I was feeling rather bummed that I hadn't done more in London. Indeed, all I accomplished in my two days there seemed paltry: a quick trip to the Harry Potter store, a lengthy walk visiting five museums I didn't even care about, a ride on the London Eye (nothing too spectacular, despite providing a festive night view), and a crummy serving of fish and chips. I hadn't done my favorite walk (from Big Ben down the Embankment to a beloved tea shop), hadn't dined in the restaurant pods a friend had recommended along the Embankment overlooking the Thames near the Tower of London (called The Coppa Club - if you wish to dine there for New Year's Eve, you can rent a pod for dinner for six to eight people for one hundred and fifty pounds - it was better for my wallet that I didn't make it there - although I'm adding my friend's photos because it did, indeed, look like a cool experience), and hadn't visited The London Dungeon Museum again. However, I can look on it more positively. Everything I did in this visit would not have been available to me during my past four trips to England, back in the day.
(Photos of Coppa Club pods by Patti Phillips)
After another sumptuous breakfast at our London hotel, Richard and Linda and I made our way down to the St. Pancras train station. We arrived early, at 9:30 a.m. for our 11 a.m. ride through the Chunnel. We sat talking to while away the time, and a group of French young people were lounging nearby waiting, too. One of the young girls, offered me the rest of her change, saying she wouldn't be needing it again (I protested - after all, I might not need British coins again, either - but she insisted, so I added them to my pocket and told her I would give them to my youngest son, who loves coins of all kinds).
The boarding process was manic. As the hour and a half went by, the waiting lounge filled to overflowing and about fifteen minutes before the departure of two separate trains (one to Brussels and one to Paris), they announced that both trains would be departing from ramps 9 and 10. Everyone was crushed into a mob trying to board the trains before the strict 11:01 departure time. I didn't even check to make sure Richard and Linda made it on the train. I was simply determined that I wouldn't be left behind and miss my 3 p.m. literary walking tour.
I kind of expected the train to plunge into darkness for a majority of the trip. It was surprising that each time I looked out the window, I saw green fields and quaint houses. I was seated next to an older French woman who explained, in broken English, that her grandchildren live in London and after accompanying them back to their home, she was finally headed back to her own home. She was having some difficulty with her back (I noticed this both when I had to scoot past her to my window seat and again when I got up to use the restroom), so when the train alerted passengers to the imminent arrival in Paris, we both hopped up together and made our way to the exit doors.
I had booked the literary walking tour through a company called Localers.com. I was due to arrive in Paris at 2:17 and had only a forty-three minute window to find the starting point location. Thankfully, a kind woman from the organization had called me from Paris and explained the most reliable method for getting there on time. Using her precise directions, I turned right out of the train station, found the taxi queue and was probably only the third person in line. I had written out, in French, a phrase asking if the driver could get me to Cafe de Flore by 3 p.m. because I was in a hurry. He nodded yes and then asked me something, in French, that I couldn't understand (although a minute later I realized he had been saying the street name, Boulevard Saint-Germaine). I'm afraid I tipped him horribly. The fare was only 13 euro (two less than the Localers representative had predicted), but when he handed back a five euro note and two coins, I was only thinking about needing an additional tip for the tour guide and knew the walking tour had cost 59 euro, as opposed to the 13 euro taxi fare, so I handed back the one euro coin and felt horribly chintzy).
After waiting about five minutes (I was even early), a young guide arrived. I knew he wasn't my guide, because an email (with picture) had alerted me to look for a young woman named Daphne. I was thrilled to learn that there were only four female participants for the tour (there had been 16 on the London one, making it harder to hear the guide). One young woman was actually an American living and working at a design school in Paris. She took the tour to learn more about the neighborhood where she resides. The other two women were American travel agents. As we started the tour, it began to rain, but Daphne merely led us into an alcove at a nearby church and continued her talk, showing us pictures in a small album to accompany her description of the writing scene in Paris back in the days of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Wilde. We traced the steps of these authors, as Daphne outlined the rise of the cafe movement and the lure of Paris as a cheap place to live, write, and encounter other great thinkers and artists. I had prepared myself for the tour by watching Woody Allen's movie, Midnight in Paris, and was glad to have saturated myself in a tale of these authors prior to the walk.
I learned a ton, and delighted in plunging myself in a literary world of the past again. By the time the tour ended, at the famous bookstore "Shakespeare and Company," it was already dark (something I had wished to avoid while traveling alone).
