Final Stage: Tour de France

It was early July when I realized that I had off of work for another Spanish holiday on July 25^th. Hillary and I had already been looking at travelling to France over the weekend in order to see some of the Tour de France, and seeing that the final stage in Paris took place on July 24^th, we seized our opportunity.

Getting to Paris was probably the worst obstacle I have had in Europe. With no Ryanair and Easyjet not flying to Paris, we were left with the expensive train or the less expensive (but still relatively expensive) bus. Being only two hours from the Spanish/France boarder, I thought Paris couldn’t be too much farther. Wrong. The bus ended up being twelve hours each way. So Hill and I bought our bus tickets to Paris, leaving Friday right after work (and travelling overnight) and arriving back in Bilbao in Tuesday morning, right before work. Perfect! The things I do for travelling. And to see Molly I guess. That’s right! Molly met me in Paris.

Hill and I arrived in Paris bright and early. We headed to our apartment to drop off our stuff as we couldn’t check in until the afternoon. The receptionist told us our room wasn’t ready yet, as we expected, so he upgraded us to a bigger room which was ready, contrary to what we expected.

Let me just explain all of the room stuff now, so I don’t have to revisit it later. First I had problems flushing the toilet. After about fifteen minutes of struggling with the lever, I pushed it down as hard as possible (actually I am pretty sure Hillary did this), it flushed successfully. Molly checked in later in the day as she arrived from Spain after us, and she also had flushing problems. Great. When we got back to the room we tried to figure this out. Eventually giving up, we asked the receptionist to help us with this literally shitty problem. He asked if I pushed really hard. I assured him I did but to no avail. He told me the plumber doesn’t work Sundays so he would put us in another room. This ended up being another upgrade. To recap, we booked the smallest apartment and were going to have to rent an extra pull out bed. We eventually were in the biggest apartment, never needing to rent the extra bed. And most importantly, the toilet flushed, free of problems.

Okay, so that was a pleasant and fascinating story I am sure. Anyways, Hill and I made our way into the city center. We started off our weekend in Paris at Sant Chappelle. This is on the same island as Notre Dame, but is arguably less known. I am not sure why though, because this place is gorgeous. It has stained glass windows at least 20 feet high, filling the lengths of the walls. I have pictures, but they do no justice to the intricacies of the windows and the detailed paid to the rest of the church.

If my memory serves me correctly, we then walked towards the Arc de Triomphe. We walked along Champs d’Elysees to scope out the Tour route, but were somewhat disheartened to find that the boulevard was lined with stands that seemed like exclusive access. I guess we would have to find another place to watch from.

We made it to the Arc and decided to go up. I was told it was free for European students (as I am) and I love free things. We stood in line as Mother Nature, again, thought it was the perfect time to screw with my plans. It got cold quickly. The storm clouds rolled in and the wind picked up. She then let us have it, throwing rain at us horizontally, rendering my feeble umbrella useless. We stuck out the line, found out that the ascent was indeed not free, and then made an awkward run for it. By which I mean, we ran out of line away from the ticket booths, not up into the Arc.

The weather made us think that a museum was the perfect idea. It just so happens it gave everyone in Paris that idea. When we arrived at the Musee d’Orsay, the line was worse than New Year’s weekend. We decided to eat instead, hoping the line would shrink in time. Well, the line was still quite long, but the sun came out and we ended up just wandering the area.

We walked up to Pere Lachaise, the famous cemetery in Paris, and wandered about, trying to find the graves of some select famous people. After seeing Chopin’s, we were on our way to see Jim Morrison’s when we were abruptly cut off by a security guard saying the cemetery was closing. No! We were so close! Hill and I then tried going up a different way, with the idea of saying we were lost if we were caught by the same guard. Well, it wasn’t the same guy, but we were stopped again. Drats! Then a couple asked us if we were looking for Morrison and pointed the way. We made a quick dash for it. Admittedly, the grave wasn’t astounding, but there was a beer bottle on it which made me kind of happy.

