Flom Palis Wiff Ruv - The Asian connection.

(From Paris With Love)

Arriving in Paris from different points of origin, Suzanne and I had to rendez-vous at the hostel before seeing some sights in the afternoon. We had spoken by phone one last time the day of our departure to confirm our directions to the hostel and our emergency plan to meet up in case we couldn't find the place. Fortunately, we didn't need to execute aforementioned plan. However, it did take me about 3 hours to reach the hostel, and Suzanne 4. This was due to a combination of factors, the most important ones being the fact that neither of us had sleep very much for the past day, neither of us was very enthusiastic about dragging 100 lbs of luggage each through the Paris Metro, up and down stairs and corresponding underground walkways between train lines. I spent my time waiting for Suzanne by wondering the surrounding streets trying to not look too American, too sleep deprived, or too much like a staggaring drunkard who enviously eyed all the baked goodies in every other window store front, drooling as I stared, and wondering when my travel partner would arrive so we could celebrate with a huge lunch before hitting the town.

Finally we got settled into the hostel after a confused discussion with a foreign born Fre-nglish speaking host, who odiferous fragrance filled the room, justifying the idea that the French originate the finest perfumes on earth. He directed us downwind, and downstairs to store our luggage in what looked like a dungeon until after 4 PM when the rooms opened for check in. I nearly fell down the stairs with my 3 bags, and after steading myself on the damp stone/tile steps promptly had a near miss on the low hung archway ceiling that lead around to the left into the crypt below. I hesitantly crept forward as I worked my way through the catacombs, certain that I would see an Iron Maiden or Rack in the room with the luggage. All I found was a sump pump.

Upstairs on the ground floor (not the first floor... that's what we'd call the 2nd floor), we had a concrete box (i.e. "room") with 2 Asian girls staying in the "loft" (a cement cage joined with ours via small spiral staircase in the corner... next to the other cramped corner with small shower and tiny toilet (complete with part of the seat cut off so the lid could actually be put down and not catch on the wall). Clearly, the Asians had yet to master how to keep the shower water from flooding the 3.5 tiles of floor space in the "bathroom," and running out the opening under the doorway and out into our room. But, at least we HAD a shower and toilet. All they had was a sink upstairs.

We went to the Louvre as our first stop, and enjoyed an audio tour of ancient Greece, Rome and Mesopotamia. We saw the Mona Lisa and some of the most important works of art in all of western history. This assumes, of course, you can find them. Now we did actually ask for directions from the Frenchman standing around doing nothing (maybe, just waiting for a reason to go on strike... and do more of nothing) for this one exibit which they claimed was in London. "Oh contrair, mon frer!" I thought. "I've been there, and I've been here... and I can assure you it's HERE!" I thanked them (in French, to be polite) as I bid them aduie, leaving them alone with their prim and proper snickers directed in our general direction. We later found it by accident, without the help of the French.

The architecture of the Louvre itself is something to see. It used to be the home of the French Kings, though for one of them who grew up there, Louis the XIV, it was a bit overkill. So, he built Versailles, about 10 miles away from Paris to get away from it all out in the country.

Upon returning to the hostel, we discovered a whole flock of Asians inhabiting the dining/socializing area... oh, and ONE english speaking guy who showed us how to log into the wireless network set up in the bar across the street so we could send email. There was an expensive email kisok machine there in the hostel lobby, buy why pay for something you can get for free, mon frer? Though limited to 20 minutes, it was an effective mode of communication... which is all we wanted other than a REALLY good night's sleep. In the room, not surprisingly, the floor was flooded again. Dang Asians! Well, turned out the 2 girls in the loft had been swapped out for a pair of Aryan giants (seriously, the cute one was really tall!). Well, at least I could talk with these people.

