May 1, 2011

Woke up at 7 AM and did some last minute organising for my Paris trip. I Googled attractions and maps of Paris and made notes to help me out once I got there (edit: not enough notes). I left the flat around 10 and headed for St. Pancras.

On the tube an adorable baby was squirming and crying the whole time. It was more of a “pay attention to me” cry rather than anything actually being wrong. In an attempt to quiet her down, her mother gave her half a biscuit. It seemed to work for about two seconds before she started crying while eating. If it wasn’t so hilarious it might have been sad. Luckily, it was hilarious.

On another tube train, two girls (I’d guess in their mid-20s) saw a flashing toy ring abandoned on the ground. They started panicking and wanting to get off the train and switch to another.(They thought it was some kind of explosive device.) They kept eyeing it in the corner and calculating all their ways of escape. (Which door was closest; what passengers the could hide behind if something went down, etc.) When they eventually got up to leave they saw it from another angle and established that it was a ring. Just a ring. They decided to stay on the train after all as their stop was only one away.

In true “Kat is travelling” fashion I was extremely early to St. Pancras station. My train was at 12:28 and I arrived around 10:40. I wandered the station and got a snack before I checked in with Eurostar.

I also bought some Euros at the currency exchange; 100 Euros cost £103. At the border patrol I got a French stamp in my passport with a little picture of a train.

Inside the lounge, I found myself a seat to wait an hour for my train. I found a section with two empty seats and when I attempted to sit in one a man sitting across the aisle said “No! Someone is sitting there!” (He was American, if I had to guess I’d say New York/New England area.) Luckily, I was allowed to take the seat next to it. Within about a minute the man who said the seat was taken came over and sat in it! The gentleman on my other side and I exchanged humoured confused glances. Late,r it appeared that he was friends with the person who was supposedly sitting there!

On the train I sat with two people from North Carolina (Jen and Chris). They were both studying in the UK (Scotland and Ireland) and they were really nice and I hoped they were staying near me, but they weren’t. Maybe I’d see them on a tour somewhere (edit: I didn’t). The train ride was nice. (I didn’t even realise when we were in the Chunnel – it was really fast.) There was an adorable French baby across the aisle from me who was using his PJ bottoms as a telephone and making everyone else talk to him via pant legs. The woman across from me kept stepping on my feet. She did not understand how to share leg room, and she had massive headphones on so I couldn’t even ask her to stop.

The trip didn’t feel like two hours and I was sad to say goodbye to Jen and Chris. I hoped I meet some nice people at my hostel.

Upon leaving the train station (Gare Du Nord) I couldn’t figure out what direction was north. I had printed out a map and directions from the station to my hostel (Hotel Regent Montmartre) but I quickly realised that means nothing without a compass (or natural sense of direction). I went to the information desk and was pointed in the right direction (being north). The walk was about 15-20 minutes. The weather was really warm. I was sweating in a t-shirt and skirt. I checked into my room, no problem, around 5 PM. I organised my bag and set back out to explore. Being that it was Sunday afternoon (and May Day) I wasn’t sure how much or what would be open. Surprisingly, a lot!

I made my way west through Montmartre and accidentally saw Sacré-Coeur through an alley way, so I changed directions and went toward it. I walked through some small streets loaded with souvenir shops (and people); I had to constantly remind myself that “I have no room in my suitcase! I have no room in my suitcase!” But I would be getting my two standard souvenirs (from every country I visit): a deck of cards, an iron-on patch, and a novelty mug (that’s three!). There are about a million steps up to Sacré-Coeur but it is absolutely stunning to see so it definitely beckons you up.