Eventually we met up with Molly and saw Harry Potter. After the movie we were hungry but excessively indecisive. That was a terrible combination as we ended up walking for hours without eating anything. We ended up at the Eiffel Tower. Molly’s first words went along the lines of “Wow, that is awful.” I had never heard anybody have that reaction to the Eiffel Tower, but I guess we are all welcome to our own opinion. It turns out she really dislikes when the Tower is lit up at night and the lights are twinkling. A crepe and a metro ride later and we were back at our apartment and crashed for the night.

The next day was the day of the Tour. But first, we were hungry. Jane, a friend who studied abroad in Paris this past spring, recommended the Jewish Quarter, L’As du Falafel specifically, for food. I have to hand it to her, the falafel was delicious, but I cannot say that this is the best falafel I have ever had. This still goes to the Rei de Falafel in Padua. Sorry Paris, you guys were close.

After gorging ourselves on the side of the street we walked up Rivoli to see if we could find some cheap Tour shirts. They were cheaper than the official stores up on Champs, but disappointingly, they were not 8 to 12 euros like I had read. Eventually we found people lining up to see the race, and found our place along the road from which to cheer for. I draped the Spanish flag around me in honor of Contador and Sanchez, and waited for the bikers to arrive.

After what felt like hours with the sun beating down on us and burning my oh so fair skin, Molly met up with us and the bikers came by soon after. This was after a ton of sponsor floats and team caravans paraded by. Well, I have to admit, it was pretty exciting, but also pretty comparable to the Running of the Bulls. After hours of waiting there were only a few seconds of excitement. Luckily they passed by twice and I could actually see the racers. Unluckily, Contador and Sanchez took 5^th and 6^th. Ah well, I have to hand it to Evans. Congratulations.

After the Tour we tried to make it to Place de Concorde to see any part of the ceremonies, but all the roads were blocked off, thwarting our attempts. We instead went for food near Saint Michels. The biggest event of the night was probably Molly ordering escargot. All the tables around us stared as she wrestled with the snails. Come on! This is France! Haven’t you seen a girl eat a snail before?

After dinner we bought a bottle of wine and kicked back on the banks of the Seine as boats passed by. Eventually it started to mist and the wind picked up so we headed back to the apartment for a good night’s rest.

Our last day in Paris, Hill (wowza, almost Paris Hilton) and I went up to Montmartre area. We walked up to Sacre Coeur and took in the view until our stomachs got the best of us and were urged to eat. We feasted on cheese and baguette in the sex district and a middle aged British lady told us that we looked very romantic. As she walked away, I asked Hill, “Romantic, or poor?” Apparently there is a fine line.

We walked around a bit more, down to the Opera and over to Tulieres Gardens when it was time to catch the metro to the bus station. We were early, but then alerted that we needed to pick up boarding cards or something before we could actually board, despite having tickets for the bus. We hurriedly ran down to the ticket desk and picked up our passes, all the while getting stressed out as our departure time passed. The stress was all for naught, though, as the bus sat at the platform a good ten or so minutes more.

I wish the bus ride was as quiet and uneventful as the ride to Paris was, but it wasn’t. The driver deemed it in good taste to play an awful movie really loudly. The movie was called Hole in One. Look up the synopsis if you have never heard of it. Actually, I am pretty sure you haven’t heard of it, it seems like a straight to video type of movie. Anyways, it was a raunchy teen comedy about a college student who liked to bet during golf. He made a bad bet and lost, ultimately ending up with a pair of fake breasts. The rest of the movie he tries to raise money to remove them and also get with his love interest. Hint, his love interest isn’t a fan of tits on men. Anyways, that ended and I tried to get a little sleep before we pulled into the Bilbao bus station twenty minutes before work started. I rolled off the bus and stumbled sleepily into work for a thrilling day at the office. All in all, I would say it was worth it.

Paris Photos

Euro Trip: Leg 3 - Paris

So it has become apparent to me in the past few days that, if you want me to update my blog, just give me something that I really am supposed to be doing, take studying for my Fluid Mechanics final, for example, and I will do almost anything else to avoid it, including watching all three El Señor de los anillos (The Lord of the Rings), doing my laundry, keeping up with the world news (Egypt is a mess) or even writing entries for my blog.

