Interrailing 1/3
Paris
They’ve walked all the way up to Montmartre and climbed all the steps up to Sacré-Cœur. The view of the Parisian skyline is spectacular.
They have climbed the stairs up to the second platform of the Eiffel Tower and the view from there is also breath taking. As was the climb.
“There are elevators you know”, Santana complains when they reach the first platform in the midday heat.
“The queue is too long. You can look up my skirt climbing the stairs”, Brittany chirps and winks as she heads for the next stair case.
Brittany buys a plastic miniature model of the tower to bring home to her parents. Santana hates knick-knacks but spends four dollars on a bottle of d’eau mineral in a stall with a sign that says “souvenirs”. It should have said “Daylight robbery”.
After a while Brittany starts to complain about the heat. Santana has an idea where they can go. It will definitely not be too sunny there! They find the nearest Metro-station and go to Denfert-Rochereau. From here it’s just a short walk to the entrance of l’Ossuarie Municipal, the Paris Catacombs.
They walk down the stone stairs into the catacombs. At the bottom there is an inscription on the stone portal: Arrête, c'est ici l'empire de la Mort ('Stop, this is the empire of Death'). Brittany grabs Santana’s arm.
“San…”
Santana places a hand on Brittany’s arm.
“It’ll be really cool. We’ll see loads of dead Frenchmen.” She grins. She’s right. As they enter the catacombs the walls are lined with skulls and bones of Frenchmen from a long time ago. Brittany never lets go of Santana’s arm. There just might be a bruise there later. Santana is slightly creeped out too, but oh boy! Is this cool or what? She doesn’t tell Brittany she thinks it’s awesome though, seeing as Britts is already uneasy.
The next day they make their way to Musee d’Orsay. Brittany likes the photography section. Santana is quite taken by the impressionists. She loves Monet’s paintings. Really loves them. Brittany can’t help touching her left ear as she watches Van Gogh’s self portrait. While they’re on their art roll they decide to visit the Louvre too. They’ve seen “The da Vinci Code”, they know the holy grail is buried under the Louvre.
“Really! What is the big fucking deal?” Santana blurts out incredulously as she looks at the rather small painting that is Mona Lisa. Brittany really likes the Egyptian stuff.
As they enter Notre Dame, Our Lady of Paris, Santana swears this is the last bloody church she’s going to enter on this trip. She has to admit it’s a cool building though. The gothic architecture is kind of creepy in a good way. Brittany wants to know where the Hunchback lives. Can they visit him? In her head Santana makes up inappropriate jokes on the theme of being inside the lady. The words ‘spacious’ and ‘old’ come up.
After leaving Notre Dame they stroll along the river Seine hand in hand in the early evening. They pass the book stalls, draw in the appetizing scent from the restaurants and cafés and Santana supposes there may be a certain charm to this place after all. Brittany loves Paris. They make their way up through the narrow streets of Les Quartiers Latin, the Latin Quarters, and find a small restaurant with a menu they don’t understand but like the look of.
“Let’s close our eyes and point at the menu to decide what we’re ordering”, Brittany suggests and covers her eyes with one hand while the other circles above the menu that’s lying flat on the table. Santana rolls her eyes.
Santana can’t stop giggling when the waiter puts down a sizzling hot plate full of melted butter with parsley and garlic and six snails in the shell, in front of Brittany who stares in horror at her appetizer. Santana is pleased she has managed to identify the words ‘tomate’ and ‘salade’ and her starter somewhat resembles what she had in mind.
“At least you didn’t order frogs legs”, she smirks and Brittany looks even more horrified. Santana has ordered lamb chops and fries (They’re automatically French here, right?) for her main and Brittany stares down at some sort of unidentifiable stew that tastes good all the same. Best not to ask what it is. They drink red table wine just because and finish with ridiculously large portions of mousse au chocolat and coffee.
The pair of them are left panting after stuffing their faces way beyond any measure of appropriateness. Santana is convinced she needs a wheelchair to leave the restaurant.
“If you mention the word ‘food’ within the next twelve hours I’m going to throw up.” They sit for half an hour trying to gather enough strength to stand up.
