What I did on my summer holiday
Sep. 4th, 2001 09:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
babysimon(And what Trish did too!)
(NB: Details of sex, long emotional talks, and accents on French words all cheerfully omitted.)
Arrived at Gare du Nord early afternoon. Somehow getting money, carnets, maps, and the Metro to the hotel took a couple of hours. It seems to be a good idea to shop for groceries so we head out to the supermarket and get some bread and cheese. On the way back Trish's feet start hurting. Lots. Trish becomes upset and starts talking about getting the Eurostar home as soon as feasible the following morning. After going back to the hotel we went out to get food. Early. Oops. First instance of Parisian snootiness - anyone who is crazy enough to want to eat at 7pm does not deserve treating well.
Did I mention that we're both vegetarian?
The first brasserie we stumble into (recommended by the guide book too) tells us that every table is booked (they're all empty). Well, maybe they are. The second refuses to acknowledge the idea of vegetarianism. Arse. The third place (a couscous restaurant, presumably the French equivalent of a curry house) has "couscous naturel". We order and are presented with a large bowl of plain couscous with a small knob of butter on top. By this time we're so upset at Paris that we assume this is the meal and eat half of it before they bring out the vegetable stew.
After the meal we return to the hotel (it's still early) and spend the rest of the evening comforting each other. This trip doesn't look like such a good idea.
The morning brings a somewhat improved mood. I persuade Trish that we should try to stay. Since neither of us have made any plans for what we're going to do, we decide to go to the Eiffel Tower [photos]. On the way we get the wrong train - in my defence I didn't realise that (a) the central section of RER C is shut this weekend and (b) on RER C, direction Versailles R.G. is westbound, but direction Versailles-Chantier is eastbound. We get half way up then join the (large) queue for the final ascent. I'm feeling vertiginous, but this soon fades when it starts raining and I'm cold and miserable instead. As soon as we reach the top, Trish's feet kick off again and we have to go down immediately.
(Cheer up - this is the point at which Bad Things stop and Good Things start.)
We go (somewhat randomly) to the Arc de Triomphe [photos] and see our first Parisian car crash. Jesus this lot drive badly. We decide discretion is the better part of valour and we decline to climb to the top of the Arc and instead go shopping. We find a record shop called Marche Noir [Photo] and wonder if it's any relation to Blackmarket Records. Then we go to a shop that is described in the guide book as having techno fashions (guess whose idea that was!) but there's just lots of expensive blandness. We leave just as a fight is breaking out(?) but recover by buying Trish an asymmetrical top from a shop near Chatelet. Guess the expression on the shops assistant's face.
In the evening we raise two fingers to brasserie culture and go to one of Paris's very few vegetarian restaurants. Very much like a veggie restaurant in London in 1970. Almost offensively healthy. Although they have (organic, natch) wine on the menu, I'm the only one drinking it. I don't dare ask for a second glass. All the other patrons have beards and sandals and buy their smugness in bulk.
We walk the two miles or so back to the hotel, and this is when it gets seriously lovely. It's hard to be upset on a moonlit stroll across the Seine in late summer. [photo] I receive a text asking if I'm going to the Liquid Lounge. I am smug myself.
We get back and I lie still while Trish draws me. Cool.
Versailles [photos] via a slightly more successful attempt on RER C. There are about 100 coaches in the car park. There is a woman whose thighs are fatter than me or Trish (her arms are practically thicker than Paul). There are video cameras. There are braying accents. There are Americans. We decide to sod the insides and check out the gardens. It doesn't take much walking to get away from all the Americans. We are somewhat startled when the fountains fire up and start playing classical music. But strangely pleased. We keep bumping into this (pair / couple) we sat next to on the train - are we stalking them or are they stalking us? We both fancy the thin one.
We spend a long time in the gardens, so when we get back to Paris it's tea time. We brave a brasserie and manage to find one that does Assiettes Vegetariennes. Mmmm, boiled carrot. We order a bottle of wine but Trish decides not to drink any so I have to drink it all. After the meal we decide to see the red light district at Pigalle [photo]. It's every bit as tacky as you'd imagine.
We go for a walk along what looks like (and in fact is) a disused elevated rail line which has been converted into the longest thinnest park in the city [photo]. Why don't they do this in London etc etc?
