16”x 20”, but it probably appears smaller, because you have to stand behind a velvet rope 20 feet away. It is no doubt that the number of people breathing heavy on it, would surely damage the piece. So, it’s no wonder people aren’t impressed. One of the most popular works of art in the world, can not be examined up close, where you are fully able to experience it’s true beauty and craftsmanship, of course, you couldn’t be impressed.
Luckily, Leonardo di Vinci was well represented in the museum, so even if you couldn’t see the Mona Lisa up close, there were others of his that you could. His paintings of John the Baptist, Mary and Martha, and one that I called “hot Mona Lisa” were enough to blow your mind and see how truly great he was. There were so many works at the Louvre, that I couldn’t possibly remember everything that I saw that day, but it was a lot.
We spent close to 7 hours, walking through all of the different galleries and hallways. We battled the crowds to go back through to the entrance and see all the statues that we missed in the beginning. We even went to the top floor, where the less famous pieces were located. We were able to take in the masterfulness of the pieces, without getting shoved away by inconsiderate art un-appreciators.
After we exited the Louvre, we found a market, where we bought bread, cheese, prosciutto, grapes, and wine. We walked over to the Tuilerie Gardens, where we had a picnic and enjoyed the beautiful statues and hedges. It was turning out to be a beautiful day, in contrast to the rainy days passed. The sun shined down and the grass was warm. We laid back, slowly eating our feast, and sipping our wine.
When we finished eating, we crossed the Seine, and walked down to the Musee D’Orsay. The museum was going to close in an hour, so we were really going to have to rush through, if we were going to see all of the Monets, Manets, Renoirs, and Cezanne’s. The Musee D’Orsay looked like a former train station, with a high glass ceiling and lots of natural light.
All of the impressionist paintings that you were waiting to see that weren’t represented in the Louvre were available for viewing. Around every corner, we were jumping into a page of our art history books, and taking a few seconds to enjoy the amazing techniques of the artists that change the game and saw things a little differently.
By the time, we were escorted out of the D’Orsay, we were exhausted. Between our lack of sleep the previous night and just the energy required to download all of that visual information into your brain, we were pretty fried. Everyone always told me that since I am an artist, that I need to go to Montmartre. Supposedly, there are artists set up, live painting, and selling work. It’s basically supposed to be a Mecca for artists.
We looked at the subway map and planned out how we were going to get there. We ended up getting off at the Chateau Rouge stop, which we discovered was sort of a sketchy area. All the cute, touristy shops that we had seen before, were replaced with people selling knock off handbags, watches out of brief cases, and corn on the cob on the sidewalks. As we were walking, a gentleman pushed passed us with a shopping cart, with a bucket of hot coals in it, and ears of corn being roasted over it. The glamorous illusion of Paris had died.
It might sound a bit snobby, but this was what I would call the ghetto of Paris. It was the type of place that you would go to in the US, if you knew someone or needed something really badly. At least in the US, everyone else would be speaking English. We set up the GPS on the phone to give us directions, but it seemed like we were walking in circles. It was getting dark, and the charm of borderline illegal activity around us, was starting to seem more threatening.
There were lots of shops selling every variety of items. From suits and dresses, to cameras and cell phones. We had thought back to how cold it was sleeping in the tent the night before, and we saw a store that was selling blankets for € 25. They sold mostly jackets and umbrellas, but they had 3 different designs for their warm, fuzzy blankets. All of the designs were fairly off-putting, but we picked the one that seemed the least offensive to the eye.
We continued on our journey, yet every turn that we tried to make to get closer to our destination, seemed to bring us back to more questionable looking characters. We walked for close to 45 minutes, before we happened upon a different subway stop. There we discussed what we should do next. We could keep roaming the streets, having no idea where we were going, and end up more tired and disoriented; which would leave us more vulnerable to pickpockets, and muggers. Or we could get on the metro and go to the Eiffel Tower.
We looked at the subway map, and decided to give up on Monmartre for the day. We eventually walked the few blocks back to the Gare du Nord train station, which is where we had started from. When we arrived, Elizabeth just wanted to go back to the campsite. Her feet were sore from all the walking. We hadn’t really had an adequate dinner, and she was starting to get crabby.
