June 23, 2012
Right now, I'm situated in a quaint little Parisian hotel in the Latin Quarter, kicking myself for not getting the wifi password earlier. Hence, this will be posted late. Our hotel is precious. The rooms are very small and strangely shaped, the halls are like a maze, and the hair dryer looks like a vacuum cleaner attached to the wall. Can't wait to try that one out tomorrow! The wallpaper is toile and is basically a bunch of small scenes on wallpaper. And it matches the sofa/bed I'm sleeping on. Also, the wooden beams are exposed in the ceiling and all I can think about it Beauty and the Beast.
Saturday never really started for me because Friday never really ended. We ate, I showered, Sara napped, we said goodbye, and hopped on the metro at 12:30. Sitting in Madrid's airport for five or so hours was harmless enough, except for the two boys beside me. I'm used to staring. I'm used to people saying things about me in Spamish, but this was too much. I was being verbally accosted by an idiot who didn't stop to think I might know Spanish and understand every nasty thing he was saying.
When we finally were able to checkin and wait at our boarding gate, many people made it a point to walk by and comment on how my three friends were sleeping and not keeping a hand or eye on their bags. A lot of people were sleeping, including a man who slept at the desk at our gate and had to be woken up by a team of paramedics because no one else could force him awake. While all of this is happening, the four of us board the plane. Instead of using a system like that of Delta's, seating for EasyJet is a free for all. Sara and I found one row of three and Cynthia and Olivia took the one across the aisle from us. Everyone was joking and dreading the fact that the man in the floor at the gate might have to sit by one of us. By one of us, I mean Sara in her middle seat. The people in front of us were very protective of us and wished he would go. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the chair, coughing violently every once in a while. We were terrified that this sleeping man that smelled very strongly of alcohol was going to puke his guts out during the flight, but we got lucky. He didn't even talk.
We landed in Charles de Gaulle airport and spent way too long trying to find out how to get to our hotel, which Metro passes we needed, and how to get 9,00€ in only coins. (Seriously, Paris? What machines ONLY take coins? Rude.) I don't remember much about this part of the trip except that while waiting in the airport, the first song I heard was a Bee Gee's song. Really? We finally found the metro and coins and hopped on the train towards the city. About six stops in, the rest of the people living on the outskirts of Paris hopped on. You couldn't breathe, there were so many people! The family beside us was Italian, and I spoke to them a tiny, tiny bit. After speaking Spanish for so long, my Italian is as rusty as the Tin Man after being stuck outside in a hurricane.
We metro-ed, we Italian-ed, we asked for directions, and we waaaaalllkkkkeeedddd to get to Hotel Minerve, which has already been described. After dropping off our bags, we headed out with two immediate goals: 1. food. 2. Notre Dame.
Food was easy. There's a little crepe stand right down the street from our hotel. Good grief, I can taste that banana, nutella, almond crepe right now. I had one Saturday and one Sunday; that's how delicious they were. The man that owned the stand was precious. He knew a few words in English and he would correct our pronunciation of French words (amandes=almonds, pronounced "amanday") and smile so big when we got it right. I hated to tell him goodbye on Sunday.
Finding the Notre Dame wasn't as difficult as we originally thought, especially with bellies full of nutella and banana crepes. To get to the cathedral, we had to walk across a bridge. This particular bridge is covered, COVERED, with padlocks. The Pont de l'Archevêché is a small bridge near the Notre Dame, and you can't see the wrought iron on the walls of the bridge because of all the "lovers' padlocks." It was breathtaking. There were locks of all different shapes and sizes and colors. I'm assuming the couple places the lock and throws the key into the Seine. But, Europeans are strange. It may not be that way at all.
As we expected, the line to get into the Notre Dame was hideously long, but it was free admission, and who in their right mind would go to Paris but not go in the Notre Dame! Let me tell you, it was worth it. The inside of that cathedral is absolutely beautiful. I don't think words will even do it justice...I'm going to have to put some of my pictures in all of my blog posts to help explain things. Anyway, my toe kept cramping up while in the Notre Dame and I fully expected to see Quasimodo swinging down to the bottom level with his gargoyle friends. Needless to say I was disappointed when that didn't occur.
At the moment, I am disappointed in myself for letting jet lag get the best of me. More later.