Viaje a París

Paris was amazing. I really wasn't that excited to go, because I'd already been. I'm not entirely opposed to revisiting beautiful cities, so I went with my friends to Paris, because I think that would be more fun than going to a new place by myself. We had a wildly successful weekend. It was just five of us girls, and we got to see everything we wanted to see. I like traveling with just five or less people, because any more than that and you start to get pulled in a lot of different directions. It's easier to agree and get things done with fewer people.

The first night we got there was Thursday, and we didn't actually get to the hostel until after 10pm, so we just went to bed. But not before getting lost about 100 times. (Travel Tip #15: Before you visit another city, make sure you know where it is you're staying, or at the very least, make sure you have the stupid address.) We only knew the street name where our hostel was located, which happens to have a name that's very similar to another street that's on the other side of the city. Guess which one our taxi driver took us to?

I'll wait.

If you guessed, "the wrong one," you're correct! We walked around, really confused, until we came upon a metro station and stopped to look at a map. I can only imagine what a mess we looked like, because a really nice man with an english accent came up and asked us if we needed help. We told him where we needed to go and he gave us really clear instructions on which train to take, what stop to get off at, and where to go once we did. It was something of a god send, really. We thanked him and he laughed a laugh that says, "crazy americans..."

We got off the metro at the spot he told us to get off at and started walking. He told us to go to the end of the street, and there will be a graveyard on the left, and we turn right at that street and our hostel will be on the left. We walked and walked but began to doubt ourselves when the road kept going and never ended. We stopped to ask an asian girl smoking a cigarette outside a restaurant if she might know where we needed to go. Her directions were crass; she was telling us to go back the way we came and take the metro to some other place. We instead decided to go to a place with internet one street over. We looked up the address and asked the guy working there for directions. He helped us out, but was a little vague. We continued up the street and realized that somehow, we still didn't know where we needed to go. We stopped a couple that was walking along the same street, and luckily they spoke a little bit of english. When the woman realized we wanted directions, she pulled, wouldn't you know it? a GPS out of her purse. Another god send, for sure. She typed in the address and told us to continue the way we'd been going the whole time. Because, you know, the 4th time is the charm.

Finally we made it to the end of the street (which really wasn't that far down; I don't know why we were questioning ouselves) and instead of turning right as we'd been told, we turned left. I don't know why, please don't ask. We continued left and started to get excited to check into the hostel and go to sleep after a long day of traveling and confusion. The address was 2 Square Coulaincourt. We walked and watched the numbers above the doors start in the teens and go down as our anticipation went up. 8, 6, 4; ours was next. Then 2. A big black 2 above a big black door that looked nothing like a hostel. Feeling frustrated, we frantically searched for a street sign (which are extremely elusive here in Europe). Turns out we were on Rue Coulaincourt, not Square Coulaincourt. Why does anyone ever think it's a good idea to recycle street names within the same vicinity? Anyway, an Italian man came up to us (again because we must have looked very sad and lost), and asked us if we spoke Italian, because he wanted to help us. We said no, but he did speak some Spanish, and I was never so relieved to be able to speak Spanish. He told us basically that we should have turned right instead of left. We learned quickly that if there is a choice of ways to go, we will definitely pick the wrong one. Anyway, we finally found our "Square Coulaincourt," which turned out to be the tiniest square I've ever seen. We checked into our hostel and went to bed immediately.

I hope you all learn from my mistakes.

Friday, we went to see the Museum of Orsay, which is an art museum. I liked the photography exhibits, but I'm not all that into impressionism. To each his own . Then we went to see Notre Dame, which was wayyy more crowded than is comfortable, but I am big on cathedrals so I'm always willing to see them. Even ones that I've already seen before. After that we ate lunch and headed toward Champs Elysses, which is pronounced not at all the way it's spelled. In French there are so many crazy pronunciation rules that I can't remember. Basically the French just throw in a bunch of Qs and Xs and Zs and Js and then just arbitrarily choose not to pronounce some Ss and Ns and Ys and vowels, so in the end, nothing is pronounced the way it's spelled. But yeah, Champs Elysses is kind of like the Rodeo drive of Paris. I found a Starbucks and couldn't resist. I know it's kind of American, but I'm addicted to caffeine, okay? And drinking coffee and walking down Champs Elysses in France on a cloudy day? Okay, I thought it was cool. So at the end of the road is the Arc de Triomphe (Which literally means, as I understand it, "Arch of Triumph." Look at me, speaking french and what not), and it's in the middle of a GIANT round about. They do that so you'd have to play some serious Frogger in order to get across and realistically, it's impossible to do so without dying. This way, you have to take the underground tunnel, where they can charge you for a ticket. It wasn't worth it to us because we can always admire it from afar.

On the street corner, there was a small crowd gathered around 4 hot frenchmen dancing, which I suppose is a popular passtime for the young and poor. They find an open place in a high traffic area, set up a speaker, and just dance. Something you don't see everyday.

