Day 35: Travel Day

I bid good bye to Paris today and as I made my last walk down Boulevard St. Michel, I walked slower than my normal pace, as if I were dragging my feet. Or it could have been because I had acquired a few items in Paris that made my backpack heavier. But I did enjoy my time there, I enjoyed the sights, the sounds, although I could have done without the constant pee smell. 

The Chunnel had been shut down yesterday because of a workers strike, but I hoped it would be ok today.

I got to Gare Nord on time but the "Londres Hall" where you have to go to take the Eurostar to go to London was packed! The people who were delayed from yesterday also can on the train today. Because there was so many people, the line to check in was stretching to down the up escalator and down to the main floor. There was one man only who was sort of the information officer and when people would ask him if this was the line for the 910a train, he would say yes, then assure the people that they just stand there and not have to walk to the end of the line.

I noticed some people flinching at that, but I seem to have absorbed his Gallic shrug because I wasn't the least bit annoyed by it as I might have been previously. I still didn't like the pushing and the shoving, the jumping in line but I mentally shrug.

The Eurostar was crowded but I got lucky and had a nice solo seat by the window. Why only the business class got free wifi, I don't know. But I always thought 1st class trumped business class. But as I've learned in these travels, this is Europe.

I fell asleep, just exhausted, I drooled, odd that I'm doing that now. Perhaps the length of this holiday has taken a greater toll on me than I realize. Between the heat, not only of the weather but when you cram a lot of people into a small space, it's like a convection oven, the heat goes round and round.

I fell asleep when we were entering the Chunnel, so I couldn't tell you how long it was, I don't remember my ears popping as it did when I road the bullet trains in China when they hit a tunnel. But before I knew it, we were pulling into St Pancras station in London.

St Pancras had an area showing off the departure schedule to the rest of the UK. It was cool, giant wall and a bunch of people looking up. 

I stood in line to get  ticket for one station. It was literally the next station from St Pancras. I could have walked to Euston station according to my GPS on my phone. But it was very hot and a heavy pack on my back wasn't helpful. So I found Kings Cross and stood in line to buy a ticket for the underground. Instead I bought the wrong kind of ticket, I bought a bus & tram card. 

So I had to go stand in line at the ticket office which only had two people working for a line of at least 30 people. But I had to change my ticket, and I also saved myself 20 pence. 

I eventually got on the right train, but not before my ankle decided it didn't like me anymore, it actually crumpled as I was placing weight on it while I was walking down the stairs to Euston station.

So with ankle throbbing, throat drying up. I ended in Euston station where everyone looks like they are all waiting for a train.

Another waiting game. Today was nothing but hurry up and wait. I found a seat to save my seat, but when an elderly woman came by and stood before me, I have up my seat to here.

Then the notice for the platform information was unbelievably short. Despite the PA having said over & over, do not run for the platforms at Euston Station, people run.

Then the train car I was in was barely blowing cold air on us. So for 5hours I sat uncomfortably in a warm coach to Glasgow.

It too was packed. I didn't know Scotland was such a tourist haven. But I made it, I always do and now I'm so tired my eyes are crossing as I type this on my iPhone.

So as try as I might, this is actually a short post.

Day 32: A Palace, A Garden and A Lovelorn Duck

Since it was Sunday, I thought what better day to spend out in the country hanging out at a castle? So I took a nice long trip out to this little town called Versailles about 16 miles from Paris and a 45min ride on the metro.  

They opened at 9am, so I knew that I wasn’t going to be the first one in line when I got off the train and was at the front gate around 9:44am. But it was within the suggested time of 9-10am so my Paris Pass could get me in faster.

No, not the case at all. I walked up to the broad area right in front of the main gates, there was a line snaking around and when I asked an ‘official’ looking man and showed him my pass, he waved me over and said, this is the line.  

How people, voluntarily lined up and made a snaking configuration that span the width of the Place d’Armes, I don’t know. As I stood in that line, trying to maintain my battery levels on my phone, I looked for free wifi, which the Palace said was available, it wasn’t the strength of signal just wasn’t there. So I literally had to people watch.

Sometimes I like it, most times I don’t because I find myself being judgmental. Things like “Who told her she could walk in those heels?” “Dude, shaving would probably be your best option.” Or better yet, “Honey, would you like some butter with your rolls?” So I resist, because temptation is hard.

I did wonder how the crowd instinctively knew to snake around like that. There were times when lines tended to close in towards each other and other times it was so far apart that it didn’t even look like the same line, which was the case when I got in the queue and about an hour later, I finally got in.

Somehow, in my travels, a bit of Gulliver-itis has snuck in. Suddenly things that should have been grand and awe inspiring, looked ok. I don’t know what it is, maybe because I’ve seen so many palaces and churches and museums that they all look comparatively the same. 

