Then give the man a pear!
So, now that I'm no longer as likely to pass out in front of major landmarks... today was a lot more manageable. I found neighborhoods that made a lot of what I saw yesterday make more sense. Here I am, making my official retraction on Paris being "homogeneous." Here I am also saying I think the part north of the river is kind of pants. But that might be because it's Sunday and most everything was closed. That's absolutely no excuse for how far I walked in search of a bottle of water, though. Maybe I'm just really, really bad at this but it should not be possible to walk miles without coming across a store that sells cold bottles of water.
Of course, there are more pictures today. You know the drill.
Today's plan was "Go to Museums!" Which I accomplished. The night was long, since I went to bed around 9 and was awakened by a combination of snoring, and then said snorer waking up at 5:30 in the morning, turning on the lights, and then spending half an hour packing things. Funtimes. (Though I've had worse nights. I'm pretty sure there were a few nights in college that I slept through drunk DDR.) So, I got up at 8, had breakfast, and then set out to Musée Cluny, which was a decent but not un-walkable distance away on a lot of streets I hadn't seen yet. (I'm a little worried for myself here, because my goal at this point seems to be Walk Every Street in Paris.) I walked past the Sorbonne, accidentally ended up at the Jardin du Luxembourg again (despite the fact that I could see where the sun was, and should've known which way to turn)... and realized that it's a good thing no one was travelling with me because people would hate me. I navigate by pointing myself in the general direction of something and then looking for landmarks. It's terrible. It works for me, but I think it'd drive anyone else nuts. It's kind of like Dirk Gently picking someone who looks like they know where they're going and following them.
So, Cluny was very cool. Lots of tapestries, some of unsettling wooden statues, and a book called traité de combat (I think) which seemed to be nothing but adorable illustrations of men hitting each other with various weapons. Among other things, of course. Very neat building, complete with ruins. And the guy at the ticket counter didn't seem to mind that I couldn't understand when he asked me if I was under 26, for statistics (I apologized profusely, because I should've understood, but anything at normal speed in a Parisian accent that isn't something I'm expecting to be asked is absolutely beyond me.)
I did, however, succeed in ordering lunch at a little place behind Musée d'Orsay, which was my second stop. (It was also a longer walk than I'd originally thought, but lesson learned... sort of.) I ate it on a bridge over the Seine, and then stood in line for d'Orsay. My first impression was that it's a huge building. Huge. Then I checked to make sure there weren't any monsters lurking in any of Van Gogh's paintings (we're safe for now), and then checked everything else they had, just in case. I'll admit I was pretty nonplussed with their obvious collections (the bulk of them seemed to be on loan elsewhere), but there were a lot of things by artists I'd never heard of before that were very cool. Plus, you know, a lot of Toulouse-de-Lautrec and things of very Parisian interest.
d'Orsay is also where I discovered that water fountains are not very common here. And this is where the day went All Wrong (for a certain, successful definition of All Wrong). I decided "I'll walk and see if I can find something to drink." So I crossed the river, and found the Louvre and Toulieries. And so I sat for a while and took in how incredibly massive the Louvre is, and how many people were standing in front of it. Then I set off again, heading generally northwest. Everything on the north side of the river is somehow more giant. And full of big-name hotels. So I walked and I walked and I walked and by the time I got to l'Opera I hadn't found anything, but suddenly there were a lot of Starbucks and not a single fishmonger in sight. Plus there were Pizza Huts and McDonalds and a Gap and a Zara and... places I recognized. And I went oh. Suddenly the giant hotels and giant everything and American fast food made sense. Here was the tourist area. I had confused "relevant and interesting to me" with "touristy" because I... am currently a tourist. But whatever this end of Paris is, it is nothing like that bit up there. So, I continued on in search of water, now keeping to side streets in hopes of coming across a market or something. I found a plethora of sushi places, and one convenience store that, inexplicably, only sold water in warm shrink-wrapped plastic groups of six or more. And so I walked and I walked (and around this time the old "L Was Tired of Walking" flash animation got stuck in my head and the first line was on infinite repeat). Finally, a couple of blocks from the freaking Sacre Coeur I found a little grocery store that had water. And there was much rejoicing. And I remembered enough French to be able to pay for it in exact change, rather than just handing over a bill I knew was more than enough. (By the by... d'hostel a Sacre Coeur, without the detour to Cluny and d'Orsay. If I ever ask why my feet hurt, redirect me to this.)