Once on their feet, they slowly stroll back across the river again making their way over to the Centre Pompidou and sit amongst tourists and Parisians alike on the stone clad slope opposite the large odd building. They watch street artists juggle lit torches and listen to a woman sing accompanied by a man playing the accordion. Brittany snuggles up to Santana and puts her arm under Santana’s. Her lover slowly strokes her hair as they take in the warm Parisian evening. Being young and in love in Paris isn’t so bad.
* * *
London
The boat ride across the English Channel makes Brittany seasick. She throws up four times before finally falling asleep on the floor in one of the lounges. They should have taken the Eurostar train under the bloody channel but it was way more expensive than the ferry. Santana is relieved when they finally board the train again and start the last leg up to London. The baguette they brought from Paris has gone stale and is hard as a board, so Santana ditches it in a bin and hopes the British cuisine isn’t as bad as its reputation.
As the train rolls in to Victoria Station Santana is starving but Brittany is still pale with a light greenish tint from the boat ride. They take a taxi up to Bayswater where their hotel is. The room is small but comfy. Brittany has bought a London A-Z map book. Santana has grabbed a copy of Time Out.
“Look San! We’re really close to Notting Hill.” Brittany is really excited because Notting Hill is just about the only place in London she’s heard of. She’s seen the movie.
Santana lies on her belly on the bed studying Time Out. She decides they’re to dine at Jamie’s Italian in Convent Garden and then they’re going out clubbing. At a gay club! Obviously they have to go clubbing when in London. Brittany drops down on top of Santana and reads over her shoulder. Santana feels slightly flattened but Britt’s body feels so damn good against her own. She flips Brittany over and places herself on top and plants a long sloppy kiss on Brittany’s mouth. Hitting the streets of London will have to wait for an hour or so.
They take the tube to Leicester Square and stroll the short distance to the restaurant in Convent Garden. They stare at the theatre signs on the way. London’s famous West End theatres. ‘Eat your heart out Rachel Berry’, Santana thinks to herself with a small grin.
The restaurant seems mad busy and they’re given a strange little buzzer that will buzz and light up when their table is ready.
“Righ’, you’ve goh’ ten minnits to geh’ ‘ere after it buzzes. It’ll be abou’ ‘alf an hour. Ok?” They look at each other. They think they understand and nod. Santana grabs the little black plastic device and they wander off towards Piccadilly Circus.
Brittany buys a tea towel sporting a picture of the queen. It’s for her parents. Santana feels a little sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Pierce who are going to be presented with all the souvenirs when they get back home. At least they can use a tea towel.
Santana jumps when the buzzer goes off in the pocket of her jeans. Yikes!
“We’ve goh’ ten minnits”, she imitates the waiter in the restaurant. Brittany giggles and starts skipping back in the direction of Convent Garden. Santana trots after her.
Dinner is great and there is not a Yorkshire pudding in sight. Brittany has never seen one but she’s heard they’re evil. Especially floating around in gravy. She leans over across the table and whispers “San, why is the chef naked?”
Bewildered Santana looks around in the restaurant. She can’t even see a chef, let alone a naked one. Her face looks like a question mark.
“Britts, why the hell would the chef be naked?” she hisses.
“That’s what I’m asking you!”Brittany whispers back and points to a book propped up on a shelf on the wall. The cover says ‘The naked chef - Jamie Oliver’. “He’s the chef here, right? The restaurant is called Jamie’s Italian. Shall we go look?” She grins.
Santana doesn’t know where to start.
“Honey, I don’t think he’s naked and I don’t even think he’s here. He just owns the place.” Brittany pouts a little.
They finish dinner and stroll out onto the busy street and wander over to Soho. It’s still much too early to go clubbing and what do you do in the evenings in England? You go to the pub! So they do.
They find a pub that looks authentic enough. It smells strongly of beer, food and stale cigarette smoke. Santana has read that the thing to order in a pub is a pint of lager so she does. They drink their beer and try not to look like tourists. It goes so-so.
By half past eleven they reckon it’s time to head off to the club. Santana has found a place called Heaven somewhere under some arches. She’s memorised the directions from Leicester Square. They follow Charing Cross Road down to Trafalgar Square and check out Lord Nelson up on his pedestal. Brittany poses on top of one of the large lion statues and Santana takes a picture with her mobile phone. They continue down towards the river and eventually they find the tall brick arches that tower up against the dark sky. The place looks more than a little shady from the outside. Santana likes it already!
