27 Luni

Day One

It was now Friday morning and after a good night’s sleep it was time to see Paris for the first time in the daylight.  The forecast of partly cloudy skies and moderately warm temperatures would turn out to provide the perfect atmosphere for the day.  Little did I know at the fresh promise of dawn exactly what was in store for me; this would be a full day of searching for friends, marveling at some of the world’s most famous landmarks and, unexpectedly, fulfilling the cliché of falling in love with Paris.

The Business

As I noshed on a wonderfully buttery and delicate croissant I contemplated the day’s business.  As it were to happen, my sightseeing plans would pivot around three unrelated goals.  First, two Peace Corps Romania volunteers would be arriving in Paris as their one-millionth stop on a European train tour and would be staying for the night.  It was these two lovely women, we’ll call them Melissa and Jovanka, that had suggested the Vintage Hostel in the first place.  So I thought it would be nice to meet them at the train station as a little surprise.  I say “surprise” because although they knew I would be in Paris, we had limited means of communication at this juncture and had not arranged a meeting place.  Thus, I had little to go on regarding their exact arrival, though piecing together a few abstract details I was certain they would arrive at Gare du Nord from Amsterdam at around ten in the morning.  So I waited…and waited…and when they didn’t get off the ten o’clock train I waited some more for the eleven o’clock.  Though, taking full advantage of my time at the beautifully European station I happily enjoyed another Jambon-Buerre while watching travelers busily come and go.  When my friends didn’t get off the second train I thought it a more prudent plan to leave contact information at the front desk of the hostel and strike out on my own for the day.  So, I picked up a new SIM card for my mobile and left my new Parisian phone number scribbled on the concierge’s print out of my friend’s reservation.  Since obtaining a phone number was the second bit of business that I had to attend to that day, I was now one for two.  The third challenge would be to pick up PCV Matt at the Beauvais-Paris bus stop at Port Malliot at 5:00 p.m. that afternoon.  Fortunately, we had the wherewithal to coordinate this rendezvous ahead of time.  Provided that his flight wasn’t delayed and he didn’t make the same mistakes that I had with the bus, he would likely arrive on time.  So, with several hours now to myself, I set out to see what this Paris craze was all about.

The Walking Tour

Being that I’m not a big fan of organized tourism, I opted to focus on a few main attractions, figuring that once in the general vicinity, I could walk from one site to the other and experience the city randomly on my own in-between.  So at the recommendation of my sister, and through the sheer coincidence of convenient proximity to the hostel, I started with the Basilica of the Sacred Heart at the top of Montmartre, the highest point in the city.  Truth be told, we are jumping around the timeline a little here because I actually did this first thing in the morning, hoping (unsuccessfully) to catch the sunrise.  This part of Paris was still waking up as the city cleaners were out and about tidying up the landmark, most notably hosing down the many steps to the summit of Montmartre.  Due to my timing, I had the architecturally stunning landmark mostly to myself, save a handful of Senegalese panhandlers, and, thus, the story of how I got taken for my lunch money.  There is one level of stairs that flank either side of the post-entrance to the Montmartre grounds and, thus, you are given a choice of going up a level, left or right around a fountain built into the wall.  Regardless of which way you go, there are three or four skinny, dark-skinned gentlemen waiting for you with wide smiles at the top.  Seasoned masters of their trade, they effortlessly capture your attention while obstructing your path.  Long story short, they take your hand and proceed to make a bracelet for you in the colors of the Senegalese flag, promising that there is no obligation to pay and that only if you are happy with the outcome would they accept a small donation.  Needless to say, at this point I was already hooked and, as I type this blog entry, I am wearing a not so one-of-a-kind Senegalese bracelet.  Finally buying my way out of the situation I completed my stair-stepper morning workout and arrived at the Basilica.  To this day, I’m still not sure which is more impressive, the Basilica itself or the view of the city from this vantage point.  From what I read the stone used to build the Basilica has an inherent self-cleaning chemistry and, thus, the structure continues to glisten after nearly one hundred years.  The view of the city is nothing short of breathtaking; with a light mist emanating from the buildings, you are instantly transported into the past.  Due to the strict building code in Paris, very few buildings are more than five stories and thus the cityscape hasn’t changed much in recent history; this was a view that was certainly worth losing my lunch money over.

