Paris Trip Day 28

Moulin Rouge, where Henri Toulouse-Latrec found inspiration for his art.

Moulin Rouge, where Henri Toulouse-Lautrec found inspiration for his art.

Monday. My last day in Paris. I can’t believe a month has gone by already. I’m trying to savor every moment today. I’m pretty organized – I’ve reorganized my stuff enough times, I should be – so I went to buy that cute mug I saw in a shop nearby (with its own spoon!) and bought a few other small souvenirs. A guy who has a kiosk selling souvenirs at Blanche Metro had gone to his home country and come back, so I got to say good-bye to him. He asked me when I would be returning: I told him I didn’t know, but that my heart will always be here. He smiled in recognition.

I went to Champs-Elysees one last time, and took in the ambiance as much as I could. I don’t want to leave. I belong here. I wandered around taking pictures until I knew I couldn’t put it off any more. I walked to the Champs-Elysees Metro and took it for the last time to Blanche Metro. After I got off, I took some pictures of Moulin Rouge and met some travelers: one of them asked me if I wanted my picture taken. Sure! Then I walked up the Montmartre hill to Le Basilic and had dinner there again – another perfect French meal — and took a few pictures, saying my good-byes. Then I went back to Plug-Inn Hostel. I am thankful for my time here. I’ve made a lot of connections with people, some of whom I’ve forgotten to write about in my journal: my long-term memory is so much better than my short-term, that sometimes I remember things better 6 months to a year later than I did right after an experience. I still have more to say about my trip. Well, that’s something. Maybe I can even blog about it.

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Salut !

 

Images of Paris metro train and metro doors by Can Stock Photo. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl.

Paris Trip Day 27

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The 284 steps inside the Arc de Triomphe are probably not for the faint of heart, but there are places to stand aside and rest.

The 284 steps inside the Arc de Triomphe are probably not for the faint of heart, but there are places to stand aside and rest.

Sunday. A lot of attractions are free today. Unfortunately, it’s cold and rainy…the type of cold that seeps into your bones. I took the metro to Champs-Elysees, mostly to go to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. I took pictures all around it and while I was on the top level. I happened to get there just before a crowd came (which I saw on my way out). The lift was broken, so I had to walk up a lot of stairs in a very winding staircase – I thought I heard someone say there are 222 steps to get to the top – but hostel staff told me there are 284. While the width of the staircase was small, there were occasional landings where you can step aside and rest while allowing others to pass; as someone who studied design, I found that design detail impressive. Sometimes it has seemed to me that designers and architects forget much-needed details, like having spaces for people to catch their breath on staircases while not holding up people behind them. There were exhibits in the Arc de Triomphe on military uniforms and aspects of the monument’s design. There was also a shop for souvenirs. I people-watched for a bit: I love seeing the joy on people’s faces as they investigate Parisian sights.

After I took plenty of pictures (and had a couple taken of me), I was so cold I had to leave. I didn’t want to. I went to the McDonald’s on the Champs-Elysees to use the restroom, and took some more pictures until my fingers were too frozen to handle the camera. It might have been the coldest day of the trip. Funny enough, I was feeling so frozen, I decided to take a couple of pictures of Queen Elsa.

I headed back to the hostel and grabbed a Grand Marnier crepe on my way. It was hard to eat with frozen fingers, but I managed. (!)

 

Queen Elsa on the Champs-Elysees. It was so cold, I'm sure she felt right at home.

Queen Elsa on the Champs-Elysees. It was so cold when I was there, I’m sure she felt right at home.

Salut !

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images of Ferris Wheel at the Place de la Concorde and McDonald’s by Can Stock Photo. Image of Arc de Triomphe staircase by Wally Gobetz, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl.

Information on the Arc de Triomphe taken from Wikipedia article, “Arc de Triomphe,” retrieved July 26, 2015.

 

Paris Trip Day 26

I ached all over from my quick trip to London, but the pain was worth it.

