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hathycolParis. That is a place to which I have been! I am now going to inflict a hideously long travelogue on you on the basis that if I'm going to work part-time I may as well use the enforced time off wisely.
I woke up with the mad glee that comes from knowing it's time to go on holiday and that I was skiving work to do it. I had experienced a packing meltdown the night before, brought on by the fact that I had inherited the family trait of being too tight to buy luggage and therefore only buying really bizarre bits and pieces. I also can't pack light to save my life, so in the end I gave up trying to stuff everything into a small rolly-suitcase and shoved it all in my enormous rucksack. For those interested, I once managed to pack three weeks worth of holiday in that rucksack, so onyl five days worth feels a little daft.
Fortunately, Dad gave me and my enormous rucksack a lift to the train station, and the journey was surprisingly easy; a simple trip into Liverpool and then one straightforward train to London Euston, which was empty and even arrived on tine, despite informing us half way through the journey we were running twenty minutes late. Ah, British Rail. Don't go changing.
I met Richie upon arrival at Euston (actually, I waved at him whilst he stared over my head, clearly not expecting someone with a gap-year rucksack on hand), and we started on a classy theme with MacDonalds for lunch after dumping our stuff at the Travelodge.
We spent the afternoon at the British museum, as they apparently had some of the Staffordshire hoard. This, kids, is basically a lie; they only have two tiny bits of it, although it did give me an excuse to look at the Sutton Hoo helmet and go 'LOL' as it's in Arthur's bedroom. I do like the British museum, or at least the bits that aren't morally questionable.
After an evening of wandering around London and Mexican food, the morning was hideously early. Fortunately, we were very near to St Panras which meant that at least it was a short journey in the light drizzle.
One exciting thing about living in Britain is that we are a we set of islands, meaning that all kinds of travel is automatically three times of fun. As I get sea-sick and don't like to fly unless it's essential (I find it... unsettling) then the Eurostar is basically a blessing to me, so perhaps I was inclined to like it anyway. St Pancras is a beautiful station, all glass and light, so waiting for the train was pleasant experience, and even getting on it was enjoyable. Unfortunately, it was so comfortable (leg room! on a train!) that I fell asleep fairly promptly and woke up to discover that a. we were in France and b. Richie had rather chamringly taken a photo of me while I was asleep. Oh dear.
Arriving in France was bizarre, as there was absolutely no passport checks and we simply toddled off to get tickets for the Metro and try and wrap my brain around French rather quickly. French is a language that both Richie and I have qualifications in. Bluntly, you wouldn't know it. Through a minor miracle, though, we manged to purchase tickets, get on the train, and find our stop. GENIUS.
We arrived out of the underground system to a rainy Paris, but fortunately our hotel was near the Metro stop, on the rue de Mouffetard. I managed to check in using French, although after a time the receptionist took pity on me and we finished the transaction in English. Our hotel room turned out to small, but functional, at least. Also, it was in a brilliant location; five minutes of wandering found us next to the Pantheon, before we went for lunch when again I became mildly flustered in linguistic terms.
After this, we decided to run full tilt at Being Tourists, looking around the Pantheon and being delighted to discover it was free if you were under 25 and EU citizens. Hurrah! That said, it was nicer from the outside than the inside. The same couldn't be said for the Eglise St-Eitenne Du Mont, which had a lovely and peaceful atmosphere. Feeling churchy after this, we decided to hike over to the islands and the Notre-Dame. By the time we got there, the rain was more or less moving sideways, meaning I wasn't in the best of moods to appreciate the architecture. Still, it was nice, although not as nice as the crepes we had afterwards. The same cannot be said for the tea. WHY CAN OTHER PEOPLE NOT GET TEA RIGHT.
The evening was one of, weirdly enough, Tibetan food. This is mostly because the restaurant in question was dirt-cheap and had the awesome name of the Tashi Delek, and yes, Richie and I are that damned cool. Actually, the food was delicious; I had these cheese and vegetable dumpling things and steamed bread. I also managed to have too much wine, meaning I suddenly got every so confident in French.
