PART ONE – M. Bate, 31st Jan, 2010.
Bonjour! Comment allez-vous? Tries bien. Merci! Je m’appelle Matt! Parlez-vous anglais? Bon, cause I can’t keep up with this crap any longer. This was the day we made the longer than it should have really been journey from Edinburgh to Paris, France. Most of the day was spent waiting at the airport – nothing all that unusual. I managed to help a fellow traveller out by notifying them that they dropped their passport on the ground – because that’s the kind of guy I am! I also got a random cavity search, so that was interesting. Ok, I’m just kidding about the cavity search. But, we made it to Paris ok, and we managed to find our highly recommended hotel (in fact, 85% of the people did not deem the hotel fit for anyone to stay the night!) Disregarding that, it’s not too bad, considering we’ve been staying in shoebox sized hostel rooms on our adventure. So the room is starting to peel, big deal. As long as I’ve got a heater, shower and toilet that works and a nice basket of fresh bread and croissants in the morning for breakfast, then I’m sorted as far as I’m concerned. The hotel is also really close to the red light district of Paris, and within 50 metres of the Moulin Rouge, so there’s plenty of family fun for everyone in our area!
When we got off the bus, we were dropped outside the Arc De Triomphe, which was illuminated under the city lights. We proceeded to find our way using the metro station system which was completely in French, and we had to wrestle our bags through the metal spinning things that we have to go through to get down to the trains. Now the metro station is just like the one in London. So, after we finally managed to tame it and work out the lines, we found it to be a piece of cake.
We decided we might go out clubbing as it was a Saturday night and we had heard that clubbing in France can be quite a memorable experience. However, clubs don’t open in France until 11:30pm. So we spent our night in a cafe/pub neighbouring the ‘well received’ club The Rex, which was supposedly France’s premier nightclub experience. We found out that it opens at 12am though, so we kept drinking then walked over, where we lined up with a group of German girls. Whilst we were lined up, we weren’t being let in yet. Now the time was getting to about 12:30am and people were walking up to the bouncers and kissing them on the cheek and getting in straight away. But we heard no music, there seemed to be not many people going in at one time, and the German girls were asking us in broken English what was going on. The bouncer looked at Zach and I and asked “how many coming in you?” We said “Deux” or “Two” or something and he walked away. On his phone background was a picture of a muscly black guy with his shirt off flexing. I thought that nobody could be THAT vain enough to have a picture of themselves on their phone, half naked flexing. So I thought that it might have been a picture of his boyfriend or something. To this day, I don’t know if it was him or not – I wasn’t really looking – but Zach ASSURES me it was in fact a picture of the bouncer himself. Eventually, we were getting sick of standing outside in -4 degree cold for a half an hour after the club opened, so we left and took the metro station home. Thankfully it was still open. We passed a stop called Alexandre Dumas which was named after the author of my favourite book - The Count of Monte Cristo and the Three Musketeers.
So, clubbing failed in France. It was no Dublin, that’s for sure. Not even by a long way. But we were home by 1am for our 7am rise to get to the Louvre the next day.
PART TWO – Z. Raft, 1st Feb, 2010.
We awoke to our first Parisian morning. Stumbling out of bed for a 6:30am start (I don’t think either of us moved until five to seven), we prepared for the day and headed down the tiny spiral staircase (of which none of the lights stay on for – they’re timed switches – health and safety much?) towards the first level, where breakfast was being served. Everybody gets given cereal, juice and three pieces of bread – one bun, one normal croissant and one filled with chocolate. It pretty tasty, so we devoured them with noticeable speed. We then headed out, Louvre bound.
We arrived at the Louvre quite early in the morning – around 8:15am. There was –nobody- around. From thousands of people telling us we need to arrive as EARLY AS POSSIBLE to avoid the crowds, at 45 minutes before opening there was one other person and a dog to be seen. We took some photos which were eerie even to us, as we’ve seen everybody else’s Louvre photos with heaps of people in them and ours had just us. Even 20 minutes before opening, there were only three people in the line. We jumped in, to be fourth in line. By opening, there were maybe 30 people lined up.
