Paris, Part Four: Stepping Down A Star, The Eiffel Tower at Dusk, and Dirty Old Men Love Me
From my notes on October 11 -
Have exchanged the charming Hotel Massena for the more dubious charms of the Hotel Jules Caesar, near the Bastille. The neighborhood is far more lived-in, as is the hotel - it's on the dilapidated side, although nothing too terrible. I think it'll do well enough for two nights. The bedroom and bathroom overall are clean, but the glass brick "window" next to the shower stall is sporting a lovely decorative smear of mold that I will do my best not to look at directly, lest I inadvertently offend it. At least there's an elevator - I've been to plenty of Italian hotels where being on the fourth floor involves a lot of clomping up and down stairs, suitcase in tow.
Jet lag hit last night and kept me up until about two am, so I'm a little tired and aggravated by my inability to read a map. I had to wander down a few streets before I found my hotel. As a consequence, I've been hit with mild traveler's depression - the kind that makes you want to flee home right away, or at least go camp out in the airport where you won't have to use your brain for anything difficult. I'm not surprised that it's hit me, and I'll do my best to fight it back, but I anticipate a couple more sleepless nights due to busy brain. So - to the wilder of the two flea markets today? To Chartes? Probably the market. And tonight, perhaps the Eiffel tower, lit up and beautiful.
...
Took a nice nap, which made life much better. And I did set out to discover the treasures of the flea market, but either my map reading skills are still not functional, or I just didn't make it around the right corner, because I found the "stuff that fell off the truck yesterday" portion of the market, but not the extensive network of more shops my guidebook promised me. I'm also getting paranoid about pickpockets, because the area is crowded and ever-so-slightly on the dodgy side.
Have metro'd to the Arc du Triomphe, which unsurprisingly looks very much like it does in photos. In fact, I'm finding myself irritated with the whole Champs-Elysee deal, because it's just a swarm of tourists so dense it's hard to walk, shops that don't even look interesting enough to go into, and not much else. I didn't even bother taking my camera out to snap a photo of the arch, but I did snap a photo of what looked like a veteran's parade. Was there a holiday I wasn't aware of?
My old-man magnet that worked so well in Italy continues to function splendidly. I had an elderly Lothario catch my eye on the Metro, and then either coincidentally or deliberately follow me onto my next train, where he sat across from me, complemented my (admittedly spectacular!) breasts, and attempted to engineer a hookup. His apartment was suggested, but discarded as a venue, so perhaps my hotel would suit? Where might it be? You're married? Ten years? How interesting! So, about you and me...where is your hotel again?
Since he had no English and I no French, the whole thing was a comedy of me attempting to remain at least functionally polite while he attempted to play the role of gallant suitor. Aside from a few knee-pats (which, as I was wearing jeans, wasn't invasive enough for me to actually smack his hand, although I contemplated it), he restricted himself to wooing me with words. That I didn't understand. Although he conveyed the fact that the young mam'selles with their skinny bodies just don't hold any appeal for him. My, er, lusty curves did the trick. Seriously, is this some sort of "fat women don't get male attention so they're easier targets," thing, or is it "She looks like the peasant women I frolicked with when I was young!" It's a mystery, considering this is a country where you can buy photos of nekked womenz at the corner newspaper stand, and I was wearing a fairly boring cami under a jacket that I routinely wear into work so it's not like I was making any particular display of the goods. I fear I'm just wildly attractive to old European men. Feh.
I got rid of him by walking rapidly through the Metro. Did the trick nicely.
Anyway, the Eiffel Tower was far more successful. I got there at dusk, and hung out for a while in the park that overlooks it, people-watching and dodging the Eiffel Tower keychain merchants who would routinely all disappear when a police officer showed up. The tower looked lovely, and as night fell and it was illuminated with blue lights, it looked even prettier. I had planned to go up it, but the lines, although much shorter than in the daytime, were still about an hour or so long. So I strolled around for a bit, popped into a grocery store to buy dinner (I swear, even the premade sandwiches available in Paris put ours to shame) and had a hotel picnic with highlights from CNN.
The tower at dusk. It seriously is a thing of beauty.
My camera doesn't do well in lower light, but I like this photo anyway...
And that was that. Probably my least successful day in Paris, between the frustration at the flea market, the irritation at the Arc, and my elderly suitor. The next day, thankfully, would be marvelous. And I took a lot more photos!