How interesting to learn that you can actually stay overnight in this bookstore, if you are a wandering, would-be-writer. George Whitman had been a bit of a wanderer himself, and when he founded the bookstore in 1951, he wanted to live out the motto: "Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise." So, he decided to open his doors to these "Tumbleweeds" (what he called the guests). If you want to participate in the Tumbleweed program and stay in the store overnight, you can claim your spot on the cushioned benches if you fulfill three requirements: 1) Read a book a day, 2) help out in the bookstore, and 3) write a one-page autobiography. As
the bookstore's website proclaims, "Today, the bookshop has housed an estimated 30,000 Tumbleweeds, our shelves are crammed with autobiographies and stories of romance played out beneath the beams, and - most importantly - we have no intention of closing our doors."
With visions of a future stay as a Tumbleweed, I pulled the tiny note card from my back pocket, revealing the best method for getting from that location to the hotel and Daphne kindly pointed out the way to get to the Cluny LaSorbonne Metro station (where I would take the number 10 line to Duroc and the number 13 line to Porte de Clichy). She even thanked me for my paltry two euro tip (I was afraid to spend the five euro note because I might need it to purchase the subway ticket to the hotel).
I could have given her the note because on the way to the station, I noticed an exchange shop. Sadly, this change shop didn't give me as good a rate as the London one had. I handed over my remaining 50 pounds - minus the five pound note I wanted to keep and pass along to Sean - and I was given 44 euro. The commission was exorbitant at six euro. But, what could I do? I'd probably fare the same at any exchange shop in the area.
Alas, panic arose within me when I entered the subway station because the machine seemed to indicate you needed to insert a particular kind of card. I went to the information window to ask about the card and was told they would not be available for purchase until Monday morning. After a brief freak-out, further communication revealed that I simply needed to purchase a ticket, not a card (like in London). Thinking I would need tickets for the transfers and for the following day, I purchased a book of ten (far more than I needed, however, it proved to be a good choice, since I was able to sell them to others and recoup some of my money). I had another small freak-out when I went to transfer to the number 13 train, because that train tees off in two directions and I needed to be on the correct one to make my stop at Porte de Clichy. Thankfully, all went well until I rose to the street level and saw the neighborhood and the hotel across the street. Yikes! Construction! Cranes! Shabby businesses.
Once I was safely inside the hotel, Linda contacted me and we met downstairs, where we both expressed some hesitation about the hotel. We also ran into two twenty-something girls who were feeling a bit overwhelmed with the transportation details. I became the unofficial transportation guide, since I knew how to get us back into the city, to Notre Dame, where they could all purchase the Hop-on-Hop-off bus ticket (that I had already purchased through the travel agency).
(Shakespeare and Company in daylight - I never did venture inside, but oh well)
(my new-found friend, Linda)
The bus was an excellent choice. We were presented with a small set of ear buds and could listen to a humorous tour guide explaining various sights and histories. I took this photo of the small green boxes along the Boulevards, where craftsmen and booksellers used to sell their wares:
(Arc de Triomphe in the distance)
The first stop where we hopped off the bus provided a grand view of the famous Eiffel Tower.
(The girls, Isabelle and Katie, air-dropped these photos of them to my son's phone for me.)
After that, we made our way to the Louvre. We were quite fortunate to be in Paris on the first Sunday of the month, a day when all national museums are free. Richard was desperate to go inside the Louvre and view the Mona Lisa. My memories of visiting the art museum made me less inclined to join them - I remembered mobs of people and a general sense of being unable to get close to the art. Plus, I figured with the free aspect, there would certainly be mobs of people and we'd probably wait in line for hours. Thus, I decided to break off with Linda and Richard and join the girls in seeking out a lunch spot.
We found a cute little cafe nearby, where we all ordered the same thing - a delicious chicken sandwich with fries. I requested water, thinking it would cut down on the expense, but alas, they brought me a bottled water that cost me 3,40 euro. (The water almost half what the sandwich and fries cost.) Still, it was an enjoyable meal and I was thrilled when the machine accepted my travel card for the first time. Yippee!
Isabelle, Katie, and I re-boarded the bus and stayed on until we arrived back at the departure point (Notre Dame).
Sadly, instead of going in the cathedral, the girls merely wanted to shop for souvenirs. I was afraid to leave them, for fear they might get confused at the t-intersection of the train back, so I stuck with them, even though we returned to the hotel before it was even close to dark (around 4 p.m.) I spent the evening chatting with Linda and Richard in their room. I regretted that I hadn't stayed with them, because they got into the Louvre in record time (about twenty minutes), had ample opportunity to get up close to the art, and took several photos of themselves with the Mona Lisa. They also went inside and viewed the interior of Notre Dame. Still, I had already been inside on a previous trip to Paris, in my twenties, so it wasn't a total loss.
The following morning, we met bright and early (5 a.m.) for a continental breakfast of juice and pain au chocolat, since Linda and Richard were slated for the same transfer ride and the same plane to Rome. I was thrilled to be able to access the chocolate croissants in all three city locations. It was the one thing I wanted to experience again in Paris and it was as delicious as my memory foretold.
