**This one is seven pages printed in Appleworks, and maybe more printing it off the internet. If you don’t like reading long posts, just skim this. This is pretty much a log of the trip after London; I had no internet access, so why should I separate posts into days? It will all go to the same site anyway.**
PARIS!!!!!!!!!!!
I didn’t log anything while I was in Paris. Why? First, because I forgot the modem cable for my computer at home (most hotels have wireless anyway. Just not ours.) And I was having way too much fun.
Our first day in Paris, we got out of the train station and got onto a bus. We were dropped off at the hotel, figured out which rooms we had, etc. At this hotel, they gave us an actual key, not a credit card-shaped passkey. Unfortunately, our door was very hard to open. It was a neat little room, but it was the bare minimum of accomodation. It had beds, TV, desk, and bathroom (with shower). No coffeepot or automatic teapot (our London hotel had one, which was cool), and it did not have wireless internet. The only way to connect would be plugging a modem cable into the phone. I forgot my modem cable at home.
Shortly after we arrived, the choral director met us all in the lobby and showed us where the church the chorus would be singing at was. He walked, and walked, and walked, turned, walked some more, and then tried to get us all food at a sit-down restaurant. Unfortunately, the restaurant staff was not optimistic about getting us out of the restaurant before 8:00. Rehearsal was soon, so my mom and a couple of chorus guys and I went to (of all places) a McDonalds. The guy taking our orders was in training, and none of us spoke French, so it took a while for us to get our food. The McDonalds food here in Europe tastes slightly different than American food as I remember it. The chicken nuggets taste like
chicken, and the fries taste more like potatoes and less like salt. It is amazing. We noticed this in a McDonalds in England too. While eating, some music videoes were playing. During one of them, the singer started taking off her clothes and had nothing on by the end. Thankfully, we left soon after that. The rehearsal went well, except the American chorus director, maybe because he loves France and Paris, was speaking French during the songs that were combined with a French church chorus. The French director, however, spoke English when he conducted the combined group.
By the way, in Paris (maybe even all of France), pretty much everyone speaks at least some English—enough to survive a trip to America or London, at least. And when they don’t know the word, it is not terribly difficult to figure out what they mean if they mix English and French (Frenchlish? Engch? = ) ).
Anyway, we went back, the chorus members talked in the hotel lobby for a while, and we went to sleep. Figuring out the shower was rather difficult, though. The showerhead had no wall hook and the bathtub had no shower curtain, so my options were reduced to either a kneeling shower or a bubble bath. I have a fear of unfamiliar bathrooms and showers (don’t ask me why), so I got out quickly.
The next day, we went with some chorus friends to the Eiffel Tower. We took an elevator to the top and got some great pictures. And the Seine river is so beautiful. I love it.
Of course, the Eiffel visit was either marred or enhanced (with humor, anyway) by Barcelona fans rallying underneath the tower, lighting flares, singing the Barcelona theme song, wearing funny hats and scarves, and generally having a very peppy pep rally (there was a major soccer (aka football) game going on that night). By the time we got down from the Tower, the ground under the tower was completely PACKED with Barcelona fans , and they were beginning to spread to little adjacent parks. We got some bagguette sandwiches (excellent, even though the lady we were ordering from spoke mostly French, and so we just told her what we wanted, she would say some random thing in French, and we would say “Yes!” It was good tasting, but it made me wish that the native language of France, if it couldn’t be English, was German—just for our trip. I could order in German relatively reliably. Oh well. At least I know what “sans,” “salat,” and “avec” mean in French now.
We ate in a little park, watching elderly people play a game that involved rolling metal cannonballs at a little red ball, trying to get one’s cannonball as close to the red one as possible. Then we used one of the public self-cleaning toilets. They are very strange, but if you need a bathroom, it works.
Later on, we went to a mixer to meet people from the French chorus. The food was
excellent, even though I usually don’t eat hors d'oevres for supper. A French lady told me how to pronounce “Je ne parle pas Français” properly (that means “I don’t speak French”. I think that is how you spell it, but it is pronounced much differently than one would pronounce that in English.) I met one woman from the chorus who speaks German!