We were let in at 9:05am and we ran for the ticket counter, bought tickets, and sprinted towards the Denon wing of the Louvre with one immediate target – Mona Lisa. We threw the pace on, almost sprinting past thousands of beautiful artefacts in order to be among the first to see the Mona Lisa for the day, and get our photos without any other people in them. It was pretty easy to locate the Mona Lisa – there were signs up around every turn indicating which way you should go in order to see it. Apparently, it’s pretty famous over here.
We made it to its house, a giant wall in a room of amazing paintings (including the giant Wedding Feast at Cana). We ran right up to the barrier, almost alone in the room with the world’s most famous painting. It was, for lack of a better phrase, an unforgettable thing, standing before this painting. You’re not allowed to get up close to it anymore, so as far as general visibility of the painting itself goes, you’d be better off googling it should you wish to observe its intricacies. It’s more the eminence of the painting, the standing in front of it and observing it, being in the presence of the real (we’d hope) painting that has attracted global acclaim.
After spending a few minutes with Lisa (as she allowed us to call her – Matt decided to refer to her as “Big M” or “God, she’s a Moaner”), we cast our attention to the other stuff in the Louvre. I especially was eager to see Delacroix’s “Liberty Leading the People” which features famously on the front cover of Coldplay’s Viva la Vida album, and was the inspiration for the Statue of Liberty in New York. We also spent some time with the Venus de Milo, which I didn’t find all that awe inspiring to be honest. It seemed to be one of those things that are famous for being famous, like Paris Hilton. There were literally hundreds of more carefully crafted and intricately designed statues in the Museum, in my humble opinion. But there you go.
I was extremely keen to see that painting of God and Adam; you know the one where God is reaching down from the Heavens and touches fingers with an earthbound Adam? So I texted Shannon to see if she could look up what it’s called, and where it was so we could find it. She texted back that it’s actually on the roof of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. Whoops.
We found the Sphinx and photo’d with it, and with The Winged Victory of Samothrace statue. I was also a big, big fan of Psyche and Cupid by Canova, and Matt found particular interest with The Dying Slave by Michelangelo. We took some lulzy photos with the Borghese Gladiator, and then went back to the paintings. I discovered I love an artist named Antonio Campi, who painted a painting I’d never seen before called “Les Mysteres de la Passion du Christ” which I can only imagine translates to “The Mystery of the Passion of the Christ”. It was magnificent. I will attempt to buy a print of it when I come home, maybe.
I won’t bore you with telling you all the artists and paintings we saw, but take my word for it, we saw a few. After spending the next couple of hours strolling around the other stuff in the museum, we took individual photos with a few of da Vinci’s greats which we had run past only hours previous in our haste to see the Mona Lisa and had missed. Then we went back to see the Mona Lisa again (because, let’s face it, how often do you get to see this thing in real life?) and left the Museum.
We decided to walk from the Louvre to the Arc de Triumph. It was a nice day. The Egyptian Obelisk at the centre of the Place de la Concord (my newly decided favourite place in Paris) is over 3,000 years old. The Place de la Concord itself is just amazing, the architecture is phenomenal, and if you don’t see it before you die you’re living an empty life. You can see all the way from the Arc de Triumph at the end of the Avenue des Champs Elysees right down to the Louvre at the other, with the Place de la Concord in the middle, and it’s a great walk.
We stopped along the way to the Arc to have McDonalds – to get our Royale with Cheese (French Quarter Pounder in Cheese – because of the Metric System) made famous by the movie Pulp Fiction. It was quite tasty. We spent like five minutes trying to get the Airport Check-In like machines to take our money, but they wanted a special Navigo card (Equivalent to Brisbane’s Go Card or London’s Oyster card, which we decided to not purchase) and thus it wouldn’t work. So we ordered, and devoured, our Royales with Cheese.
Then we went to the Arc. It is, majestic. It was built by Napoleon to celebrate a military victory, and it’s filled with, on the inside, the names of some of France’s greatest generals and the greatest battles. It sits in the middle of the world’s biggest round-a-bout on the Ave Champs Elysees, which I am shit-scared of. I could not live in this city and drive. I have no idea how they do it, but there are no lines or lanes on the round-a-bout, and people seem to think they can go from the middle of the round-a-bout to exiting it without indicating, and INSTANTLY. So very scared of it. I see my own death every time I am on a bus on that thing.