I wanted to try to see at least on more Paris site before we headed back to the camp, so I convinced Elizabeth to go to the Eiffel tower; which was actually along the same subway line as our campsite. When we arrived at the stop and climbed the steps, all we had to do was turn our heads, and there it was all lit up and sparkling. We walked around all 4 sides and walked underneath. There were lots of tourists, and we mused at the idea of setting up a caricature/face paint stand to cater to the masses that were crowding below, waiting for their elevator ride up.
We, of course, took some selfies, but none of them really came out. Then, we sat on a bench and rested while, looking up at the marvel in front of us. It was starting to sprinkle a little and we thought it might be best to take the metro back to the campsite. We waited at the metro stop for what seemed like 15 minutes, loads of people were gathering, and when the train arrived, everyone climbed on.
From the metro station, we crossed the road to the bus stop, and took the bus, to the stop closest to the campground. In the darkness, it looked like we were miles away from civilization. It was dark and foggy and while I could hear voices in the woods, it was a scene out of a horror film. We turned on our flashlights to illuminate our way, and followed the trail between the trees and through the park.
I looked to the left and under some trees, near a small pond, there appeared to be people laying in the grass talking. There were rumors that prostitution took place in this park. I’m not sure, if that was what I was witnessing, but never the less, it was quite strange to see people laying outside in the dark. We continued back to the campground, and went back to our tent, to settle down for the night. Sometime in the middle of the night it started raining. While we thought that our tent was water tight, a bit of water was seeping through one of the seams. It was just as cold as the previous night, but we cuddled together and the warmth of our new blanket allowed us to sleep better than the night before.
Day 11: Paris
We were woken in the morning, by the constant down pour above, and after a while, we willed ourselves to walk to the front desk, to use their computers to plan our day better. We couldn’t believe that after such a sunny and beautiful day prior, we were stuck with rain again.
We decided to make a slow start to the morning and charge our cameras and phones, in the front desk lobby. Despite the fact that I was already wet, I really wanted to take a hot shower to warm up a bit. All of my clothes were completely soaked already, but when I ran from the lobby to the shower building, my dry towel that I had been hiding under my jacket fell out on to the ground. When I got to the shower building and opened my jacket, it reveal the fact that I no longer had a dry towel.
I ran back towards the lobby building and about half way there, I found my towel in a puddle completely soaked with water and covered in dirt and grass. I shook my head in disappointment and ran back over to the showers. I ran the towel through the sink to clean it off and then rang it out as good as I could. There were a few radiators around the room, that people were drying their clothes on, and I was able to find one that I could try to attempt to do the same thing. There was a couple brushing their teeth in front of a sink, and both the guy and the girl were striped down to their underwear. I’d never been in a co-ed shower room before, but I guess that how they roll in France.
I got in the shower and tried to get as warm and clean as I could, but the water had very low pressure and had a cool to lukewarm temperature, depending on how many other people were taking showers at the same time. I got dried off with the still mostly wet towel, then put my damp clothes on, and brushed my teeth. I ran back over to the lobby, to get drenched again, and talked to Elizabeth for a bit about what she wanted to do that day.
There were a number of shuttles that left directly from the front driveway of the campground, which would take you to the metro station, but when we looked at the times listed, we found out that we missed the last one, in spite of the fact that we had bought tickets for it earlier. We ended up just going over to the cafe, getting some coffee and a pastry, and waiting for the rain to let up for a while.
Elizabeth had received an email from the close friend of her family, Dominique, who wanted to meet up with us that night. It was around 2:00pm, when we finally decided to leave the campground and Dominique wanted to meet around 5:30. We had 3 and a half hours of time to spare and I wanted to see the Arc de Triomphe, Sacre Coeur, and Notre Dame; in order to check those sites off my list.
We took the trail back to the bus stop. Then rode the bus to the metro station. Our jepic ourney at the metro station began, when we noticed that there was a mall on the ground floor. We predicted that it could be raining all day, so we began looking for an umbrella. The shopping center only had ritzy boutique stores, so every umbrella that we came upon was priced for the Parisian Elite.
