double-decker high-speed train
So, we found our way through the daunting Parisian subway system before we ever breathed fresh French air. We made it to the hotel before 17:00 and trekked to the 3rd (read "4th") floor. For the price, there was a lot to be desired. We had running water.
The first night, a Saturday, Beth went to mass at the Notre Dame and I walked her most of the way, then detoured for a drink at a notorious gay-friendly restaurant named, heh, the "Banana Club." I had a good enough time, as the drinks were cheaper than most of the others I saw on the way. I saw a guy I thought might know where I could find a club for the night, and asked him in broken French. He pointed me to someone who knew, and sure enough I got an answer. While I was gesturing to him my message, an eruption occurred at the entrance of the bar. The waiter pushed me aside and I was tempted to find cover as five or six waiters made a blockade to prevent a shouting man from entering the bar. It appeared to be a anti-gay tirade, and it lasted a good few minutes, but I didn't ask what had happened, as it really seemed (justifiably) to disturb the staff.
my table at the Banana Club
Tired, I didn't go out that night. Beth and I grabbed groceries and that night I ate what would become my staple meal: crêpes and Nutella. The next morning we walked to the Louvre and encountered a line. A line that lasted a quarter mile at least and was moving with the speed of a sick tortoise. My guidebook mentioned a Metro entrance, so we paid for a ticket to the subway but the door was locked. Later, by chance, we found the third entrance, one I had heard about. See, under the glass pyramids that greet visitors to the museum is a high-priced shopping mall with a food court, an Apple store, several souvenir and book stores, a Swatch shop, and a Swarovski. There was no line to get in, and we discovered that it was free (because it was the first Sunday of the month), but I bet the crowds are that bad on most days anyway. I saw all the great works of art. I flipped off the Code of Hammurabi (don't read anything artistic or meaningful in that; I just felt like it).
That night, I grabbed dinner by myself at a Japanese restaurant (there are a LOT in Paris) and I unintentionally sat next to an older couple from Spain. We talked for a while, and I brushed up on my Spanish. The conversation somehow turned toward the Basque people and their language, and they were, I feel, a little biased in their assumptions that the language has no more native speakers, and that my teacher at the U of M was a liar. They were nice people, but they were a little misguided.
After that, Beth convinced me to visit the Eiffel Tower at night and we ventured there by Metro. When we emerged from underground, the sky looked pretty ready to torrent. We ran in the storm, and we were soaked to the point of being see-through. We saw the tower close to midnight and relished in our bravery.
LIGHTNING!
Monday, we checked-out of the hotel, and headed for the Bastille prison, which it turns out is no longer standing, only marked by a tall tower in the center of a roundabout. We walked from there to the Père Lachaise Cemetery. There we visited the graves of Chopan and Jim Morrison, but didn't have time to see Oscar Wilde's before our train left.
We got back around 17:00 on Monday, and I arrived to find my laundry done and hanging in my room. <3 Thanks, Janine!
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