We were going to do the Louvre but realise that neither of us wants to, we just feel obliged, so we go to the Pompidou centre instead [photos]. We only manage one floor but there's still loads of cool stuff there. And loads of stupid wank of course - the artist whose career consisted of covering progrssively more of the canvas in blue paint, the model of a floating city made of hair curlers (wouldn't mind but they claimed to be architects), the guy who's made a career out of perspex boxes (also seen in Tate Modern). There's a room where the walls are covered in wool and you have to crouch to get in. Seems stupid until we realise that the room is completely silent.
I insist that we go for a walk down the Champs Elysee but it turns out to be just like Oxford Street but wider. And it has riot police in it. Oh shit. From the pitch of the screams we decide there's a boy band visiting a record shop.
We set off towards what looks like Notre Dame but isn't. It escapes anyway and we go the rest of the way on the Metro. Notre Dame has many annoying mad people around it. Seems religion attracts nutters.
After all this excitement we can't face another trying restaurant experience and decide to go to Pizza Hut. I know, I know. But we're just bloody hungry. It then takes an hour to find and another hour for us to get served, and we nearly decide to go home. Just as well because instead we go to...
The Tour Montparnasse [photos], which is a big ugly skyscraper which has one plus point - you can get a lift to the top. It's as tall as the Eiffel Tower, takes 35 seconds to get to the top, and when you get there it's big and uncrowded. Plus you can see the Eiffel Tower from it, which is more than can be said for the Eiffel Tower. And it's night. So we both almost cry from the beauty. The informational display inside is the cheeisest thing I've ever seen though.
After a certain amount of grief with bags (left luggage at Gare Du Nord was full, walk to Gare de l'Est was longer than we thought), we do a last spot of shopping at Galleries Lafayette [photo]. Mmmm, cognac-filled Eiffel Tower. Well, it was ironic! Plus lots of fags for those silly fools who are still smoking. Galleries Lafayette has guided tours for Japanese speakers. We go past one. 45 minutes to departure. Rush back to Gare du Nord, Trish is temporarily mistaken for a tobacco smuggler but the customs woman sees the cognac and relents. Train goes fastfastfastfastfastfastdarkdarkdarkdarkssssllllllloooooowwwwww. Waterloo International. Wow.
PS: If you don't have one, get a digital camera. Now.
(NB: Details of sex, long emotional talks, and accents on French words all cheerfully omitted.)
Thursday
Arrived at Gare du Nord early afternoon. Somehow getting money, carnets, maps, and the Metro to the hotel took a couple of hours. It seems to be a good idea to shop for groceries so we head out to the supermarket and get some bread and cheese. On the way back Trish's feet start hurting. Lots. Trish becomes upset and starts talking about getting the Eurostar home as soon as feasible the following morning. After going back to the hotel we went out to get food. Early. Oops. First instance of Parisian snootiness - anyone who is crazy enough to want to eat at 7pm does not deserve treating well.
Did I mention that we're both vegetarian?
The first brasserie we stumble into (recommended by the guide book too) tells us that every table is booked (they're all empty). Well, maybe they are. The second refuses to acknowledge the idea of vegetarianism. Arse. The third place (a couscous restaurant, presumably the French equivalent of a curry house) has "couscous naturel". We order and are presented with a large bowl of plain couscous with a small knob of butter on top. By this time we're so upset at Paris that we assume this is the meal and eat half of it before they bring out the vegetable stew.
After the meal we return to the hotel (it's still early) and spend the rest of the evening comforting each other. This trip doesn't look like such a good idea.
Friday
The morning brings a somewhat improved mood. I persuade Trish that we should try to stay. Since neither of us have made any plans for what we're going to do, we decide to go to the Eiffel Tower [photos]. On the way we get the wrong train - in my defence I didn't realise that (a) the central section of RER C is shut this weekend and (b) on RER C, direction Versailles R.G. is westbound, but direction Versailles-Chantier is eastbound. We get half way up then join the (large) queue for the final ascent. I'm feeling vertiginous, but this soon fades when it starts raining and I'm cold and miserable instead. As soon as we reach the top, Trish's feet kick off again and we have to go down immediately.
(Cheer up - this is the point at which Bad Things stop and Good Things start.)