The only place where we found more than one type of umbrella was in the pharmacy. There we found the cheapest, Dollar Store grade, umbrella for €10. It looked as though it would break with the help of a light breeze and a sprinkle. There were also umbrellas in the store that cost up to €30 and in the US, I couldn’t imagine them costing more than $10. What choice did we have, if we wanted to stay dry. If we would’ve thought about it the night before, we could’ve bought one on the street for €2 and our soul.
We went back down to the metro level of the building and rode the metro train to the Arc De Triomphe stop. We walked up the stairs and out into the rain, and just ahead was the Arc. We walked toward the entrance, where our museum pass allowed us to enter and go to the roof. I walked to the elevator, but it was only available for the disabled and elderly, so we climbed the steps to the top. When we finally reached the top of the spiral staircase and saw the light. We were relieved and in awe of the view of Paris. There was a 360 degree view of all that was Paris and it’s surrounding areas. I never realized how expansive Paris was before, but I do now. We took some panoramic photos of the different parts of Paris and I took my famous Eiffel Tower selfie.
Our next voyage was to the Sacre Coeur. It was the site that had alluded us the day before, so we were on a mission to make it happen. We made for certain that we took the correct train and mapped out the turns. We wanted to be able to pop out of the train, take some photos, and then make it back over to the Notre Dame. We were only in the neighborhood for a few minutes, but we noticed that the area where Amelie was filmed, wasn’t the fanciful paradise that the film portrayed.
The streets were lined with tourist shops and food venders. People were playing the “Which cup is the ball under?” game and “Where’s the queen?” Every few feet there was a young man participating in the new popular venture of selling selfie sticks. We made it up to the top of monmartre and in front of Sacre Coeur. It was still raining and the whole area was empty. We didn’t see artists of any kind, so either they were all kept away because of the rain, they were on the other side of the Sacre Coeur, or maybe they were just replaced with people selling junk. One will always wonder. Never the less, I was thoroughly disappointed with this particular artistic pilgrimage.
We hopped back on the metro and a few stops later, we were right outside the Cathedral de Notre Dame. Even after a rainy morning, crowds lined up to enter the famous cathedral. For a few moments were able experience a bit of sunshine, to observe the carvings on the great monument of Paris.
We were meeting Dominique in 15-20 minutes, a few blocks away. He said that he would meet us at a bar called the Fumoir, which is located on the east side of the Louvre. It was the type of fancy, French cafe/bar that is the staple of Paris. We order some wine and a few moments later, Dominique had arrived. He ordered a glass of wine himself and then explained the idea behind the stereotype of rude, French people, after he shouted abruptly at the bartender.
He explained that waiters and bartenders aren’t in any rush to serve and won’t leave you the bill, unless you show some urgency. I don’t know, if this is because the tax and tip are supposedly included in the cost, so what’s the sense in trying to earn it, or just laziness, but we took his word for it. Dominique insisted on paying for our drinks. Even when we handed the bartender the money, he insisted that the host should always pay.
Dominique appeared to be in his late 50’s, with a bald head and glasses, and dressed in business attire. I think that he worked in law or sales, but he traveled weekly to different parts of the world and was clearly wealthy after we saw the car that he was driving. Remembering back to the conversation that we had with the Belgian train conductor, who explained how expensive it was for insurance, taxes, fees, and petroleum, we got the impression that even someone with a significant amount of wealth might be limited in his automotive choice. So, when we strolled up to his brand new Mercedes, my jaw dropped.
During Elizabeth’s email correspondence with Dominique, she told him that she “couldn’t wait to see the castle” when referring to the Palace of Versailles. He modestly responded that he didn’t live in a castle, but merely an apartment. I remember the email mentioning that he didn’t have a room at his place where we could stay, or mention having a friend in the city that could put us up. When clearly, he isn’t living in a studio apartment on a pullout sofa bed and driving a $100,000 car. So, why was he buying us drinks, but having us sleeping in a tent in the rain.
