Bonjour
Paris has been a city of simple surprises.
The first being that CDG didn’t have clear signs and I exited customs before getting my bag. Stupid American! The guy at the information kiosk was more than friendly and wrote, “Get back inside!” and motioned for me to follow him, which I did, back into the baggage claim area. He keyed me and I quickly retrieved my blood red suitcase. After a short trip to the currency exchange booth, the bathroom, and the tourist information booth, AnnMarie and I were ready to start our European adventure.
We were terribly lost and we didn’t realize our trekking back and forth on Rue Ramey would produce no building, contrary to the address we were given although we finally figured that out for ourselves.
We had found each other in the airport without any glitches. We had taken the Parisian subway with absolutely no problem at all. We navigated the Parisian streets with the help of locals.
Why is it that we couldn’t find our address? We found a library, thank god for AnnMarie taking Italian her last semester of college. She recognized the French word for library. There, we were able to tap into a WiFi network. The first thing I did? Get on FaceBook and ask my mother in Los Angeles for help! We were given the international code for AnnMarie’s cousin’s phone so we were unable to call her using a Parisian cell. I tried calling through an American interpreter through Purple’s p3 software, but they could see that the ip address I was using is not a registered American address and refused me service. Thankfully, my mother came to the rescue. We then learned that 85 Rue Ramey was the wrong address. We were given the right one and we immediately set off for our soon-to-be Parisian friend’s flat with our suitcases clunking across the floor, much to the displeasure of our French counterparts.
We were so grateful to have found the correct address. Cousin Paola proved to be an absolute sweetheart and it was heartwarming watching a very happy family reunion. They had only seen each other once their entire lives and it was only for a few minutes. They had gone their entire existences surviving only on news passed through family members and now they had the opportunity to get to know one another face-to-face. Paola had brought a friend…who happens to be from New Jersey, just like AnnMarie is! Erik and AnnMarie soon learned that they had two things in common: their place of origin and Erik and AnnMarie’s father work in the same town in Jersey. Talk about a small world! Erik is in Paris, bartending until July. He wrote, “I am going to be very sad when I leave!” We will be too when our trip comes to its end. Now that is something all THREE of us have in common.
After some conversation which took place chiefly on paper, we finally decided that it was time to retire. AnnMarie had her heart set on going to a bar, but that goal proved to be fruitless because we did not accomplish it. The minute we let our heads hit the pillow, we were out. “It is 11!” AnnMarie shook me awake, shocked at the time. We had slept 5 hours and it was now nighttime. Our original plan was to take a power nap. Hungry, we rose and raided the fridge for some food. Being the Italian that she is, AnnMarie set her sights on pasta and began working on preparing our very late night dinner.
Full and happy, I washed all of the dishes and joined AnnMarie to return to sleep.
It was 9 AM when we awoke. Paola was in the dining room with her other roommate, Alice. Hungry again (damn our American appetites!), we joined the two ladies for some butter and bread and good conversation. Alice’s mother is British and so Alice can speak English. She lived in London for a year. Further conversation brought us to the topic of California as Alice had traveled down the Pacific Coast Highway once in her life from San Francisco to Los Angeles. I was so thrilled at the prospect of a Parisian having seen my turf and I immediately started asking questions. “Did you see Monterey? Carmel by the Sea? Cambria? San Simeon? Pismo Beach? Ventura? Santa Barbara?” I had overwhelmed Alice with my list of town names. She plans to return to the United States to visit Arizona and New Mexico…and I gave her another exhausting list of town names for her to visit. At least I am consistent.
Since it wasn’t raining, we set out for the most famous sight in Paris. The Eiffel Tower. At the tower, we were bombarded with Deaf people asking for handouts. Why were they asking us? Our hands were moving and waving in the air. I decided to try to use some International Sign Language and I asked one girl, “Are you Deaf?” and she indicated yes. “What is your name?” and that was the extent of our feeble conversation.
I moved on, migrating to Piler Nord, which I later figured out meant Pillar North. There were Pilers Sud, Nord, Quest, and Est. I can’t help but admit that I do feel a sense of pride for understanding some French. I also learned that Sommet means top in addition to other French words. I understand when I read them, but to recall them is another story.
The Tower proved to be marvelous; I can’t believe what an engineering feat it must have been in its day.
After the Tower, we made do with visits to other sights. We mostly walked, we must have traveled over five miles on foot yesterday. The one thing I noticed about Paris is that there are some streets named after US Presidents like Kennedy, Wilson, and Roosevelt. I am not sure why, but I figure that the French did it to pay homage to the Americans for helping Europe during the post World War period?
My favorite place thus far in Paris is the Arc De Trimophe. I love how it stands in the middle of a roundabout - so inaccessible to everyone and secure in its seclusion.