To their relief they’re admitted in. The bouncer doesn’t even look twice at them. The club is huge on the inside. There are several bars and the main dance floor is like a sea of moving people. Eighty percent of the patrons are men. Mainly quite young men.
“I wanna dance!” Brittany squeals and pulls Santana along by the hand as she heads for the dance floor.
Brittany enters the dance floor and begins to do that magical thing that makes Santana’s knees go a little weak and her mouth dry every time. Brittany becomes one with the music and moves her body with such ease and grace it leaves Santana full of love, lust, wonder and awe. Even the boys around Brittany are giving her appreciative looks. A few of the women openly stare at the beautiful blonde in her short skirt and sheer lacy top, doing her thang. Santana catches their ogling looks and she possessively moves closer to Brittany placing her hands on her girlfriend’s hips, moving with her to the beat of the music. She can’t help feeling really proud of how fucking hot Brittany looks when she dances.
‘And I, Santana Lopez, am the one who’s going to take this smoking hot girl home with me tonight and make really passionate sweet love to her ‘til she screams my name. Yeah that’s right bitches! My name’, she thinks to herself with a satisfied smirk on her face.
They catch the night bus from Piccadilly Circus. It’s a double-decker and they climb the stairs and sit at the very back.
“You looked so hot dancing tonight.” Santana let’s her eyes wander over Brittany’s body. Brittany leans in and kisses her. They make out on the bus. Santana puts her hand on Brittany’s thigh and lets it travel up under her short skirt. Brittany gasps. This spurs Santana on and pretty soon they’re both breathing hard as their kissing gets more intense.
“Oh shit! Where are we?” Santana looks up and out the window. Its pitch black. They rush down the stairs and ask the driver. They’re two stops away from Queensway where they get off and walk to the hotel. They arrive at their hotel room at four in the morning. The night proceeds according to Santana’s plans.
* * *
Brittany wakes Santana after four hours of sleep.
“San Wake Up! We have to go get breakfast! I want to try a real English breakfast.”
Santana puts a pillow over her face and makes muffled grunts that Brittany understands is a refusal to get up. Brittany jumps Santana and tickles her out of bed.
“For fucks sake!” she whines. “It’s not even nine o’clock and we’re on our holidays Britts!”
“Please come with me to breakfast! Please, please, please, pretty please!” Brittany begs. “You can go back to bed afterwards.”
Santana knows she’s not getting out of this one. Naked she stumbles over to her backpack and digs out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
Brittany squeals “Yay!” as she hugs Santana and plants a big wet kiss on her cheek.
Santana has to admit breakfast is pretty impressive and after dancing for hours the previous night they’re hungry. Eggs, bacon, sausages, hash browns, baked beans, fried mushrooms, fried tomatoes, toast and tea disappear within minutes.
“You look like you don’t eat that much but you really do!”, Brittany muses as she watches Santana mop up the last bits of egg yolk with a piece of toast.
“Ghood metabolishm. It’sch in mah genes.”
After a nap they set out again. They grin like idiots all through their ride on the huge Ferris wheel London Eye. Brittany fires off at least fifty shots with her camera. Santana only takes two pictures. They’re both of Brittany’s face as she looks down mesmerised at the city below them. They look at wax figures at both Madame Tussauds and The London Dungeon. Santana has a clear preference for the latter. They take the obligatory pictures of Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and Tower Bridge and try the famous fish ‘n chips.
“Are they short on paper in England?” Brittany looks at the greasy newspaper her food is wrapped in.
“No, it’s traditional. The British are quirky in that way”, Santana replies knowingly.
Brittany wants to see where the Queen lives. They take the tube to Hyde Park Corner and stroll through the park towards Buckingham Palace. They walk up to the palace gate. From there they can see the Queen’s guards in their red and black uniforms. Brittany stares wide eyed at their tall bearskin caps.
“San, what the heck are they wearing on their heads? They look like huge microphone covers“, she giggles. “The guards look like toy soldiers.” Santana rolls her eyes. Brittany takes lots of pictures.
They leave London the next day and catch a train to Holyhead.