And so, finally in possession of water, I decided to keep walking, because I couldn't think of anything else to do. I was already way outside of the touristy areas, and as I kept on going approximately northwest, things began to resemble what I would classify as hipster areas of Chicago. Wicker Park, Ukrainian Village. There was even someone on a fixie. This, this I recognized! And so I knew I must be heading toward the bad part of town. And yet I kept walking, and then I found myself at Gare du Nord. Which, of course, is where I have to leave for London from in a couple of days, so I decided to have a look around. It took me at least ten minutes to even find a mention of Eurostar, and the line was long, long, and also long, so I need to make sure I give myself plenty of time to get there and onto the train on Tuesday morning. (This is what I expected, but it's good to know in advance.)
Then, having lost interest in the Gare du Nord, I started walking again. Actually, I decided since I was all the way on the wrong side of Paris, I might as well hop on the Metro and go to the Pere Lachaise cemetery and visit Oscar Wilde, since I wasn't sure when else I was going to do that. Unfortunately, even though Gare du Nord is a massive transit hub, and it supposedly had a transfer to the line I needed, I could not for the life of me locate it. And that was when I started walking again. So I walked up a mostly-empty street full of shops that catered to brides (one of them was called "Hella Marier"). And as I approached the cross-street I noticed two things: there were a lot of people, and the tracks were elevated. And, much like the seedy parts of Chicago I am used to, I was hassled to buy my Metro tickets from random people on the stairs, I was offered all manner of strange goods being sold out of boxes and carts, everyone was pushing and jostling and unlike most every part of Paris I'd been in to this point, everyone was of an entirely un-white ethnicity. (I wish rough(er) neighborhoods didn't seem to always adhere to this stereotype.) After a bit of walking, though, I managed to find the alternate entrance to the metro station, which had a working ticket vending machine and no scalpers, and hopped on the train.
And then there was Pere Lachaise. Which is massive. And full of massive tombs. Some of them (and I wish I'd managed to get a good picture) are all lined up like houses. I visited Jim Morrison's grave (for my mom), and Moliere's and Oscar Wilde's (for me), and took in the sights. There was a lot of graffiti on Oscar Wilde's grave. I was expecting the lipstick, but people had also taken sharpies to it and written things. One of them looked like "Oscar, you are pearless" and I figured maybe I should go get the man a pear, but once I went to take a picture I saw that it actually said "fearless." Maybe I should bring him a pear anyway. Incidentally the cemetery also involved a lot of walking, this time over cobblestones. And there were places where the gnats were so thick in the air, and followed me for so long, that I was afraid they were some kind of curse that I'd brought on myself for walking next to the wrong person's grave. All in all, an excellent experience.
Then I caught the metro back to my apartment (after asking the attendant the most obvious question in the history of the metro, perhaps. See, after the Gare du Nord transfer incident, I had lost faith in the metro ever telling me the truth about where my transfer was located. So, after studying the map, looking at the transfer from the line I was at to the line I needed to be on to get back to my hostel, I concluded that the station must be lying to me about being connected to line 6, so I just marched myself up to the attendant and asked "Ou je trouve le six?" and he looked at me weird, and I figured it was my terrible French, and he said "Aux Nations" and pointed to the turnstile. I figured, okay, so the transfer must be in here somewhere. And then I remembered. Nations was the end of the line. And I was two stops away. That was why my transfer wasn't listed anywhere at that station. Siigh.) And then I had dinner, and failed to order water correctly, but the guy just laughed and gave me a second chance, so it was okay.
So, what I learned today: Just because an area is interesting to me, or historical, does not make it "touristy." Touristy is very definitely independent of what I think of something. It is actually possible to turn the wrong corner in Paris and end up somewhere you don't want to be. And slowly, slowly this city is clicking into place for me, and even though I am still severely out of context here, it's starting to make sense in and of itself. The architecture is relentlessly (almost disconcertingly) consistent, but at least there are neighborhoods that aren't sorted entirely by what they are selling.
tl;dr I walked, and then walked some more. And then there was some walking, and a bit of walking and more walking. Also impressionists and walking, Oscar Wilde and walking, medieval relics and walking, and walking with walking and hipsters and tourists.