But the gates of Versailles wasn’t massive like Buckingham Palace, but it was very gold! Then not every part of Versailles was available for viewing because of renovations. Then the rooms of the king and the queen looked like every other palace, lots of uncomfortable looking furniture, huge paintings hanging on the walls and paintings on the ceilings. Ornate and overwrought designs that had my head twisting around like the Exorcist.

But I did find the Hall of Mirror fantastic, but with the mob of people seemingly covering every inch of floor, it made the room seem smaller but it was nonetheless breath taking.  I’m assuming the floor to ceiling windows facing east really light up the room with the dazzling mirrors reflecting light up and off the crystal chandeliers.

Then I went and paid the extra €9 to enter the gardens. I was seeing snatches of them as I toured the palace and there was so many people there enjoying a beautiful Sunday that I had to go.

It’s twice the size of NYC’s Central Park and it was a very long walk. But the gardens were amazing! Also I was able to catch a special exhibition by artist Anish Kapoor and his massive artwork. There was his Sky Mirror that at first looks like a big satellite dish until you realize it’s a mirror and you can see yourself in it. But we’ve had the Bean in Chicago for a while, so….

The walk down from the back of the palace to the top of the Grand Canal took about 20minutes and I don’t saunter, I walk a nice pace, and then I had to walk back! It was beautiful, from the aerial views I’ve seen of it online and on the brochures they handed out, the layout would take days to walk. So they will rent you out an electric car. I never found the rental place, because I would be sorely tempted to rent one the proceed to drive like a banshee all over the grounds.

There is a musical event when the fountains are run to matching music, but I missed them all. Instead I had a little moment at the Fountain of Apollo’s Chariot. 

I was lining up a shot to take when I noticed a disturbance in the water in my peripheral view. Then a trio of little ducks swam towards it with one little duck quacking in distress. I mean I heard it quacking as if to say, “Hey, are you ok? Where did you go?” It’s little quack was plaintive and I had to walk to the edge of the fountain to look down and see if perhaps a fellow duck had fallen in.

It’s a shallow fountain, so I saw down to the mossy bottom, but there was no duck lying on the bottom with his beak agape and drowning(I have a very active imagination!). But the little duck kept coming and his two buddies were right by his side and he was just so worried.

Then I saw it, I saw the reason for his distress! It was a HUGE carp! It languidly swam by them and the little duck saw it and continued to quack, plaintively and was trying to catch up to the fish, who of course ignored him.  

I bring it up because I really felt bad for the little duck. As if he was in the throes of unrequited love. Silly me. Then it dawned on me. I knew what I could say to the little duck to bring him comfort and release.

“Don’t chase that big fish in the little pond! It will always be a big fish in that pond and she will always be there, she can’t leave. But you have wings, you can fly away anywhere you want. You are not imprisoned by that pond. Fly little duck fly!”

I chuckled to myself, getting all philosophical over a duck and a fish. But when I walked back on my return trip, the fish (there were several off them) were all still in that fountain pond, all lined up facing south, it was a little bizarre. As if they only swam around causing a fuss when the ducks were around. The ducks, had all flown away, off to have their adventures and the big fish in the little pond sat, quiet and still.

Day 30: Paris Impressions

They say when you meet someone, first impressions are important. Well, I think it also works for visiting places. It’s always the first impression that sets the tone for how you will react to what happens next.

I was a bit on the low side this morning because I really liked Ostend, I liked the no pace, no rush beach scene. You just strolled. Nothing in your mind but the sun, sand and sea. I adored the cool breeze, I found it absolutely refreshing. The day started a bit grey as well. But it’s another day and another city.

It was odd that I hopped on the train at 646am at Ostend and by the time 11am came around, I was in Paris. It didn’t seem like 5hours to me. Of course there was a few bumps, like when I found the right car, my seat and had settled myself when an older Frenchman interrupted me insisting I was in his seat. I showed him my ticket, I told him this was coach 13, his ticket is coach 12 but he insisted and I just didn’t have enough confidence in myself, so I grabbed my things, ran down with all my baggage and asked the conductor and he confirmed that I was in the right coach. “Well, someone just kicked me out of my seat.” I said. He was getting the train and passengers ready to go, so he said as soon as he got the train going, he’d come up.

So I went back and told him firmly, this is my seat. He capitulated and I noticed another man who was watching the exchange, smiling. I don’t know if it was because I was obviously pissed about leaving and came storming back and smiling for my standing up to the boar, or if he was laughing at me. Our eyes met and instead of a challenge, his eyes told me he was smiling for me.

I was going to sleep, but that encounter riled me up so I ended up reading a bit. I don’t know where my head was but I really didn’t feel the hour fly by so quickly. Before I knew it, we were getting ready to arrive in Paris Nord.

I found myself walking out of the station and luckily my Airbnb host had given me good direction and I also swear by an app called Metro that has guided me through many a city’s metro stations.