They’ve walked all the way up to Montmartre and climbed all the steps up to Sacré-Cœur. The view of the Parisian skyline is spectacular.
They have climbed the stairs up to the second platform of the Eiffel Tower and the view from there is also breath taking. As was the climb.
“There are elevators you know”, Santana complains when they reach the first platform in the midday heat.
“The queue is too long. You can look up my skirt climbing the stairs”, Brittany chirps and winks as she heads for the next stair case.
Brittany buys a plastic miniature model of the tower to bring home to her parents. Santana hates knick-knacks but spends four dollars on a bottle of d’eau mineral in a stall with a sign that says “souvenirs”. It should have said “Daylight robbery”.
After a while Brittany starts to complain about the heat. Santana has an idea where they can go. It will definitely not be too sunny there! They find the nearest Metro-station and go to Denfert-Rochereau. From here it’s just a short walk to the entrance of l’Ossuarie Municipal, the Paris Catacombs.
They walk down the stone stairs into the catacombs. At the bottom there is an inscription on the stone portal: Arrête, c'est ici l'empire de la Mort ('Stop, this is the empire of Death'). Brittany grabs Santana’s arm.
“San…”
Santana places a hand on Brittany’s arm.
“It’ll be really cool. We’ll see loads of dead Frenchmen.” She grins. She’s right. As they enter the catacombs the walls are lined with skulls and bones of Frenchmen from a long time ago. Brittany never lets go of Santana’s arm. There just might be a bruise there later. Santana is slightly creeped out too, but oh boy! Is this cool or what? She doesn’t tell Brittany she thinks it’s awesome though, seeing as Britts is already uneasy.
The next day they make their way to Musee d’Orsay. Brittany likes the photography section. Santana is quite taken by the impressionists. She loves Monet’s paintings. Really loves them. Brittany can’t help touching her left ear as she watches Van Gogh’s self portrait. While they’re on their art roll they decide to visit the Louvre too. They’ve seen “The da Vinci Code”, they know the holy grail is buried under the Louvre.
“Really! What is the big fucking deal?” Santana blurts out incredulously as she looks at the rather small painting that is Mona Lisa. Brittany really likes the Egyptian stuff.
As they enter Notre Dame, Our Lady of Paris, Santana swears this is the last bloody church she’s going to enter on this trip. She has to admit it’s a cool building though. The gothic architecture is kind of creepy in a good way. Brittany wants to know where the Hunchback lives. Can they visit him? In her head Santana makes up inappropriate jokes on the theme of being inside the lady. The words ‘spacious’ and ‘old’ come up.
After leaving Notre Dame they stroll along the river Seine hand in hand in the early evening. They pass the book stalls, draw in the appetizing scent from the restaurants and cafés and Santana supposes there may be a certain charm to this place after all. Brittany loves Paris. They make their way up through the narrow streets of Les Quartiers Latin, the Latin Quarters, and find a small restaurant with a menu they don’t understand but like the look of.
“Let’s close our eyes and point at the menu to decide what we’re ordering”, Brittany suggests and covers her eyes with one hand while the other circles above the menu that’s lying flat on the table. Santana rolls her eyes.
Santana can’t stop giggling when the waiter puts down a sizzling hot plate full of melted butter with parsley and garlic and six snails in the shell, in front of Brittany who stares in horror at her appetizer. Santana is pleased she has managed to identify the words ‘tomate’ and ‘salade’ and her starter somewhat resembles what she had in mind.
“At least you didn’t order frogs legs”, she smirks and Brittany looks even more horrified. Santana has ordered lamb chops and fries (They’re automatically French here, right?) for her main and Brittany stares down at some sort of unidentifiable stew that tastes good all the same. Best not to ask what it is. They drink red table wine just because and finish with ridiculously large portions of mousse au chocolat and coffee.
The pair of them are left panting after stuffing their faces way beyond any measure of appropriateness. Santana is convinced she needs a wheelchair to leave the restaurant.
“If you mention the word ‘food’ within the next twelve hours I’m going to throw up.” They sit for half an hour trying to gather enough strength to stand up.
