Ever since I can remember I have been a
traveler of sorts. Family vacations to the Grand Canyon -hated it at
the time but in retrospect it was really cool. I was just too fat,
greasy (puberty time), lazy, and stuck with four other pubescent boys
to realize how cool it was-, Niagara Falls, NYC and Disney World for
performing, and layovers with my dad in San Fran, Salt Lake City, or
Mexico. This list could go on, but Paris is a city that is unlike any
other I have visited.
I left on the train immediately after
school was over, my friend living in the city, Megan, and I had a
rendez-vous point and time but no means of contact or communication
with each other: 6:00pm, at the Chapel St. Louis. It was late evening
when I got off the train looking for this place, it was my first time
actually being in the city and I had only photos off of google maps
that I took 4 hours earlier. Of course I couldn't find it -even
though I was exactly where the map said I should be- and no one knew
or had even heard of this church. With dusk approaching I was
reaching an anxiety level -similar to the kind I get when I have to
deal with train station- and decided to ask a security guard where to
go. He had no idea where this church was, had to pull out another
map, and pointed the way. Turns out, it was attached to a hospital
and further from the main road than Megan and I had thought. I
arrived at 6pm on the dot and tried to find some wifi to send her a
FB message. None. No one is around and it's getting dark. “Shit.”
Immediately after, off in the distance “Mica!”. Seeing her face
had melted all my anxiety and worries away, I was safe with my
foreign Parisienne.
 |
| Notre Dame Altar |
The Metro is the heart beat of
traveling in Paris: its beat is the train that comes every five
minutes to every stop, and the blood coursing through its veins are
the people flowing in and out, rushing down the stairs to catch it on
time or curse fate for being those precious two seconds late. I
experienced the Metro for the first time on a Friday evening, during
rush hour, on Valentines Day. Yes, the Parisiennes celebrate Vday
with flowers and happy things like we do, only its not as
commercialized. The phrase “packed like sardines in a can” had
never been so applicable to my life. I was sitting on the last seat
available, Megan got shoved standing behind me yonder, people were
standing shoulder to shoulder, and I had man crotch in my face. I
couldn't escape. But, the man crotch came attached to an incredibly
attractive gentleman -positive thinking folks-. After making one more
connection we were on a 5 minute walk to her home where her host lady
welcomed me with warm, sassy, and food filled arms. -side note: the
metro is a lot easier than the subway in NYC-
The hangover the next morning from the
Green Bay Packer bar was everything I hoped it wouldn't be, but it
was nothing a quiche and cappuccino with a cute server couldn't fix.
After some french nourishment Megan led the way to the Eiffel Tower,
L'Arc de Triumph, Le Champs Elysee -which makes you feel wonderfully
expensive just walking-, and the Moulin Rouge. Everything was
awesome. Everything.
We however hit a road bump when trying to find
the Moulin Rouge. First: it isn't indicated where to find it
specifically on the Paris map -an extremely common one- we had.
Second: it took us 45 minutes walking in the wrong direction to
figure out that North and South were opposite on the map. The streets
on that side of town are comparable to those in San Fran, incredibly
hilly, steep, and there are a lot of them. By the time we found the
Moulin Rouge it was almost dark and my body felt comparable to what
it feels like after running a 5k. We were exhausted. It was also
there we found a Metro hookup in the heart of it all.... kill us now. -for all you
future Paris travelers, Blanche is the Metro stop literally at the
Moulin Rouge, so get off there and avoid what we had to go through-.
Around 8pm we arrived back to Megan's
side of town and had dinner -can't remember the name of the
establishment- around the corner from her house. America, I'm not
sorry: this joint gave me the best burger I had ever had. Ever. It
wasn't dripping with grease, but it melted like buttah in my mouth,
and the man who owned the place makes his own buns -he was so excited
to tell us that-. So, Paris wins at burgers.
The next morning Megan took me to the
farmer's market two blocks away. I was not ready, nor could I have
prepared myself for what I would experience. If you've seen Aladdin,
you would know the scene when Jasmin is in the market place and a man
throws a fish in her face yelling “Fresh fish! We catch em you by
em!” followed by other shocking events she witnesses. Well this
farmers market was like that. If you ever want to see 5 octopi, 3
fish as long as your legs, and clams next to deodorant, body wash,
and makeup next to cheese blocks bigger than a car battery, 20
different kinds of bread, and pastries next to bras and underwear
next to children's books next to all the veggies known to man, next
to jewelry, then this is the place for you. As confusing as I'm sure
that was to read, actually being at one took me off guard. Rows, upon
rows, upon rows of stands selling their specialties on a sunday
morning to a full crowd trying to shuffle their way through to get
what they want. After being led through the market was I ready to
choose what I wanted: a sweater, a scarf, a lemon tart, an orange,
hair pins, and a children's book. It was the coolest farmers market I
have ever seen.
We dropped our loot off at Megan's
house and made our way over to Notre Dame. It was astonishing. It's
sheer size and detail was magnificent. We made plans to return for a
Gregorian mass in the future. Because when am I ever going to be able
to go to a Gregorian mass at Notre Dame again? If I can do it on
Easter that'll be my own personal jackpot.
Just two bridges down from Notre Dame
is Le Pont des Arts. I have come to call it the Lover's Bridge. Here,
two people in love can write their name on a lock -if they wish-,
lock it onto the bridge together, and throw the keys into the Seine
representing their ever lasting love. Walking on the bridge, there
was a old man playing his french accordion music creating an
atmosphere I'd only ever seen in movies.
This city was an adventure. Only good things happened <3
End blog 5.
Sounds wonderful! M
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