The area we were staying in was a really sutdenty area, and the street itself was incredibly vibrant and fun, which led, naturally enough, to going for a drink. As such, I spent my first evening in Paris drunk on wne in a bar that randomly gave out free Guiness-pint shaped stress balls. No, we didn't understand either.
A wee hangover the next morning, but we were still out and about early enough for croissants that were maybe the best thing in the whole world ever. We found the Jardin de Luxembourg quite accidently, and they are maybe my favourite bit of the whole weekend. It had snowed overnight, so all the paths were glittering and white, and the palace shone in the sun. I was amazed to see that people were still jogging through it, and doing t'ai chi, and playing tennis. It was a lovely scene, albeit a little too cold to spend a long time in.
As such, we headed towards the Eiffel Tower. This was, perhaps, a mistake. Firstly, the Eiffel Tower is realy big. For some reason, I had assumed it wasn't all that big. This is not true. Secondly, it is the most popular tourist attraction in Paris, so therefore involved a queue of nearly two hours in occasional snow. Um, yes. As such, I don't think I properly appreciated the view, although it was lovely. Unfortunately, it was punctuated by a lovely couple of whom we know one was called Ben and the other we nicknamed Stacey. Remember when Donna was annoying, rather than awesome? Well, imagine having annoying Donna behind you for half an hour. I thought I might have pushed her off, at one point.
By the end of it, we decided to go to Montmatre for lunch. Lunch was good, but even better was the sheer joy of wandering up to the Sacre-Couer. It's worth pointing out that I am well lazy, so the hill nearly killed me (we found the funicular after we had got up the hill) but the view was worth it. The weather had cleared up the sight was just stunning, as was the Sacre-Couer itself. Well done, people who recommended it!
We then found the red light district, where ironically I really needed the loo. Hint, kids: don;t try and find a public loo in Pigalle! It probably didn't help that there was some sort of local parade on that day, but there we go.
A trip back o the hotel on the Metro bought us face to face with the equivalent of chavs in French. GOOD TIMES.
We went out again for food in the evening. I knew I was probably going to run into some difficulties with the food; I am not a vegetarian, you see, but I am fussy, bluntly. It's easier to say I'm a vegetarian, and I actually prefer vegetarian food, but I do eat chicken. Unfortunately, the French tend towards... not veggie-friendly food. Still, we found a cute restaurant, and I managed to get through the evening with onion soup, which I've never had before, and a yummy chicken thingy. Richie had a stab at bouillabaise. Via Harry Potter, I know what that is. He didn't. Ironically, I think I had a better idea of how to deal with the langoustines via lots of food telly, but... oh my. At least we tried!
That said, the evening was lovely. As we sat there in the tiny restaurant, bumblimg along in French (and occasionally Spanish or Italian if I didn't know the word), drinking red wine and listening to someone play the guitar, I felt happy in my cliche. Also the bouillabaise had gone, meaning that I could no longer see the poor langoustines little legs bobbing around.
The next day heralded the Louvre. To get there, we had to fight through the most bizarre train journey of all time; thus far, you see, we had been mostly free of the Curse Of The Odd People On Public Transport which normally I am horribly prey too. Between the drunk man sat behind us, or the woman with the
worst teeth I had ever seen, and the lady who was singing kareoke (with a full speaker!) it was... odd. The German tourists near us were crying with laughter. So was I, I have to admit.
Anyway, we eventually made it to the Louvre, which is he most beautiful building I have ever seen, if a little ostentatious. I don't know much about art, so I have to admit to being a terrible tourist and going straight for the Mona Lisa (well, you know, Doctor Who) and the Venus de Milo, mostly to prove that at least I have arms. We ambled around a bit, but gave in after a while and admitted that neither of us knew enough of anything to appreciate it properly. I'd like to go back one day and be more prepared, I think.