When I walked up the stairs of the metro and found myself standing on Rue St Michel, I was actually excited. I’ve roamed almost all over Europe for 4weeks and it’s Paris that really got my heart racing. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my stays, well most of them, because it was still a new place. Good or bad, each city was an experience and that is all I was going for.

But Paris is always spoken with awe and longing. I would bet it’s on everyone’s bucket list. But several years ago, I dropped Europe out of my bucket list. I thought it was always out of my budget, not enough time, going for two weeks to Europe would be nothing but a tease and I don’t like that. But here I am, suddenly, wonderfully, out of the blue, I got a lot of items checked off my bucket list and I feel so wonderful. I got to do things I didn’t even know would qualify as an item on my bucket list. Religious pilgrimage? Me, the sarcastic cynic?

So many cities and places were underwhelming. The actual realities of some places weren’t simply disappointing but at times, felt like sheer betrayal.

When I was a child, the first book I ever read that did not have any illustrations was this book called “The Prettiest Gargoyle” a story about a boy who’s family moves to Paris, he’s sad because he just wants to go back home. Until he meets a girl hiding on the roof of Notre Dame. Thus the prettiest gargoyle. It was when I realized I could use my own imagination when I read a book. Thus began my lifelong love of books. And my fascination with Paris. I think I was 7 or 8 at the time. Then when I was 12yo, I read Dickens’ “Tale of Two Cities” and I spent that summer signing my name as Sydney Carton.

So imagine what my life became when I wrote off Paris from my bucket list.

I corrected that this year and the minute I set foot in Paris, my heart thudded, I grew excited and suddenly I was that 8yo child looking for the prettiest gargoyle. I was in Paris Freaking France!

I scored an apartment in the St. Germain area, right by the left bank. Every single space of sidewalk is covered by either a used book store or a café. I wandered around to get myself acclimated to the area and I didn’t realize that I found Notre Dame.

Paris seems like an odd dichotomy. It’s beautiful and ugly, it’s bright but dirty. It’s busy and dynamic but seemed to be taking it’s time. Paris is like being a man, watching a woman he  just met and wondering what it is about her that caught his eye. He hasn’t made up his mind what it is, but he’s fascinated.

I was thrilled to stand in the shadow of the Sorbonne, but distressed by the woman and baby sleeping on a foam mattress on the corner. I was fascinated to step into the Notre Dame Cathedral and dismayed that no one seemed to understand it was a religious icon. I wanted to pay my respects, but I had run out of coins. All I had was a €20 bill, so I asked from one of the saleswoman IN THE AISLES OF THE CHURCH SELLING RELIGIOUS THINGS, if she could change my bill for me so I could light candles in respect. She told me no, gave me the notorious French arrogance and walked away. There was no point in pursuing my show of respect where there is no respect expected.

I was fascinated by the way the traffic lights work, you have to pay attention to not one but two lights. And you don’t cross at the corner, you cross just a bit off the corner. At one place, I missed the crossing space and ended up walking 3 different corners before I figured it out.

I was confused by the Parisian insistence at the metro of standing right by the door when a few feet away was plenty of space, instead they cram themselves, pushing and shoving unaware of more space mere feet away.

I admired the beagle who sat quietly at his owners feet while, calmly ignoring the many feet that came and went before him. I had to respect the woman who stood at a corner greeting people with “BONJOUR!” her voice full of joy and delight and persisting when everyone else ignored her. I respected the man who waved a large bottle of water arguing with himself and walking a bit sideways as he walked up the sidewalk. He wasn’t on a phone. I helped an older woman who was struggling with her bag climbing up the metro stairs. I said “May I assist?” with an accent. American’s don’t say things like “May I assist?” So the woman who was a Brit, struggled to thank me in French.

I didn’t realize that Paris is actually a bit hilly with the random dip and staircases. Either I had my head down looking at my gps on the phone or I was staring up at the buildings, something had to give. So I put the phone away. And oddly enough, despite the many turns and the tiny little streets, I managed to imagine the city as a grid as if I were in Chicago and I still found my way home.

I’ve noticed that very recently. Brussel, Ostend, Ghent, Brugge and now Paris. I remember how I would second guess myself, turning myself around just when I was about to arrive where I needed to be. Then I ran into Madrid that just messed me up completely. But since Madrid, I’ve found a certainty I didn’t have before. Suddenly, if I found myself in an unfamiliar place, I didn’t worry, I just knew that I would find myself.

My ‘home’ is not perfect, I sit downstairs at the small kitchen table typing away this late night as my TV is on upstairs in my loft bedroom. It’s hot up there, a bit cramped and no AC nor fan.

But again, it’s called adapting. I’m beginning to understand what I will and won’t put up with and I’m learning to stand up for myself.