bitchy_merlin | France: Random and Entirely Inconsequential Notes On (Reply)

Day 1 (Saturday, March 14^th, 2009)

Not having slept for more than 36 hours, we find ourselves at eh Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. It’s 7:30 a.m. when we land, and our excitement, which has increased steadily since our departure from Toronto Pearson International (some 16-odd hours ago), intensifies to a frenzy.

We are herded onto a bus which will take us to our hotel. On the bus, we meet our tour guide, Sara-Jane, a woman from Brighton who speaks French with a British accent – when she bothers to speak French at all. It would be amusing if a) we weren’t so tired and b) if learning French wasn’t our top priority for this trip. It promises to be interesting.

We arrive at the hotel: NOVOTEL, and deposit our luggage in the rooms. After that 20-minute stop, we are shepherded onto the Metro (like the TTC, but for Paris; it’s a 30-minute walk from our hotel to the station), and carted off to the “Red Light” district of Paris. We gawk in a prearranged manner at the Moulin Rouge, and then we’re dragged away to a supposedly famous chapel which our tour guide never bothers to talk about. It was the same chapel that appeared in the movie Amélie. There was a carousel in the middle of the plaza too, which had two floors and was thus made of epic awesome and win. So of course we all harangued Ms. Schoales until she let us go for a ride. Nastassia, Larissa, and others climbed to the top level, but Kara was a genius and found a spining-thing (ok, think the Strawberry rides at the Ex), so I went with her. Cue me laughing my ass off for the next God knows how long. There was definite rolling in the aisles on my part. And hysterical laughter. Y’know. It’s all good.

After that (and the next 30 minutes, which are dedicated to “Where’s our guide?” “Uh… I saw her leave…” “Where are Patrick and Alar?” “…with her?” ), we leave for the Musée d’Orsée. On the way there, we eat what could charitably be called lunch at a little crepe vendor’s stall. I have a chocolate-and-banana delicacy that tastes like heaven wrapped up in yummy goodness. By this time, we are smelly and irritable and bone-dead tired. My feet hurt like things that hurt a lot. But this does not stop us from generally being awed by the art.

Finally, finally, we are directed back on to the Metro to find our prearranged dinner spot. They try to feed us vomit-coloured slop. I didn’t know chicken could turn that colour. Ms. Schoales pacifies us by taking us to a grocery store (MONOPRIX) and letting us buy our own food there. Bless you, Ms. Schoales.

The other parts are coming as I motivate myself to decipher my writing and infuse it with more substance. AKA, if nothing gets done for the next week... that's just my non-existent time management showing through.

Oh, also, story of my life.
So on the 8 hour flight from Chicago to Paris, I was sitting beside this guy from HCI, whom I've never laid eyes on before. Now, I had gotten about five hours of sleep the night before, and I (in my practical, 40-year old mentality) am dreading the next x number of hours without sleep. So, for eight hours, I hava my headphones on and am trying desperately to fall asleep. Meanwhile, Anonymous Guy is reading or playing Gameboy, or whatever. Sleep doesn't come. Finally, ten minutes before we land, I give up on anything resembling sleep, and sit up. Anonydude also gives up playing Gameboy and we each have a private moment of "OK, wtf what's going on again?", before we officially introduce ourselves to each other. After eight figgin' hours. What is this "social capability" of which you speak? Where can I find some?

SO for eight hours, we said not a word, and now we say hi in the halls when we see each other.