We ambled along the Seine in the sunshine, before ending up back at the Islands and having lunch were I had the audacity to ask if I could have some bread. The waiter looked horrified. I didn't quite understand, but there we go. In revenge, I stole the bottle that my Orangina came in.
I also had a bit of a quest in mind that weekend; I wanted to go to the Champs-Elysees and prove that it was not, in fact, based on Southport, a lie popularised by the Southport tourist board. They look vaguely similar, but then, so do a lot of streets!
We went out again in the evening for another bafflingly French meal, in a little restuarant with big prices. I think my conclusion is that basically I am a wuss when it comes to food, but I honestly just don't like meat. Is that a bad thing? The tarte tatin was beautiful, though, as was the wine.
Woke up the next day hangover-free, although gutted to be heading back to England. We accidentally arrived far too early at the Gare du Nord, so had to hang around for a while eating croissants and drinking Orangina. Yes, I know, tourist cliche. The Gare du Nord isn't as nice as St Pancras, though, although we did use up the last of the Euros is a vague attempt at duty-free shopping.
I didn't sleep on the way home, and instead had attempt number 5 at Doctor Zhivago, a book that has consistently baffled me through all of my existence. Arriving at St Pancras, we went through another round of passport control before heading out for a last meal in Euston, before I had to get my train home.
I finished Doctor Zhivago, and Mum kindly picked me up from the station when I got to Ormskirk. In return she recieved a beret, as I am a kindly daughter like that.
Now I am back sitting on my dining room, about to start job-seeking again, and I find it weird to think that this time two days ago I was wandering along the Seine. There are photos here, for anyone interested.
The moral of the story is that I very much liked Paris; in fact, I'd love to go back, although maybe when it's a bit warmer. And with improved French skills!
I woke up with the mad glee that comes from knowing it's time to go on holiday and that I was skiving work to do it. I had experienced a packing meltdown the night before, brought on by the fact that I had inherited the family trait of being too tight to buy luggage and therefore only buying really bizarre bits and pieces. I also can't pack light to save my life, so in the end I gave up trying to stuff everything into a small rolly-suitcase and shoved it all in my enormous rucksack. For those interested, I once managed to pack three weeks worth of holiday in that rucksack, so onyl five days worth feels a little daft.
Fortunately, Dad gave me and my enormous rucksack a lift to the train station, and the journey was surprisingly easy; a simple trip into Liverpool and then one straightforward train to London Euston, which was empty and even arrived on tine, despite informing us half way through the journey we were running twenty minutes late. Ah, British Rail. Don't go changing.
I met Richie upon arrival at Euston (actually, I waved at him whilst he stared over my head, clearly not expecting someone with a gap-year rucksack on hand), and we started on a classy theme with MacDonalds for lunch after dumping our stuff at the Travelodge.
We spent the afternoon at the British museum, as they apparently had some of the Staffordshire hoard. This, kids, is basically a lie; they only have two tiny bits of it, although it did give me an excuse to look at the Sutton Hoo helmet and go 'LOL' as it's in Arthur's bedroom. I do like the British museum, or at least the bits that aren't morally questionable.
After an evening of wandering around London and Mexican food, the morning was hideously early. Fortunately, we were very near to St Panras which meant that at least it was a short journey in the light drizzle.
One exciting thing about living in Britain is that we are a we set of islands, meaning that all kinds of travel is automatically three times of fun. As I get sea-sick and don't like to fly unless it's essential (I find it... unsettling) then the Eurostar is basically a blessing to me, so perhaps I was inclined to like it anyway. St Pancras is a beautiful station, all glass and light, so waiting for the train was pleasant experience, and even getting on it was enjoyable. Unfortunately, it was so comfortable (leg room! on a train!) that I fell asleep fairly promptly and woke up to discover that a. we were in France and b. Richie had rather chamringly taken a photo of me while I was asleep. Oh dear.
