Paris

The “City of Light” is as beautiful as it is annoying. It possessed many of the trappings of a large European city: graffiti everywhere, trash in the streets, hustle and bustle of large crowds down narrow streets and shopping corridors. Thankfully it lacked a decisive, pungent odor.

My hostel was conveniently located around the corner from the train station I departed from. However, my room was inconveniently located on the 4th floor, and there was no elevator. I believe I should stress that by 4th floor I mean 5th floor, as Europeans count the American 2nd story as the 1st. My hostel was less than reputable, but what more can expect for paying 20 Euro a night. Toilet and shower facilities were sub-par, and the complementary breakfast involved getting a coin from the front desk to put into a machine that dispensed a pathetic looking chocolate croissant roll. The saving grace for me here, and which has become a saving grace in every city I’ve been to across Europe, has been the kebab shop. Luckily for me there was one right next door.

After the 3rd meal there I decided to introduce myself to the proprietors, seeing as how for the duration of my stay in Paris they would be receiving a lot of my business and tourist Euros. The owner was named Habib, and his partner Abdel. We shook hands and I introduced myself and told them I came from America, which brought a smile to their face, a welcome change from the frowns or disconcerted faces I would get from the French. They were from Morocco, and did not particularly like the French. This proved to be a great common ground to build upon, as I had found a half-truth in American preconceptions of the French: most of the French people are actually decent, upstanding people who love Americans, however, the Parisians are a completely different story, and fit the stereotypical image of pretentiousness and snootiness Americans claim all the French to be. What was so great about going to Habib and Abdel’s kebab shop was that it confirmed further that the immigrants in Europe are the ones who will treat all comers with the respect that a paying customer deserves. I was not about to go sit in some French café, wait 20 minutes for a waiter/waitress to grace me with his/her presence, pay for every glass of lukewarm water asked for, which also comes in 20 minute intervals, and have to wait an additional 20 minutes while they print up the check, which would require another 20 minutes of waiting had I decided to pay with a credit card. A meal at any conventional European café takes at least an hour without complications, and thus eating on the fly is practically impossible. With this particular kebab store, they had my food whipped up in less than 5 minutes for a durum. Once, I tried a multi-course meal, and not only would I get a free liter of clean, semi-chilled water, they kept an eye on me so that when I was on the verge of finishing the first course the second would arrive instantly and the same happened at the end of the second course when dessert was delivered. Such service was so well appreciated that it warranted a tip, which I knew was already included in the bill, but I felt it was well deserved. The bill was only 8.5 Euro, so I left a 10, which prompted a round of handshakes from the entire staff behind the counter. Incredibly great people.

I was in Paris for four days, and even this was not enough to “see it all”. The first day I was able to see Notre Dame Cathedral and St. Michael’s fountain. Here are pictures of both, respectively:


I was happy that Notre Dame Cathedral did not charge for entry, as that had been a reason for me not going inside other great cathedrals across Europe. Since when did the Church become for-profit…

After wondrous Notre Dame, I meandered over to St. Michael’s fountain, which was impressive in its own right for how well it was designed. Gazing into the fountains steady streams of water made me really need to urinate, and so I tried to find the nearest available toilet. And here comes the next peeve about Europe: most public toilets are not public in the sense that Americans think they are, in that the ones here you have to pay for. 1 Euro to urinate, 2 Euro to defecate. I found it horrible that the French (and to be fair, a lot of European countries do this too) would charge people to use facilities to dispose of bodily waste, a function that comes naturally to every single living human being. If this “joke” is the European idea of “conservationism” then I certainly was not laughing. At this point I was pissed about not being able to take a piss in a conventional toilet for free, and opted instead to duck down an alley, duck behind a dumpster, and relieve myself there. Think of that devilish logo of Calvin pissing on an Eiffel Tower, and you will have the same humorous thought I did zipping up my pants. On the way home, I ran into the site where the Bastille once stood. Here is the statue to commemorate it:


The 2nd and 3rd day of my stay was occupied by side trips out of town that will be addressed in later posts. My 4th and final day in Paris consisted of seeing many more of the major sites before departing for Holland. The day began on Champ d’Elysees. Right outside of the tram stop was a statue of Charles de Gualle, savior of France from the clutches of Nazi Germany and spent the next 20 years as president, grinding France’s military teeth to nubs in futile conflicts in Albania and Vietnam. He was also the bastard who withdrew from active NATO duty, and should be vilified as a traitor to the entire defensive operation in W. Europe against Soviet expansion. Here’s a picture:


Up the street was the famous Arc d’Triumph, a symbol of French military greatness (indeed, there was a time when France’s military was formidable and did play an important role within European power politics, although it is important to note that the second to last time it was used was by goose-stepping Nazis) Here’s a picture of me in front of it:


At the other far end of this boulevard was the Obelisk, a relic Napoleon stole from Egypt while trying to unseat the English from that region. I can’t chastise the French too much for their looting, however, as I have heard there is a 2nd Obelisk from Egypt as well, and that it is located in Central Park, NYC. This may or may not be true, but if it is, I wonder if the French gave it to us or whether we looted it ourselves. Some would argue for their return to Egypt, but since modern-day Egypt has as much connection with its ancient past as Italians do to the Romans, it does not seem plausible to me. Another interesting note about the square in which this Obelisk is located is that it is the square where French revolutionaries beheaded Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. Here is a picture of the Obelisk, and a plaque for the ill-fated monarchs:


Across the river from this point is the French Assembly, which conducts the business of the French state. I also found the presidential palace. Here’s some pics:

We had done a lot of walking at this point. Here is what Mike had to say about it:

The coup de grace of this dash to see as many Parisian sites in one day was the Eiffel Tower. Dusk was approaching and I had really wanted to be on top of it to catch a Parisian sunset. The area underneath the tower was packed with tourists, street peddlers, and military personnel walking around with automatic rifles with trigger fingers at the ready. The line to go up took about 45 minutes to traverse, but the trip up to the lower tier took less than 5. Another 20 minute wait and 2 minute trip and I was at the upper tier. It was here that I was able to get shots of Paris in twilight. It was amazing to see the city lights sparkle to life. And it wasn’t just the city that was doing the twinkling. Indeed the entire Eiffel Tower was beginning to twinkle in the night as light bulbs up and down its body began to flicker on and off in an awesome cascade of flickering light. From the ground it must have looked amazingly cool, but from the tier I was standing on it was a magnificent sight. Here is what I saw from the Eiffel Tower:



On the day of departure, the last thing I wanted to find was the cemetery where Jim Morrison was buried and the Communards’ Wall. I did find it, and after a few twists and turns in this traditional above-ground cemetery, I did indeed find the final resting place of the self-proclaimed “Lizard King”. Also, I found Oscar Wilde's tomb:


Wandering around some more, I even found the grave of Oscar Wilde. And finally, the Communards’ Wall. A little history for those who are unfamiliar: In the 1870-1871 Franco-Prussian War, the Prussians (Germans) walloped the French at the Battle of Sedan, and captured then-emperor Napoleon III. This caused the downfall of the imperial regime in Paris, and led to the birth of the Paris Commune. The Commune was led by Communards, mostly of the anarchist school of thought, who quickly prepared for the defense of Paris as the Prussians approached the city gates. However, the remnants of the French government struck a quickly negotiated peace with the Prussians (probably by paying them a large tribute to leave the country, as well as other concessions) and this left the French government the ability to turn its full attention to suppressing the Commune. As such, the organizers of the Commune were rounded up, brought to this particular cemetery, lined up against a wall, and shot. To anarchists, this is Mecca, and I had come to pay my respects. Here are pictures from my cemetery experience:


On my final night in Paris, walking home from the tram, I had stopped into a grocery store for some provisions for the next day’s train ride. After acquiring them, I began on my way back to my hostel when I heard a loud crash behind me. A motorcyclist had clipped the rear end of a cab and wiped out just behind me. As soon as I realized what had happened, all those years of First Responder training from Boy Scouts kicked in and I leapt to action. The first rule in this type of situation was to secure the scene. The motorcycle was still running, with the operator and a passenger pinned beneath it. I was able to slide the bike out from on top of them and backed it away a safe distance. In the meantime, a small cluster of French gathered around and began to administer aid. My first reaction was “Get away you bastards! This is my scene!” followed by an immediate need for a towel. The driver appeared to be conscious while the passenger appeared to be concussed and bleeding from the face. I had a towel in my bag because it is the single most important item for a backpacker, and went to retrieve it. However, a busboy from a nearby outdoor café ran over with his table-wipe and was already trying to control the bleeding. Realizing that I had essentially lost my chance to provide any further assistance, I began to walk back to Mike who had stayed with the groceries I dropped. A French lady tried to speak to me, and all I could say was, “Sorry I‘m an American, I don‘t speak French.” to which she replied, “Ah, thank you American for your help. We will take it from here.” I felt bad that I wasn’t able to do more, because it was what I had been trained for years to do. At camp I was a medic in the health lodge and had to be johnny-on-the-spot whenever people got hurt. I’m happy to say that I’ve still got it.

All in all, I had bit off more than I could chew trying to see Paris in the time I had allotted. By the time I boarded my train to Holland, my feet were absolutely killing me. Paris was indeed beautiful for all it had to offer, but it required a large chunk of time to “see it all”, not to mention all that walking. I did not even attempt the Louvre or d’Orsay, vowing to return and give them the time they deserve. I left Paris exhausted, and was looking forward to an extended stay in Holland where I would have adequate time to put my feet up, smell the tulips, and enjoy the relaxed Dutch atmosphere.