A Tale of One City (Paris: Day 1)
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way…”~Charles Dickens
Nothing could better capture my thoughts as I left the Paris countryside and entered the city limits of the capital of France early Saturday morning. My bus from Oxford to London left at 3 in the morning, and rather than go to sleep, I decided to stay up and watch, what is fast becoming a real favorite on my movie list, Miller’s Crossing. As I strolled through the quiet streets of the downtown districts of London, I hadn’t any idea about what lie ahead of me just across the English Channel.
Exhausted from staying up all night, I quickly fell asleep and awoke to the green fields outside of Paris. I had been underneath the English Channel and come out the other side safe and sound. I must say that the chunnel itself is a huge disappointment. I had expected a glass roof on the tram, something to the effect of a ride at Sea World, where I could look out into the ocean and watch little fishes swim by in curiosity. Instead, it was a dark, twenty minute train ride which led to sleep rather than amazement.
My first sights of Paris were no good. Walls on the side of the train portrayed innumerable graffiti symbols and designs and grounds covered in trash and dirt; very different from the much cleaner London streets. The skyline was not of magnificent buildings like Big Ben and Houses of Parliament, but of numerous apartment complexes, reminding me more of trips down to Tijuana, than a centuries old European city. Below is a not-so-exciting picture of the train depot.
After the train ride, I had to acclimate myself to very few English signs and speaking people which was immediately frustrating. I was able to secure a subway pass and 200 Euros, but not without being approached by a young, dark skinned woman who asked me if I spoke English. Naturally, I said yes and she then proceeded to unfold a little sign which read something to the effect of “I came here from Bosnia 6 months ago and have to provide for my ill father. Will you please give me money.” Being the naïve, American tourist (and might I add generous philanthropist) I am, I made ready to get out a pound coin from my wallet only to see the lady run off, just barely escaping three armed guards who then shook their head at me as if to say “Do NOT! Give this woman your money.” Unfortunately, this woman has ruined it for the rest of homeless people I am ever to come across. In my past, I have occasionally given money to people on the street; nothing of any incredible amount, but often just a dollar here or there. My guess is that probably not all of them buy food, but there arises in me a certain need to help my fellow man when I see him suffering. Apparently, and from what I observed on my entire trip, these women are all over Paris and are part of one big collective group to scam people. Upon later run-ins with these women, I proceeded to get sarcastic with them in the hopes that a guard would soon notice and come remove them from whatever premises I was on.
I rode the subway to my hostel/hotel which, for the price I paid, turned out to be relatively nice. Our group had a bathroom to ourselves and breakfast was provided in the mornings. Apparently, breakfast is something that only Americans can do properly. Breakfast at this “hotel” consisted of 2 small baguettes with butter and jam and a cup of hot chocolate; nothing like mom’s French toast or Saturday morning waffles.
The rest of Saturday was spent with light sightseeing. First, by no means of first importance, was the Musée d’Orsay. This art museum sits right next to the Seine (the river which flows through the heart of Paris, much like London and the Thames). It contains very famous art pieces from Monet, Manet, Van Gogh and others of which I haven’t heard, but assume are of some importance. I found this museum very enjoyable. I tend to dislike most art galleries, especially modern art galleries, but this one I found very enjoyable and interesting. Below are several pieces I found interesting, not only because Marcy (my good friend and amateur art teacher) explained them, but also because some were just interesting and appealing. Forgive me, I do not remember most of their names, but I’m sure a quick google search will set you straight.
Following the Musée, I walked very briefly around the Louvré and snapped some pictures. In one below, you will see my first look at Notre Dame off in the distance. I then headed off to the Sacré Coeur which in French means “sacred heart.” I believe it was completed sometime around 1914, and really isn’t that fascinating, but has an incredible view from which you can see a majority of the city of Paris. I noticed with Sacré Coeur, as well as with Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle, the French don’t really know what “church” means. It was rather noisy in the sanctuary and people were running around snapping pictures. Granted, I think these churches are more museums and nice architectural feats now than a place of worship, but there is something different about the vibe of a French cathedral compared with the ones in England.
Tired, dirty, and sick of traveling, I headed back to the hotel, but not without a stop to a small burger joint called Bip’s Burgers. Service was horrible, the burger wasn’t that great, and then didn’t give me fries when I asked for them. Note to self: I do not like the French.
Nothing could better capture my thoughts as I left the Paris countryside and entered the city limits of the capital of France early Saturday morning. My bus from Oxford to London left at 3 in the morning, and rather than go to sleep, I decided to stay up and watch, what is fast becoming a real favorite on my movie list, Miller’s Crossing. As I strolled through the quiet streets of the downtown districts of London, I hadn’t any idea about what lie ahead of me just across the English Channel.
Exhausted from staying up all night, I quickly fell asleep and awoke to the green fields outside of Paris. I had been underneath the English Channel and come out the other side safe and sound. I must say that the chunnel itself is a huge disappointment. I had expected a glass roof on the tram, something to the effect of a ride at Sea World, where I could look out into the ocean and watch little fishes swim by in curiosity. Instead, it was a dark, twenty minute train ride which led to sleep rather than amazement.
My first sights of Paris were no good. Walls on the side of the train portrayed innumerable graffiti symbols and designs and grounds covered in trash and dirt; very different from the much cleaner London streets. The skyline was not of magnificent buildings like Big Ben and Houses of Parliament, but of numerous apartment complexes, reminding me more of trips down to Tijuana, than a centuries old European city. Below is a not-so-exciting picture of the train depot.
After the train ride, I had to acclimate myself to very few English signs and speaking people which was immediately frustrating. I was able to secure a subway pass and 200 Euros, but not without being approached by a young, dark skinned woman who asked me if I spoke English. Naturally, I said yes and she then proceeded to unfold a little sign which read something to the effect of “I came here from Bosnia 6 months ago and have to provide for my ill father. Will you please give me money.” Being the naïve, American tourist (and might I add generous philanthropist) I am, I made ready to get out a pound coin from my wallet only to see the lady run off, just barely escaping three armed guards who then shook their head at me as if to say “Do NOT! Give this woman your money.” Unfortunately, this woman has ruined it for the rest of homeless people I am ever to come across. In my past, I have occasionally given money to people on the street; nothing of any incredible amount, but often just a dollar here or there. My guess is that probably not all of them buy food, but there arises in me a certain need to help my fellow man when I see him suffering. Apparently, and from what I observed on my entire trip, these women are all over Paris and are part of one big collective group to scam people. Upon later run-ins with these women, I proceeded to get sarcastic with them in the hopes that a guard would soon notice and come remove them from whatever premises I was on.
I rode the subway to my hostel/hotel which, for the price I paid, turned out to be relatively nice. Our group had a bathroom to ourselves and breakfast was provided in the mornings. Apparently, breakfast is something that only Americans can do properly. Breakfast at this “hotel” consisted of 2 small baguettes with butter and jam and a cup of hot chocolate; nothing like mom’s French toast or Saturday morning waffles.
The rest of Saturday was spent with light sightseeing. First, by no means of first importance, was the Musée d’Orsay. This art museum sits right next to the Seine (the river which flows through the heart of Paris, much like London and the Thames). It contains very famous art pieces from Monet, Manet, Van Gogh and others of which I haven’t heard, but assume are of some importance. I found this museum very enjoyable. I tend to dislike most art galleries, especially modern art galleries, but this one I found very enjoyable and interesting. Below are several pieces I found interesting, not only because Marcy (my good friend and amateur art teacher) explained them, but also because some were just interesting and appealing. Forgive me, I do not remember most of their names, but I’m sure a quick google search will set you straight.
Following the Musée, I walked very briefly around the Louvré and snapped some pictures. In one below, you will see my first look at Notre Dame off in the distance. I then headed off to the Sacré Coeur which in French means “sacred heart.” I believe it was completed sometime around 1914, and really isn’t that fascinating, but has an incredible view from which you can see a majority of the city of Paris. I noticed with Sacré Coeur, as well as with Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle, the French don’t really know what “church” means. It was rather noisy in the sanctuary and people were running around snapping pictures. Granted, I think these churches are more museums and nice architectural feats now than a place of worship, but there is something different about the vibe of a French cathedral compared with the ones in England.
Tired, dirty, and sick of traveling, I headed back to the hotel, but not without a stop to a small burger joint called Bip’s Burgers. Service was horrible, the burger wasn’t that great, and then didn’t give me fries when I asked for them. Note to self: I do not like the French.
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