I was kind of disappointed the next morning, because Vicki’s travelling mishaps were much more interesting than mine. After leaving Galway for Shannon, she squeaked into the airport 30 minutes before her flight because her crazy Irish bus driver decided to take a smoke break at every bus stop along the way. Her budget airline stops checking people in 40 minutes before, of course – so Vicki, being the intrepid soul that she is, books a flight of Dublin and buses across the country to fly into Paris at midnight.
A few more hours and a directionless Parisian taxi driver later, she got in to our hostel 13 hours late. But she was there. And we were going to do Paris.
Went downstairs to get croissants and coffee (later discovered to be instant, for shame), and re-encountered Jenni. She had been rudely awakened by her roommate (from Melbourne) who had arrived home more plastered than I’ll ever be and proceeded to relieve himself on her bed (with her in it) at 3 AM. That, in my book, is some kind of ew. She decided to join us for the day since we were heading to the Louvre first too, and spent a goodly amount of that time insulting Melbourne as a city.
Also met Amelia at breakfast, another Sydney native who had spent the last 6 months in Whistler and was traveling about Europe until she started work in London. We trooped down, did the Louvre thing, posed with Mona and Venus and discussed how disturbing cherubs were. Saw a mummified alligator, which was just slightly neater than a mummified person.
Had a massive quiche at a French bistro, and my first escargot. Good texture – kind of like squid. Add pesto, and it’s chewy, green, and fun to pry out of a shell.
Walked to Notre Dame, where we griped about people taking flash photography in a church and I debated whether lighting a votive candle / signing the Book of Life was heathenish considering that I’m not baptized. Ultimately decided against it for economic reasons, which probably says even more about the state of my immortal soul than I’d care to think about.
Jenni left us to sleep (having not gotten much the night before), and the three of us walked the entire length of the Champs d’Elysees from the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe. That took about 2 hours, during which time I was given a fantastic evil eye from a passing Asian girl that even Vicki noticed, especially since she was so fixated on spiting me that she almost ran Vicki over. That was very puzzling, and she was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and white woollen scarf in mid-June. I consider myself fairly innocuous-looking. People don’t usually hate me on sight, I think…
Vicki and I had dinner at La Maison Rose behind Basilica Sacre-Coeur, after I tricked her into taking 8 flights of stairs instead of paying the 1.40 € for the elevator. Charming little bistro in a very quiet part of Paris. Ran into two WHO interns. Had the French onion soup (not so good), chicken (good), and French yogurt (v. good).
We had thought about going to the Moulin Rouge with Jenni, but the tickets were quite a bit more expensive that we had anticipated so we ended up having drinks at Le Chat Noir before making a late-night run to the Eiffel Tower (for Vicki’s benefit). Had some Nutella crépès, got the last train home, and then the last bus to Sacre-Coeur.
Now, for whatever reason, it’s apparently OK to ethnically slur Asians in Europe. This was part of a pattern that Vicki and I would develop over the weekend – she would get stopped (by a drunk guy wanting a hug, a West African guy forcibly selling bracelets, or a panhandler), I would turn back and tell them off along with her, and somehow the entire situation would dissolve with us walking away and the guy yelling about whether I was Chinese and making rather rude noises to go along with it. Bah.
In any case, we got back to the hostel, had one last round of wine together in Paris, and called it a night.
It was a great day.
A few more hours and a directionless Parisian taxi driver later, she got in to our hostel 13 hours late. But she was there. And we were going to do Paris.
Went downstairs to get croissants and coffee (later discovered to be instant, for shame), and re-encountered Jenni. She had been rudely awakened by her roommate (from Melbourne) who had arrived home more plastered than I’ll ever be and proceeded to relieve himself on her bed (with her in it) at 3 AM. That, in my book, is some kind of ew. She decided to join us for the day since we were heading to the Louvre first too, and spent a goodly amount of that time insulting Melbourne as a city.
Also met Amelia at breakfast, another Sydney native who had spent the last 6 months in Whistler and was traveling about Europe until she started work in London. We trooped down, did the Louvre thing, posed with Mona and Venus and discussed how disturbing cherubs were. Saw a mummified alligator, which was just slightly neater than a mummified person.
Had a massive quiche at a French bistro, and my first escargot. Good texture – kind of like squid. Add pesto, and it’s chewy, green, and fun to pry out of a shell.
Walked to Notre Dame, where we griped about people taking flash photography in a church and I debated whether lighting a votive candle / signing the Book of Life was heathenish considering that I’m not baptized. Ultimately decided against it for economic reasons, which probably says even more about the state of my immortal soul than I’d care to think about.
Jenni left us to sleep (having not gotten much the night before), and the three of us walked the entire length of the Champs d’Elysees from the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe. That took about 2 hours, during which time I was given a fantastic evil eye from a passing Asian girl that even Vicki noticed, especially since she was so fixated on spiting me that she almost ran Vicki over. That was very puzzling, and she was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and white woollen scarf in mid-June. I consider myself fairly innocuous-looking. People don’t usually hate me on sight, I think…
Vicki and I had dinner at La Maison Rose behind Basilica Sacre-Coeur, after I tricked her into taking 8 flights of stairs instead of paying the 1.40 € for the elevator. Charming little bistro in a very quiet part of Paris. Ran into two WHO interns. Had the French onion soup (not so good), chicken (good), and French yogurt (v. good).
We had thought about going to the Moulin Rouge with Jenni, but the tickets were quite a bit more expensive that we had anticipated so we ended up having drinks at Le Chat Noir before making a late-night run to the Eiffel Tower (for Vicki’s benefit). Had some Nutella crépès, got the last train home, and then the last bus to Sacre-Coeur.
Now, for whatever reason, it’s apparently OK to ethnically slur Asians in Europe. This was part of a pattern that Vicki and I would develop over the weekend – she would get stopped (by a drunk guy wanting a hug, a West African guy forcibly selling bracelets, or a panhandler), I would turn back and tell them off along with her, and somehow the entire situation would dissolve with us walking away and the guy yelling about whether I was Chinese and making rather rude noises to go along with it. Bah.
In any case, we got back to the hostel, had one last round of wine together in Paris, and called it a night.
It was a great day.