One drawback of this room we quickly discovered was the fact that EVERYONE on the first floor had to come by ours on the way to theirs. It also was just across the hall from the eating/socializing area. Now, why should that matter? Well, if you're from Asia, and visiting Paris, and it's 1 o'clock in the morning, it actually 7 AM where your brain lives (and lives quite loudly, evidently). So, why not just chatter away making sounds like silverware falling down the stairs to the luggage hold so that everyone from 2 Metro stops around can enjoy your own frivolity? I mean, it makes perfect sense... if you DON'T think about it. Naturally, I ALWAYS travel with earplugs and eyeshades so I was prepared! And fortunately, Suzanne had kept those very supplies from the AirFrance flight that had brought her from San Francisco. So, we were able to largely block out the rude world around us, and dream of ways we could return the favor to these people when we got up the next morning!

The next morning we went out to eat and found very simple fare... a bagette sans/avec butter and/or jam, hot milk/chocolate. Period. Yes, period. "Dude!" I thought, "I forgot all about the dearth of breakfast food on the "continent" (hence the term continental breakfast.") We finished up and promptly left to find a shop open this early that would sell something reminiscent of what I would call breakfast, totally forgetting our vow of revenge toward the Asian chatter boxes.

After filling our bellies with some finer French cuisine we spent the entire day at Versailles. It took 40 minutes to get there by train and 10 minutes to purchase a Paris Museum pass from a snooty tourist office worker. With the pass, we were wisked in VIP style without having to wait with the hoi-poloi who had been told "Let them eat cake." This is where we failed to learn out lesson about not asking for directions, yet again. We were tired, it was the end of another day, we hadn't gotten as high quality sleep as we had hopped for with our new German roommates... we were really tired of walking (though, at least we weren't carrying 100 lbs of luggage each) and we just broke down and against our better judgement, asked (in French). All we wanted to know was where the "sortie" was (i.e. the exit). The French gardner politely referred us to the other side of the garden, where he was certain an exit would let us out toward the road leading back to the kings chambers. 10 minutes later, with no cheese at the end of the maze, we found a locked gate in that general direction. We wondered another 15 before getting out of that area and heading back to the mansion. From there, it was back to the train, and a 30 minute nap on the way to the Eiffel Tower. We ate crepes at a delightful cafe on Rue Cler, got our second wind, and headed to the Arc de Triumph. We climbed to the top and were able to see the light show that is now done at the top of every hour for 10 minutes, lighting up the tower in blue, white sparkles, and the gold stars of the EU.

The next morning saw us embarc on a tour of Orsay Museum via Concord (where they chopped people's heads off in the public square), and the Champs de Elyssee (where the Tour de France bike race ends). We broke for lunch to do some people watching and enjoy some more fine cuisine. While waiting, it was hard not to notice how beautiful the French women are (Suzanne agrees). In fact, the REALLY hot ones have really ugly little dogs. I personally believe it is a trick they use on purpose to accentuate the own beauty. In any case, all I can say is Vive la France! Vive la difference! There was even this one lady, must have been about 55 years old, peddled by on her lunch break from work wearing gold stillettos, fish net panty hose, and matching, short cut, gold leather jacket!

After finishing the most exquisite French Vanilla ice cream I have ever had, we went to see the "Thinker," and "The Kiss," sculptures by Rodin. Then we went on to Napolean's tomb and WW I & II museums. Afterwards, we were hungry again and found another cafe on Rue Cler. Dinner was great, and the snooty lady whose large black dog blocking the waitress's pathway created quite the scene, providing more than adequate entertainment for the evening. The one word I recognized that the waitress said after this woman left was, "Halleluja!" My sentiments exactly. And with that, we went back to noisy-land for an attempt at some sleep.