We go (somewhat randomly) to the Arc de Triomphe [photos] and see our first Parisian car crash. Jesus this lot drive badly. We decide discretion is the better part of valour and we decline to climb to the top of the Arc and instead go shopping. We find a record shop called Marche Noir [Photo] and wonder if it's any relation to Blackmarket Records. Then we go to a shop that is described in the guide book as having techno fashions (guess whose idea that was!) but there's just lots of expensive blandness. We leave just as a fight is breaking out(?) but recover by buying Trish an asymmetrical top from a shop near Chatelet. Guess the expression on the shops assistant's face.
In the evening we raise two fingers to brasserie culture and go to one of Paris's very few vegetarian restaurants. Very much like a veggie restaurant in London in 1970. Almost offensively healthy. Although they have (organic, natch) wine on the menu, I'm the only one drinking it. I don't dare ask for a second glass. All the other patrons have beards and sandals and buy their smugness in bulk.
We walk the two miles or so back to the hotel, and this is when it gets seriously lovely. It's hard to be upset on a moonlit stroll across the Seine in late summer. [photo] I receive a text asking if I'm going to the Liquid Lounge. I am smug myself.
We get back and I lie still while Trish draws me. Cool.
Saturday
Versailles [photos] via a slightly more successful attempt on RER C. There are about 100 coaches in the car park. There is a woman whose thighs are fatter than me or Trish (her arms are practically thicker than Paul). There are video cameras. There are braying accents. There are Americans. We decide to sod the insides and check out the gardens. It doesn't take much walking to get away from all the Americans. We are somewhat startled when the fountains fire up and start playing classical music. But strangely pleased. We keep bumping into this (pair / couple) we sat next to on the train - are we stalking them or are they stalking us? We both fancy the thin one.
We spend a long time in the gardens, so when we get back to Paris it's tea time. We brave a brasserie and manage to find one that does Assiettes Vegetariennes. Mmmm, boiled carrot. We order a bottle of wine but Trish decides not to drink any so I have to drink it all. After the meal we decide to see the red light district at Pigalle [photo]. It's every bit as tacky as you'd imagine.
Sunday
We go for a walk along what looks like (and in fact is) a disused elevated rail line which has been converted into the longest thinnest park in the city [photo]. Why don't they do this in London etc etc?
We were going to do the Louvre but realise that neither of us wants to, we just feel obliged, so we go to the Pompidou centre instead [photos]. We only manage one floor but there's still loads of cool stuff there. And loads of stupid wank of course - the artist whose career consisted of covering progrssively more of the canvas in blue paint, the model of a floating city made of hair curlers (wouldn't mind but they claimed to be architects), the guy who's made a career out of perspex boxes (also seen in Tate Modern). There's a room where the walls are covered in wool and you have to crouch to get in. Seems stupid until we realise that the room is completely silent.
I insist that we go for a walk down the Champs Elysee but it turns out to be just like Oxford Street but wider. And it has riot police in it. Oh shit. From the pitch of the screams we decide there's a boy band visiting a record shop.
We set off towards what looks like Notre Dame but isn't. It escapes anyway and we go the rest of the way on the Metro. Notre Dame has many annoying mad people around it. Seems religion attracts nutters.
After all this excitement we can't face another trying restaurant experience and decide to go to Pizza Hut. I know, I know. But we're just bloody hungry. It then takes an hour to find and another hour for us to get served, and we nearly decide to go home. Just as well because instead we go to...
The Tour Montparnasse [photos], which is a big ugly skyscraper which has one plus point - you can get a lift to the top. It's as tall as the Eiffel Tower, takes 35 seconds to get to the top, and when you get there it's big and uncrowded. Plus you can see the Eiffel Tower from it, which is more than can be said for the Eiffel Tower. And it's night. So we both almost cry from the beauty. The informational display inside is the cheeisest thing I've ever seen though.
Monday
After a certain amount of grief with bags (left luggage at Gare Du Nord was full, walk to Gare de l'Est was longer than we thought), we do a last spot of shopping at Galleries Lafayette [photo]. Mmmm, cognac-filled Eiffel Tower. Well, it was ironic! Plus lots of fags for those silly fools who are still smoking. Galleries Lafayette has guided tours for Japanese speakers. We go past one. 45 minutes to departure. Rush back to Gare du Nord, Trish is temporarily mistaken for a tobacco smuggler but the customs woman sees the cognac and relents. Train goes fastfastfastfastfastfastdarkdarkdarkdarkssssllllllloooooowwwwww. Waterloo International. Wow.
PS: If you don't have one, get a digital camera. Now.