There are street vendors lining the steps so it’s hard to get through them without someone trying to sell you something. One guy was holding out an embroidered bracelet and I managed to avoid his attempts to trap me but as I was taking a photo I got a sneak attack from someone else! He asked to use my finger (to hold the string) with which he made the bracelet. Naively I thought he just wanted to make the bracelet not realising he’d expect me to buy it afterward. While he was talking to me I was thinking of ways to get out of paying for this. He tried to tell me something about “millions” in terms of paying. I told him he should pay me for the use of my finger, but all of a sudden he didn’t speak English well enough to get the joke. When he took it off my finger I made to leave but he tied it on my wrist at lightning speed – some kind of magic! I offered him 50 cents and he said “No, no, people usually pay me 5 Euros.” I said, “5 Euros?! But I don’t even want it!” I told him he could have 1 Euro and that’s it. I got away that time but you really have to be aggressively vigilant! It’s exhausting.

After making it up all the stairs I was at the entrance to the basilica. The view of the city was amazing. It’s enormous, though! I expected to be able to see the Eiffel Tower but I think I was looking in the opposite direction (again, I really need a compass). I went inside and because it was Sunday they were having a service. There was a nun with a beautiful voice singing; I didn’t catch what song it was but I did hear the occasional “hallelujah.” There were some amazing mosaics as well.

After Sacre Coeur I bought a chocolate muffin and made my way back down to street level. Then I continued heading west towards the Moulin Rouge. I found it and it had a queue down the street. I didn’t particularly want to go in (I was happy with my few photos) but it was less impressive than I’d imagined. And in somewhat seedy surroundings. Then again, I guess it’s not the most sophisticated of places. I wanted to see what it looked like all lit up at night but I wasn’t about to hang out ‘til dark just to find out.

I continued west toward the Cimetière de Montmartre but it was long past 6 PM by the time I got there and it was already closed. There is a big bridge that passes over it, though, so I was able to see it and takes some pictures from there. It was really neat (I imagine where New Orleans got its inspiration).

I had lost track of time at this point (but it was still day light) but I decided it was time for dinner. There were numerous restaurants and cafés to choose from, which actually made the decision a little overwhelming and intimidating. After awkwardly wandering and stopping and doubling back and continuing on I finally settled at a place called O’Sullivans because I heard the waitress speaking English (with an English accent). I know, I know, shame on me. It was chicken of me, I realise, but I was easing my way into the Frenchness of it all. I bought a quesadilla and it was awful. Maybe one of the worst things I’d ever eaten. Also, expensive. It cost me 13 Euros for a quesadilla and a pint. And I chose from the starter menu, which was cheapest! I was definitely missing England prices! Also, I really should have researched if people expect tips in France. In England they don’t. I didn’t want to look like an idiot but I didn’t to throw away money, either. This was budget touring!

I was eating outside and writing in my journal when some guy asked me if I was looking for inspiration (en français). I think he thought I was writing some grand novel, being inspired by Paris. I was shy about my French so I answered him in English saying it was just a diary. Then he and his friend asked to sit with me. One spoke some English but the other didn’t. We chatted for a while, one worked in oil and petrol and the other in aluminium siding. Every once and a while the strictly French one would be confused so I’d say something in French and they’d both be surprise I could speak it. Every time. Eventually they started to test my accent and told me I spoke well (chalk one up for Kat’s education!), which was nice to hear (it eased my worries of horribly offending everyone).

The one who spoke English, Amire, ran out of things to say I think because he started asking me a series of things like “If you were a fruit, what fruit would you be?” “What car?” “Animal?” “Flower?” “Food?” And on and on. Eventually I finished my beer (but not my food, blech!) and parted company.

It was nearing dark but my hostel was only 10 minutes away. It was about 9:30/10 PM when I got back. I bought some internet time and checked in on Facebook to get a dose of normality. It was a little strange to be there alone. I definitely think I would have preferred to have a travel buddy. (Next time!) It was only the first day, though. The next day I was going to make my way south and see a lot more famous stuff. Maybe the new day would reawaken the fearless traveller in me. At that moment, though, I was feeling a little meek. I think the combination of foreign country, different language, and being alone was a little intimidating. But the next day I would go out armed with the knowledge that my accent is good and my French is not too shabby, either!