I ached all over from my quick trip to London, but the pain was worth it.

Saturday. Since I got back to Plug-Inn Hostel very early (around 7:00 A.M.) from London, I went to bed after breakfast. I had to stay in bed most of the day: my feet were killing me, my back and neck were sore from being scrunched up in the coach (bus), and I simply felt achy all over. I completed the picture by walking around the hostel (what little I did) with wild hair again. I talked with staff and others about my experiences in London and drank oodles of cappuccino from the machine. Hostel staff told me the weather in Paris changed for the worse just after I left.

I also finished reading Elvis: My Best Man, and thought about what I want to do for the rest of my time here, especially tomorrow, since many attractions are free (it’s the first Sunday of the month). It’s been cold and rainy, and it looks like more of the same tomorrow.

An image of how my heart feels to be in Paris.

An image of how my heart feels to be in Paris.

Still, a bad weather day in Paris beats a good weather day anywhere else, hands down. It might be raining outside, but in my heart there’s sunshine: that’s what Paris does for me.

 

Salut !

 

 

 

Images by Can Stock Photo.

Paris Trip Day 25

European cities at night via NASA satellite. It is an easy "day trip" (or night) to London from Paris.

European cities at night via satellite. It is an easy “day trip” (or night!) to London from Paris.

Friday. I woke up feeling fairly rested though my eyes were bloodshot: there’s probably mold in the hotel.

I showered, shampooed and got dressed. Then I set out for my free breakfast in the hotel. There were at least 20 people in the dining room, though few looked like they had taken a shower already. The place felt rather seedy, especially when I saw lecherous eyes look my way. I sat down at a table that wobbled, so I moved to another. One of the women working in the kitchen came into the dining room and basically asked me if I was crazy for sitting at a table for three when I was alone: “Sit somewhere else,” she told me, eyes blazing. Nothing like making paying customers want to come back! Breakfast consisted of white bread toast, butter and jam, weak coffee or tea, cheap cornflakes. It wasn’t very satisfying or particularly nutritious, but it was something to eat until I could get a piece of fruit. I tried to enjoy my breakfast at the wobbly table as I thought about the day ahead.

I went back to my room and wrote out two placards (which I had packed, rolled up, in my new French suitcase) to take with me to Buckingham Palace. After finishing them, I finished packing and did a sweep of the room to make sure I didn’t forget anything; then I walked down the 8 flights of stairs. I asked the manager if I could leave my luggage in the lobby while I was out. He said no problem, which was nice of him. I felt like my bags would be safe. Of course, having locks on my important stuff helped with my piece of mind.

I did a little sightseeing on my way to Buckingham Palace…..

The London Underground, also known as The Tube.
London still has their iconic telephone booths.
The Union Jack, a familiar sight in London.
London during the holidays.

Then I held my breath and showed up at the Palace. I held up one of my signs, which essentially told Queen Elizabeth II to leave me and my family alone. Some young woman (from Ireland?) came over and asked if she could take a picture of me and my sign: “Of course,” was my response. I had been there for about 30 minutes or so when a Palace police officer came over and started asking me questions. I told him that in the States, protesting is a right, and besides, I’ve seen other people protesting at the Palace. He basically told me that if the Queen doesn’t want people protesting right outside her residence, she was within her rights to shoo them away. Then he told me I was free to protest outside the gold and black gate, yet he also continued to try to ask me questions, like where was I staying. I said, “You just said I’m free to leave and that I can protest outside the gate, am I right?” He said that was correct. “Good, I’m leaving now,” I said, and walked away without looking back. I wasn’t trying to cause an international incident: I just wanted to stand up for my family name.

Buckingham Palace in London.
Buckingham Palace with The Queen Victoria Memorial in front.
The Palace police in the background kept a close eye on me while I was demonstrating.