We took the Métro back (we had gotten three-day passes to get to the Eiffel tower) and went to sleep.
The next day, one of the members of the French chorus (who also happens to be a tour guide), gave us a walking tour of the Latin quarter of Paris. The streets are cobblestoned, narrow, and very bumpy. He told us that, the larger the stones are, the older they are. He said that the French have a revolution every forty years, and when the revolution is going on, the revolutionaries pick up the cobblestones and give them to the police as presents. They break, and when the streets are repaved, they use the smaller stone pieces. Apparently, it has been thirty-nine years since the last revolution. He said that if we hung around Paris awhile, we might get lucky!
He led us through little windy streets, giving us all sorts of information that very few people know. We got lunch and ate it in a rather large park (the Jardin Du Luxembourg). This park, unfortunately, charges for using the bathrooms. Not only that, but the restrooms are not separated for men and women! That confused me for a while. The park was very beautiful, with statues, clipped trees, fountains, etc. We then went into more windy little private streets, where, behind wooden doors, elaborate homes and clubs existed. Eventually, we got into more public, touristy areas, and he ended his tour at the Louvre. The chorus director from USA took over then, showing us several churches and a town square where a man was riding a bike, standing on the seat and handlebars. We walked along the Seine, and I was excited to see some
Les Mis landmarks and dismayed that my camera’s batteries had died. We ate (outdoors) at a fancy restaurant with very good food. Those of us at the end of the table felt like we would freeze.
We took the Louvre metro back, and in the station, we could see all sorts of statues and displays—maybe stuff that they couldn’t stuff into the Louvre. The metro cars were all connected, sending a current of air throughout the entire train. It was kind of hard to breathe. It was very cool, though.
The next day, my mom and I went to Notre Dame. It was beautiful. You never really can understand how an architect can make people look upwards—towrards God—until you have been in a cathedral. I have been to a few before, but Notre Dame just solidifies the fact.
We went to the treasury, which was basically fancy papal robes and gold, silver, and precious stones made into various things used during church services. (Can you tell by my terminology that I’m not Catholic? = ) ) They also had some stuff that Napolean III wore. The plaques explaining the stuff, though, were in French, so I didn’t understand much of it. After the treasury, we did not go into the towers. It was too crowded. We went to the touristy shops and bought souveniers for us and various people back home (mostly my mom’s coworkers). That was fun, but the shopkeepers were peculiar; if we picked up one thing to
look at (or buy), they immediately started helping us find other things, suggesting stuff to buy, letting us put our stuff down so we could have our arms free for more merchandise, etc. Basically, “Hey, these are tourists, wanting to buy kitschy souveniers in
my shop. Why don’t I make them spend more money? And act friendly at the same time?” Sometimes it was nice, but other times, it was annoying, mostly because their knowledge of English was less than my knowledge of German. But we got (most of) what we needed, and I got a very warm Paris hoodie, and we went on our way. I took some pictures and we went back to the hotel, dropped off our loot, and went out for a late lunch at a crêperie we had seen earlier.
The guy in the crêperie was very nice, although his English was a mixture of French and English with a very strong French accent. My mom is an attendance seceratary and has learned how to understand the variety of accents of parents calling in the absences of their children. She could understand most of what he was saying. Most of the time, I had to guess what he was saying from her responces. But it worked. We got ham, cheese, and egg crêpes and then got some with ice cream in them. All of it was
excellent. If I could, I would go back to France just for the food. But the culture and the uniqueness of Paris make me want to go back as well. I usually don’t consider myself a city person, but Paris is… different. Sure, every third person you see on the street is smoking, and there are a few homeless people so pitiful that you want to toss them a dollar, until you realize that a dollar probably wouldn’t do them any good in a world of Euros. The Métro is extremely crowded during rush hour (you don’t have to hold on to the little poles during rush hour; you wouldn’t move if the train stopped.) But I like Paris. There are plenty of parks, public toilets on the street which are sometimes free and sometimes cost money, and a lot of interesting things to see. Sure, the people aren’t terribly smiley, and they only say “Pardon” (“Excuse me” in French) if they have to, but most of them are very nice if you talk to them. People dress a little nicer in Paris than in other places (ripped jeans are a bad idea, and I am fairly sure that white tennis shoes shout “American!”, which is why mine are toupe). You can walk almost anywhere, and there are Métro stops to make the walking shorter. The Seine is probably one of the prettiest rivers ever. The language, even if I only understand a few words, is beautiful. Don’t get me wrong; I would still LOVE to visit Germany and I still REALLY want to learn German, but Paris has its own ineffable charm. If I can somehow learn French and retire here, that would be very cool. And very expensive. Of course, Germany might win out. I haven’t been there yet. We’ll see. But I now love travelling, and other cultures are just so much fun to learn about. First, you hear some obscure fact about the other culture. You will think something like “Yuck” or “weird” or “stupid,” but after you think about it, you wonder why your culture doesn’t do things that way. And to see it all for myself, well, if pictures speak a thousand words, memories and experiences are millions of pictures. It’s amazing.