A quick aside:

Usually, when character names are changed when a movie or book or whatever is translated into another language, I tend to get annoyed. This wasn’t completely the case for The Lord of the Rings. They cleverly changed Tree Beard to Barbol (I am assuming a combo of barba meaning beard and arbol meaning tree), but why on (Middle) earth change Baggins to Bolson? You cannot change the main characters name. That would be like changing Harry Potter to Harry Ceramista. You just don’t.

My account of my European trip continues with Paris. If I don’t update this quickly I am going to forget what even happened! Or at least everything will start to blend together, especially with more trips coming up!

Anyways.

Paris.

I would have to say, I was really looking forward to Paris. The Eiffel Tower, Arch du Triomphe, Louvre, Musee d’Orsay, Palace of Versailles, Champs Elysees, Notre Dame. The list goes on. So many monuments, so many impressive sites that I learned about in history classes, literature classes, through Disney movies. So many baguettes! I built Paris into this lofty, ideal city in my head. My great expectations might have had something to do with my disappointment with the city. This isn’t to say that I disliked Paris by any means, and to be fair, I intend to go back to see if it was just the circumstances that left me wanting more, but honestly, I was hoping for more.

Let’s get the bad out of the way first so we can end out on a good note?

The disappointment probably started with the hostel. It was dirty. The staff was not helpful. It was not set up to be conducive to meeting people. Probably my least favorite hostel. Even the kitchen was bad. A fridge, a microwave and a sink do not a kitchen make. Not to mention, when we got there, Mack had no bed in the room she was assigned to and on the last night of our stay they stormed into her room at 1:30 in the morning, yelling at her (apparently), telling her she was in the wrong room, that she had made a mistake that made everyone upset. From what I could tell, this was by no means her fault, yet they made her feel awful. Fair warning to everyone, although Jules Ferry Youth Hostel may be a cheap option, spend the extra money for a nicer place. Staying there could ruin your trip.

The next damper on our Paris trip: the weather. It was overcast, cloudy, or rainy every day in Paris. Also, after spending the winter in Spain where the temperature hovered around 50 degrees, the 30 degree weather felt COLD. Usually this isn’t too bad. Belgium and Switzerland were cold, but I liked my stays there. It was raining in Seville and Madrid, but I Seville was one of my favorite cities in Spain. But after a week of already travelling in hostels with crappy breakfasts, long train rides and always being on the go so you can fit in all the sites, your body is worn down. This chilly weather was apparently just too much for me. By the end of our stay in Paris, I was huddled under my blankets in the very cold hostel room, shivering, trying to sleep despite my coughing, my stuffy nose, and having the chills. Also, since the weather was so wet, that meant fog. Every day. Fog meant I never saw the top of the Eiffel Tower, and wasn’t motivated to even go up it because I knew the view would not be worth it.

Finally, the holidays in Paris made it worse. I know, I know. I was psyched to spend my New Years in Paris, and it was fine. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my night popping champagne bottles while people around me lit fireworks and the Eiffel Tower shimmered. Yet, the holidays made things very inconvenient for us. Most of the monuments were closed on New Years and had shorter hours on New Year’s Eve, meaning we had to fit everything in on a tighter schedule than our already tight schedule. Also, we were not the only tourists who thought about spending their New Year’s in Paris. There were tourists everywhere. Now, I assume that, yes, this is Paris and yes, there are always tourists everywhere, but I don’t want to stand in line for 2 hours to go up into the Eiffel Tower, especially when the weather was like it was.

So despite the hostel, the weather, and the tourists, (and admittedly, the high costs) I enjoyed my stint in Paris. The first night we walked up Champs Elysees. I saw the Arch, the tower, Notre Dame, the Louvre, the obelisk, everything I was looking forward to. The next day we visited the Palace of Versailles. The Hall of Mirrors was finished (apparently it was being renovated for a while), and the gardens looked spectacular, despite it being winter (when I do go back to Paris, I want to revisit the gardens in better weather). I then made it back to inside the city to see the Louvre and the Musee d’Orsay.

I can hardly wrap my head around the fact that Paris has two of the most impressive collections of art in the world, and they are essentially across the street (and river) from each other. Of course, after seeing the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa (the crowd around this painting was more impressive that the small artwork itself) I was pretty much done with the Louvre. I was tired. I was hungry. I was lost. Yes, it took me 30 minutes to exit the Louvre. Talk about a labyrinth. I enjoyed the Orsay more. The collection of impressionism was pretty astounding. The Cezannes, Monets, Manets, Van Goghs. So many of my favorites gathered within one building.