Of course, there are more pictures today. You know the drill.
Today's plan was "Go to Museums!" Which I accomplished. The night was long, since I went to bed around 9 and was awakened by a combination of snoring, and then said snorer waking up at 5:30 in the morning, turning on the lights, and then spending half an hour packing things. Funtimes. (Though I've had worse nights. I'm pretty sure there were a few nights in college that I slept through drunk DDR.) So, I got up at 8, had breakfast, and then set out to Musée Cluny, which was a decent but not un-walkable distance away on a lot of streets I hadn't seen yet. (I'm a little worried for myself here, because my goal at this point seems to be Walk Every Street in Paris.) I walked past the Sorbonne, accidentally ended up at the Jardin du Luxembourg again (despite the fact that I could see where the sun was, and should've known which way to turn)... and realized that it's a good thing no one was travelling with me because people would hate me. I navigate by pointing myself in the general direction of something and then looking for landmarks. It's terrible. It works for me, but I think it'd drive anyone else nuts. It's kind of like Dirk Gently picking someone who looks like they know where they're going and following them.
So, Cluny was very cool. Lots of tapestries, some of unsettling wooden statues, and a book called traité de combat (I think) which seemed to be nothing but adorable illustrations of men hitting each other with various weapons. Among other things, of course. Very neat building, complete with ruins. And the guy at the ticket counter didn't seem to mind that I couldn't understand when he asked me if I was under 26, for statistics (I apologized profusely, because I should've understood, but anything at normal speed in a Parisian accent that isn't something I'm expecting to be asked is absolutely beyond me.)
I did, however, succeed in ordering lunch at a little place behind Musée d'Orsay, which was my second stop. (It was also a longer walk than I'd originally thought, but lesson learned... sort of.) I ate it on a bridge over the Seine, and then stood in line for d'Orsay. My first impression was that it's a huge building. Huge. Then I checked to make sure there weren't any monsters lurking in any of Van Gogh's paintings (we're safe for now), and then checked everything else they had, just in case. I'll admit I was pretty nonplussed with their obvious collections (the bulk of them seemed to be on loan elsewhere), but there were a lot of things by artists I'd never heard of before that were very cool. Plus, you know, a lot of Toulouse-de-Lautrec and things of very Parisian interest.
d'Orsay is also where I discovered that water fountains are not very common here. And this is where the day went All Wrong (for a certain, successful definition of All Wrong). I decided "I'll walk and see if I can find something to drink." So I crossed the river, and found the Louvre and Toulieries. And so I sat for a while and took in how incredibly massive the Louvre is, and how many people were standing in front of it. Then I set off again, heading generally northwest. Everything on the north side of the river is somehow more giant. And full of big-name hotels. So I walked and I walked and I walked and by the time I got to l'Opera I hadn't found anything, but suddenly there were a lot of Starbucks and not a single fishmonger in sight. Plus there were Pizza Huts and McDonalds and a Gap and a Zara and... places I recognized. And I went oh. Suddenly the giant hotels and giant everything and American fast food made sense. Here was the tourist area. I had confused "relevant and interesting to me" with "touristy" because I... am currently a tourist. But whatever this end of Paris is, it is nothing like that bit up there. So, I continued on in search of water, now keeping to side streets in hopes of coming across a market or something. I found a plethora of sushi places, and one convenience store that, inexplicably, only sold water in warm shrink-wrapped plastic groups of six or more. And so I walked and I walked (and around this time the old "L Was Tired of Walking" flash animation got stuck in my head and the first line was on infinite repeat). Finally, a couple of blocks from the freaking Sacre Coeur I found a little grocery store that had water. And there was much rejoicing. And I remembered enough French to be able to pay for it in exact change, rather than just handing over a bill I knew was more than enough. (By the by... d'hostel a Sacre Coeur, without the detour to Cluny and d'Orsay. If I ever ask why my feet hurt, redirect me to this.)
