Ah...back in the US, a day late but I’ll get into that by the end of this e-mail. It’s currently 6:20am on Sunday and I’m fighting jet lag slightly (went to bed last night at 9pm after getting super tired around 6:30pm).
Alright, so where was I? Andres picked me up at my hotel at 7pm and drove me out to the part of Paris where I had walked the other day. Paris drivers are fairly orderly except for the motorcycle riders who feel entitled to ride on the dotted white lines separating the driving lanes. Actually, I guess it makes traffic a little less congested by moving people through faster but it just seems pretty dangerous if you’re riding one of those things. Andres says that crazy driving like that is more of a ‘southern European’ thing; apparently Italians are among the worst. I would put the British driving on the left side of the road in the ‘crazy’ category but at least they respect their lanes. And, from what I saw, everyone respected the red lights.
Oh yeah, and I never mentioned that in France, they drive on the right side of the road!!! That makes being a pedestrian so, so much easier because you know which way to expect the traffic to come from.
Anyway, Andres found a parking spot in an underground parking garage below the Paris streets. He says it goes down five levels, amazing. I was wondering where the heck everybody parks in Paris (besides the sidewalks, where the motorcycles do). Of course, it was expensive, 12 Euros ($18) for maybe 3 hours.
We were a little early so we wandered around the Arc de Triomphe, which looks really amazing at night. If you’ve seen the photos I sent last week you know what I mean. Andres and I met Lionel the Operations Manager at a very nice little restaurant whose name I didn’t catch but had a Western (i.e. Wild Westish) decor. I got to try escargot, holy moly. The snail shells are huge! I had to try one of course. The little scooped fork they give you makes it easy to scoop the snail out of the shell. And, fantastically, the snail was coated in garlic butter! I think I will eat just about anything coated in garlic butter. The snail was a little chewy but a lot less than calamari; I actually kind of liked it. My entrée was duck leg (I had to have something I couldn’t normally get in the US). Anyway, fantastic dinner.
I had a good day at the office the next day except that a conference call with the US delayed my departure until 6:45. This left not much time to wander around the streets of Paris so I took back roads to La Defénse which looks totally different at night. It was actually a good place to sit and reflect on life, as cheesy as that sounds. I was all alone in a foreign city far away from my normal life with a sometimes hectic job that I love and a family that I love who I wouldn’t see for another week and a half and not before traveling another few thousand miles. I’m not much for meditating but moments like that are sometimes quite useful.
After about maybe 20 minutes sitting around La Defénse, I headed back to the hotel but not before stopping in at Auchan (three-story supermarket in the mall) to try to find an ‘Open/Closed’ sign in French. No luck. Good office supplies are so hard to find in European countries.
The next day was my travel day to Debrecen. It would be a long one, partially of my own design. See, I’m a travel martyr. I love taking the cheap and local methods to get places rather than paying a bunch of money to do things the easy way. I could have paid 80 Euros for a taxi but that would have been too easy. So what did I do? Get to the airport the same way I left it: by hoofing it 1.25 miles on foot and then taking the metro. Actually, total mileage on foot was at least two miles because Charles de Gaulle airport is so enormous. But I did it and I was proud of it.
The next step was a flight across the English Channel (why isn’t it called the French Channel? Did they flip a coin?) to London Heathrow, always a blast because so many flights go into it it seems the plane always has to circle London a couple of times before you get a slot to land (and we did). The flight to Budapest left a little late for a reason I don’t remember but I wasn’t in a hurry to get there. Both flights were nice and I arrived in Budapest around 6:15 without incident.
The next step was to catch the train to Debrecen. I took a taxi (five miles is a little far to walk) to the train station, bought my ticket and went out to the platform to wait for my 6:43 train. I got to the platform around 6:30 and waited. Around 6:37 a train arrived. Without stopping to ask anybody or to consider that it would’ve been six minutes early, I hopped on the train. I could have easily asked a conductor but for some reason, most likely a combination of my philosophy that things usually work out and a lack of caring (was I depressed?), I didn’t. The train didn’t look right either, having no first-class compartments (they only cost $4 extra for the ticket so I bought one). I asked a passenger on the train if he knew where my seat was but he shrugged his shoulders at me. The train started to move and I sat down.
As it chugged ahead, I resolved to ask the conductor, who was in the next car checking tickets, whether I was indeed on the right train (I had a sinking feeling I was not). The conductor finished going through the car behind me, then stood in the area between the two cars by the door. He wasn’t coming into my car so I got up and went to ask him. He took a look at my ticket, then held up a hand to indicate that I should wait. At that point we were coming to a stop so he hopped out, watched as people got on and off, signaled to the main conductor that everybody was done so we started off again and he hopped back on the train.
At this point I felt better because he didn’t tell me to get off. Well, he gets back to me, busts out a pen and writes on the back of my ticket the following:
Monor – 19:08
Szolnok – 20:05
And hands me my ticket back. That told me two things: 1) he was confident I could still get to Debrecen and 2) that I wasn’t too far off because I knew that Szolnok was a large town on the way to Debrecen. I sat back down. The time was about 6:50 (18:50).