Once on their feet, they slowly stroll back across the river again making their way over to the Centre Pompidou and sit amongst tourists and Parisians alike on the stone clad slope opposite the large odd building. They watch street artists juggle lit torches and listen to a woman sing accompanied by a man playing the accordion. Brittany snuggles up to Santana and puts her arm under Santana’s. Her lover slowly strokes her hair as they take in the warm Parisian evening. Being young and in love in Paris isn’t so bad.
* * *
London
The boat ride across the English Channel makes Brittany seasick. She throws up four times before finally falling asleep on the floor in one of the lounges. They should have taken the Eurostar train under the bloody channel but it was way more expensive than the ferry. Santana is relieved when they finally board the train again and start the last leg up to London. The baguette they brought from Paris has gone stale and is hard as a board, so Santana ditches it in a bin and hopes the British cuisine isn’t as bad as its reputation.
As the train rolls in to Victoria Station Santana is starving but Brittany is still pale with a light greenish tint from the boat ride. They take a taxi up to Bayswater where their hotel is. The room is small but comfy. Brittany has bought a London A-Z map book. Santana has grabbed a copy of Time Out.
“Look San! We’re really close to Notting Hill.” Brittany is really excited because Notting Hill is just about the only place in London she’s heard of. She’s seen the movie.
Santana lies on her belly on the bed studying Time Out. She decides they’re to dine at Jamie’s Italian in Convent Garden and then they’re going out clubbing. At a gay club! Obviously they have to go clubbing when in London. Brittany drops down on top of Santana and reads over her shoulder. Santana feels slightly flattened but Britt’s body feels so damn good against her own. She flips Brittany over and places herself on top and plants a long sloppy kiss on Brittany’s mouth. Hitting the streets of London will have to wait for an hour or so.
They take the tube to Leicester Square and stroll the short distance to the restaurant in Convent Garden. They stare at the theatre signs on the way. London’s famous West End theatres. ‘Eat your heart out Rachel Berry’, Santana thinks to herself with a small grin.
The restaurant seems mad busy and they’re given a strange little buzzer that will buzz and light up when their table is ready.
“Righ’, you’ve goh’ ten minnits to geh’ ‘ere after it buzzes. It’ll be abou’ ‘alf an hour. Ok?” They look at each other. They think they understand and nod. Santana grabs the little black plastic device and they wander off towards Piccadilly Circus.
Brittany buys a tea towel sporting a picture of the queen. It’s for her parents. Santana feels a little sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Pierce who are going to be presented with all the souvenirs when they get back home. At least they can use a tea towel.
Santana jumps when the buzzer goes off in the pocket of her jeans. Yikes!
“We’ve goh’ ten minnits”, she imitates the waiter in the restaurant. Brittany giggles and starts skipping back in the direction of Convent Garden. Santana trots after her.
Dinner is great and there is not a Yorkshire pudding in sight. Brittany has never seen one but she’s heard they’re evil. Especially floating around in gravy. She leans over across the table and whispers “San, why is the chef naked?”
Bewildered Santana looks around in the restaurant. She can’t even see a chef, let alone a naked one. Her face looks like a question mark.
“Britts, why the hell would the chef be naked?” she hisses.
“That’s what I’m asking you!”Brittany whispers back and points to a book propped up on a shelf on the wall. The cover says ‘The naked chef - Jamie Oliver’. “He’s the chef here, right? The restaurant is called Jamie’s Italian. Shall we go look?” She grins.
Santana doesn’t know where to start.
“Honey, I don’t think he’s naked and I don’t even think he’s here. He just owns the place.” Brittany pouts a little.
They finish dinner and stroll out onto the busy street and wander over to Soho. It’s still much too early to go clubbing and what do you do in the evenings in England? You go to the pub! So they do.
They find a pub that looks authentic enough. It smells strongly of beer, food and stale cigarette smoke. Santana has read that the thing to order in a pub is a pint of lager so she does. They drink their beer and try not to look like tourists. It goes so-so.
By half past eleven they reckon it’s time to head off to the club. Santana has found a place called Heaven somewhere under some arches. She’s memorised the directions from Leicester Square. They follow Charing Cross Road down to Trafalgar Square and check out Lord Nelson up on his pedestal. Brittany poses on top of one of the large lion statues and Santana takes a picture with her mobile phone. They continue down towards the river and eventually they find the tall brick arches that tower up against the dark sky. The place looks more than a little shady from the outside. Santana likes it already!
