Paris Trip Day 24

July 23, 2015 Elsa Fridl

Eurostar trains look similar to this. It was very, very cold inside the train.

Thursday. My travel day to London. I woke up with severe pain in my chest: it was so bad, it felt like a 2-ton cannon was on top of me. It was hard to move and even breathe. I felt like I was 90. I know full well that it isn’t a coincidence that the day I leave for London to protest at Buckingham Palace I wake up with severe pain that I have never experienced before.

I made 2 vegetable salad sandwiches for my trip, put my luggage in my new room (I have to move AGAIN!), and set off for Gare du Nord, the train station. I’m glad I got there a lot earlier than the woman at the station told me when I went to find out what to do: she said to be at the station 15 minutes before departure; had I done that, I never would have made it to my train in time. Although I had time to sit down, it took a while to go through U.K. Border Control and Security. I was given a hard time because I didn’t know where I would be staying in London. I actually thought they weren’t going to let me go. I asked the Border Patrol Officer, “Don’t people backpack through Europe all the time without knowing where they will be staying?” He told me they can always give an address where they’ll be staying in London. I find that hard to believe. Good thing I had brought my ticket (electronic) for my flight back to the States: they wanted to know when I would be leaving Europe. That information seemed to satisfy them that I wasn’t going to London for some nefarious purpose. (And no, I don’t think peacefully protesting is in any way nefarious.)

U.K. Customs nearly didn't let me proceed to London from Paris because I didn't know where I would be staying in London.

U.K. Border Control nearly didn’t let me proceed to London from Paris because I didn’t know where I would be staying in London. I was relieved when they finally stamped my passport.

I found my train car without too much trouble. I had a chat with a British woman sitting next to me, and Indian-Americans sitting across from me (from New Jersey). It wasn’t a bad trip on Eurostar – 2 ¼ hours. But the car was freezing! And I mean, really, really cold. I was so glad I wore as many layers as I did. I don’t get cold that easy, but my hands were so cold I couldn’t easily hold my phone. I will say the trip was tiring. People mostly drifted off to sleep. I’m surprised a few didn’t die of hypothermia! When I worked at night, management kept the work floor very cold in an attempt to keep employees awake; maybe the same principle was being applied here, only to an extreme.

This is about how I felt coming out of the London Underground: grey and out of focus.

At the train station in London I bought a couple of books on London and used those as my starting point to find a place to stay. I went to get on the London Underground when I saw an Underground employee milling about to help travelers; he told me the Underground is transitioning to having all travelers use an Oyster Card (similar to our SmarTrip Card in Washington, D.C.). Talk about expensive! When I mentioned this, he told me most travelers stay for a week, at least, so it doesn’t seem so much. I got on the Underground shaking my head in disbelief.

The first thing I saw when I emerged out of the Underground was that it was raining (naturally). I asked a smiling bobby how to get to the hotel I had picked out. He advised me not to go there because it was in a “rough area.” He pointed me in the general direction of better places to stay. He was nice, very helpful, and had beautiful blue eyes. I wished I could have talked to him longer, but I waved good-bye. I asked a guy with a pedicab (like a rickshaw) if he knew of a place to stay, and he told me about the Continental Hotel. I climbed into his pedicab and and we set off to find it. It took a while. He was generous with his time in helping me, and I was sorry I couldn’t give him more money (he told me I could pay him what I had on me). I felt like I was being watched over, but in a good way this time. The Continental Hotel is close to Paddington Station and looks nice from the outside, but is pretty ratty inside (first impression: the carpet needed to be replaced), but all I wanted was a roof over my head at a cheap price. I was horrified to find dead bugs on the bed, underneath the bedspread. I turned the mattress over and didn’t find any sign of bugs, so I just cleaned off the bed and let that be that. The bathroom containing the shower was clean enough, which I had noticed during a moment of rest on my way up about 8 flights of stairs to my room. (They don’t have a lift!) My bathroom in my room containing a toilet and sink was spotless, at least. I tried to read the faded notices on the back of my room’s door, and I gathered they used to be a hostel and are still transitioning to be a hotel. In my opinion, they still have a ways to go.

Victoria Station, London. There is a marked path on the floor of Victoria Station to lead you to the bus station, though it isn’t visible here.

After putting down my luggage in my room, I went to find the bus station, so I got back on the Underground to Victoria Station. When I emerged, it was dark and raining, and I thanked my good sense for not bringing my luggage with me. The traveler I had met at Plug-Inn told me the bus station was “right in” Victoria train station. Um, she exaggerated. I had A LOT more walking to do than I could have imagined. I asked an official how to get there, and he told me to follow the marked path on the floor of Victoria Station. (Inwardly I laughed: all I could think of was, “Follow the yellow brick road!”) I was led outside and followed signs there; the bus station was many blocks away on the other side of the street. I bought my ticket for my bus ride back to Paris — which was a lot more than I was told (the traveler I had met probably bought her ticket a month in advance, which I didn’t consider) — and I sighed a huge sigh of relief: one less hassle to worry about. It pays to be pro-active and get travel arrangements out of the way ahead of time. (Note: I have a specific reason for not completely planning my excursion to London ahead of time, which I’ll keep to myself.)