By the way, Americans, don’t complain about gas prices in America. Sure, they are sometimes hitting $3 a gallon, but it is worse—much worse—in Europe. And they’re used to it. Or finding ways around it. For instance, have you ever heard of a SmartCar? They are tiny little cars, half the size of a regular sedan or coupe. They have two seats and a very modern design. They are very cute and look comfortable, yet small enough that someone trying to park one against a curb can simply back into the open space against the curb rather than parallel park. I haven’t seen anyone do that yet, but they are only around 8 feet long; it is possible. Legal? Who knows.
I want a smartcar. They are so cute! And after jumping through a few hoops (extra safety features, etc), they have imported a few (only 100 the last time I heard) to the USA. But how would such a small car fare in the streets of the USA, the land of gigantic cars? A sedan in Europe is much smaller than a sedan in the USA. The cars are so small, the traffic lanes are smaller to accomodate more cars on one road. If someone parked a SmartCar in a parking space, would the giant SUVs or even the giant normal cars check to see if there was a tiny car in the parking space before pulling in? (Think a smartcar in a parking space between two SUVs in a busy parking lot.)
Anyway, my assignment for German was to write a travel log, not a long-winded thesis on the merits of SmartCars. Moving on!
Let’s see. I stopped at the Crêperie. After that, we bought a few more souveniers, went back to the hotel, and got ready for the concert. The concert went well, and I was running the American chorus director’s video camera again. This time, he had two batteries, so I did not have to worry about running out of power like I did in London. Then, they had some food for us. We went back to the hotel, packed up, and lamented that we had to leave. The next day, we got on a bus and went to the train station.
We took a high-speed train to Geneva. The French and Gevevian countryside was stunningly beautiful. We got to see the Alps up close, although the train was going so fast, taking pictures would have gotten us only green and gray blurs. Oh well.
Highlights of Paris that I may not have already mentioned:
The Métro being easy to figure out, and the musicians who brought their instruments/stereos onto the train and played/sang/danced. I wanted to give them money, but I wasn’t in charge of the Euros.
The fact that most of
Les Mis happened here. If you have read the rest of my blog, you may realize that I mention
Les Mis nearly every post. I love that book (and the musical)
The FOOD!!!
The easy-to-navigate-ness of the city
The language barrier wasn’t as bad as I thought, and when it was a problem (ordering sandwiches), the spontaenaity in the food I ended up getting
The guided tour
The craziness of the Barcelona fans
The view from the Eiffel Tower
The Seine—it is so pretty!
The boat tour we went on, during which I took tons of pictures and helped run my mom's camera out of battery power (thankfully I have mine).
If I think of other stuff (probably), I might post it later.
Anyway, in Geneva, half the stuff is in French, German,
and English. Some is in just German, and the rest of it is in only French. (Geneva is in the French part of Switzerland.) Thankfully, everyone we have needed to talk to has understood English.
Anyway, we had almost no time in Geneva. The first day, we unpacked and rushed back down to the lobby for the choir to go to the church to rehearse. I did math homework during rehearsal. A member of the church took us on a tour of some of the Old Town, but it was raining, I was freezing, and he was hard to understand because he was not very fluent in English. Oh well.