To their relief they’re admitted in. The bouncer doesn’t even look twice at them. The club is huge on the inside. There are several bars and the main dance floor is like a sea of moving people. Eighty percent of the patrons are men. Mainly quite young men.
“I wanna dance!” Brittany squeals and pulls Santana along by the hand as she heads for the dance floor.
Brittany enters the dance floor and begins to do that magical thing that makes Santana’s knees go a little weak and her mouth dry every time. Brittany becomes one with the music and moves her body with such ease and grace it leaves Santana full of love, lust, wonder and awe. Even the boys around Brittany are giving her appreciative looks. A few of the women openly stare at the beautiful blonde in her short skirt and sheer lacy top, doing her thang. Santana catches their ogling looks and she possessively moves closer to Brittany placing her hands on her girlfriend’s hips, moving with her to the beat of the music. She can’t help feeling really proud of how fucking hot Brittany looks when she dances.
‘And I, Santana Lopez, am the one who’s going to take this smoking hot girl home with me tonight and make really passionate sweet love to her ‘til she screams my name. Yeah that’s right bitches! My name’, she thinks to herself with a satisfied smirk on her face.
They catch the night bus from Piccadilly Circus. It’s a double-decker and they climb the stairs and sit at the very back.
“You looked so hot dancing tonight.” Santana let’s her eyes wander over Brittany’s body. Brittany leans in and kisses her. They make out on the bus. Santana puts her hand on Brittany’s thigh and lets it travel up under her short skirt. Brittany gasps. This spurs Santana on and pretty soon they’re both breathing hard as their kissing gets more intense.
“Oh shit! Where are we?” Santana looks up and out the window. Its pitch black. They rush down the stairs and ask the driver. They’re two stops away from Queensway where they get off and walk to the hotel. They arrive at their hotel room at four in the morning. The night proceeds according to Santana’s plans.
* * *
Brittany wakes Santana after four hours of sleep.
“San Wake Up! We have to go get breakfast! I want to try a real English breakfast.”
Santana puts a pillow over her face and makes muffled grunts that Brittany understands is a refusal to get up. Brittany jumps Santana and tickles her out of bed.
“For fucks sake!” she whines. “It’s not even nine o’clock and we’re on our holidays Britts!”
“Please come with me to breakfast! Please, please, please, pretty please!” Brittany begs. “You can go back to bed afterwards.”
Santana knows she’s not getting out of this one. Naked she stumbles over to her backpack and digs out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
Brittany squeals “Yay!” as she hugs Santana and plants a big wet kiss on her cheek.
Santana has to admit breakfast is pretty impressive and after dancing for hours the previous night they’re hungry. Eggs, bacon, sausages, hash browns, baked beans, fried mushrooms, fried tomatoes, toast and tea disappear within minutes.
“You look like you don’t eat that much but you really do!”, Brittany muses as she watches Santana mop up the last bits of egg yolk with a piece of toast.
“Ghood metabolishm. It’sch in mah genes.”
After a nap they set out again. They grin like idiots all through their ride on the huge Ferris wheel London Eye. Brittany fires off at least fifty shots with her camera. Santana only takes two pictures. They’re both of Brittany’s face as she looks down mesmerised at the city below them. They look at wax figures at both Madame Tussauds and The London Dungeon. Santana has a clear preference for the latter. They take the obligatory pictures of Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and Tower Bridge and try the famous fish ‘n chips.
“Are they short on paper in England?” Brittany looks at the greasy newspaper her food is wrapped in.
“No, it’s traditional. The British are quirky in that way”, Santana replies knowingly.
Brittany wants to see where the Queen lives. They take the tube to Hyde Park Corner and stroll through the park towards Buckingham Palace. They walk up to the palace gate. From there they can see the Queen’s guards in their red and black uniforms. Brittany stares wide eyed at their tall bearskin caps.
“San, what the heck are they wearing on their heads? They look like huge microphone covers“, she giggles. “The guards look like toy soldiers.” Santana rolls her eyes. Brittany takes lots of pictures.
They leave London the next day and catch a train to Holyhead.