Next on my city tour would be the Eiffel Tower.  My logic at the time was that, based on the forecast, this would be the only day within the next seven, not to be graced with rain.  A forecast that, thankfully was largely inaccurate.  So even though I knew that I would be visiting the Eiffel Tower again later in the week, I still wanted to make sure that I had the chance to see it up close on a sunny day.  Though I decided to save my money and forgo scaling the structure until I had company.  This leg of my journey would require a quick ride in the metro since Montmartre and the Tower are on opposite sides of the city.  As the green M6 line train emerged from beneath the ground to cross the Seine River on its way to the Bir-Hakeim Tour Eiffel stop, the iconic monument came into view.  By this point tourists had come out of the woodwork to clog the streets and generally get in my way, seemingly with the goal of taking as many pictures of the tower as their little memory sticks could hold from every angle imaginable; perhaps understandably so, as the Parisian symbol is truly magnificent.  No matter how many times you have seen the tower in films or in photographs, you simply can’t be ready for its stature, as it dwarfs every person, tree and building around it.  It’s hard to imagine that this installation was scheduled to be dismantled some years after the World’s Fair of 1889.  Perhaps, ironically, we have capitalism to thank for saving the tower, since it was business that encouraged the city to leave it standing as they cited that the structure was the perfect radio tower.  Regardless of to whom we owe our gratitude, the Eiffel Tower is unquestionably worthy of its notoriety.

As I wandered down the Champs de Mars, shrinking the Eiffel Tower behind me, the next logical stop on my walking tour was L’Hôtel National des Invalides and the Esplanade des Invalides.  The former was originally built to serve as a hospital and retirement quarters for war veterans in the late 1600’s.  Today the facility houses several museums dedicated to past wars and is even the site to Napoleon Bonaparte’s final resting spot.  Focusing my tour on the exterior of the city, I pressed on past the mammoth Les Invalides building and across the grassy Esplanade to Port Alexandre III.  This bridge is squared off by four towers on top of which are beautiful “gilt-bronze” (which look gold to me) sculptures.  Each of the Pegasus-restraining sculptures represents one of four different “Fames”: Fame of Sciences, Fame of Arts, Fame of Commerce and the Fame of Industry.  The bridge itself is also ornately decorated; on either side are Nymphs of the Seine, one meant to represent France and the other Russia as a symbol of the Franco-Russian alliance.  From there I decided to walk along the right bank of the Seine back in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, hoping that I could get a few more admittedly touristy snapshots.  Once that mission was accomplished I meandered past the Trocadéro and back through the city, past ambassadorial residences to the Arc de Triomphe.   This is another monument the size of which can’t be fully comprehended until you actually see if for yourself.  Earlier in the day I had read something about an airplane flying through the Arc in the early 1900’s as a stunt.  This seemed questionable to me at the time, but once I saw the enormity of the Arc up close I began to understand how this feat could be accomplished.  Knowing that I would likely return to the Arc with company later in the week I elected to save my Euros and admire the structure from a bench across the street.  Almost as impressive as the Arc itself is the traffic that endlessly flows around it.  There are twelve distinct roads that connect to the Charles de Gaulle roundabout and there are no painted lines or street lamps to direct traffic.  Though, I think if you had a keen enough sense of hearing you could probably navigate the mess blindfolded while simply focusing on the various car horns.

The last major part of my self-guided tour was down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées to the Grand Palais.  I’m honestly not sure what I expected here, or if I even really gave it any preliminary thought at all, but I don’t think that I had envisioned this romantic sounding street to be a highway of commerce.  Nothing against shopping, but I think I had more of a quiet tree-lined street in mind when I first thought of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées.  Regardless of what I expected, the real deal is endlessly lined with giant flagship designer stores, from major perfume and clothing retailers to high-end car dealerships, intermittently dotted with restaurants and cafés.  I suddenly felt out of my depth as I clutched the few Euros I had left in my pocket to finance the day; my Omega Seamaster would certainly have to wait until later.

