Lesson number one: Learn French

Our next stop, after Dover was historic Paris. This was sort of the pinnacle of the trip, because we were spending the most time and money there. We stayed in a lovely little hotel in the heart of the Latin Quarter. We were just two blocks from the Musee d'Orsay, two blocks from the Lourve, and three blocks from Notre Damn. Rue Saint Germain and Rue Saint Michel were just a hop, skip, and a jump away (perhaps with a few more hops, I wasn't counting too accurately). By the time we made the ferry trip from Dover to Calais, then train from Calais to Lille and Lille to Paris we were exhausted. It was, yet again, another day devoted to travel. But, none-the-less, we put on our walking shoes to catch the last bit of sunlight.

Paris, as always, was absolutely beautiful. It was actually really hot, too (which I, in my infinite wisdom, hadn't prepared for). Still, I perservered! And I went forth to enjoy the journey. It was at this point, thought, that something began to creep up on me. With every passing moment we spent in Paris, I had the feeling that I had left something behind. Something just wasn't right. Only in hindsight can I identify it with perfect clarity, a backbone. I completely lost all confidence in my ability to communicate which may or may not have been due to the fact that I couldn't actually communicate. Who knows? These things are so abstract. Well, let's just say that I felt obligated to let everyone else be right, just so it wouldn't seem like I was ignorant. Brilliant plan! Right?! My wallet says otherwise. To this end I found myself
with crap French batteries, a sandwich, and a 50 Euro portrait of myself (oh, yes...classy I know.)

Anywhooo...we, of course, saw all the sights.

• Eifel Tower (with brownie...yum)

• Notre Damn: We saw this crazy video at night where they had the whole history of the cathedral narrated by the founder, whose been dead for centries.

• Musee d'Orsay: This was actually my first visit to the museum and I thought it was fabulous.
  P.S. He judges you.

• Llourve: On Wednesday nights they keep the museum open until 9:30, and from 6-9:30 it's half price. It was pretty much great. I was pretty exhausted by the time we actually got there, though...so after a visit to my favorite pieces (Vermeer, Venus Di Milo, Statue of Nike), I went to my favority spot in the whole palace; the basement cafe! Hot chocolate all the way!
  

• And then, the obligatory stops at every possible patisserie, boulangerie, choclaterie, and cafe. Oh god, it was so good. So, so good. So much chocolatey goodness. There was even this chocolaterie right next door to our hotel, yeah 5 Euro on two pieces of chocolate...but so worth it.

For me, I think the highlight attraction was Shakespeare and Co. Yes ladies and gentlemen, the very bookstore where, in my most beloved Before Sunset, Jesse (Ethan Hawke) meets Celine (Julie Delpy) for the first time in ten years!! I nearly cried out when I saw it...okay, so I did cry out and slightly embaress Katie when I saw it. But come on!! It was way too exciting to just walk past. Who doesn't love that scene! Oh, man...I have to calm myself down. ::supress, supress::

So that's pretty much the Paris, in a nutshell. BUT, I should also say that it was at this point that my camera started to go on the fritz and after Bath, it's capabilities to take photos was no more. I deeply mourn its loss. A moment of silence, please.

Ahem...I also have included the two journal entries I wrote about the experience:

September 7, 2006

Right now, Katie and I are sitting on a train in Paris, which will soon be heading toward Bologne where we will make a transfer for our final destination of Calais. At this moment, I couldn’t feel anymore like an American tourist stereotype. The morning started off with an early ‘wake-up’ call from the front desk, telling us that our 6 am taxi had arrived.

Katie: “What time is it?”
Olivia: (looking at my cell phone/alarm clock) “Three minutes to five. Why?”
Katie: “Because it sounded like he said our 6 am taxi was here.”
Olivia: “Oh…”
Katie: (presumably checking the time on her own watch) “Wait. It is 6 o’clock.”
Olivia: “Shit.”

Apparently, I had not noticed or bothered to change my cell phone clock to an hour ahead for out stay in Paris. 10 minutes later, in world record time, we were out of bed, dressed, packed, checked-out, and in the taxi. It was not a good way to wake up. But that was just step one.

Driver: “(something in French)”
As I was still rubbing sleep out of my eyes and settling into my seat:
Olivia: “Nord. Merci.”
Driver: “(questioning, puzzled look and something in French)”
Olivia: (wishing I had taken just one semester of French) “Le train? Nord?” Then turning to Katie with a helpless look of a deer in headlights, “I thought we asked the front desk to tell him we need to go to Nord.”
Katie: Turning to the driver, “Le gare du Norde.”
Olivia: (‘Where the hell did she pull that from?’)
Driver: “(something in French)”
Olivia: “What exactly did you tell him?”
Katie: “The train station, Nord.”
Driver: “(one last time, still in French, still had no idea what he was saying)”
Katie: “Oui”

And off we went. Then, I glanced at the meter, which had been running since he arrived at three ‘till six.

METER: 14.60 euro

Grabbing my wallet I searched for the rest of my money. 8 euro and 20 cents. Looking up quickly, I saw the meter turn:

METER: 15.20 euro

All I could do was pray, ‘God, please let us have enough money between us.’ I knew that the fare from the station to the hotel had only been a little less than six Euro; we had hope. I would have walked if I had felt at all confident about wandering through Paris at dawn with 50 lbs of luggage. I turned to Katie, prodding her on the shoulder and the making the international sign for cash by rubbing my thumb against my other four fingers. She looked down at her purse, thought for a second, then turned back to me and quietly said, “About twelve.”

Some relief.

I looked back at the meter:
METER: 18.50 Euro

Then I prayed, ‘God, please let this be less than 20 euro. Please, please.’

By the time we pulled up to the station my fists were in tight bunches and all I wanted to do was get away as soon as I could. I had been staring at the meter the whole time, jaw clenched. It finally read:

METER: 20.70 Euro

When the cab finally stopped I handed Katie all my euro and looked impatiently from her to the driver, then at the door and back to her again.

Olivia: “How much?”

Katie glared at me holding out 20 euro and 20 cents. She made me to pull out her credit card but there were no signs my much beloved ‘We Accept Visa’ stickers. The driver was getting frustrated.

Olivia: “I feel like I am going to throw up.”

She handed the driver the lump sum of our Euros as I plunged into my backpack, routing out some Pounds Sterling. After a few more panicked communications I had convinced Katie to stay in the taxi and told a very pissed driver that I would be back in a second with his money. I came back with the exchange from a 10 pound note and shoved it in his hand, after which he even helped us with our bags. Then, thankfully in tact and with all my luggage, my cousin, and her luggage we scrambled into the station and away from the cab.

Now, after fighting down my guilt, embarrassment, and idiocy, all I could hope was that we found tickets and made the trip fast enough to Calais to board our ferry to Dover.

September 7, 2006

Epilogue

We’ve made it! Few! The train rides from Paris to Calais were, thankfully, unremarkable; although, we did hit a small snag in Calais. We had only 30 minutes before our ferry left from the time we arrived and neither of us had Euro for the bus fare to the terminal. (It was at this time that I realized I should have kept some of the Euro for ourselves instead of throwing in all at the cab driver in Paris. But can I really be blamed for my actions at 6 a.m.? Perhaps my ability for forethought is somewhat overwhelmed by my crazed paranoia in the wee hours of the morning.) After a twenty-five minute expedition through illustrious downtown Calais, we tracked down a money exchange and I watched begrudgingly as another 10 pounds slipped through my fingers. By the time we finally made it to the bus stop we had conceded to missing our ferry, but I was riding a caffeine high and would not concede defeat! (Ironically, once we actually looked at the bus information sheet, we discovered that pounds were a valid currency for Calais public transit. Next lesson learned.)

To make a potentially epic story shorter, thanks to a speedy bus driver and beautiful P&O Ferry representative, we made the next ferry to Dover with no extra charge. Having had some scrumptious vitals (for me a latte and baguette), we are relaxed, rested, and a little wiser for the trouble.

P.S. After I finished this entry I flipped through the earlier pages of my journal and discovered that the first half was filled with diary entries from my freshman year of high school. I learned a very important lesson doing this – never look at your diary from when you were fourteen. It will only make you feel vapid and completely idiotic. My distinct reaction was, “Oh God, this is horrible. Did I really write this? How the Hell did people stand me? Why didn’t anyone ever slap me, besides that one time – Erica had the right idea.” Those entries are better left alone or in an incinerator, where mine will rest for all eternity.

It's Happening In Dover

So I stole that line from a big billboard on Highway 101 through Soledad. Really, there is a huge billboard that says, "It's happening in Soledad." What's happening in Soledad?! Who's even ever heard of Soledad?! I hold that it doesn't even really exist. It's all just a ruse...like death.




Well, Dover, huh. Dover was cute and small, although Katie and I did happen to wander into the "ghetto" of Dover which was actually kind of shady. We walked the entire town (not just the circumference but I am confident that we actually covered every square mile) in about 2 hours. The castle is quite impressive, although we didn't actually make it up there. My advice to you is, if you are planning on stopping over in Dover...don't do it on a Sunday. There is absolutely nothing open. The whole town goes into hibernation and the only thing left open is a karaoke bar just off the main road. As it happens, we went to said bar and promptly left after Katie couldn't get enough booze in me to get on stage. I was, however, tempted to request some George Michael...just because he is that amazing.

The bed and breakfast we stayed in was excellent! Highly recommended. The husband and wife that run the house are really sweet and make a wicked good breakfast. All for a pretty reasonable price and not to far from the hopping downtown district. So, check out the East Lee Guest House. In all honesty, it was sort of nice to spend the night in Dover after our whirlwind tour of London and before our exhausting Paris excursion. It's cute, quaint, and right on the ocean.

And how could I forget! It appears that Shaggy left the Mystery Machine in the Southeastern coast of England. Those silly meddling kids!



Katie the Fearsome, pillaging the village of it's one food source. But what will the kids eat?! She's a monster!! The terror! (she has no soul)



Of course, the White Cliff's of Dover. -->

Update Notice!

Due to the several weeks that have passed since I left London, I have decided not to group everything that has happened in one entry. Instead, I will do one entry per place until I am caught up. That is all. Good day.

I have arrived!

Yesterday was probably the longest day in eternity. For Katie and I, August 31 started out at 7:15 am, which was a rather relaxed morning, and then at 12 noon we headed off to the airport for our 4:30 pm flight. After 10 hours of flying, we landed at London Heathrow at 10 am on September 1st with little to no sleep. But, of course, we couldn't afford to loose a day in London, so we treked on until 9 pm. We wandered about the city, had a traditional pub dinner, complete with a tasting of ales and then crashed into our bed as soon as possible. This made for a busy 31 hour day, to which I say "blagh."

Since I couldn't be bothered to haul out Gwenyth on the flight, I instead decided to keep a diary in a small journal that I can tote around. So, here's yesterday's entry:

August 31, 2006

Katie and I have just settled down on the plane. She, with the help of Prince Valium, is already drooling out of the side of her mouth. Every few moments she opens her blood shot eyes to give me a fearful glare. She’s terrified of flying, which is pretty much a result of Paul’s tactfully designed torture from our childhood.

When we were nine her parents made the mistake of leaving the two of us, and her two younger sisters, on a flight alone with him. At some point we hit a patch of turbulence and it was at this juncture that he had the opportunity to inform her of the more insidious dangers of flying. In the end all three were scarred with the image of the small commuter jet sailing toward the ground like a 200-ton brick, while shattered windows reduced passengers to wet noodles.

Now, Katie’s eyes have rolled back in her head and hopefully she sleeps in a peaceful Soma coma.

Earlier, while I was stowing my bags in their proper compartment, our in flight neighbor took his seat. As I bent down to take my seat he outstretched his hand with a big-eyed overzealous grin and I forced myself to choke down a giggle. We had been parked next to the embodiment of all Courtney’s warning tales for European travel, the young eager straight Italian male. I almost felt bad for him; he was trying so hard without any luck at all. Little did he know that we had been prepared for just such an occasion; nod, smile, and then pretend to be asleep.

We are near landing. Thank god. Neither of us have actually slept much, although I managed a few minutes here and there. Mostly, due to my tactic against the Italian stallion, but Katie made the unfortunate mistake of opening her eyes to catch his longing gaze. I am sure she could have used some back up, but I didn’t want to ruin blowing my cover and for extra protection I darned the oh-so-wonderful eye mask provided by the lovely people of British Airways. Over the course of the flight, Katie was treated to the tales of how he came to San Francisco from Naples, how he learned English, his hopes for a career in animation, and (this was the best part) a video clip of his renowned break-dancing skills. For the most part, he was harmless enough but Katie’s blood-shot eyes may lead her to a different conclusion.

Well, this is where I end. Adieu my fair friends. I will update with more stories as I find time. For now, muah!