We took photos with the Arc, and then headed back to the ranch. We live so close to the Moulin Rouge, every time we come back to the hotel we see it. Can’t get the forking WiFi working; the first Hotel desk assistant told us the password (which is 3,000 characters long and didn’t work), the second told us it wasn’t working in the rooms only in the lobby (but didn’t know the right password), and the third told us they didn’t have WiFi. Summing this juxtaposition of French inadequacy and inconsistency with the general way the French have treated me, I have decided that I do not like French people. Don’t get me wrong – some people are lovely. And I love the city of Paris – so incredibly much. Perhaps moreso than London. But I can’t stand the people who live here. They are arrogant – it is true what people say. And I can’t necessarily blame them for being arrogant – they get 26,000,000 visitors a year, most of whom don’t speak their language. Because of this, I can understand their shortness with people – but it doesn’t mean I have to like them. Which is good, ‘cause I don’t.
We then headed out for the Eiffel Tower, which we had to wait in a line for about an hour – as only one of the four “legs” of the tower was letting people up. I could feel my lungs crisping as the number of people smoking in the line slowly cooked my internal organs with their foul exhaust. After a wait, we were let up in what’s known over here as “Zee Lift”. It lifted us to the lofty heights of the second floor – as the top of the tower is closed in Winter (which was not disclosed to me by the travel agent – damn you, Flight Centre). Anyhoo, the view from the top was quite majestic, and then at exactly eight o’clock, the tower glittered with its ten minute display of epilepsy lights which it puts on every hour. Matt and I decided to walk down in lieu of catching the lift, and got quite a display from these lights on the way down. There were many stairs, but it didn’t take too long to reach the ground where literally hundreds of African-Frenchmerican (what’s the politically correct term for a Black French guy?) were quite eager to sell us miniature Eiffel Towers for the lowly price of One Euro. Which seemed a decent price, to be sure. But what the fuck am I going to do with a tiny Eiffel Tower? We declined their energetic offers, and then saw a dance troupe performing what appeared to be their signature dance under the Eiffel Tower. Matt and I guessed they were also tourists who’d come to Paris on their trip schedule, and thought, for a ‘laff, they’d do their dance under the Eiffel Tower. I filmed part of it, and it sucked, to be quite honest. I’ve seen better dancing from cows at the abattoir. Then, we made our way back home. A big day.
PART THREE – M.Bate, 2nd February, 2010
Bonjour au bonsoir whatever time you are reading this. My friend Zach, got a little carried away with dissing the French, and I apologise on behalf of any French people who were offended by his harsh criticism. He got so fired up about the French that he totally forgot to mention our trip to the Eiffel tower – which he has now added in at my request (at the time of publishing)
We kicked off the day with a leisurely stroll to the metro station (Shake Shake, Shake Shake, a Shake It – Zach). For today we took our hop on hop off day bus tour around the city. We started with the intention of heading to Notre Dame. But instead we drove past some brilliant sites – The Les Invalides, where Napoleon I (Napoleon Bonaparte) is entombed under the dome. We drove past the Trocadero stop, where you could get absolutely stunning pictures of the Eiffel tower on elevated land over a waterfall. We also drove past the Musee D’Orsay stop, which we visit tomorrow.
Eventually our bus arrived at Notre Dame. It was a lavished cathedral – originally intended to be destroyed until Victor Hugo came along and wrote a little book called The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The book became a classic, and the townspeople were against Notre Dame’s destruction. Today it’s a working cathedral and you climb the steps to the top and look out over the town...for a fee. So we didn’t bother, because some things are just too expensive. Plus, we got a view of the city from the Eiffel tower...which is x metres higher than Notre Dame. So we didn’t really mind.
Next, we hopped on the bus to the Opera House, where notable musicians are engraved on the top of the building. These included Beethoven, Mozart and P Diddy among others. We then looked around France’s answer to Harrod’s – the Gallerie Lafayette department store (which has the biggest perfume section in the world) which featured several expensive crap by Rolex and Monte Blanc among others. It even featured a posh McDonalds, with such wonderful menu choices as Le Sandwich and Le Big Mac.
