I finally found were I could buy a bus pass to the Arc of Triumph. The gentleman selling the tickets told me I could take the Metro to the Eiffel Tower or other sites. The bus ride took about an hour and a half due to the commute traffic.
While on the bus, an older gentleman sat down next to me and asked me a question in French. I asked him if he spoke English. He said he did and asked me what day it was. This struck my as a little odd; a local asking a tourist what day it was. I told him it was Tuesday December 2. He informed me that he had just arrived from India and hadn’t slept in 36 hours. I laughed and told him that I just arrived from California and hadn’t slept in about 24 hours. We chatted for a while making small talk about India, the US, and Paris. He really warmed up to me when I asked in people in France were as happy as the people in the US that Bush was no longer president. He gave me a lot of advice of places to visit in Paris and some of the old castles if I ever make it back with more time for site seeing.
He was use to work for Exxon but now was retired. He traveled a lot while working for Exxon, and was now living part of every year in India, France, and the US to keep his green card current. He was back to visit his mother, who wasn’t doing well and leaved in a small town outside of Paris (don’t ask me the name of the city because I won’t remember). Towards the end of our bus ride together he shared with me his motto: “No wife, no kids, no money, no worries.” He got off of the bus one stop before mine, and we said good bye and wished each other luck.
My stop was at the Arc of Triumph, the last stop for that bus route. It was quite cold out. Luckily, I had a sweater, fleece pull over, a shell, hat, and gloves along with me. I walked around the Arc along with a few other tourists and took a few photos.
Next, I took the Metro to the Eiffel Tower. After I get off at the stop and am searching for the exit, an older couple that also looked lost walk up to me. The man starts asking me a question in French. I tell him I don’t speak French, but do speak English. They smile, nod, and search for someone else to help them. As they walk away, I start to wonder if people there really think that I am a local, or do I just have an approachable look. I sure look like a tourist carrying my back pack and carrying a camera.
There were actually two Metro stops for the Eiffel Tower. Taking the advice of the guy on the bus, I get off at the Palais de Chaillot for the view, and walk the rest of the way down to the tower, which is only a couple blocks.
Once there, I decided not to stand in the cold in the long line to go up the tower. Instead, I walked around looking for ways to take non-touristy photos of the tower. I was surprised to see guards armed with machine guns patrolling the area. I saw two groups, each consisting of three people.
Around noon, I decided to grab some lunch. Up the hill from the tower and across the street from the Palais de Chaillot were a few small restaurants. After looking at the menus, I chose the Café Kléber. The waiter greets me and naturally starts speaking French to me. I tell him I don’t speak French and asks if he speaks English. He says he does and asks me a question that I don’t quite make out. I ask him to repeat it. He repeats the question and I still don’t understand what he is asking. He repeats it a third time, a bit agitated. This time I realize he is asking me if I’m eating alone. More than a little embarrassed, I said yes, just one. I order lunch and a glass of red wine. After traveling for nearly 24 hours straight with no sleep, it felt good to sit, eat, and relax in the warmth of the café. So much so, that I ordered a pitcher of the red wine, and later a chocolate mousse and an espresso, and struggle with communicating with the waiter. The steak fillet was good, but the best part of the meal was the chocolate mousse. It was thicker than most mousses I’ve had. I wanted to take picture of the food, but I didn’t want to standout even more as a tourist as I was seated next to five French business man eating lunch (sorry Levon). Instead, I tried sneaking some candid photos of them. (Actually, I did get a picture of the food, but not the dessert.)
After about an hour of eating and relaxing, I ventured out walking around the area taking photos until the sun started to set leaving little light for taking photos.
By this time, I am starting to get a little tired, cold, and in need of a rest stop. I walk into a coffee shop on one of the corners on Kléber Avenue and sit at one of the tables next to a window. As I peel off the layers of clothing, the waitress approaches. Before she can speak, I ask her very politely and apologetically if she speaks English. She smiles and says she does, and I order a double espresso. I am starting to regret not spending more time trying to learn the language. I think the waiter at the Kléber Café may have been less rude if I had tried to speak French or could understand his English.
As I take a sip of my espresso, I notice that I have a small cut on one of my knuckles. I use a napkin as I dig a bandage and sterile wipe out of my back pack. (I’m sure glad I packed a small first aid kit in my back pack.) While digging through my back pack, I see the glass on the wall is broken and has a sharp edge. I must have cut myself on it while digging something out of my back pack earlier. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I try to quickly and inconspicuously clean and bandage the cut. After I bandage the cut, I finish my espresso and prepare to leave. I now notice that there are a couple small blood stains on my pant leg, and I won’t be able to change until we get to the safari. I was thinking to myself, oh great; this could look bad going through security at the airport. I only in Paris from a few hours, I leave the airport and return with a bleeding hand and blood on pants. Luckily, it was only a small cut and it stopped bleeding quickly.
I decide to walk back to the Arc of Triumph as the sun started.
From there, I took the bus back to the airport and found Rey and Liza just finishing their massages in a spa near the departure gate. I didn’t have any problems or get questioned about blood spots on my pants. However, Rey did notice it and asked. Oh well, what can one do. I felt like making up some dramatic story about what happened to me in Paris, such as being attacked by an angry waiter for not understanding his English, but I don’t.
We have a few hours before our flight to South Africa, so we grab a snack, and connect to the internet to check email and up blogs.
Our flight left at 11:15 pm, and my lack of sleep was starting to catch up with me. I feel asleep while we were taxing to the run way. Some how I managed to wakeup around mid night just in time for dinner (which was one of the better in flight meals I’ve ever had). After finishing the dinner, I fell right to sleep again and didn’t wake up for another six hours.
No comments:
Post a Comment