I pondered the writing for a bit. So was 19:08 when we arrive in Monor and 20:05 when the train to Szolnok leaves which then goes to Debrecen? I needed more details so I found the conductor sitting at the far end of my car. I’d drawn a map with Budapest, Monor, Szolnok and Debrecen on it with lines connecting each (though the Budapest-Debrecen line was dotted, eh). By pointing at each town, I indicated that I wanted to know when I would arrive and depart each city. So the conductor, who treated me fantastically through the ordeal, wrote the following on the map (English words have been added by me):
Arrive in Monor: 19:08
Leave Monor: 19:08
Arrive Szolnok: 20:05
Leave Szolnok: 20:50
Ah...but how did we arrive in Monor at 19:08 and catch another train at the same moment? He stared at me blankly but seemed calm about it so I figured he knew what was going on.
I got my answer at 18:57 when the train came to a complete stop, everybody got off and the conductor, noticing I was still sitting there, says ‘Monor’ to me. Then he says ‘Platform 4’. So he and I walk off the train and head down to the main station. It was kind of surreal. Me, the American, is carrying a backpack, a big grocery bag and rolling a suitcase while he, the Hungarian, is casually smoking a cigarette. It was quite dark, about 40 degrees and a light rain was falling. It was at that point that I realized that I had been flirting with the possibility of having to stay in a hotel in some random Hungarian town and then finding out how to get to Debrecen the next day. Of course, I was also thankful that I had not gotten on a train to Albania or something.
At 19:05, a train rolled up to Platform 5 but I was ready because the PA announcer had distinctly said Szolnok in his Hungarian monologue announcing the train’s arrival. Just in case, I had asked my buddy the conductor which way the train would be going. To do so, I said ‘Szolnok’ and pointed in the direction we had been heading. He just nodded. The train was going the proper direction but, to be sure, I asked the nearest person to me ‘Szolnok?’ and pointed at the train. He nodded too. Yes!
I hopped on the Szolnok train and rode another fifty minutes or so to Szolnok. I was confident I’d know when we’d reached Szolnok because I knew exactly what time we were supposed to arrive and I had my handy FedEx alarm clock with me (I still haven’t worn a watch since sixth grade). About five minutes before our intended arrival, all the lights in the train turned off. That was actually kind of spooky as the train was mostly empty. At the same time, the message to me was the Szolnok was the end of the line. And it was.
So there I was in the Szolnok train station with 45 minutes on my hands. I used up some of it exploring the station and considering going outside to wander around before realizing I was in an unfamiliar Hungarian town dragging a bunch of luggage. The one problem was that all of the little food stands had already closed down so I was reduced to eating my stash of granola bars and trail mix, both from the US. I figured that was about what I deserved for my foolishness. I waited inside the train station until about ten minutes before the train was supposed to arrive, standing around with other folks mesmerized by the big board high up the wall that showed all of the trains that would be arriving and departing and at what times. My train was on there all right. The PA would continually announce the trains coming every five minutes. I heard it so much I think I could’ve recited most of it even though I understood almost no words.
Anyway, at 20:50 a train rolled in on the proper platform and I got on. The conductor on the train raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing about my ticket. While I was at the Szolnok station I had checked a map and saw the Monor was also on the way to Debrecen. So essentially I had traveled the Budapest-Debrecen route by taking three different trains. The train that I was currently was the one that had departed an hour after the train I was supposed to have taken. I was only setting myself an hour back! Nice. Problem was I would arrive around 10:30 at night and would have to continue to subsist on my snacks until I got to work the next morning. Oh well, at least I wasn’t staying at the Szolnok Inn for the night. I was still an idiot for taking the wrong train but it had indeed worked out.
I arrived in Debrecen around 10:30 and, as luck would have it, there were not one but three taxis waiting outside! I was definitely not going to walk, not that late at night and being as tired as I was. Besides, cabs in Hungary are pretty cheap. I arrived at the Manufacturing Apartment without incident, managed to get into the building and the apartment (unlike some previous trips) and settled in. Due to travel being cut back, I had a four bedroom apartment to myself. It was eerie but oh well. I called Jennifer (we have something called a Magic Jack that allows you to make calls over the computer like it’s a local call) to let her know I’d arrived and, after a good conversation, went to bed. My day was done.
I won’t talk much about work but suffice to say it was productive but quite hectic. Socially, I chilled out by myself on Friday night (I desperately needed to recharge), went with one of the Hungarian Trade Compliance ladies to a museum and then out to eat on Saturday (an evening which snapped me out of my funk...thanks Márti) and then to see a local soccer team play and hang out with my good buddy Misi and his family on Sunday. They cooked goulash in my honor and it was fantastic. In fact, they gave me two plastic containers of it to eat; it was a no-brainer to have them for lunch on Monday and Tuesday as the NI-Hungary food is kind of iffy.