The story of Dominique is that he was an exchange student with Elizabeth’s Grandparents. For multiple summers, they took him in and traveled across the United States and always stayed with friends and relatives. He would work at her grandfather’s veterinary hospital, and was essentially a member of the family. The impression being that if their only granddaughter visited France, that the same courtesy and hospitality be granted, if not at least offered. So I was a surprised to be riding in a brand new luxury car with all the bells and whistles, when I believed this gentleman to be a pauper and barely making ends meet.
It was comfortable riding in the back seat of such a fancy car, in spite of my usual back seat, car sickness. Dominique even seemed okay with the fact that I was picking his brain about the French history. He drove us back to his place to have a drink and meet up with his son. He informed us that the plan was to go to a special event at the Palace of Versailles. Dominique had setup the tickets, so we didn’t really know what to expect. It was still raining and there was lots of traffic, but we made it to his building, in about an hour.
The building was, in fact, a palace. There was a locked gate and a beautiful entry way. When we entered the lobby, we noticed that there was even an elevator. “I don’t own the whole building,”He said, to assure us, that even though he was rich, there were people richer than him. We walked up a few flights of stairs to his front door. When we walked in, angels might as well have been singing. It was one of the fanciest apartments that I had ever been invited into, when I wasn’t working a gig drawing caricatures or catering. It was the type of apartment that you would see on TV to illustrate the difference between common people and wealthy people.
The apartment had high ceilings and everything from the ceiling to the carpet was white. There was art on every wall and not one bit of clutter. It was like we walked into a store full of glass figurines and we wanted to touch them all, but we were too afraid to. I couldn’t tell how many bedrooms there were, because there were so many doors and rooms. He lead us into the living room and I was still wearing my €5, thrift store jacket. I felt like Little Orphan Annie walking through Daddy Warbuck’s mansion.
The entire room was as big as our whole apartment and had an amazing view of the Palace of Versailles. He could check on Louis the 16th’s statue, every morning, and know that life had been good to him. I was in awe. When he offered us champagne, my brain practically exploded. He didn’t really think of us as equals, did he?
When he popped the cork, it flew out his front window and down below; his son was arriving and with perfect timing, he caught the cork. Moments later, in the other room, we heard the two laughing. We went into the kitchen to see what we were missing and they told us the story. How strange that something like that would happen. It was definitely cartoonish and funny, but I was feeling too bitter to appreciate the humor in the situation. Two people that have never and will never worry about money, laughing over something seemingly coincidental. Who says, that money can’t buy happiness?
As we drank the champagne, Dominique and his son, Guillaume, talked about how had became an airplane pilot when he was 15. In France, you can get your pilot’s license and fly a plane at the age of 15, but you had to wait until you were 18, to drive a car. They explained that the test alone was $200, which reminded me how many newspapers, that I would’ve had to deliver to make $200. When I was 15, and I made $200 a month, I was out buying CDs and baseball cards, this guy was paying for flying lessons. I was playing saxophone in the marching band after school and he was going off to the airport to bank flight hours.
Guillaume had been busy lately, being a lawyer at a huge firm, and was starting a new job soon at an even more prestigious firm in the next month. Time has slipped by and he had unfortunately forgotten to renew his pilot’s license, so he needed to retake the test. When he failed to take the physical with in the allowed time frame, the licensing bureau told him that he had to retake the test a second time, costing him another $200. What a shame. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to fly us up in an airplane on this trip, but maybe next time around.
Now that we were all together, we headed down to the parking lot. Guillaume was going to take us in his car, so that after the event, he could drop us off at our campground, before going to his apartment in downtown Paris. When I saw Guillaume’s brand new Mercedes sports car, I almost collapsed. This guy, barely my age or younger, was driving us around in a car that easily costs over $100,000.
It’s true, my bitterness was pretty high, these guys were driving around in cars that cost more than my parent’s house in Ohio, and living in places that cost more than the entire apartment complex that I am renting at in California. It was beyond me that they didn’t even think to offer us a floor to sleep on with our blow up mattresses; especially after they found out that we were staying at a campground in a leaky tent.
