Apr

Paris Part Un

Posted in Blog

My post-Afghanistan plans were supposed to include Paris and London but because I was making my travel arrangements at the last minute, I opted to simplify things and just do Paris. So I spent a night at Ramstein Air Base in Germany and booked the high speed train to Paris (only 2.5 hours) for the the next day.

I arrived early to get my ticket then waited 45 minutes on the platform for my train to arrive. This is the part where my friends will laugh their asses off and I’ll hate them forever for it. After the passengers exited, a train employee stepped off and blocked the door with his arm while he smoked a cigarette. So I stood six inches in front of him waiting for the okay to go on board. A minute or two passed and a guy in a hat about 30 feet from us gave a sort of “all clear” sign and the dude in front of me put out his cigarette and hopped on the train. I started to pull my bags on behind him and the door closed! Right in front of my face. I rushed over toward another door that was still open and that door closed so I ran alongside the train pulling my 80 pounds of luggage hoping someone would see my exasperated look and open a door. No such luck- my train pulled away.

I couldn’t believe it. Who the fuck blocks the entrance to a train while a person with a bunch of baggage is standing right in front of him??? Furious and frustrated, I returned to the ticket counter and exchanged my ticket for the next train to Paris, which would leave four hours later.

With so much time to kill, I headed to the bar to drown my misery in Hefeweizen, all the while shaking my head in disbelief. I guess some guy at the end of the bar noticed and purchased my beer, then a moment later a Green Day song played. I thought these were signs that things would be picking up from that point so when I spotted some slot machines in the corner, I decided I should try my luck at a little videin schpoker. I put 10 euro in a machine and pushed every button but nothing happened. There was some message on the screen that of course I couldn’t understand so I spoke to the one employee in the joint who spoke a little English and she basically told me the machine was broken and that nobody could do anything about it until Monday morning. She had me fill out a refund request form but I know that’s 10 euro I’ll never see again.

The German guys were very friendly- at least, the kind that hang out at train station bars in the middle of the afternoon were- and continued to buy drinks and chat with me despite the fact that they spoke no English and I spoke no German. One guy came along who did speak some English and he said he’d never been to Paris. That just seemed bizarre to me. It would be like me living in LA my whole life and never going to San Diego, San Francisco or Vegas.

When the next train finally arrived, I moved swiftly to get on it and without any further impediments, made my way to Paris. Rather than daily recaps of Paris I’m just going to sum up various aspects in the hope of finally getting this travel journal completed. I didn’t take a whole lot of photos- mostly self-portraits with landmarks, which don’t provide the most flattering angles but I got a kick out of taking them so I’ll include them.

The Weather

It was rainy, windy and cold for most of the trip. Occasionally the sun peeked out but not for long. While people in many places in the world would probably consider the daytime temperatures (40’s-50’s) fairly mild for this time of year, I thought it was brutal and don’t know how the hell people deal with that all the time. I was quite happy to return home and banish my big coats to the back of the closet and replace them with tank tops and sarongs. People can criticize LA all they want but it’s hard to beat our weather.

The Prices

I was surprised how expensive everything there was, particularly food and drinks. On average I’d say things were about 50% higher (a pint of beer was the equivalent of $10-12)! To make it worse, when I returned home I discovered my bank assessed me conversion fees for every charge and ATM withdrawal. Give me a fucking break- a computer does all the work but those assholes always find a way to stick you with some extra fees.

The Language

I’ve studied three other languages- Spanish, French and Japanese- and French is easily my weakest. I took my first semester of French my senior year of high school. I believe I was the only senior in the class and there were two juniors, Chad- one of the hottest guys in school whom I’d had a major crush on since eighth grade- and his ex-girlfriend Jenny. The three of us sat together and on the other side of the room facing us sat freshman Richard (”Reeshar”) whom we nicknamed the Pocket Pinball Wizard because he was constantly knocking the paddle and balls around. Needless to say, there were a few distractions and I didn’t focus properly. At least, I didn’t focus on the French properly but I did manage to score Chad as my date to the Homecoming dance, which was a debacle in itself that I’ll have to remember to share sometime. The point is, my French ain’t great. I can understand it fairly well but when I try to speak it Spanish words usually come out.

In other countries I’ve been to, I found that most people spoke English well enough that I didn’t have to worry about the local language but in France (and Germany) they weren’t as accommodating. Actually, even when I spoke French some were still difficult, like the hotel clerk who just stared at me when I asked, “Vous telephonez un taxi, sil vous plait?” I even mimed it for him but it was like he’d never heard such an unreasonable request before. I got the same response from about three waiters when I asked for “Eu avec glacé”- ice water. What does the rest of the world have against ice??? It shouldn’t be so difficult to obtain.

For several days I only encountered one person who spoke English as his first language but he was Scottish so it’s not like I understood him any better than the French. On the fourth day when I finally ran into a few Americans, there were hugs all around, which is so not my style but it was a bit of a relief to be able to converse for a few minutes at a normal pace.

By the end, a lot of the French I’d learned in school had come back but since I never use it here I’m sure I’ll promptly forget it again.

« All The Stuff I Left Out

Paris Part Deux »

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