I stood at the corner he directed me to for about an hour. After I felt I had made my point, I left. It was drizzling. I went to St. James’s Park and took some pictures. Then I went to Inn the Park restaurant and warmed up, having some coffee and a dessert. It felt like a modern-day log cabin with cool lighting (and stiff seats). After I left, I threw out my placards in the trash bin near the restaurant. I felt like I had made my point. After seeing Palace police mill about as soon as I showed up, I couldn’t wait to get back to France, where I belong.

A regal fellow in St. James’s Park.
A lake in St. James’s Park.
A view of Big Ben from St. James’s Park.
A man in St. James’s Park who literally has birds eating from his hands.

I went back to the hotel to retrieve my luggage, and thanked the management of The Continental Hotel for their service. Their hotel may not be the best, but they treated me okay, so all in all it wasn’t a horrible experience to stay at their hotel. I hope they….how shall I say?….do a little redecorating.

Victoria Coach Station was dark and cold, with almost no place to sit or stand.

Victoria Coach Station was dark and cold, with almost no place to sit or stand.

I made my way to the bus station with a light rain falling. It was absolutely freezing in the bus station. People who worked there told me they had to leave the doors open (to the buses), even though no one was boarding. I went to wait in another part of the station. I struck up a conversation with an English woman who seemed nice enough, but she started asking me questions that were none of her business, like whether I owned the house I was living in, how could I afford to take this trip, and do I have money to get home. I wanted to tell her to bugger off. I wondered who was more tactless: the Englishman who was determined to get on The Tube sooner than me, and basically pushed me out of the way, or this woman, who wouldn’t know what boundaries are if they bit her on the nose? Ahh, travelling. You meet so many kinds.

I decided to que up in line since it was nearing boarding time (finally!). A guy behind me spoke to me, and he came to understand I had only been in London for 24 hours. He asked me which country I liked better: I told him, hands down, nothing beats France. I was hoping to sit next to him just to know I would be sitting next to someone friendly, but we boarded too late to be seated next to one another. I ended up sitting behind a couple who seemed to enjoy the idea they were giving me and others a show with their French kissing. They did it so much I felt like a voyeur. I completely get that many people aren’t hung up on showing a little Public Display of Affection, but it can get to a point where you want to say, “Get a room, already!” Some people behind me where shaking their heads and smiling: they knew what I was thinking.

We arrived at the ferry and were told to remember where we had parked. (I had to laugh: they made it sound like we were parked in a mall.) The inside of the ferry was nicely appointed, with leather and other types of seating, and places to buy something to eat and drink, though I was much too tired to do either. The young people (hehhehhehheh) were all so excited, many of them drank and ate and whooped it up. No thanks. Like many others, I curled up on a sofa for the trip, which was over before I knew it. I couldn’t believe how trashed the ferry as we were exiting: it was worse than any New Year’s Eve party I had ever been to. I felt groggy when I first got up but then adrenaline kicked in: I couldn’t find my bus. Someone seemed to know which one I was looking for and helped me find my way to it.

I was much relieved when I started to see signs in French again while on the bus back to Paris from London.

I was much relieved when I started to see signs in French again while on the bus back to Paris.

As the bus drove into Paris I and I saw signs in French again, I was so relieved. Nothing beats France. I felt like I had been in enemy territory in London (though I have no beef with British people in general, only with the Queen), and now I’m back “home.” The bus let us off at a bus station that was a bit of a walk to a metro station, but I couldn’t care a less. I was SO GLAD to be back in Paris. I got back to the hostel in no time. I ate my delicious French breakfast and went to bed, happy that I had made my point.

 

Salut !

 

Images of European cities at night and bus back to Paris by Can Stock Photo. Image of Victoria Coach Station by xjy, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl

Paris Trip Day 23

Walking around Plug-Inn Hostel with wild hair, I tried to achieve at least this much sophistication...