Prior to going to bed, I tried to check email with my Mac out in the eating area. As I struggled to hack into the system across the street, a sexy accent asked me if I spoke French. At the moment I looked up to see who it was, I cannot tell you how much I wanted to say "Oui." at that moment. You see, the young woman (who switched into an even MORE sexy accent in English) turned out to have competed in the Miss Switzerland pagent before working/traveleing on a cruse ship for the past 5 months. She wanted to charge up her Mac, but didn't have the correct plug adapter for France. I assured her I had what she needed, and came back from my room with my own cord and power adapter. We spent the next 2 hours traveling the world together through photos we'd each taken over the past year, exchanged email, and decided to meet for breakfast.

Off I went to bed. I should mention though that just before going to bed, I had been approached by the Curry Infused Indian desk worker and asked if, as a favor, I would let a little Chinese girl (who had just arrived without a reservation at 10:30 PM) sleep in my bed with 3 girls in that room so that she wouldn't have to share with 2 guys upstairs in the only other vacant bed. I reluctantly agreed... for one night. Well, when I went upstairs to knock on the door, the guys wouldn't answer or let me in! I came back down and tried to talk to Indian Air De-freshner but could NOT for the life of me convince him I was unable to get into the room (there is only one key for each room. Don't ask me why). Finally, he gave me his master electronic key, which I stomped upstairs with after knocking I don't know how many times before resorting to this. After deftly swiping it and whooshing the door open I found a Spainard, gape mouthed, wondering how on earth his room had been invaded by someone he was NOT expecting. I looked straight at him and asked, "Why wouldn't you OPEN THE DOOR!" He answered with a non-sequitor.

Shortly thereafter, a Chinaman came in who wreecked of rotten Manderine, or socks. I couldn't quite tell, and frankly at this time of the night, I could've cared less... and frankly, as a doctor, I've smelled worse. I settled in on the bottom bunk, the Chinaman up top, and the snoring Spainard off to the other side of the room. For the next 4 hours I could hear and feel the Chinaman shift and toss and turn and he robbed me of my sleep (not that I could hear or see anything). Unbeknownst to me, one floor down, Suzanne was having the SAME experience with the Chinese girl! In retrospect, it is clear that those birds of a feather really should've been flocked together.

Swiss Miss met me for breakfast as I drank hot chocolate and chatted. Ah, the joys of having a beautiful and intelligent, well traveled woman for company. It doesn't get any better than this.

For sights, we saw St. Chapelle, Notre Dame, the Crypt below it, the Pantheon, Trocadero and Eiffel Tower. On the way to the last stop, where we purchased some more vanilla "glasse" to fuel out final evening's activities in Paris, we spotted an balding elderly man with Coke-bottle glasses, seated crossed-leg, smoking like a petite chimney, wearing a blue pin-stripped suit, brown shoes and screaming bleach-white socks. The fashion faux pas was shocking, even to an American like me! His arrogance seemed to suggest, "I am SO French, I can get away with this and STILL look good!" Oh contrair, mon frer. Further on down, as we licked the dripping ice cream we spotted some Arabs dressed in black suits... ALL with brown leather shoes. It was like we were looking at a pack of Doberman Pincers. I was waiting for the voice of Robin Masters from Magnum PI to call out, "Lads! Chase!" After taking a seat under the shaddow of the Tower, we did some more fashion policing (deeply frowning on the Yak's Yak Yellow stocking one woman was parading around in). We cought this one lady in line to climb the tower wearing Rhinestone studded jeans with triangles opening up the side of her legs, followed closely by another lady wearing black stockings with the same style effects. By all apearances, the older lady was the mother of the younger, who also had a todler following her. Enter into the scene an old gypsie appearing lady who seemed to be trying to talk to the younger of the two fashion foibles. It suddenly dawned on us that this was no gypsie working the crowd, but rather Great gram-grams for the 3 generations of Russians we'd been clandestinely peering at the past few minutes. Shocking, but true.

NOTE: Email here creates a great oral vaccuum. We will try our best to make more posts, but can promise nothing. It may be that we'll post everthing after returning stateside :( We appologize to all our loving, loyal fans! We will attempt to open another blogsite, and direct you to it at that time from this blog. Thanks! FVC II