Have exchanged the charming Hotel Massena for the more dubious charms of the Hotel Jules Caesar, near the Bastille. The neighborhood is far more lived-in, as is the hotel - it's on the dilapidated side, although nothing too terrible. I think it'll do well enough for two nights. The bedroom and bathroom overall are clean, but the glass brick "window" next to the shower stall is sporting a lovely decorative smear of mold that I will do my best not to look at directly, lest I inadvertently offend it. At least there's an elevator - I've been to plenty of Italian hotels where being on the fourth floor involves a lot of clomping up and down stairs, suitcase in tow.
Jet lag hit last night and kept me up until about two am, so I'm a little tired and aggravated by my inability to read a map. I had to wander down a few streets before I found my hotel. As a consequence, I've been hit with mild traveler's depression - the kind that makes you want to flee home right away, or at least go camp out in the airport where you won't have to use your brain for anything difficult. I'm not surprised that it's hit me, and I'll do my best to fight it back, but I anticipate a couple more sleepless nights due to busy brain. So - to the wilder of the two flea markets today? To Chartes? Probably the market. And tonight, perhaps the Eiffel tower, lit up and beautiful.
...
Took a nice nap, which made life much better. And I did set out to discover the treasures of the flea market, but either my map reading skills are still not functional, or I just didn't make it around the right corner, because I found the "stuff that fell off the truck yesterday" portion of the market, but not the extensive network of more shops my guidebook promised me. I'm also getting paranoid about pickpockets, because the area is crowded and ever-so-slightly on the dodgy side.
Have metro'd to the Arc du Triomphe, which unsurprisingly looks very much like it does in photos. In fact, I'm finding myself irritated with the whole Champs-Elysee deal, because it's just a swarm of tourists so dense it's hard to walk, shops that don't even look interesting enough to go into, and not much else. I didn't even bother taking my camera out to snap a photo of the arch, but I did snap a photo of what looked like a veteran's parade. Was there a holiday I wasn't aware of?
My old-man magnet that worked so well in Italy continues to function splendidly. I had an elderly Lothario catch my eye on the Metro, and then either coincidentally or deliberately follow me onto my next train, where he sat across from me, complemented my (admittedly spectacular!) breasts, and attempted to engineer a hookup. His apartment was suggested, but discarded as a venue, so perhaps my hotel would suit? Where might it be? You're married? Ten years? How interesting! So, about you and me...where is your hotel again?
Since he had no English and I no French, the whole thing was a comedy of me attempting to remain at least functionally polite while he attempted to play the role of gallant suitor. Aside from a few knee-pats (which, as I was wearing jeans, wasn't invasive enough for me to actually smack his hand, although I contemplated it), he restricted himself to wooing me with words. That I didn't understand. Although he conveyed the fact that the young mam'selles with their skinny bodies just don't hold any appeal for him. My, er, lusty curves did the trick. Seriously, is this some sort of "fat women don't get male attention so they're easier targets," thing, or is it "She looks like the peasant women I frolicked with when I was young!" It's a mystery, considering this is a country where you can buy photos of nekked womenz at the corner newspaper stand, and I was wearing a fairly boring cami under a jacket that I routinely wear into work so it's not like I was making any particular display of the goods. I fear I'm just wildly attractive to old European men. Feh.
I got rid of him by walking rapidly through the Metro. Did the trick nicely.
Anyway, the Eiffel Tower was far more successful. I got there at dusk, and hung out for a while in the park that overlooks it, people-watching and dodging the Eiffel Tower keychain merchants who would routinely all disappear when a police officer showed up. The tower looked lovely, and as night fell and it was illuminated with blue lights, it looked even prettier. I had planned to go up it, but the lines, although much shorter than in the daytime, were still about an hour or so long. So I strolled around for a bit, popped into a grocery store to buy dinner (I swear, even the premade sandwiches available in Paris put ours to shame) and had a hotel picnic with highlights from CNN.
The tower at dusk. It seriously is a thing of beauty.
My camera doesn't do well in lower light, but I like this photo anyway...
And that was that. Probably my least successful day in Paris, between the frustration at the flea market, the irritation at the Arc, and my elderly suitor. The next day, thankfully, would be marvelous. And I took a lot more photos!