I have never had nice things. My parents were good to me; I had a new bike from Toys R Us and clothes from JC Penny’s, but I wasn’t wearing designer clothes growing up. Since, I moved out I have always had hand me downs. I have never bought a new car or lived in a place that I wasn’t renting, in my entire adult life. However, anytime someone I knew was in from out of town, I always welcomed them in to sleep on my couch, on an air mattress on the floor, or even in my own bed. In my 20’s, there were people that I barely knew in my apartment all the time. I trusted that these people were just going to sleep, hang out, and be respectful.
After seeing how nice Dominique and Guillaume were living, and how they acted like it wasn’t that big of a deal; the only conclusion that I could come up with, was that they thought that we were going to trash their place. These unrefined Americans, from California, were going to bring our dirty, travel worn packs, our barely showered bodies, and our barely laundered clothes into their pristine little world.
When we arrived at the Palace of Versailles, it was just as amazing as the people say that it is. I asked Guillaume lots of questions about the kings and the Palace and what ever he didn’t know Dominique picked right up where he left off. We waited inline until our show started and entered about 10 minutes later. The first room we walked into was incredible. There were breathtaking paintings on the ceilings and walls, and because it was built in a similar time as the Louvre, there were several similarities in the design.
We watched a gentleman mime different activities wearing a mask with a big nose, a hat, and a dress. He began speaking in French and went on to challenge us to a duel. A boy about 7 or 8, stepped up to the challenge. The boy couldn’t stop laughing at the character, who was saying things in French, in a comical voice.
The next room contained even more very ornate golden moldings and painted ceilings. As we entered through the 20 foot doors, a musical duet began playing. The palace was so amazing and there were so many people in our tour, Elizabeth and I sort of got lost in the Palace itself. Every room was full of beauty; in spite of the poor lighting, we took photos of the walls and ceilings, and took selfies in every room.
We eventually made it into the famous hall of mirrors. One cannot help, but be amazed by it’s timeless beauty. Guillaume explained that in King Louis’s day, it would take people 2 hours to make it through to make reception with him. Guests would be escorted through the hall slowly to look at the walls and ceilings. When they would return to their own lands, they would tell stories and revel in the fact that they walked through the most beautiful palace in the world. While we stood in the hall, a group of performers were dancing and playing music for us, but I wasn’t able to see them beyond the crowds in front of me.
At the end of the hall of mirrors was the reception room, which had windows facing the gardens. From there, the tour took us into the King’s bedroom, which Guillaume said, wasn’t where he really slept. He explained that he would say that he was going to bed, and go in that room to get away from the nobles. Then run off to another room, to be alone with one of his mistresses. The next room was Marie Antoinette’s room, and supposedly, it was where she actually slept.
All of these rooms were connected and one of the last rooms that we walked through, was Napoleon’s room. Inside this room, there were 20 ft high paintings on all four walls. There was a painting of him in battle, and a replica of the Jacques Louis David painting in the Louvre, along with two other portraits. There wasn’t a performance in this room, but we were allowed a small bit of time to take it in. We were escorted through a large doorway and down a staircase, and just like that we were in the courtyard.
It was clear that some of the same people that worked on the Louvre, also had a hand in the building and design of the Palace of Versailles. There were clear similarities between the two buildings and the style was purely royal. Nothing in the United States, that I have had the privilege of seeing compares in beauty to these two buildings.
We left through the courtyard and we walked down the road to “the best restaurant in Versailles”. Dominique and his son meet there weekly for dinner and they always order the same dish. According to Dominique, this is where all of the rich and famous people in Paris come for lunch and dinner during the week. There were 8’ x 10’ portraits lining the walks with a Who’s Who’s of French people that I didn’t recognize.
In this restaurant, we were truly out of our element. You could order a calf’s kidney, rabbit, snails, or a number of other non-American classics. The menu was divided into courses and everything on the menu was WAYYYYY out of our budget. During the previous days in Paris, we bought a baguette, a bottle of wine, a package of cheese, and prosciutto, for around € 17. That amount of food lasted 2 meals. The cheapest entree on the menu was about € 25 and there wasn’t the sort of TGI Friday’s sized appetizer, where for $10, you could fill 2 people. This place was definitely high class, but they picked it, so I didn’t complain.