Down from the Arc is a great shopping street. We went into Louis Vuittion. As AnnMarie put it, “You have to go to LV in France!” Soon after, our browsing in the stores seemed to tire AnnMarie out as she grew hungry. What did she decide to have, you ask?
Well, when in Europe, you definitely have to go American! So McDonald’s it was. I had a coffee. McCafe in Paris has its own separate counter with its own pastry section and a wide selection of gourmet coffee to choose from. The coffee I drank was one of the best I have had. McCafe in America tastes something along the lines of sewer water, something I have ever attempted to drink in my life.
Oh, before AnnMarie accuses me of hiding information, I had a large sandwich with mozzarella, tomato, and basil leaf on it. It was amazing and it came freshly toasted at a whooping price of five euros.
We tired of trekking shortly afterward, but we decided to check out the bar scene an hour after we returned to Paola’s flat. the bar we went to was a two block walk away and Erik is a bartender there. He quickly attended to us and we helped ourselves to Stella Artois for 2 euros. It tasted fresh and strong. I tried to down it in one sip, but the beer was so chilled it fiizzled its away down my throat. Two sips later and my beer was done with.
Paola, Alice and Alice’s male friend, Thibault who goes by Tibo joined us later on for drinks. We ended up having friendly dinner conversation and comparing cultural norms.
It turns out Paris has a huge drug culture and doing cocaine is considered fashionable. The girls admitted it is difficult to not participate in the trend.
After some unwanted flirtation from a lady, AnnMarie was ready to get some sleep. In the morning, we rose at 11 AM, surprised at ourselves for having slept so long. It was a rainy morning. Taking two umbrellas, we set out for the La Basilique du Sacre-Coeur in Montamarte. We had endure roughly 200 steps to the top of the hill. The trip quickly rewarded us with a gorgeous view of Paris. In the mist, we could make out the Notre Dame cathedral, one of the sights we have listed on our itinerary. Around the area is a cute shopping district we were surprised to find. I was walking when I caught a whiff of something really sweet and before I realized it, I had my eyes on a crepe stand. Those who know me know I never turn down a crepe. I go to Studio City to the French Crepe Café and to the Farmer’s Market in Los Angeles for crepes!
Let me tell you something…if you haven’t had a crepe in France, you haven’t lived. It was the most perfect combination of banana and Nutella I ever had. The banana was sliced thin and the crepe stood upright. It had the right amount of Nutella inside. In America, crepes are built so thick and heavy they immediately flop down. You have to eat them flat down on a plate. So add “eat a crepe in France” to your bucket list.
Even though it was a rainy day, we didn’t much mind strolling the streets of Paris to see other sights. We were content with weaving in and out through the crowd. At one point, we came across a grocery store. We hadn’t yet seen a Parisian grocery store and AnnMarie decided it would be a good cultural experience to explore one so in we went. We found lots of wine, yogurt, candy, and fruit. We immediately noticed how much smaller food is packaged in France. Meat comes in thin slices and they number up to five or so slices whereas in America, we practically buy our meat stacked in bowls. Ah, the joys of American eating habits.
This evening, AnnMarie picked out a café for us to enjoy dinner at. We had buttered bread with French ham on it. And FYI, it was just two slices of ham. My coffee came with a sugar cube and I thought myself hip as I delicately rested the cube on the top of the foam before releasing it to hot depths to dissolve. A few hours passed while we talked and at one point, AnnMarie decided to take out her iPod to check out the weather and time. She has yet to believe that she is really in Paris and so she finds amusement in comparing the time difference and the weather approximately five times a day. She was baffled when she learned that we could connect to the WiFi network at the café.
Being the poised Americans that we are, we contained ourselves (surprisingly) and took turns with the iPod to check the all-important FaceBook and text our friends. It feels good to tap in a bit to keep everybody updated and to get updated a bit in return. After another hour and a half, we decided to return to the flat. Before we were able to leave, we were faced with a half drunk stranger who seemed to want to chat, but really, he wanted the money we were paying for our meal with. I quickly slipped away and motioned to the waiter to retrieve the money from AnnMarie while she remained, helpless and confused as the stranger continued to press for the money in a somewhat joking manner. No matter where we go, there are always people asking for money.
Oh, I was pleasantly surprised that my multimedia background came in handy during this trip because at the café, I saw a man reading a film script. I knew it immediately as I could clearly see the Courier font and the two inches wide space on the left side. I wonder what he was reading and I wonder if the French write their scripts the way the Americans do or if it was an American film script he was reading. Either way, I felt smart and proud, but that moment dissipated as abruptly as it came about.
The one lesson I continue to relearn on this trip is that life is not about what you will do tomorrow. It is about what you are doing now.
