Paris Trip Day 24

Leave a comment 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 23

Leave a comment July 22, 2015 Elsa Fridl

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.

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.

Paris Trip Day 22

Leave a comment July 21, 2015 Elsa Fridl

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!

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 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.

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 !

Paris metro at Christmas by David Sifry, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Vancouver cappuccino by Gord McKenna, Flickr, CCBY 2.0.

Paris Trip Day 21

Leave a comment 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 20

Leave a comment July 19, 2015 Elsa Fridl

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.

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.

Image of Elvis Presley by Luiz Fernando Reis, courtesy of Flickr, CCBY 2.0.

Paris Trip Day 18

Leave a comment July 17, 2015 Elsa Fridl

A Paris park that divides two sides of a street. Similar parks have more grass. You will often find public toilets in such parks.

Friday. I took my purple coat to be dry cleaned: I had another crepe with Grand Marnier and the cook put too much filling in it. As soon as I took a bite, it went all over the front of my coat. Which means I have to have my coat dry cleaned again!

I also was told by Plug-Inn management I would have to move to another room tomorrow because a group of 5 is coming, and they want to stay together. Management isn’t sure how long they’ll be here.

I went walking and felt very feminine in my new cape. I took some pictures and simply took in my surroundings. I don’t feel the need to “do” something every moment; just being in Paris is enough.

A statue of Charles de Gaulle. Described as a “20th century John of Arc,” he refused to admit defeat by the Nazis in WW II. He escaped to London after the Nazi invasion where he gave inspirational radio speeches. He later became President of France.

Salut !

Paris Trip Day 17

Leave a comment 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!