The Convergence

Before heading over to the bus stop to pick up Matt, I decided to rest my bones for a bit, so I hopped on the orange M1 line at the Franklin D. Roosevelt stop and wound my way through the subway system and back to the hostel.  After a short rest, I thought I would see if there was a coffee shop in the mall next to the bus stop and perhaps have a coffee while I waited for Matt’s bus to arrive.  Sure enough, lo and behold, there was a Starbucks.  Now this may not sound at all surprising for those of you who see these everyday on every street corner in America, but this was my first time in one since having left the United States.  So, going against my better judgment, I put my hard earned RON (now brutally converted to Euros) and elected to have my favorite, a soy latte, which cost about one week’s worth of groceries in Romania, but I have to admit it was quite enjoyable.

With my Starbucks coffee now in tow, I spotted Matt across the street waiting for me after his bus had dropped him off (early of all things).  So I guided him back to the hotel where we got him checked in, dropped his bag off and had a swig of Romanian țuica just to ensure that we wouldn’t forget our roots.  Somewhere in the midst of all this, we received a call from Melissa and Jovanka who had arrived on the train immediately following the last one I thought they might be on earlier that morning; so they, too, had been gallivanting around the city all day.  Since they were still out and about, we decided to meet up at a predetermined time directly beneath the now lit up Eiffel Tower.  I know, I know, how cliché is that?  I guessed we figured that we were in Paris for a short time together and why not ham it up.

The Parisian Night

From the time it gets dark until midnight, the Eiffel Tower is not only lit up, but also twinkles on the hour every hour.  Honestly the normal, good old lighting is enough for me.  I find the incessant sparkling to be akin to having your mobile phone bedazzled.  Regardless, we met up with the girls, caught up briefly and then decided to grab a bite to eat back in our hostel’s district.  Just down the street was a little bistro named L’Ecrin where we spied on the chalkboard out front a prix fixe two course meal with Steak au Poivre for only €12.50.  We figured that if we added a bottle of red wine how could we go wrong?  Now there is no doubting that I have a real weakness for anything involving beef and anything involving copious amounts of black pepper.  But when you add the two together and then put a cognac-based cream pan sauce on top, I am basically in heaven.  In my mind, there is absolutely nothing else like it, and if I am ever given the opportunity to select my final meal, that will be it.  So needless to say, by the end of dinner I was in a very happy place.  Who would have thought that it would only get better with the addition of dessert later that night?

After dinner, the girls wanted to go see the façade of La Moulin Rouge, which was conveniently located only two metro stops down on the Blue M2 at Blanche station.  So, in short order, we were standing out front, our faces all lit up in red from the glow of the neon lights.  Having taken our token photographs and not having the gumption to spend €100 to see a show we went for the next best thing, crêpes.  We found a little stand next door that made crêpes to order, of the savory or sweet variety.  While waiting in line for my banana and nutella crêpe to be whipped up, I spotted the last thing in the world that I would have expected to see anywhere in Paris.  On a piece of metal trim, protruding from one of the café’s walls was a rectangular little magnet with a single round medieval looking tower.  Unbelievably, the word inscribed below the tower was Târgoviște.  How that magnet got there was enough of a mystery, but the fact that the four of us Peace Corps Romania volunteers were standing there after having, only months ago, lived in Târgoviște for a summer was just amazing to me.  Whether for this reason or not, the crepes were equally good.

Feeling fully satisfied now from a fun day and full evening we decided to head back to the hostel to relax.  Fate, however, had something else in mind for us.  Since we decided to soak up the Parisian evening by walking back rather than taking the metro, we happened across an Irish Pub with live American music playing inside.  Matt’s ears immediately perked up, and the four of us were unavoidably sucked inside.  After sizing the place up, and mutually agreeing that we could easily round off the night here, we saddled up to the bar and ordered a round of pints.   To our pleasure, the musician, though clearly French, sang with a perfect American accent all of the classics that we grew up with.  After a couple of hours, the music came to an end and we called it a night.  Having just forty-eight hours earlier been sitting in Bucharest, with little to no plan for what I would do in Paris for a week, this trip was quickly becoming a very good time….and it was still only Friday.

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