We learned that it’s typical to have a drink before the meal, as was listed on the menu. Elizabeth ordered what she thought was white wine and what came back was something different. Still confused by the strange assortment of items on the menu, I made things simple and ordered the same drink. When the waiter came back, he placed on the table, two highball glasses that contained some sort of lemon cocktail. This was definitely not white wine.
Elizabeth couldn’t understand why they didn’t have white wine in the drink section of the menu. Dominique tried to explain that the French social etiquette was that you aren’t supposed to drink white wine before the appetizer. Dominique called the waiter back and asked him to exchange the drink presented for white wine. I was reluctant at first, because I know that bartenders and wait staff with spit in your drinks, but I conceded and had my drink replaced as well. The waiter brought back two glasses of wine.
My mind instantly went to that movie, “Waiting”, a film about a restaurant, where if you send something back, someone will spit in it or put it in their pants or do something else unsavory. I brought it up, but Guillaume didn’t think that was going to happen in this situation. If he came to the States, I wouldn’t let him send anything back unless he wanted a side of mucous.
I asked Guillaume, if he had any food recommendations and he explained a little about what the different items were. He suggested that I stick with chicken, beef, or pork. He ended up ordered the calf kidney, but I decided on the pork chops and potatoes. Dominique and Guillaume called over the waiter and ordered for all of us, so that we didn’t look like idiots.
When the meal arrived, it looked and tasted delicious. It was clearly worth the high price tag. The sauces were amazing and the potatoes had just the right spices. I took my time eating it all, so that I could enjoy every bit.
Elizabeth talked to Dominique more about the wine order and his relationship with her family. I was sitting across from Guillaume, so we started talking. He asked me what I thought about American politics, which is a question that usually opens up Pandora’s Box for me. After taking a Political Science class in college, I feel pretty informed about how the government works and how it is meant to work. This conversation could typically last for hours, once I get started. Although, I pretty much said that I don’t really have time for politics and explained why.
I told him that with so much media involvement, it’s easy to get apathetic to what the federal government is up to. I also move around so much that it’s hard to be knowledgeable about most local issues as well. Politics in America is mostly about entertainment and advertising and not about governing.
I guess that I was talking too much and not eating enough, because a few minutes after the food came, we had to leave to go back to the Palace for a fireworks display. I ate my meal as quick as a could with everyone staring me down as if I was holding everyone else up. The waiter came with the bill and we offered to pay for our food, which was close to $75. Dominique declined and insisted on paying for everything. After we walked out the door, Elizabeth thinking that I was ungrateful for the meal, rudely, snapped at me, telling me that I “had better thank him for paying”. I guess that she felt guilty for accepting such a luxury. However, if I knew that someone was short on cash and couldn’t possibly afford to say in a hotel in San Diego, let alone eat in a 5 Star restaurant; then I took them to one anyway and didn’t pay, they would think that I was some kind of a jerk.
I noticed that the bill was for € 150. The whole thing was a little strange. Dominique will insist on paying for two absolute strangers to eat €30 entrees and drink €10 glasses of wine, but won’t let them blow up their air mattress to sleep on his floor, so that they don’t have to sleep out in the rain. I hope that he doesn’t mind if, I take him out for fish tacos and let him sleep in our guest room, if he makes a visit to San Diego.
We walked down the cobblestone sidewalk toward the Palace and I noticed that I had forgotten my hat. I ran back to the restaurant and found it under the table, where I had left it. When I came out, Elizabeth, Dominique, and Guillaume were at least a quarter of a mile down the road. I luckily had my running shoes on and was able to catch up, because I don’t think that they would’ve waited for me. Luckily, when we arrived back at the Palace, the fireworks show hadn’t yet started. Within a few minutes, some of the lights were turned down and we were able to view an amazing fireworks display that illuminated over the gardens and fountains. The fireworks were synchronized with French classical music, which further enhanced the experience. After the fireworks, Dominique guided us against the flow of the crowd, so that we were able to get closer look of the garden. We looked on to see the way that it was precisely groomed into the spirals and swirls, creating a maze of hedges and flowers.