After looking at some brilliant Samsonite bags (which are totally much better than anything we have for luggage and didn’t look like the handle could break off making it near impossible to efficiently carry my bag around), we took the bus to Grand Palais and Petite Palais (which wasn’t even mentioned in the Lonely Planet book) and we took some epic photos, including one where Zach crossed the road and we took photos of each other on the stairs of opposite Palais’. We then returned to Trocadero where we took some brilliant, breathtaking photos of the Eiffel tower.
Next up, we took the bus back to the Opera House and took a leisurely stroll home. We walked through a park where we saw a couple having a serious conversation on some park benches and what seemed like the girl breaking up with the guy. The city of love? More like the city of... break ups. On our way to dinner that night, we were invited to a sex show...twice, which we generously declined in French and English. It reminded me of the really family oriented neighbourhood we live in.
Au revoir!
PART FOUR – Z. Raft, 3rd Feb, 2010.
We had a pretty cruisy day today. We were on the second day of our hop-on, hop-off tour, so we caught the Metro to Charles de Gualle – Etoille and then jumped on the bus. It took us through all the stops we’d jumped off at yesterday, like the Grand Palais, the Louvre, the Trocadero, the Eiffel Tower, etc. We just sat and enjoyed being driven around. We jumped off at Musee D’Orsay, keen to check out some paintings and sculptures. We took pictures of a few different pieces of art by Van Gough, and Renoir, and some Monet and Manet, and Degas, and Cezanne, to name a few. Quite a few of the paintings on display I quite disliked – I’m more into the Realism sort of art, and I get quite annoyed at Impressionism and Symbolism. But, to each his own, and I recognize that some of this stuff was quite liked by some small minority of people who’ve since made it famous by talking about it so much. The pastel stuff by Degas I’m a big fan boy of. We strolled around everything else the Museum had to offer, which wasn’t really much in comparison to the Louvre, and then we took off for a walk.
We walked to the Hotel des Invalides, where Matthias has told you that Napoleon Bonaparte is buried. We didn’t go inside though – instead choosing to photograph from a distance. The huge golden dome is quite a spectacle of Paris, and so we enjoyed it as I enjoy quite a few things in my life – from afar. We then walked to the Catacombs of Paris, which I had no idea what they were all about. I thought it would be crypt-like, with lots of graves and tombs and headstones and whatnot. I was wrong. It was filled with bones – literally millions of bones, skulls and bones, and more bones, setup in an attractive wall-facade. I told Matt I would considering getting a skull-and-bone wall installed in my future home. We broke the rules and touched a skull each, Matt choosing to tap out “La Cucaracha” on his chosen cranium, showing great respect to our fallen Parisian friends. Hey, at least we didn’t build a wall out of them!
Exiting the Catacombs, we strolled back towards the Seine. We stopped along the way because there was a huge building that we hadn’t seen before. Investigating the map, we discovered that it was actually Paris’ Pantheon, or a mausoleum for famous people. Reading a bit about it in the Lonely Planet guide, we discovered that people as famous as Victor Hugo were entombed in there, and the first woman to be allowed in was Marie Curie, who I THINK from memory, and don’t judge me if I’m wrong, discovered Radium? In any case, she discovered something awesome and invaluable and died because of it, and she was only shipped in, in 1995! I have no idea where they kept her nuclear ole’ bones until then, but I’m hoping somewhere safe where she couldn’t be turned into a warhead.
We then strolled to Hotel de Ville, which Matt tells me is famous because there was a photograph of a couple kissing in front of it. Go, Hotel de Ville. It was pretty awesome, it had an ice-skating rink in front of it, which we decided to not use because we both can’t skate. We instead watched for about half an hour as lots of tourists tried (and failed) at ice skating, and much enjoyed watching them stack it. One guy fell on his face, and slid arse first into a huge wooden barricade in the middle of the rink for children to skate inside of. It was beautiful.
We returned home to the classy, puritan and sophisticated red-light district, and let our feet dry off before supping at one of France’s finest eating establishments, Kentucky Fried Chicken.
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