The first being that CDG didn’t have clear signs and I exited customs before getting my bag. Stupid American! The guy at the information kiosk was more than friendly and wrote, “Get back inside!” and motioned for me to follow him, which I did, back into the baggage claim area. He keyed me and I quickly retrieved my blood red suitcase. After a short trip to the currency exchange booth, the bathroom, and the tourist information booth, AnnMarie and I were ready to start our European adventure.
We were terribly lost and we didn’t realize our trekking back and forth on Rue Ramey would produce no building, contrary to the address we were given although we finally figured that out for ourselves.
We had found each other in the airport without any glitches. We had taken the Parisian subway with absolutely no problem at all. We navigated the Parisian streets with the help of locals.
Why is it that we couldn’t find our address? We found a library, thank god for AnnMarie taking Italian her last semester of college. She recognized the French word for library. There, we were able to tap into a WiFi network. The first thing I did? Get on FaceBook and ask my mother in Los Angeles for help! We were given the international code for AnnMarie’s cousin’s phone so we were unable to call her using a Parisian cell. I tried calling through an American interpreter through Purple’s p3 software, but they could see that the ip address I was using is not a registered American address and refused me service. Thankfully, my mother came to the rescue. We then learned that 85 Rue Ramey was the wrong address. We were given the right one and we immediately set off for our soon-to-be Parisian friend’s flat with our suitcases clunking across the floor, much to the displeasure of our French counterparts.
We were so grateful to have found the correct address. Cousin Paola proved to be an absolute sweetheart and it was heartwarming watching a very happy family reunion. They had only seen each other once their entire lives and it was only for a few minutes. They had gone their entire existences surviving only on news passed through family members and now they had the opportunity to get to know one another face-to-face. Paola had brought a friend…who happens to be from New Jersey, just like AnnMarie is! Erik and AnnMarie soon learned that they had two things in common: their place of origin and Erik and AnnMarie’s father work in the same town in Jersey. Talk about a small world! Erik is in Paris, bartending until July. He wrote, “I am going to be very sad when I leave!” We will be too when our trip comes to its end. Now that is something all THREE of us have in common.
After some conversation which took place chiefly on paper, we finally decided that it was time to retire. AnnMarie had her heart set on going to a bar, but that goal proved to be fruitless because we did not accomplish it. The minute we let our heads hit the pillow, we were out. “It is 11!” AnnMarie shook me awake, shocked at the time. We had slept 5 hours and it was now nighttime. Our original plan was to take a power nap. Hungry, we rose and raided the fridge for some food. Being the Italian that she is, AnnMarie set her sights on pasta and began working on preparing our very late night dinner.
Full and happy, I washed all of the dishes and joined AnnMarie to return to sleep.
It was 9 AM when we awoke. Paola was in the dining room with her other roommate, Alice. Hungry again (damn our American appetites!), we joined the two ladies for some butter and bread and good conversation. Alice’s mother is British and so Alice can speak English. She lived in London for a year. Further conversation brought us to the topic of California as Alice had traveled down the Pacific Coast Highway once in her life from San Francisco to Los Angeles. I was so thrilled at the prospect of a Parisian having seen my turf and I immediately started asking questions. “Did you see Monterey? Carmel by the Sea? Cambria? San Simeon? Pismo Beach? Ventura? Santa Barbara?” I had overwhelmed Alice with my list of town names. She plans to return to the United States to visit Arizona and New Mexico…and I gave her another exhausting list of town names for her to visit. At least I am consistent.
Since it wasn’t raining, we set out for the most famous sight in Paris. The Eiffel Tower. At the tower, we were bombarded with Deaf people asking for handouts. Why were they asking us? Our hands were moving and waving in the air. I decided to try to use some International Sign Language and I asked one girl, “Are you Deaf?” and she indicated yes. “What is your name?” and that was the extent of our feeble conversation.
I moved on, migrating to Piler Nord, which I later figured out meant Pillar North. There were Pilers Sud, Nord, Quest, and Est. I can’t help but admit that I do feel a sense of pride for understanding some French. I also learned that Sommet means top in addition to other French words. I understand when I read them, but to recall them is another story.
The Tower proved to be marvelous; I can’t believe what an engineering feat it must have been in its day.
After the Tower, we made do with visits to other sights. We mostly walked, we must have traveled over five miles on foot yesterday. The one thing I noticed about Paris is that there are some streets named after US Presidents like Kennedy, Wilson, and Roosevelt. I am not sure why, but I figure that the French did it to pay homage to the Americans for helping Europe during the post World War period?
My favorite place thus far in Paris is the Arc De Trimophe. I love how it stands in the middle of a roundabout - so inaccessible to everyone and secure in its seclusion.