Then we made our way to the Eiffel Tower (Tour Eiffel in French). The girls were thinking about not going up because there was a long line, but the sun had poked its little head out from behind the clouds, and there really wouldn't be a better time to go up. AND it's really surprisingly cheaper than you'd think. It was 8€ (with the student discount) to go all the way to the top and 5.50€ to go to the second floor. We went all the way to the top and it was amazing, just as I remembered it. It kind of felt like deja vu, because even though I remembered being there before, it still felt kind of unreal.

After coming back down, we made our way back to the hostel, stopping at a small convenience store along the way to buy champagne. I'm not exactly sure why; it just felt right. We spent the night in the hostel and gossiped.

Saturday, we started our day off going to Versailles. The line was forever long, but it was worth it. It was really strange to be in all these monumental places AGAIN. It's like reading a really good book for a second time, because you catch a bunch of new things that you didn't see before. My favorite part was the Hall of Mirrors, as is everyone's I think. Actually, I loved the whole place. Louis XIV was such an arrogant douche. Who demands a bust of himself above EVERY fireplace? Who thinks that EVERY room requires a larger-than-life-size portrait of himself? Who lines his halls with statues of important people, and not only includes himself, but makes his statue the biggest one?? Louis XIV, that's who.

After Versaille, which took the better part of the afternoon, we were starving, but poor. We went to get Kebabs, which I'm sure I've mentioned before, but I really don't remember. The cookout of the European world? Maybe? America is missing out. Add that to the list of things I need to bring back to the states. Kebabs are heaven in pita bread. Anyway, after that, we went to Sacre Coeur, another really famous church in Paris. It's on top of this GIANT hill, which I climbed all the way up last time. But our hostel was located about 3/4 of the way up the hill already, so I didn't have to do much climbing this time around. I got all the joys of the amazing view without any of the panting and sweating and burning thigh muscles. There's also this really busy square outside where artists come to paint the scenery. It's really cool to watch them at work. How poetic is that? Painting in the square outside Sacre Couer.

Though it was beautiful, it was a little bit more touristy than Notre Dame. I mean, don't they think that maybe, just maybe, a GIFT SHOP in a CHURCH kind of robs it of its original beauty, or is that just my opinion? We did get to see the procession of the nuns to the sanctuary. And then they sung! It was really cool. How many people do you know who have heard the nuns sing in the Sacre Coeur? Then we went outside, and wouldn't you know it? More shirtless sexy French men dancing! I couldn't really see, because I am short and there was a large crowd, but I could hear them. And what do you know, hearing dancing is not as exciting as seeing it. Some people shifted and I snuck into the gap before anyone else could and watched them/appreciated their physical perfection before asking myself, "What do the nuns think about this?"

After that, we slowly made our way away from the crowded area of town, meandering through the streets and looking for the Moulin Rouge. Finally, we found it (lucky our hostel was close to a lot of cool stuff). It was cool to see it in person, but disappointing that a show cost 92€, or about $130. I just did not have that kind of money, as I'd only brought 275€ with me, and the hostel alone cost 120€. So yeah, we stood in the street and fantasized about all the scantily clad french sex goddesses inside, took pictures with the windmill, and left. We went back to the store we'd gone to the previous night, and bought more cheap wine. The funny thing is, we're all so used to buying boxed (shameful...) wine at 98 céntimos, that buying a 3.50€ bottle felt downright classy. All the while, the store owner was shaking his head and laughing, probably thinking, "crazy americans." If I had a nickel...

Then we went back to the hostel and had girl talk. The wine ran out remarkably fast, and we decided to go out for more, because, what else can you do? On our way back to the hostel, bottles in hand, we decided on an impulse to stop and get sushi at a place down the street. Candace and I went back to the hostel to get money and put the wine down while the others went in to order. We came back and ordered a metric shit ton of sushi, paid for it, and left.

When we got back to the hostel, the food lasted about five or six minutes. Then we drank more wine, talked more girl talk, and listened to old school 90s/early 2000s pop music. No better way to spend the night.