Walking around Plug-Inn Hostel with wild hair, I tried to achieve at least this much sophistication…

Wednesday. I walked around the hostel all day with wild hair. I think I scared the guy at the desk when I walked out of my room looking like Phyllis Diller (think: Miley Cyrus on steroids.) He recovered, however.

I spent all day writing a resume and typing it. It’s tough to do from memory. Naturally, my Hotmail account is still frozen or I could easily print a resume from my Sent folder. Talk about circumstances conspiring to keep me from applying for positions in Paris.

...when I probably only achieved this much.

…when I probably only achieved this much.

Someone also stole my dinner from the fridge, drank my lemon drink (and was considerate enough to leave the empty bottle in the trash so I would see it), and stole my water bottle. I don’t blame anyone on Plug-Inn staff or any of the real guests, but rather one of the people who always seem to be around me, texting away, while I am in a common area in the hostel. The staff is way too nice to do anything like this, and I don’t believe world travelers in general do this – especially since the person’s actions seem aimed at me. Since they left the lemon drink bottle in the trash for me to see, how can I not take it personally? Most thieves don’t want to leave a trace of what they’ve done: this one did.

I drank a few cappuccinos, talked with staff and travelers, and later read for a bit. I’m bummed because I can’t remember all of the details that make my resume worth reading.

 

Salut !

 

Images by Can Stock Photo.

Paris Trip Day 22

Tuesday. I spent the day in the hostel because of bad weather, which is okay by me, since I love it here and Paris in general. I wanted to print my resume at the hostel, but they only print .pdfs. The hostel management told me the location of an internet place where I can print it, near Abbesses metro. I told them I have already been walking around there and I don’t remember seeing it. They further explained its location. They are so patient with me. They really try to help travelers in every way they can. I wonder if I’ve told them enough how much I appreciate their information and their patience.

I walked around and had to double back; the view of the internet place was obstructed by Christmas kiosks; I had to peer around the kiosks to find it.

You might have to look a little harder for shops and the like during Christmas time. Not that there's anything wrong with that!

You might have to look a little harder for shops and the like during Christmas time. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!

It was a very small place, and people from all age groups were there using computers. The guy in charge told me which computer to use, since most of them were in French. I brought up my resume from my USB stick – I was a little amazed the Fancy Boy Idiots hadn’t erased it – but then the screen froze when I tried to save it after making a small change before I printed it. The guy in charge came over and tried to help me; as soon as he cleared the screen freeze, my resume was gone. He looked for it on my USB stick, in the computer’s trash, on the hard drive….it simply disappeared. If I’m not mistaken, it is possible to infect a document with a virus or a worm (I’m not exactly sure what a worm is) that makes the document disappear upon opening it or trying to save it.

I opened the file containing my resume and-BAM!--it disappeared.

I opened the file containing my resume and–BAM!–it disappeared.

I started to curse under my breath about how much I hate the FBI, and to my utter amazement, people around me smiled and laughed in solidarity: one French woman spoke for all of them, “We don’t have a high opinion of the FBI.” I was stunned, yet I couldn’t help smiling. The French people don’t like the FBI, either: I never would have guessed. One woman gave me her name and phone number and told me I could call her if I thought she could help me. Still, I don’t know that I’ll be able to post resume on leboncoin.fr. to apply for English teaching jobs. Just what the Fancy Boy Idiots wanted.

The hostel's cappuccino may not be as frothy as this, but as a traveler, I've learned to be thankful for what is available.

The hostel’s cappuccino may not be as frothy as this, but as a traveler, I’ve learned to be thankful for what is available.