We walked back to Guillaume’s car. Guillaume dropped off his dad at his apartment, and continued on to drive us back to the campsite. Jeremie had warned us that the park surrounding the campground was filled with prostitutes, that were under the control of the Armenian mafia. We commented about this to Guillaume, who agreed then began pointing out women on the side of the road. It was strange that at no point in this drive, did he seem phased that we were in an area of town, that could be seen as dangerous to most people. If I was driving him to a place, where I knew there were prostitutes and mafia soldiers, most people would think that I was putting him in harm, but he felt like he was doing the right thing.
When he dropped us off in the rain and drove off into the darkness, I decided that I would stop into the registration office to scroll through the Facebook feed for awhile, to get my mind off the rain, and prostitutes. After 20 minutes or so, I walked through the rain, to the tent, in the dark. I had forgotten my flashlight, so I had to walk through the campsite based on memory. It was pitch black and completely disorienting, but I eventually made it to the tent safely. I laid down and covered myself in the blanket, but I wasn’t really able to sleep. Dominique had mentioned maybe driving us out to Normandy in the morning, where he had another house, and we could see the D-Day battleground, but said that we had to leave by at least 10am or it wouldn’t be worth the trip. Once again, proving that letting us crash at his place would have actually been pretty convenient, given the loose plan.
Day 12: Paris
We woke up at 7am and quickly packed up the tent and our packs. The shuttle to the train station didn’t leave the campground until 8:30, so all we could do was wait until it arrived. When it did arrive, we took it to the metro and then rode the two trains needed to get to Gare du Nord station; where our additional bags were still stored in a locker.
We quickly repacked our large backpacks with the items that had been redistributed, and proceeded back down to the metro level of the station. From there we took a metro to the Gare de Lyon (where we would be departing the next day for Geneva). Much like every other train station, we might as well have been in a labyrinth. Everything looks the same and exits never lead to exactly where you think you are going to end up. We eventually made it out of the Gare de Lyon and then walked to the Airbnb that we had booked for the evening. It was only a 10 minute walk, which was nice because it was still sprinkling a little bit and our umbrellas were packed away. By the time that we arrived at the apartment, Dominique had already emailed Elizabeth that it was too late to go to Normandy, and he had other things to do anyway.
We pushed the buzzer to alert Christina (our AirBnB contact) of our arrival. We walked the three flights up to her floor and she opened the door to greet us. She was a petit woman with brown curly hair and she spoke so little, that I’m not certain if she even spoke English. She showed us the bedroom that we were to stay in and the bathroom, which was behind two different doors, one for the shower and one for the sink and toilet. The bedroom had a curtain covering the windows in the door and the rest of the room was decorated fairly conservatively. There was a poster for the Cannes Film Festival from the 1990’s, but nothing else was hanging on the walls.
Across the room was a door that lead to a small balcony, which felt uniquely Parisian. It felt like the perfect apartment to experience Paris. Even though, there wasn’t much of a view, we could still feel the energy that you can only get in a major city, but can’t experience in a tent at a campsite.
Since we hadn’t really slept over the previous nights, and the bed was so soft, we decided to just take a nap for a few hours. After we woke up, we decided that we should try to sneak our expired museum passes into a few more places. We didn’t know if it would work, but we had a whole day, so it would be a fun experiment. It was lunch time, but as usual, we couldn’t decide on a place that was “cheap”, had something that Elizabeth “could eat”, and could also be considered “real food”. Luckily, we happened upon a cafe, where we ordered a salad and a sandwich. We had ended up nearby the Picasso Museum, so we decided that it would be fun to head there next.
The Picasso Museum was pretty amazing and spanned much his life’s work. The museum divided his life into different eras, so that the viewer could chronologically see his progression as an artist. Based on what he was experiencing in his life or who he was associating with, it would drastically evolve his process and style. It was interesting to see how he experimented with different styles and didn’t stick with one thing for very long, before moving on to something different. While he became very well known for painting abstraction and surrealism, his body of work expanded into realism and sculpture.
There were times in his life where he would paint realistic art in the middle of two more abstract periods. There was also a few years where he only wrote poetry. For someone that always respected Picasso, it was definitely, even more eye opening to see some of his work that you might never have expected to see. Picasso also was revealed to be more human, and as someone that evolved over time, got bored of things, and changed. Even if people only think that he only did one thing, he made the attention deficit disorder in me feel like a normal artist.