We then went out for food and got fondue. That was fun, but it was extremely expensive. It seems Geneva is the most expensive place we have been so far. Anyway, the restaurant was one that Bill Clinton went to a while ago, and a letter from him had been copied onto a placque outside the restaurant. It was a rather short letter, heavy with adjectives like “great,” “beautiful,” “delicious,” etc.
The next day, we went to the restaurant in the hotel for breakfast, which was croissants, rock-hard bread, cold cuts, cheese, juice, yogurt, and various other drinks. Not bad, but it is the same fare we have eaten for breakfast for the past week or so.
Anyway, we went to the church service, which was very interesting. Some of the worship songs we sang were in different languages, such as Swahili. During some of them, we were supposed to dance or make up phrases during the song. It was very fun. Maybe I should suggest that to my church.
They gave us lunch at the church, which was pretty good. My mom and I eventually left and went to some little touristy stands to get souveniers (chocolate and pens). We went back to the hotel. I worked on homework; my mom slept.
That night, we had the concert. It was excellent, my mom sounded great as usual, and the food afterward was good. The people we met were very friendly. We left eventually, and were immediately invited by a chorus member’s Genevian friend to go to some kind of recital (helooo! you didn’t come to the church recital, but you want us to go to another one? *slap*). We managed to get out of it, and the chorus member who was friends with this couple was able to work her way out of it as well. They at least gave us a ride to our hotel.
My mom and I went out to find food. We wanted some kind of American stuff, if possible (it is amazing how much you miss McDonalds, Burgur King, Wendys, Chipotle, etc. when you leave America.) We found a McDonalds, bought food, ate ours, and took some to the chorus member (who wasn’t feeling very well). She was estatic to get the burger.
This morning, my mom and I woke up semi-early, got breakfast, and went for some last-minute souveniers. I wanted a Swiss Army Knife from Switzerland. You never realize how incredibly useful those things are until you use it, and then you wonder how you ever lived without it. The one I got has a flat knife, a serrated knife, a wire stripper/cutter, Phillips and flathead screwdrivers, keyring, toothpick, tweezers, and other features I can’t remember. We also got more chocolate. We went back to the hotel, put the knife in my luggage (not carry-on!), and went to the lobby to get on the bus. We checked out and left the hotel.
At the airport, we checked in for our short flight to London Heathrow. I read a Chemistry Standards of Learning Princeton Review book I had brought with me while everyone else checked out. We then went towards security. We saw some shops, some of which, in an
airport, were selling
Swiss Army Knives. I put mine in my luggage because you aren’t allowed to have knives on the flight for obvious reasons. And yet you can buy them in Geneva. To make it worse, the security in Geneva was
lousy. They hardly checked us at all. If they are a country devoted to peace, why not try to
keep the peace by not letting people blow planes up?
Anyway, that flight went well. Though I didn’t get to try Chocolate Mousse or Cremè Brûlée, they had chocolate mousse on the airplane (in a little yogurt-ish container with a tin foil lid, but still.) I am in the London Heathrow airport right now, finishing my log.
We landed about a couple of hours ago, and we just told my dad the highlights. Getting through customs was surprisingly easy. Fill out the little form, hand it to the guy, and move on. Our luggage got here, and all is well. Our dog went crazy of happiness that we are back.
I learned a lot from this trip. Not all of it can be expressed in words, and I may not realize some of what I have learned until later. I can appreciate other cultures because I have experienced them, and I know that they are just different—not neccesarily better or worse. I also realized that the “American Dream” is not the only way to live; people in Paris and London and Switzerland, among other places, live and are content with their country. There’s the humiliation of not being able to speak French, but I survived that—there are other ways to communicate. Travel is stressful, cities involve a lot of walking, and the three-page report on Soccer I had to do because I was missing gym class should have not been assigned—I did more walking on this trip than I have for a long time. The good teachers I have are the ones who support my travel, because of what I learn; it is the ones who complain (only one or two, thankfully) who don’t teach well or know what they are saying. I won’t state any names. Anyway, I am tired now, so I am going to post these, get a shower, and go to sleep and worry about catching up with everything later. And I have a math SOL test tomorrow! (Standards of Learning, for you non-Virginians).