Arriving in France was bizarre, as there was absolutely no passport checks and we simply toddled off to get tickets for the Metro and try and wrap my brain around French rather quickly. French is a language that both Richie and I have qualifications in. Bluntly, you wouldn't know it. Through a minor miracle, though, we manged to purchase tickets, get on the train, and find our stop. GENIUS.
We arrived out of the underground system to a rainy Paris, but fortunately our hotel was near the Metro stop, on the rue de Mouffetard. I managed to check in using French, although after a time the receptionist took pity on me and we finished the transaction in English. Our hotel room turned out to small, but functional, at least. Also, it was in a brilliant location; five minutes of wandering found us next to the Pantheon, before we went for lunch when again I became mildly flustered in linguistic terms.
After this, we decided to run full tilt at Being Tourists, looking around the Pantheon and being delighted to discover it was free if you were under 25 and EU citizens. Hurrah! That said, it was nicer from the outside than the inside. The same couldn't be said for the Eglise St-Eitenne Du Mont, which had a lovely and peaceful atmosphere. Feeling churchy after this, we decided to hike over to the islands and the Notre-Dame. By the time we got there, the rain was more or less moving sideways, meaning I wasn't in the best of moods to appreciate the architecture. Still, it was nice, although not as nice as the crepes we had afterwards. The same cannot be said for the tea. WHY CAN OTHER PEOPLE NOT GET TEA RIGHT.
The evening was one of, weirdly enough, Tibetan food. This is mostly because the restaurant in question was dirt-cheap and had the awesome name of the Tashi Delek, and yes, Richie and I are that damned cool. Actually, the food was delicious; I had these cheese and vegetable dumpling things and steamed bread. I also managed to have too much wine, meaning I suddenly got every so confident in French.
The area we were staying in was a really sutdenty area, and the street itself was incredibly vibrant and fun, which led, naturally enough, to going for a drink. As such, I spent my first evening in Paris drunk on wne in a bar that randomly gave out free Guiness-pint shaped stress balls. No, we didn't understand either.
A wee hangover the next morning, but we were still out and about early enough for croissants that were maybe the best thing in the whole world ever. We found the Jardin de Luxembourg quite accidently, and they are maybe my favourite bit of the whole weekend. It had snowed overnight, so all the paths were glittering and white, and the palace shone in the sun. I was amazed to see that people were still jogging through it, and doing t'ai chi, and playing tennis. It was a lovely scene, albeit a little too cold to spend a long time in.
As such, we headed towards the Eiffel Tower. This was, perhaps, a mistake. Firstly, the Eiffel Tower is realy big. For some reason, I had assumed it wasn't all that big. This is not true. Secondly, it is the most popular tourist attraction in Paris, so therefore involved a queue of nearly two hours in occasional snow. Um, yes. As such, I don't think I properly appreciated the view, although it was lovely. Unfortunately, it was punctuated by a lovely couple of whom we know one was called Ben and the other we nicknamed Stacey. Remember when Donna was annoying, rather than awesome? Well, imagine having annoying Donna behind you for half an hour. I thought I might have pushed her off, at one point.
By the end of it, we decided to go to Montmatre for lunch. Lunch was good, but even better was the sheer joy of wandering up to the Sacre-Couer. It's worth pointing out that I am well lazy, so the hill nearly killed me (we found the funicular after we had got up the hill) but the view was worth it. The weather had cleared up the sight was just stunning, as was the Sacre-Couer itself. Well done, people who recommended it!
We then found the red light district, where ironically I really needed the loo. Hint, kids: don;t try and find a public loo in Pigalle! It probably didn't help that there was some sort of local parade on that day, but there we go.
A trip back o the hotel on the Metro bought us face to face with the equivalent of chavs in French. GOOD TIMES.