Down from the Arc is a great shopping street. We went into Louis Vuittion. As AnnMarie put it, “You have to go to LV in France!” Soon after, our browsing in the stores seemed to tire AnnMarie out as she grew hungry. What did she decide to have, you ask?
Well, when in Europe, you definitely have to go American! So McDonald’s it was. I had a coffee. McCafe in Paris has its own separate counter with its own pastry section and a wide selection of gourmet coffee to choose from. The coffee I drank was one of the best I have had. McCafe in America tastes something along the lines of sewer water, something I have ever attempted to drink in my life.
Oh, before AnnMarie accuses me of hiding information, I had a large sandwich with mozzarella, tomato, and basil leaf on it. It was amazing and it came freshly toasted at a whooping price of five euros.
We tired of trekking shortly afterward, but we decided to check out the bar scene an hour after we returned to Paola’s flat. the bar we went to was a two block walk away and Erik is a bartender there. He quickly attended to us and we helped ourselves to Stella Artois for 2 euros. It tasted fresh and strong. I tried to down it in one sip, but the beer was so chilled it fiizzled its away down my throat. Two sips later and my beer was done with.
Paola, Alice and Alice’s male friend, Thibault who goes by Tibo joined us later on for drinks. We ended up having friendly dinner conversation and comparing cultural norms.
It turns out Paris has a huge drug culture and doing cocaine is considered fashionable. The girls admitted it is difficult to not participate in the trend.
After some unwanted flirtation from a lady, AnnMarie was ready to get some sleep. In the morning, we rose at 11 AM, surprised at ourselves for having slept so long. It was a rainy morning. Taking two umbrellas, we set out for the La Basilique du Sacre-Coeur in Montamarte. We had endure roughly 200 steps to the top of the hill. The trip quickly rewarded us with a gorgeous view of Paris. In the mist, we could make out the Notre Dame cathedral, one of the sights we have listed on our itinerary. Around the area is a cute shopping district we were surprised to find. I was walking when I caught a whiff of something really sweet and before I realized it, I had my eyes on a crepe stand. Those who know me know I never turn down a crepe. I go to Studio City to the French Crepe Café and to the Farmer’s Market in Los Angeles for crepes!
Let me tell you something…if you haven’t had a crepe in France, you haven’t lived. It was the most perfect combination of banana and Nutella I ever had. The banana was sliced thin and the crepe stood upright. It had the right amount of Nutella inside. In America, crepes are built so thick and heavy they immediately flop down. You have to eat them flat down on a plate. So add “eat a crepe in France” to your bucket list.
Even though it was a rainy day, we didn’t much mind strolling the streets of Paris to see other sights. We were content with weaving in and out through the crowd. At one point, we came across a grocery store. We hadn’t yet seen a Parisian grocery store and AnnMarie decided it would be a good cultural experience to explore one so in we went. We found lots of wine, yogurt, candy, and fruit. We immediately noticed how much smaller food is packaged in France. Meat comes in thin slices and they number up to five or so slices whereas in America, we practically buy our meat stacked in bowls. Ah, the joys of American eating habits.
This evening, AnnMarie picked out a café for us to enjoy dinner at. We had buttered bread with French ham on it. And FYI, it was just two slices of ham. My coffee came with a sugar cube and I thought myself hip as I delicately rested the cube on the top of the foam before releasing it to hot depths to dissolve. A few hours passed while we talked and at one point, AnnMarie decided to take out her iPod to check out the weather and time. She has yet to believe that she is really in Paris and so she finds amusement in comparing the time difference and the weather approximately five times a day. She was baffled when she learned that we could connect to the WiFi network at the café.
Being the poised Americans that we are, we contained ourselves (surprisingly) and took turns with the iPod to check the all-important FaceBook and text our friends. It feels good to tap in a bit to keep everybody updated and to get updated a bit in return. After another hour and a half, we decided to return to the flat. Before we were able to leave, we were faced with a half drunk stranger who seemed to want to chat, but really, he wanted the money we were paying for our meal with. I quickly slipped away and motioned to the waiter to retrieve the money from AnnMarie while she remained, helpless and confused as the stranger continued to press for the money in a somewhat joking manner. No matter where we go, there are always people asking for money.
Oh, I was pleasantly surprised that my multimedia background came in handy during this trip because at the café, I saw a man reading a film script. I knew it immediately as I could clearly see the Courier font and the two inches wide space on the left side. I wonder what he was reading and I wonder if the French write their scripts the way the Americans do or if it was an American film script he was reading. Either way, I felt smart and proud, but that moment dissipated as abruptly as it came about.
The one lesson I continue to relearn on this trip is that life is not about what you will do tomorrow. It is about what you are doing now.