Americans blast McDonald’s at home for its nutritional value, but while in Europe, the Golden Arches is often a welcome sight. Besides, European McDonald’s are so classy, inside and out. This picture was taken in Milan, Italy.

I then made my way back to the hotel but decided to go to McDonald’s first and get a sandwich. They were just as busy as the McDonald’s restaurants in the States. (No surprise there.) By the time I got back to my room, I was exhausted, and my feet were killing me. I watched a few episodes of Big Bang Theory – I’ve never seen it at home – and turned out the light at about 9:30 P.M., my usual time. I’m nervous about tomorrow, so I’ll write my placards when I’m fresh in the morning.

Salut.

“Isabel Ingram’s 1927 passport,” by Ken Mayer, courtesy of Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Image of McDonald’s, “Restaurant Golden Arch,” by Birger Hoppe, courtesy of Flickr, CCBY 2.0. “London, Victoria Station,” by fkwiatkowski, courtesy of Flickr, CCBY 2.0.

Paris Trip Day 21

July 20, 2015 Elsa Fridl

Monday. I have already started to worry about protesting in London and dread going back to the States. I am worried about how British people who see me protesting outside Buckingham Palace will react. Prior to my situation, I had always loved the U.K. My mother was part Irish. My father talked about him being an Anglophile. I’ve always loved the British people and their way of life, and as a city girl, I’ve always loved London, though Paris has always been my all-time favorite. Princess Diana was my favorite person on earth, and she helped me find myself. I even wrote a letter to The Washington Post after Richard Cohen wrote a disparaging column on Diana after her death. [Here is a link to that letter, but The Washington Post has it jumbled with other letters to the editor above it.]

I just can’t help wondering: If the British people knew how Queen Elizabeth II has sacrificed my branch of her family tree for her financial and other gain, would the British people want justice for my mother, father, his family and me, or would they side with the Queen, just because she is their monarch?

Salut !

Paris Trip Day 17

July 16, 2015 Elsa Fridl

The Champs-Elysees at night. The Ferris Wheel at the Place de la Concorde is visible in the background.

Thursday. Thanksgiving 2014. I am very grateful to be in Paris regardless, but I am also thankful to be away from all the drama in the States. Chuck Hagel was forced to resign as Defense Secretary—I wonder what that means for my situation. (He was enlisted in the U.S. Air Force, as I was.) Seems like a lot of plot points are changing – like Connie Stinson – oh, excuse me – the REVEREND DR. Connie Stinson – resigning from the D.C. Baptist Convention before she became its president. Enquiring minds want to know!

I’ve used the day so far to plan what else I will do, making sure I make the most of free/almost free things. There is a still a lot I’d like to do, but I’m being mindful of going to London for a day or two. I’m not really looking forward to it. I love being here. I love the French people and everything about their culture…I am truly in heaven. It isn’t that I haven’t had a bad or unpleasant experience here; it’s that an unpleasant experience here is easier to tolerate.

I need to see if I can print and/or redo my CV and apply to a few places, perhaps at Sephora, and of course, to teach English. I’m not going to plan my trip to London much, except for what I will say on my placard at Buckingham Palace.

Food is to be savored in Paris.

Rick Steves says that American ex-pats in Paris during the holidays all tend to go to a shop named Thanksgiving to get cranberries and boxes of stuffing on Thanksgiving Day. (Nothing like a little solidarity on an American holiday.) I thought of going there just to be part of the excitement and to see other American ex-pats. I decided, instead, to have a Thanksgiving meal after all. I went to Le Basilic again (4^th time!) and had veal with green beans in mushroom sauce, a glass of Pinot Noir, coffee and chocolate mousse. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Le Basilic should be at least a 3-star restaurant, it is soooooooooo good. And who can complain about the service? They check in with me from time to time to see if I need anything else while allowing me to enjoy the experience. As Rick Steves says, once you get a table for dinner at a restaurant in Paris, it is essentially yours for the night. Tips are included in the bill, so there’s no rushing you out the door. It also makes for more relaxed servers: they know they’re getting paid. The U.S. should adopt this philosophy with servers.

I decided to buy the cape I saw, since it has been a lifelong dream to buy a cape in Paris since I first saw one at Garfinckel’s so many years ago. I love it!!! I feel so feminine in it!! And my Cache pants fit! It was a magnificent night, probably around 57 degrees Fahrenheit. I LOVE the energy of Paris at night. People feel so alive: it’s in their faces and their body language. Many people are with their significant other. Love is in the air. The lights are beautiful. I didn’t want to go back to the hostel, I wanted to feel that energy from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and in my bones.

I love the energy of Paris at night.

Finally, my bones said, “Enough already! We need some sleep!” So I took the Metro and went back to Plug-Inn Hostel. I crawled into bed with a huge smile on my face.

Salut!