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FRIENDS ONLY
Dec. 23rd, 2010 | 11:41 am
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Sep. 19th, 2007 | 06:26 pm
just returned from paris. wearing a new sweater and scarf and some stinky parfume from bottles the shape of were inspired by dali's work. still full of tasty goat cheese, vegatables and frrrrrench bread breakfast -a huge, cheap and oh-so tasty sandwich. paris was facinating and i'll admit, sometimes intimidating by the weight of it, by how much of it there is, how it goes on forever when seen from the top of the eifel. how compact everything is, the number of little stores and apartments overwhelms. and the the weight of the history! and we never, as far as i noticed, experienced any of the near proverbial french rudness to strangers as i've always heard and been warned of, but then maybe it was because we always at least tried our hands at courtesy before asking if our clerk or waiter or shop owner or train station employee or whomever, parlez vou englais? a pause, a look up as if thinking and wee, 'little bit was generally the answer but we figured things out between us just fine. we got to where we wanted to go with surprising ease and luck. we walked for nearly the entire three days despite the numerous trains we rode. we did a marthon tour.
piere lachaise's immediately upon dumping our bags in the hotel. walking the whole way there and back - at least an hour long walk one direction. but oh, such a city of the dead! we found frederic-fucking-chopin's grave. we found and photographed mr. morrison's grave. the mister getting a quick picture of the security that i wasn't allowed to get. the gentleman in question politely waving me off. a failed search for gustav dore's tomb... all together a couple hours in the cimitére before the long trek back.
enough for the first day we watched cnn before falling asleep on tiny rock-hard twin beds that lay side by side in our small but clean hotel room a half mile give or take from the train station, the paris nord. the beds we discovered quickly were also wobbly on wooden peg-legs and creaked something fierce.
the next day back to the train station to find billets to take us where ever we needed to go on the paris trains. the first place we needed was the infamous catacombs but were frustrated to learn they are closed on mondays. so, across from the denfert-rochereau station (that was our stop for the catacombs) we fell in love w/ the french crépe. jeanne. that is the name of the mister's other love. a tomato bisqué-like convention with egg a-top a buckwheat crépe. or chocolàt noir a-top a sweeter wheat crépe. on first try we had desert first before the enlais menu, with jeanne, was offered. o bea ba créperie, we salute you. yum! then off to find notré dam taking lots of pictures all the way in and out. we debated and ultimately rejected the offer of paying a fee to stand in line to climb the long way to the top of the tower even though we were tempted. instead we headed to the panthéon. more pictures. and crypts. but foucault's pedulam was a bonus surprise! then the eifel tower. all the way to the top! the line to get on the trolley to the middle wasn't so long but the line for the elevators to the top! around 30-40 minutes with the wind picking up and storm clouds moving in. we met a professional tennis player in line behind us. we kept each other company while in line. he just turned pro last year and this was his first trip to paris spending the day as a tourist fearing his long day would probably mean he wouldn't play well the next day yet not seeming to mind. from los angles. tall, affable, and seemingly, achingly alone. in the line for the elevator (delevator?) back down we saw him at the edge smiling into his self-photo, a picturesque momument in the background. the top was full of bitting cold wind on three sides as well as a spectacular view and as soon as we had availed ourselves of photos we headed down. splatters of rain began to hit as the tram from the mid level tram arrived. the wind still whipping cold drops when we reached the bottom we hurried for the shelter of the nearest metro. home again, temporarily. warmer, dryer clothes and a hunt for dinner. good pasta and a surly italian waiter near the paris nord.
...to be continued.
piere lachaise's immediately upon dumping our bags in the hotel. walking the whole way there and back - at least an hour long walk one direction. but oh, such a city of the dead! we found frederic-fucking-chopin's grave. we found and photographed mr. morrison's grave. the mister getting a quick picture of the security that i wasn't allowed to get. the gentleman in question politely waving me off. a failed search for gustav dore's tomb... all together a couple hours in the cimitére before the long trek back.
enough for the first day we watched cnn before falling asleep on tiny rock-hard twin beds that lay side by side in our small but clean hotel room a half mile give or take from the train station, the paris nord. the beds we discovered quickly were also wobbly on wooden peg-legs and creaked something fierce.
the next day back to the train station to find billets to take us where ever we needed to go on the paris trains. the first place we needed was the infamous catacombs but were frustrated to learn they are closed on mondays. so, across from the denfert-rochereau station (that was our stop for the catacombs) we fell in love w/ the french crépe. jeanne. that is the name of the mister's other love. a tomato bisqué-like convention with egg a-top a buckwheat crépe. or chocolàt noir a-top a sweeter wheat crépe. on first try we had desert first before the enlais menu, with jeanne, was offered. o bea ba créperie, we salute you. yum! then off to find notré dam taking lots of pictures all the way in and out. we debated and ultimately rejected the offer of paying a fee to stand in line to climb the long way to the top of the tower even though we were tempted. instead we headed to the panthéon. more pictures. and crypts. but foucault's pedulam was a bonus surprise! then the eifel tower. all the way to the top! the line to get on the trolley to the middle wasn't so long but the line for the elevators to the top! around 30-40 minutes with the wind picking up and storm clouds moving in. we met a professional tennis player in line behind us. we kept each other company while in line. he just turned pro last year and this was his first trip to paris spending the day as a tourist fearing his long day would probably mean he wouldn't play well the next day yet not seeming to mind. from los angles. tall, affable, and seemingly, achingly alone. in the line for the elevator (delevator?) back down we saw him at the edge smiling into his self-photo, a picturesque momument in the background. the top was full of bitting cold wind on three sides as well as a spectacular view and as soon as we had availed ourselves of photos we headed down. splatters of rain began to hit as the tram from the mid level tram arrived. the wind still whipping cold drops when we reached the bottom we hurried for the shelter of the nearest metro. home again, temporarily. warmer, dryer clothes and a hunt for dinner. good pasta and a surly italian waiter near the paris nord.
...to be continued.