The next day (New Years Day), as everything was closed, we headed to the Pere Lachaise cemetery (of Paris, Je T’aime fame). It was pretty relaxing, allowing me to contemplate a little among these beautiful mausoleums and tombstones. Not to mention we got to see the burial sites of Oscar Wilde and Chopin.

I tried going back to the Eiffel tower and the Arch, intending to go up one of them. But, as I said before, the crowds and the weather just made me appreciate the structures from the ground. Well, off to Nice.

Some quick stories

So, as I watch Inglourious Basterds, or rather, Bastardos Sin Gloria or Bastardos Malditos, I figure I can also start writing about my trip. I think though, before detailing everywhere I went, like I usually do in a boring manner, I thought I could take my first blog entry about the trip to explain a few of the more exciting stories that happened throughout the trip. So, without further ado.

Barcelona – He Punched a Hooker

Our last night in Barcelona, Mack and I were yearning to go out. After all, in Barcelona, there is always a party, regardless of the day of the week. We had dinner at a table in the hostel were a group from WISCONSIN!!!! was sitting. After bonding over our home state, they invited us to come out with them, they were just going out to dinner and would come back to get ready and meet up with us. Sounds great! See you in a bit.

After they left I went to siesta. Let’s be honest, it was a nap. After dinner at 9pm it is no longer a siesta. It is a nap. Well, as I napped Mack bonded with some Moroccans. They invited Mack (and consequentially me too) to go out with them. Well, I guess since they are here, why wait for the fellow Wisconsinites? We can make some cultural connections. They go to get ready.

I come out to the common room of the hostel and sit down with a guy from Utah, a Brazilian, a Swede, and some Chinese girls studying in Sweden. Luckily, English is always the go to language. We chatted and hung out for a while. The guys were getting ready to go out and said I should come along. First of all, I love that pregaming is international. And, yes, of course I want to go out with you guys.

Well, that was easy, we now had 3 options of exploring Barcelona.

One thing leads to another and Mack got pregnant.

That was a lie.

So I tell Mack we were invited to go out with this group. Mack says let’s wait for the other group. We end up with 3(?) guys from Morocco, 2 girls from Madrid, the Swede (already drunk), the Brazilian (even drunker), and the guy from Utah. And we are off.

To where? Who knows where we are going? Nobody. Great.

Luckily, in big cities like Barcelona, there is always somebody trying to lure you to their bar with the promise of free entrance or a free shot or a free drink etc. A guy tells us we can go to some club, Pandamonium? Sweaty Dancy Club? Who knows. We decline, and head to an Irish pub. Fun fact, apparently Spain doesn’t understand what Irish pub means. Is it in English? Okay, awesome put it up. Ah well, at least that meant they were playing American football, the Packers no less, and serving Coronas? Okay, sure. A Corona in an Irish pub watching American football in Barcelona it is. Shots of tequila? Even better. (Don’t worry mom, I was responsible, only one beer and one shot for me.)

Okay, well we are done here, where too? Oh wait, first, let us take several pictures. Good. Okay, I think the pub staff is sufficiently annoyed with us. Pay and leave. Good. Let’s go. Oh wait, where is the guy from Utah? He knew where we were heading. Whatever.

On our way to the next place we run into… the guy from Utah! Everyone celebrates in the street. Nearby bars hear us, think we are drunker and rowdier than we are. They deny us. Good thing this chap offering us free shots to come to his bar doesn’t care, okay, everybody calm down.

Well, of course we don’t turn down the free shots. I sit down with the Madrid girls and Mack. The others go play spin the bottle with a group of Asians and French? Okay, as most people in CCC can tell you, that game just gets weird. Come on, we are old enough that bottles are not needed. The Brazilian comes over and starts running his hands through one of the Spanish girl’s hair while the Swede kind of just wanders about, looking depressed. Hmm.

Everybody done with their drinks? Good, let’s move on. Good idea, Swede, you take the drunk Brazilian home. He doesn’t look good and is stumbling. Cheers, see you tomorrow. Let’s meet up for breakfast.

