Paris is for lovers...

[Ebony AKA AngieJ]

...and the rest of us can go hang, I guess.  :)

Is there anyone who is *not* in love with Paris?  I am in love with 
England, but feel extremely weird because of my first impression of 
the City of Lights.

I wasn't too keen on going in the first place because I'd always 
heard that the French understandably appreciate it if you speak their 
language.  I do not speak French, and have no intention of learning 
how in the foreseeable future.  Trying to attain full fluency in 
Spanish (ESPECIALLY learning the idioms!) is quite enough of a task.  
But I was told that I *had* to set my foot on French soil before I 
went home, that I'd love it, etc. etc.  I caved in... and I am glad 
that I did.

I saw the Eiffel Tower (from just about every angle possible--I'll 
explain later), the Sorbonne, Notre Dame (my favorite bit), the 
Palace des Luxembourg gardens (coming soon to a fanfic near you), 
walked across the bridges of the Seine (thanks to Cassie for telling 
me not to take a boat--that would have wasted precious time), walked 
through the university district, the Champs-Elysees, saw the Arc de 
Triomphe, and saw quite a few neighborhoods... including some that 
were quite seedy.  I had crepes and coffee and croissants and wine 
and all that other good French stuff.

That was the good part.

The part that surprised me was that the magic through which I saw 
London on my first day there just wasn't present for me in Paris.  
The hotel we stayed in was in the Republique vicinity--the section of 
the city between that and Gare du Nord reminds me... and I swear I am 
NOT making this up... of Detroit.  (Detroit, for the first 100 years 
of its existence was French anyway, so that's not as strange as it 
seems.)  The only differences were:  1)  the language was different 
(it didn't sound alien to my ears--about the most frustrating 
experience of it all for me was feeling as if I *should* understand 
French, because I knew English and Spanish which both have some 
connection to it, but not being able to), and 2)  that section of 
Paris leaves Detroit in the dust when it comes to dirt, filth, and 
bad smells.

I couldn't believe I'd traveled 4000 miles to experience the parallel-
universe version of home.  Even the wonderful "touristy" section of 
attractions closer to the Seine wasn't enough to take that first 
impression away from me.  

So, in honor of the weekend I just had, I am proud to present the 
following list...

WHAT NOT TO DO WHEN IN PARIS

1)  NEVER arrive at Heathrow Airport an hour and a half before your 
flight is scheduled to leave.  The queues will be unbelievably long.  
You will miss your flight.

(We were lucky... we missed our 8:15 flight but made the 8:45 one.)

2)  NEVER take the RER to the general area of your hotel, thinking to 
save money by trekking on foot as opposed to taking a taxi.

(It took us a good 3 1/2 hours' walking through some VERY rough 
neighborhoods to find the hotel.  Great for me as a writer (because 
we're always curious to know how people live), awful for me as a 
tourist.)

3)  NEVER trust a student travel agency.

(We got to the hotel to find that the reservations had never 
arrived.  Fortunately, we ended up in another hotel that was slightly 
better, although still the shabbiest place I've ever stayed in, and 
that coming from an inner-city Detroit native is saying something.)

4)  NEVER ride the Metro if you do not speak French.

(It will take you getting lost at least 2-3 times to figure out HOW 
to determine which train you take.)

5)  NEVER take for granted anything the Metro staff say.

(I'll explain later.)

6)  NEVER try to see attractions on the 14th of July.

7)  NEVER travel with a person who thinks they know everything... 
they don't.

(The only reason I decided to do the Paris weekend was because my 
friend from the Oxford exchange program "had been there before and 
spoke French".  I trusted her.  Not only did I speak better French 
than she did and ended up at her request doing the speaking for both 
of us (she kept pronouncing the French for thank you like our English 
word "mercy" AND would say "bonjour" in parting, despite the strange 
looks she got), my instincts proved to be far more reliable than her 
experience at least five different times... the icing on the cake was 
when she got on the wrong train on the RER coming back, and was 
extremely testy when I literally had to pull her off the train so she 
didn't end up back at the Chatelet again.)

And the most IMPORTANT thing to remember is this:

7)  NEVER VISIT PARIS DURING BASTILLE DAY UNLESS YOU ARE SPECIFICALLY 
INVITED BY A NATIVE TO DO SO.

I have learned this summer that the Europeans (and the British are 
included in this) have a very different idea of what ought to remain 
open on national holidays than we Americans do.  In fact, there is a 
different idea of what ought to remain open, period... I don't think 
the 24-7 concept has made it over here yet.  It is certain that Super 
WalMart hasn't yet.  :-)

Not only were all the museums closed this weekend, you cannot get 
within a stone's throw of the Eiffel Tower after a certain time of 
the afternoon on July 14th... it is all barricaded off.  The French 
version of firecrackers contain at least five times as much gun 
powder as the ones at home, and French children enjoy throwing them 
at the feet of passers-by.  The adults that accompany them seem to 
find their children's antics amusing.