Sunday I woke up with a horrible wine headache. But I popped a couple advil, ate a croissant and I was golden. The only thing left on our To Do list was to go see the Louvre. (Travel Tip#16: If you go to Paris, make sure you leave at the very least a whole day for the Louvre. You'll need it. The line is insanely long, and the museum is insanely big.) (Aside...When did the United States decide that the "Louvre" was a monosyllabic name? Did we just forget about that R or something?) We were reserving it for Sunday because it's free on Sundays, but that also means gigantic-est line of my entire life. It wound all the way around the pyramid, along the front building, through the following square, and out and down the street behind the entire museum. It took us nearly 2 hours to finally get inside, but it was, of course, worth it ("worth it" in spanish="vale la pena"). Since there were five of us, we knew that we were going to get separated, so we set aside a time and a place to meet up. Info desk at 3. I looked at Victory and Aphrodite and Mona lisa, and I was making my way to the Egyptian exhibit when I realized it was 2:45. I made it to the information desk just in time. I met with my friends; two of us had already eaten, so the other three of us went to eat lunch. I know that a 3 o'clock lunch sounds really late, but that's actually right on time for us Españolas. After that we dispersed for more art appreciation. I went to see more of the Egyptian stuff, because I didn't get through it all before meeting the rest of the group. It was definitely my favorite part, mostly because it's really unlike anything I've ever seen before. I mean, I've seen it in a lot of shit movies like The Mummy, but to see the real thing was infinitely cooler. Their paintings were shit, but their sculptures were increíble. I'm amazed at the things they were able to do, and on such a wide range of scales. How did they sculpt such detailed artwork on such a small piece of material? Also, I would walk around and admire the bah relief works and the hyrogliphs, but then I thought about something I'd never really thought about before. I thought about the person who made it. I know it sounds like something you would intuitively consider, but when seeing a work in a temperature controlled glass box, it's easy to separate it from its creator. I wonder what he would think if he knew that what he was making would someday, thousands of years later, make it it into a museum where thousands of people would look at it every day, and probably never think a second thought about it.

I've been thinking about this a lot recently. I'm no artist, but I have drawn and painted and sculpted before. I mean, my pieces were absolute garbage, but I still know the time and effort and even emotion that you put into your artwork. In the end, you've put a little bit of yourself into it. So I can't imagine what it's like to make a giant life size sculpture of someone out of marble, like those that line the halls of Versailles and the outside walls of the Louvre. Who were these people? What did they do to deserve a statue of themselves in such a place of respect? How much of himself did the artist put into a particular work? And we just walk right past them. Food for thought.

The museum was closed at six, so I went to meet everyone out front. After we left, we found a random bakery because we felt like the French thing to do was to eat macaroons. Even though they're just about everywhere in the world. Anyway, they were delicious, and after that we went to wander around the city. We'd eaten fairly cheaply over the course of our french weekend, and a few of the girls really wanted an authentic French dinner, at an actual restaurant. An "authentic" French dinner usually consists of 4 or 5 courses. You have a starter and a wine, then your main course, then some kind of cheese and bread, then a dessert or liquor. I've heard that they're not big into entertainment, so what do they do for fun? you might be asking yourself. They go out to eat. For hours. And hours. And I loved every second of it. AND I ate snail!! It tasted good, but I just couldn't get over the fact that I had...a SNAIL in my mouth. At first, I was totally opposed to trying it, but I asked myself how often I'm able to try escargot in Paris. Yes, I liked the taste, but I just couldn't help but be reminded of the snails I've seen sticking to the inside walls of the tunel puerto chico, which is dirtier than a truckstop restroom, and think "one of those is in my mouth right now." But I ate it, and that's the important thing. I also tried foie gras, or duck liver. It was a little funky, but again, I tried it. It was somehow a little easier to stomach because it wasn't as recognizable as the escargot, which still had their shells. That felt so wrong. Pulling a little innocent snail right out of his home just so I can eat him. Poor little guy never had a chance.

So yes, we arrived at the restaurant at about 7:30 and left close to 10:30, like true Parisians. Then we made our way over to the Eiffel Tower, because the only thing I really wanted to do on the whole trip was to go up in the Eiffel Tower at night to see the whole city lit up from above. And we got there at 11:18. Guess what time they stopped selling tickets. If you guessed 11, you're right. Oh well. Disappointing, but I'm trying to be a good sport about everything. If there's anything I don't get to do, I just tell myself that it's a reason to come back. I still got to see the Eiffel Tower itself lit up at night, which is something I hadn't seen before. I also got some good pictures, which can be seen on facebook.

We went to the hostel and took a shot of Sake, which we had left over from the night before when we got sushi, and went to bed.

Monday was a really, really long day. We checked out of the hostel at about 9:30, walked to the metro, took the metro to the bus station, took the (hour long) bus to the airport, then hopped on a plane to Madrid, waited in Madrid, then took a (30 minute-talk about "hopper flight"-) flight back to Santander, took another bus from the airport to the bus station, then walked home. I got home and talked to my señora for about 5 minutes about my trip and told her I was going to take a late siesta before eating dinner, but I ended up never waking up. I woke up at 1:30ish, and just set my alarm for the morning and went back to sleep. She laughed at me this morning because she knew I had grand plans of showering and unpacking and studying, when I really just fell asleep. But I think I had reason enough to be tired.

Definitely a good weekend. Probably my favorite viaje out of all of them.

Time for my final thought. What did I think of Paris (this time around)? I was pleasantly surprised. I didn't try to keep it a secret that I wasn't all that excited about going, but I had a really good time. The city is absolutely gorgeous. It's very romantic somehow. Everything is infinitely more poetic in Paris. Even though the touristy aspects would annoy me, I think that if I had chosen to persue French instead of Spanish, I would have loved to study for three months in Paris. I'm glad Paris didn't turn out like I thought it would. I'm sorry, Paris; I don't know why I doubted you. I'll see you soon hopefully.
 
 
Over and out.
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."