After the Picasso Museum, we went to the Pompidou Center. This building contained a library on the bottom floors, but located on the top floor there was a huge collection of avant-garde art work, that would make most traditionalists roll their eyes. The gallery contained video art, large abstract sculptures, and canvases that were painted one color. The gallery definitely stretches the idea of what art is beyond what you can find in the Louvre. The gallery contained art by Picasso, Dali, and other modern artists.
The Pompidou was located near the Cathedral of Notre Dame, so we decided to try to see, if we would be able to be admitted before our Paris trip concluded. As usual, there were a ton of people outside taking pictures and admiring the cathedral. We noticed a sign posted in front of the door, that was advertising an opening of the cathedral a little later in the evening. We walked a few blocks away, where we ate some dinner and then came back to the cathedral to do a tour, if we could.
When we walked inside, it was dark and only seemed to be lit by candle. You could still sort of see the beautiful stained glass windows, and make out the stone arches that made up the ceiling. The cathedral was showing a video about the history of the cathedral and it’s architecture, so we sat down on one of benches to take in the beautiful atmosphere, and learn something too.
After the film, the staff of Notre Dame escorted the guests out the front doors. We walked back to the metro station and rode the metro train to the Gare De Lyon, and walked to the Airbnb. It was close to 11pm, so the building was relatively quiet. We slowly climbed the steps up the dark stairwell. The building was old, so every step creeked as we put our weight on it. After we were a few floors up, we realized that we had completely forgotten which door belonged to the apartment that we were staying in.
While still in the dark, I decided that I could start trying to put the three keys that we were given into keyholes and see if they opened the locks. Behind the first door, I heard voices speaking and I thought that it could’ve been Christine. I knocked, and a younger couple answered the door. When I asked them, if they knew Christine, they said that they didn’t.
I turned across the hall, jingled the keys, and seconds before I put them in, a huge bald guy quickly opened the door. He was completely pissed. He was in his pajamas and began shouting, “What the f— are you doing!?! You scared the s— out of me! We have been having a lot of break-ins in the building!”
“I’m sorry!” I said. “I am staying with Christine and I forgot which door was hers.”
He went back inside and slammed his door closed. I suppose that we narrowed down our choices, as to which door the apartment was behind.
We walked down the steps and Elizabeth told me to just go to the front door and press the buzzer. Of course, what was I thinking? I should’ve done that in the first place. I hoped that she would come out of her door, then we would really know where she was. I went down and sure enough, after I pushed the button, Christine opened the door and we got in. We apologized for bothering her and forgetting the door, but she didn’t seem bothered. We went straight into bed and went to sleep, because our TGV bullet train to Geneva was departing at 7am.
Places We Bought Food and Drinks
Indigo Paris
2 Allée du Bord de l’Eau, 75016 Paris, France
While technically not a restaurant, the Indigo Paris Cafe served food and beverages to the campsite residents. They are closed between breakfast and lunch, then lunch and dinner, so it is important to come in with enough time to eat, or they will promptly kick you out.
Café Le Corona
2 Rue de l’Amiral de Coligny, 75001 Paris, France
Located across the street from the Lourve, this cafe should’ve been filled with tourists, having breakfast before a day at the museum, but luckily for us it was empty. The staff have a typical, snobby, French style, which may offend some, but it didn’t bother us. We both ordered crepes, which appeared to be typical in most French speaking countries. We were presented with complimentary cresent rolls, to go with our espresso. The ham and cheese crepes that I ordered, provided me with more than enough energy to take on of the finest art museums in the world, and for a fair price. If you are headed to the Louvre early during the week, stop in for some breakfast and espresso, or cap off your afternoon with a glass of wine.
Brasserie du Théâtre
15 Rue des Réservoirs, 78000 Versailles, France
This restaurant located down the road from the Palace of Versailles is everything that is French. Expensive, rich, delicacies, sophisticated rituals, and conceited staff. If you are looking for a place that serves calf kidneys, snails, and veal, ornately placed on hot plates, then this is the place for you. It is important to swallow your pride and ask for the English menu, or you might spend €50 on a rubbery animal kidney.