A few men were walking down the street with what looked like semi-
automatic rifles... in reality, they were shooting off blanks that 
sound like a cannon's blast.  It took hours before I stopped ducking 
instinctively and shivering... I've shared with you all that I grew 
up in a neighborhood where I heard real-live gunfire on a regular 
basis, so I was not having a good time.

Worst of all... ALL the public transportation stops running right 
after the fireworks end.

Remember my travel companion, the one who I quickly learned was not 
an expert on very much?  After the fireworks were over, I suggested 
that we get a cab home so that we didn't take the Metro at night.  
She was greatly offended by this suggestion--"Paris is safe!  We can 
take a bus or the Metro... I refuse to spend so much money on a 
cab..." etc.  Now, the thought of any major inner city being "safe at 
night" was ludicrous to me.  I do not skip about certain areas in 
Detroit alone or with just one other female after a certain time at 
night, and even in my own stomping grounds I go into this heightened 
state of awareness when I'm out after dark.  The fact that we didn't 
speak the language and were utterly unfamiliar with the terrain made 
this even more ridiculous of a statement.

I failed to mention that my friend is twice my age.  She brought this 
fact up twice during the trip... but we all know that age and common 
sense are not necessarily directly proportionate.

Then I suggested that if we *were* going to take the Metro, we'd best 
hustle, because the official I'd talked to in my broken Franco-
Spanglish emphasized the fact that we needed to be at our destination 
by 12:30 p.m.  This friend of mine seemed to be angry at this idea 
too.  I entertained the thought of just leaving her there, and if I 
spoke even a tad more French I think I might have.  Instead I just 
shrugged and changed the subject.  

This is how I've learned to deal with people who think they know 
everything:  unless they or I are in immediate danger of life or 
limb, I let them have their way.

Instead of trying to find a cab, we walked over to the Champs-Elysees 
and to see the Arc de Triomphe.  I noticed French-speaking folks 
rushing down the staircases to the Metro, but didn't say anything.  
By the time we were done and ready to go home, it was after 12:30.

The Metro was closed... gates were over every entrance.

The buses had stopped running at 8:30.

And there were only five taxis in all of Paris.

The next two hours were like a bad dream.  We walked all over the 
central tourist district.  Before the fireworks, I was extremely 
disappointed that I wouldn't get close to the Eiffel.  That night, I  
saw so much of the Eiffel Tower that I got utterly sick of it.  The 
Parisiens, who were so friendly and accomodating (other than their 
horrible fireworks) by daylight were quite different at night.

It would take a long, long time to describe everything that I saw and 
experienced that night after the fireworks.  Make of it what you 
will, but I think God must have seen how tired and exasperated I 
was... and He sent a guardian angel of a cab driver who had a great 
sense of humor, spoke English, and took the shortest route possible 
back to the hotel.

I've a roll full of pictures and bags full of souvenirs to remind 
myself that I've been to Paris.  I also have a nasty head cold (it 
rained the majority of Saturday morning and afternoon, when we'd been 
walking around trying to find the hotel), and this sense of gnawing 
disappointment.

My best friend Ben (who lives in FL) said this morning via IM while I 
was ranting and raving and complaining about it all:  "Well, think of 
it this way, Eb.  How many black girls from Detroit can say they 
spent a weekend in Paris, or summered in England?  You're getting 
cultured, girl!"

My Oxford tutor Hugh, this morning before lecture:  "Well, of course 
you'd like London better than Paris, Ebony.  After all, this *is* 
England and that *is* France."  (He said "France" as if it was a 
dirty word.)

I think that I'll go back to Paris someday... but only if I can stay 
near the Seine, and am traveling with a man who I'm in love with and 
who speaks fluent French.

Otherwise, it is not too high on my "places to revisit" list.

One more good thing that came out of the trip:  I know a great deal 
more Spanish than I would have everthought.  I had no idea that when 
you are desperately trying to communicate with someone who does not 
speak your language, every communication mode you have ever learned 
snaps immediately to mind (including sign language and grunting).  So 
I kept thinking up both the English and the Spanish for what I wanted 
to say, much to my surprise... and my question "Hablas espanol?" 
helped us a time or two.  So the Paris weekend has given me the 
courage to try out a teacher grad school exchange in Valencia 
sometime soon.  ;-)

When all is said and done, though, I must say that being in Paris was 
wonderful.  Not much enjoyable, but having the experience of seeing 
the other, less glamorous side of Paris was wonderful... and 
inherently rich for the writer of me.  A hundred stories in just 
thirty-two hours...

--Ebony AKA AngieJ