We’ll Always Have Paris

I never realized that the time 4 am actually existed, but I came face to face with it on Friday morning. I wanted to get to Paris early so I could have all day to tour so, my only option was to take the 4:45 AM train from waterloo station. Why was my train so packed? How did all these other people know about this elusive 4 am? Strange… very strange. Alex Spice better love me a lot more now… it was rough.

Arriving in Paris a little after 9:30, I immediately set out on my first daunting task-- navigating the Parisian metro system. Mind you, they speak French and are very proud of this but two train changes and a little bit of shame later (they just hate it when non-French speaking tourists try and come support their economy), I found my way to Alex’s stop. Alex lives in the 16th, a very fashionable and old-world French feeling neighborhood. Her apartment, the servant quarter in a sassy building, couldn’t look more “French”. By this I mean beautiful clapboard shutters that frame tiny Parisian streets below and a fantastic view of the Eiffel Tower. It was, sigh, picturesque.

There were so many ridiculous stories from Paris, mostly on account of ridiculous French people, but I only have so much space and so much time so, eh hmm… here are the best of the best: Stories from Paris 2007.

In the Shadow of the Eiffel Tower

Not to sound cultured and well traveled, but I’ve been to Paris twice before this visit and seen a lot of their museums and tourist places. Fortunately, Spice, a newly proclaimed native, decided that instead of going to a museum we were going to emulate the French and have a full-fledged picnic in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. This picnic took us all day because unlike in America, where they have grocery stores, France has specialty stores. We had to go to the bread store, the cheese store, the fruit store, the sausage store… on and on it went until we were finally in front of the tower. Once there, we were envisioning cushy, green grass to loaf about on, but instead, I guess the park was under refurbishment; there was only sandy gravel. But, when in France… so we spread our spread out on the dirt and went to town. We ate slowly, appreciating our food and laborious efforts paying close attention to the pairing of cheese, bread and jams. It was a huge success. Wanting to remember this delicious day forever, we enlisted the help of some French people to take our pictures. I guess there was a language barrier because they got in the picture with us. We were too stunned to tell them that, no we didn’t want them in it… ha ha oh well. Viva la France!

Salad De Museo

Alex and I met up with some Colgate boys who were in Paris also. We all went to dinner at Spice’s favorite French restaurant, Stella’s. Known for their fish more than their service, we were excited to see what was in store of us. The waiter knew that Spice’s French was shaky and the rest of ours non-existent, but he still didn’t help us out with the translations much. There was a salad with mussels (or so spice translated) that the boys both ordered. When it came, there were two big circular pieces of meat. We all tried it. We all agreed that A. this was not a salad with mussels and B. this was the strangest tasting thing we had ever tried. We called the waiter over and he explained that we had ordered “the snout of a Pig”. I almost threw up right then and there, but not wanting to give into the French stereotype that Americans are uncultured I just stared at him, wide-eyed and probably with a look of disgust. First and last time I will ever eat snout. You have my word.