Halfway to the club, the Spanish girls and I head back. I’d rather not go to a club, smell like smoke and sweat? No thanks, these clothes have to last me at least two more weeks. My body odor will do enough to make me unapproachable. Adios, hasta mañana.

The Spanish girls make our way back to the hostel. We pass a woman on the street, she looks upset, and also slutty. Something is obviously going on. Whatever, not our business. Upon making it back to Las Ramblas, we see the Swede and the Brazilian. What? We left you guys like half an hour ago. You should be back by now. The Swede sees us and runs up saying, “A hooker stole his wallet. I told him to go back and said the hooker probably stole it. We went back and then I slapped the hooker.”

Wait. Hold on. What? You slapped a hooker?

He dashes across the street, the Brazilian following him. We see the hooker we had just passed and the boys run up to her. Cops follow. Okay, not our place. Let’s just stay and watch, maybe we can find out what really happened. Oh, okay, they are getting taken to the cop station? Let’s just go back to the hostel and wait.

Never mind, it is 2am, I am not waiting anymore, I am going to sleep. I can wait until tomorrow.

I wake up, clean up and go to breakfast. The Madrid girls and I try to guess what really happened. We finally see the Swede. He confirms, someone indeed slapped or punched or kicked the hooker who they think stole the wallet. Well then, adios, off to Switzerland.

Geneva, Switzerland – Boarder Hopping

Mack asks, “So how are we getting to the hotel in Geneva?” Well, it is only a few kilometers from the airport, like less than three miles, I am sure we can catch some form of public transportation or a cheap cab ride there. Mack hesitantly agrees, that we should be fine.

We arrive in at the airport in Geneva. We go to the information desk for France. Our hotel is actually just across the border. She says, a bus runs kind of close to our town, but we would still have to walk. It’s better to just take a cab, it is night anyways. Fine, one cheap cab should be fine, we think.

Thirty five euros later, we disagree. We could have walked a few miles in the dark. Okay, let’s just drop off our stuff and walk to a restaurant, I am starving. Wait, you said the next town is a 15 minute walk away. Okay that is manageable. Oh? Everything closed half an hour ago? But it is only 7:30. Well, let’s just test it out.

No dice. She did not lie, everything is closed, we are wandering around in god knows where middle of nowhere France with no food. It is the middle of winter, it is night, I am cold. Let us just eat a big breakfast tomorrow.

Good, at least the stores open at a decent time. Breakfast was great. Okay, so now how do we get to Geneva? Okay, the lady at the desk says, we have to walk to the next town in Switzerland and catch a tram from there. Maybe a 20 minute walk.

Well, maybe a 20 minute walk when you know where you are going and it isn’t snowing. Well, at least it is beautiful. Do you think they will stamp our passports when we cross the border?

We get to Geneva. Where the hell was that border? Come on! I want a stamp from Switzerland. I walk across international borders and nobody even notices.

Paris – And he just stared at me

Being New Years Eve, we deemed it a good night to go out and enjoy some bubbly by the Eiffel Tower with the rest of the Parisians. A Brazilian notices us while getting to leave the hostel and says, “I want to go.”

“I am sorry? What?”

“I want to go. I am alone and want to go.”

“Umm, I don’t understand, do you speak another language.”

“Yes, Spanish.”

“Vale, que quieres?”

“I want to go out with you guys. I am alone and want to go to the Eiffel Tower but have nobody to go with.”

Oh, okay. Sounds good. Let me just put on a few more layers. I was freezing earlier today.

Mack lent me some long underwear, thank god. I go to my room to put it on. As I am taking off my pants to put on the underwear, another Brazilian comes in. Whatever, it is his room, too. Anyways, there is nothing to see.

He walks up to me, is about 5 feet way from me, and just watches me put on my long underwear, my pants and then belt up. Weird. Really strange. I leave, eager to go out, but more eager to avoid something like that again.

We wind up spending our night hanging out with more Brazilians. Luckily, none were as creepy as the other guy. One more thing, there are no formal fireworks at the Eiffel Tower. It just lights up at midnight. We didn’t even have a countdown. Oh well, still fun. And I got to pop open my first bottle of champagne while in Paris in front of the Eiffel Tower. Not too shabby.