I went back to Plug-Inn, had a cappuccino (or three!), and worked on recreating my resume. (My Hotmail account is conveniently frozen, or I would be able to print a resume from it.) When I exclaimed how much I love the cappuccino from the machine, the manager told me she wouldn’t drink it, and proceeded to show me a picture of the type of cappuccino she is used to (in Italy, I believe). I smiled in understanding. Then I told her that I’ve learned to enjoy what I have at that moment: Like, if I go camping and have instant coffee, I don’t usually have instant coffee at home, but while camping, outside in the great outdoors, it’s all I have, and I can appreciate that. After our discussion on the fine points of caffeinated drinks, the manager told me she would help me with the application process on leboncoin.fr to apply for English teaching jobs once I get my resume squared away. She is so sweet. She is very business-minded, and I understand why she wants to keep the boundaries very clear between guests and management. Still….her heart, like that of everyone else who works at Plug-Inn Hostel, shows.

 

Salut !

 

Image of rainy day in Paris by Can Stock Photo. Image of woman angry with computer by Can Stock Photo. Image of Paris metro at Christmas by David Sifry, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Image of Vancouver cappuccino by Gord McKenna, Flickr, CCBY 2.0.

Paris Trip Day 20

The western facade of Notre Dame de Paris.

The western facade of Notre Dame de Paris.

Sunday. I got up early, ate breakfast, and left for Mass at Notre Dame. The line to get in was so long! Like a rock concert! It was a beautiful Mass, but the schedule I have says it was supposed to be in English; it wasn’t. It felt good to be in God’s House. There were a lot of people there from all over the world. People were turning around as if they wanted to watch the organ playing. I sat as close to the front as I could. Just before the service started, someone came and told me to pick up my bag so it wouldn’t be in the way. (I wanted to ask, In the way of what?) I took some pictures outside of Notre Dame and milled about for a while. It was so peaceful I hated to leave. At the back of Notre Dame there were a couple of machines to buy souvenir coins of the church. I believe I know two people who might like one so I bought a couple.

A statue of King Charlemagne outside Notre Dame de Paris. King Charlemagne, also known as Charles the Great and the “Father of Western Europe,” united most of Western Europe for the first time since the Roman Empire.
An interior view of the north transept rose.

I then went to the Latin Quarter where there was a lot of activity. Especially on a Sunday, many people had the same idea. There are so many interesting shops and restaurants and bistros and bakeries….you can’t see them all during one trip. A few restaurateurs beckoned me to try their restaurant as I walked by. I just smiled and said, “Bonjour!” After walking a lot, I went to Shakespeare and Company……what a place!  It was so cozy; one could read for hours there, there are so many nooks and crannies and old chairs to sit in. I found a pocket book on French for English speakers. I chatted with the cashier who said she was originally from England. I told her how much I love Paris and would like to stay. She said that since she lives in the EU it is easier to get a Visa to stay in Paris.

The Latin Quarter in Paris.
Shakespeare and Company, near the Latin Quarter.

It was very cold today – too cold to wear just a cape. (I forgot to pick up my coat at the dry cleaner’s.) I hurriedly went to a café and had French Onion soup and 2 espressos; the French Onion soup was the best I’ve ever had (she says, nonchalantly). There, I met an American ex-pat who was having lunch with a friend; she told me she would probably never return to the States, she loves being in Paris that much. We talked about current political situations in France and the States. She said she doesn’t miss all of the drama of the U.S. press, which we both agreed loves to rehash a story over and over and over again, which France decidedly does not do, much to our delight.canstockphoto16374112

Since it was so cold and I didn’t have my heavy coat, I decided to go back to the hostel. I found out I could move back to my favorite room (!), so I did. I reorganized yet again. I read more of Elvis: My Best Man. I’m so glad I decided to read it, because I’m learning the truth of what Elvis was really like. In addition, it has been brought home to me even more how the press can ruin a person’s character, which I believe now often happens because it makes for a good story. How horrible. I worked out for a short while. I’ll read for a few more minutes and call it a night.

Salut !

The King, Elvis Presley. May he rest in peace.

The King, Elvis Presley. May he rest in peace.

 

Image of Latin Quarter, Shakespeare and Company, and coffee signs by Can Stock Photo. Image of Elvis Presley by Luiz Fernando Reis, courtesy of Flickr, CCBY 2.0. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl.