The Euroblog, Take 2 - Paris, Round 1

You might think it's a good idea to know how to get to your destination in a foreign city, especially when you don't have the phone number for the residence at which you are staying. Well, you're right. We walked out of the train station and into downtown Paris, and within five minutes it was apparent that we had no idea where to go. Carly and I had assumed that Steve would know how to get to his friend's house where we were supposed to stay, but quickly discovered that the only directions we had were Steve's scribbles from a phone conversation he'd had with his friend weeks ago. I knew we were in trouble as soon as I asked Steve where we should go, and he responded by trying to pronounce one of the street names, then shaking his head in confusion and admitting he had no idea how it was spelled or pronounced. He was, however, convinced that the final stop was "3 Rue Alexandria Street," and that it was only supposed to be a few blocks from the train station. As it turned out, no one around the train station had heard of "Alexandria Street," and the large maps at the station apparently hadn't, either.

I decided that we should consult Google Maps at the nearest internet cafe. Unfortunately, we had no euros, since we had arrived straight from England. I tried with my Visa to buy 30 minutes of time for 4 euros, only to be told that the minimum amount they accepted on a Visa was 12 euros. We then proceeded to buy all kinds of drinks just to get the total above 12 euros, so that we could use the internet, so that we could hopefully find where in the world we were supposed to go. Several SOS emails were sent to Steve's friend, telling him to call us as soon as he got the message. As it turned out, Google Maps hadn't heard of an "Alexandria Street" in all of France.

Checking through Steve's emails, we found that one of them from his friend mentioned Meudon, which was another district in Paris and a good distance away. An older email even had a picture of the house where we were supposed to stay. Assuming that "Alexandria Street" was wrong, we again consulted Google Maps to try to find any street beginning with "A" near the train station in Meudon. A "Rue d'Alesia Street" turned up, and so we took a taxi over to what we thought was the Meudon train station and walked up and down Rue d'Alesia Street looking for the house in the picture from the email. We found a 3 Rue d'Alesia Street building that didn't really look like the one in the picture, and banged on the door for a few minutes with no answer. After this latest failure we trudged all the way back to the train station. I will mention that this whole time we were carrying all of our bags around. A legally blind person could have identified us as lost, clueless tourists. At this point it was getting dark, and Steve became worried that we would get jumped by French hooligans.

We found another internet cafe, and tried to get some of the locals to tell us if they recognized where in Paris that picture was. They informed us that all streets in Paris looked the same. At this point we discovered that we had mistakenly picked the wrong train station around which to search. Google Maps was consulted again, another train station near Meudon found, and a "Rue d'Arthelon Street" turned up. We tried for over half an hour to get a taxi, as almost no taxis came by the station since the trains were done for the day. When we finally got a taxi, the driver couldn't find an Arthelon Street in his GPS. Fortunately, another taxi did, and we left to go investigate Rue d'Arthelon Street. Halfway there, we got the call from Steve's friend. We discovered that the street we wanted was "Rue ALEXANDRE Guilmant," not "ALEXANDRIA," and that was by a still different train station in Meudon. Guilmant was the name that was put aside because of spelling and pronunciation issues.

As we found out, Steve had missed the step in the directions where we took a train to that station. I was further chagrined to discover that I could have left a message on Steve's friend's U.S. cell, which I didn't because Steve said he was told that it didn't work in France. All in all, Steve and Carly were ecstatic just to finally make it. I just wanted wreck Steve as soon as he went to sleep. However, a large pizza later all was forgiven - a good meal is the adult pacifier.

One thing that became the predominant theme was Steve trying to identify with the locals, but failing miserably at the language barrier (incidentally, I don't think anyone could be a more stereotype American tourist). Examples:

- At a French pizza restaurant, he tried to order a pepperoni pizza, but pronounced pepperoni with an Italian accent, rolling the r's and all. I wondered if a strain of Rigoletto was next.
- He continually speaks Spanish to all the French people. At a sandwich stand, he said "si" to the owner, we laughed at him, and then five seconds later in all seriousness he emphatically said it again. "Gracias" and "bueno" make frequent appearances as well. I continually give him a hard time about it. But apparently he still rubbed off on me. On our third day in Paris I accidentally said "si" to our French waiter. I don't know if I've hated myself more.

Carly inadvertently joined in, developing a brand new English/French accent as she tried to order a panini. It is a challenge trying to order good in a foreign country. I was trying to order a large pizza for myself and they weren't reading me. By the end of the conversation I was just waving my arms in a big circle and telling them I wanted "a bunch." Used to having to speak slowly, enunciate, and make hand signals, Carly found herself doing that very thing to me when she asked if I could get the pictures off of her camera. She leaned forward, looked at me with wide eyes, and made what I'm guessing was her sign language interpretation for downloading, which was one hand continually pulling something out of her other hand: "DO.. YOU.. think you can.. GET.." - frantic motioning - "PICTURES.. from my" - goes through the motion of taking a picture - "CAMERA?" I found myself subconsciously leaning forward, eyes widening, and nodding like I was getting the gist of what she was saying.

In walking around the streets of Paris and hearing all the foreign chatter, I feel like I'm in the video game Age of Empires, where the characters from different civilizations all have several nonsensical phrases that they say from time to time in their civilization's particular accent. You might have to have played the game to get that one. I've decided that you are not properly speaking French if you are not somewhat trying to turn your lungs inside out. We were on the metro trying to find Sacre Coeur, and people couldn't understand what we were talking about until I jokingly said it with a loud, exaggerated French accent.

Characteristics of Paris:

- at least some of every class of citizen have a backpack and ride a bicycle - even businessmen in suits
- people make out everywhere with no regard
- there are more hip black people in Paris than London - actually, I don't think I saw any in London
- I saw a cop on a motorcycle pull out a smoke at a red light - you won't see that in the U.S.
- yes, street performers play the accordion - some bring various boom boxes to add a synthetic beat.
- there are two kinds of people: those who enthusiastically help you, and those who look at you like your clothes are made of trash.

Out hosts showed us around very well. We visited Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower (I can't believe both were almost torn down). The Louvre looks like it could be a quarter of a mile long. I'm only slightly exaggerating. Carly got a chocolate crepe and was satisfied with Paris. We also visited a museum of Monet's artwork, which was Steve's highlight. I must admit I wasn't too impressed. A lot it was just various lily pad arrangements - several times while walking around I couldn't really tell if it was the second time I was looking at some of those paintings since being there. Well done? I'd say so. World class? Don't see it - but then I'm not an expert. A few other famous artists featured, and people lying around naked was a popular theme for these artists. I have to admit it's a kind of strange vibe to be standing next to a bunch of other people, all of you thoughtfully inspecting nude paintings.

Quotes:

Me: Do any of us know any French?
Carly: I saw Beauty and the Beast.
Me: My dad took French in high school.
Steve. I walked by French class a few times.

Carly: I don't like vanilla coke. It looks gross. (Don't all version of coke look the same, maybe cherry coke is a little reddish?)

Carly (trying to keep the conversation going with a local and running out of questions to ask): When you get lost, what is the best thing to do?

Steve (whenever we get in the way or be loud): Sorry, we're Americans.

Local girl (explaining where she works and getting excited as Carly nods her head): You know?!
Carly: No.
Local girl deflates like a balloon.

Carly (referring to all the peddlers): I just don't want to say no. I might hurt their feelings.
Me: The Egyptians have their little kids try to sell you things.
Carly: I would lose all my money there.

Switzerland is up. Thankfully our host is picking us up at the train station. We'll see what happens next...