We went out again for food in the evening. I knew I was probably going to run into some difficulties with the food; I am not a vegetarian, you see, but I am fussy, bluntly. It's easier to say I'm a vegetarian, and I actually prefer vegetarian food, but I do eat chicken. Unfortunately, the French tend towards... not veggie-friendly food. Still, we found a cute restaurant, and I managed to get through the evening with onion soup, which I've never had before, and a yummy chicken thingy. Richie had a stab at bouillabaise. Via Harry Potter, I know what that is. He didn't. Ironically, I think I had a better idea of how to deal with the langoustines via lots of food telly, but... oh my. At least we tried!
That said, the evening was lovely. As we sat there in the tiny restaurant, bumblimg along in French (and occasionally Spanish or Italian if I didn't know the word), drinking red wine and listening to someone play the guitar, I felt happy in my cliche. Also the bouillabaise had gone, meaning that I could no longer see the poor langoustines little legs bobbing around.
The next day heralded the Louvre. To get there, we had to fight through the most bizarre train journey of all time; thus far, you see, we had been mostly free of the Curse Of The Odd People On Public Transport which normally I am horribly prey too. Between the drunk man sat behind us, or the woman with the
worst teeth I had ever seen, and the lady who was singing kareoke (with a full speaker!) it was... odd. The German tourists near us were crying with laughter. So was I, I have to admit.
Anyway, we eventually made it to the Louvre, which is he most beautiful building I have ever seen, if a little ostentatious. I don't know much about art, so I have to admit to being a terrible tourist and going straight for the Mona Lisa (well, you know, Doctor Who) and the Venus de Milo, mostly to prove that at least I have arms. We ambled around a bit, but gave in after a while and admitted that neither of us knew enough of anything to appreciate it properly. I'd like to go back one day and be more prepared, I think.
We ambled along the Seine in the sunshine, before ending up back at the Islands and having lunch were I had the audacity to ask if I could have some bread. The waiter looked horrified. I didn't quite understand, but there we go. In revenge, I stole the bottle that my Orangina came in.
I also had a bit of a quest in mind that weekend; I wanted to go to the Champs-Elysees and prove that it was not, in fact, based on Southport, a lie popularised by the Southport tourist board. They look vaguely similar, but then, so do a lot of streets!
We went out again in the evening for another bafflingly French meal, in a little restuarant with big prices. I think my conclusion is that basically I am a wuss when it comes to food, but I honestly just don't like meat. Is that a bad thing? The tarte tatin was beautiful, though, as was the wine.
Woke up the next day hangover-free, although gutted to be heading back to England. We accidentally arrived far too early at the Gare du Nord, so had to hang around for a while eating croissants and drinking Orangina. Yes, I know, tourist cliche. The Gare du Nord isn't as nice as St Pancras, though, although we did use up the last of the Euros is a vague attempt at duty-free shopping.
I didn't sleep on the way home, and instead had attempt number 5 at Doctor Zhivago, a book that has consistently baffled me through all of my existence. Arriving at St Pancras, we went through another round of passport control before heading out for a last meal in Euston, before I had to get my train home.
I finished Doctor Zhivago, and Mum kindly picked me up from the station when I got to Ormskirk. In return she recieved a beret, as I am a kindly daughter like that.
Now I am back sitting on my dining room, about to start job-seeking again, and I find it weird to think that this time two days ago I was wandering along the Seine. There are photos here, for anyone interested.
The moral of the story is that I very much liked Paris; in fact, I'd love to go back, although maybe when it's a bit warmer. And with improved French skills!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-02 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-02 05:22 pm (UTC)The food issue is what put me off spending some time living in France... I am less vegetarian than you, I think, but probably more fussy. *sigh* Still, I managed surprisingly well in Austria, I think.
I shall go and look at pictures anon. *g* I'm glad you had a good trip.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 07:21 pm (UTC)Note my picture in front of the Venus de Milo, doing jazz hands. MAKING A POINT, YO.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-03 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 07:20 pm (UTC)