And so, finally in possession of water, I decided to keep walking, because I couldn't think of anything else to do. I was already way outside of the touristy areas, and as I kept on going approximately northwest, things began to resemble what I would classify as hipster areas of Chicago. Wicker Park, Ukrainian Village. There was even someone on a fixie. This, this I recognized! And so I knew I must be heading toward the bad part of town. And yet I kept walking, and then I found myself at Gare du Nord. Which, of course, is where I have to leave for London from in a couple of days, so I decided to have a look around. It took me at least ten minutes to even find a mention of Eurostar, and the line was long, long, and also long, so I need to make sure I give myself plenty of time to get there and onto the train on Tuesday morning. (This is what I expected, but it's good to know in advance.)
Then, having lost interest in the Gare du Nord, I started walking again. Actually, I decided since I was all the way on the wrong side of Paris, I might as well hop on the Metro and go to the Pere Lachaise cemetery and visit Oscar Wilde, since I wasn't sure when else I was going to do that. Unfortunately, even though Gare du Nord is a massive transit hub, and it supposedly had a transfer to the line I needed, I could not for the life of me locate it. And that was when I started walking again. So I walked up a mostly-empty street full of shops that catered to brides (one of them was called "Hella Marier"). And as I approached the cross-street I noticed two things: there were a lot of people, and the tracks were elevated. And, much like the seedy parts of Chicago I am used to, I was hassled to buy my Metro tickets from random people on the stairs, I was offered all manner of strange goods being sold out of boxes and carts, everyone was pushing and jostling and unlike most every part of Paris I'd been in to this point, everyone was of an entirely un-white ethnicity. (I wish rough(er) neighborhoods didn't seem to always adhere to this stereotype.) After a bit of walking, though, I managed to find the alternate entrance to the metro station, which had a working ticket vending machine and no scalpers, and hopped on the train.
And then there was Pere Lachaise. Which is massive. And full of massive tombs. Some of them (and I wish I'd managed to get a good picture) are all lined up like houses. I visited Jim Morrison's grave (for my mom), and Moliere's and Oscar Wilde's (for me), and took in the sights. There was a lot of graffiti on Oscar Wilde's grave. I was expecting the lipstick, but people had also taken sharpies to it and written things. One of them looked like "Oscar, you are pearless" and I figured maybe I should go get the man a pear, but once I went to take a picture I saw that it actually said "fearless." Maybe I should bring him a pear anyway. Incidentally the cemetery also involved a lot of walking, this time over cobblestones. And there were places where the gnats were so thick in the air, and followed me for so long, that I was afraid they were some kind of curse that I'd brought on myself for walking next to the wrong person's grave. All in all, an excellent experience.
Then I caught the metro back to my apartment (after asking the attendant the most obvious question in the history of the metro, perhaps. See, after the Gare du Nord transfer incident, I had lost faith in the metro ever telling me the truth about where my transfer was located. So, after studying the map, looking at the transfer from the line I was at to the line I needed to be on to get back to my hostel, I concluded that the station must be lying to me about being connected to line 6, so I just marched myself up to the attendant and asked "Ou je trouve le six?" and he looked at me weird, and I figured it was my terrible French, and he said "Aux Nations" and pointed to the turnstile. I figured, okay, so the transfer must be in here somewhere. And then I remembered. Nations was the end of the line. And I was two stops away. That was why my transfer wasn't listed anywhere at that station. Siigh.) And then I had dinner, and failed to order water correctly, but the guy just laughed and gave me a second chance, so it was okay.
So, what I learned today: Just because an area is interesting to me, or historical, does not make it "touristy." Touristy is very definitely independent of what I think of something. It is actually possible to turn the wrong corner in Paris and end up somewhere you don't want to be. And slowly, slowly this city is clicking into place for me, and even though I am still severely out of context here, it's starting to make sense in and of itself. The architecture is relentlessly (almost disconcertingly) consistent, but at least there are neighborhoods that aren't sorted entirely by what they are selling.
tl;dr I walked, and then walked some more. And then there was some walking, and a bit of walking and more walking. Also impressionists and walking, Oscar Wilde and walking, medieval relics and walking, and walking with walking and hipsters and tourists.