The soccer game was fun as Misi’s brother played on the local team and actually scored a goal through the keeper’s legs. It ended up being an exciting 2-2 draw that was a disappointment for Misi’s brother’s team as they missed a penalty kick early in the game that should have been the difference. Misi taught me how to eat sunflower seeds, called ‘Szoltyi’ (solt-yee), which are the big snack food in Hungary for sporting events and made my teeth hurt for a couple of days, eh. The one problem with the game was that I couldn’t express myself in a language that anyone, not even Misi, who doesn’t speak English, could understand. I had to be content with essentially talking to myself because I couldn’t keep quiet though of course I didn’t yell at anybody; I usually just provided analysis, eh. Anyway, it was a good day.
Social events during the week included a dinner at a nice restaurant out of town (where a German tour group was dining and thus were treated to a Hungarian dancing demonstration), an evening with my friends Misi and Melinda at an underground restaurant and then another evening with M & M at my favorite tea house in Debrecen (and, by extension, the whole world as I don’t have another favorite tea house).
By the way, if you’re interested in some Hungarian music to get a feel for the culture, here’s some stuff for you:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2XAay3vOYs&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHo71o8-q3w
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F4Uvq75W2E
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpBR_E6SLqY (the song for the Debrecen soccer team)
The last part of this e-mail will concern my trip back home. I caught taxi back to Budapest on Thursday afternoon but only because another NI person was traveling as well and she offered to cover the entire cost. The next morning, we left for the airport at 6am. My 7:50am flight to Frankfurt was delayed by 35 minutes though because of fog at the Frankfurt airport rendered visibility to be too low. This was bad because the connection to DFW was pretty tight as it was. We arrived in Frankfurt but took forever to taxi and unload. I found myself with two other guys running across the terminal, then taking a train, then going through Customs and running for our gate. Unfortunately, we were too late, the flight had closed. We weren’t important enough to hold the plane for and we couldn’t have missed it by more than 10 minutes. Great.
We had to trek back to the other terminal to talk to the representatives for Malev, the Hungarian airline, who had issued our tickets. The Malev lady informed us that there would be an American Airlines (the airline we were going to use to get to DFW) flight to Chicago at 2:05. It was full but we could get on standby. Great, I usually have good luck with standby. We trekked back to the other terminal we had just departed, cleared Customs for the third time and waited at that gate. There were about 20 of us waiting on standby. It was a weird feeling standing there knowing that your chance to get home was already delayed three hours and might be delayed even more. I so wanted to get on that flight.
The flight began boarding and all of us standby folks hovered just away from the check-in desk. As the last passengers were boarding, names started being called. One of the Budapest guys was called. Then a bunch of the other people got called. I waited for my name. The American Airlines agents were checking on other passengers in transit trying to make the flight and it seemed the way they were talking and the way we were waiting that my fate hung on whether those people would make it. As time whittled away, there were only three of us left (the last person to be called was the other guy from Budapest). We stood there and stood there and stood there as passenger after passenger arrived at the gate and went through. Then the employees started packing up. One of them motioned us over and explained the flight was full and was going to leave. The best she could do was book me on the DFW flight for the next day. Ho-lee crap. I was crushed. I had wanted to get home so badly after being away from my pregnant wife for almost two weeks. I had to go off to a section of seats away from everybody, sit down, put my head in my hands and almost cry. Again, I was crushed.
After about ten minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I realized that there were tons and tons and tons of worse things that can happen to people so I needed to buck up and figure out what my next move was. Seemed the worst thing was that I would be delayed 24 hours. I went back to the American desk and asked about my options. They reiterated about the next day’s DFW flight but then also said that I could perhaps catch another airline’s flight to JFK in New York, Washington-Dulles or Boston that day. Really? Problem was I had to trek back to the Malev desk. Back through Customs, back on the train and back to Malev’s desk I went.
The Malev lady tried to convince me to wait for the next day’s flight which I presume I would have a seat on. I asked her if there was any chance I could get to Austin that day still. She said no. So then my options were trying to get on standby for the JFK flight for Lufthansa (which already had a wait list of twenty people) or get an assured seat on a flight leaving at 6:10pm to Boston. I could then catch a flight to Memphis the next day and then on to Austin, arriving at 3:30. This would only be a couple of hours before the arrival of the DFW flight but I wanted to get out of Frankfurt (and Europe) so badly I didn’t care. After twenty minutes of figuring out what to do and generating my tickets, which actually looked more like hand-written invoices, I went over to the Lufthansa terminal, a different part of the airport, to wait for the Lufthansa flight to Boston to depart. I was ready to go.
I had never flown Lufthansa but it was nothing special. The flight was uneventful and I purposely didn’t try to go to sleep so that I could sleep at the hotel that night. We landed in Boston around 8pm, I got my luggage and caught a shuttle for the Hampton Inn. I spoke with Jennifer by cell phone (another big psychological boost) while I was at baggage claim, while waiting for my shuttle and in the hotel room. I felt so much better even though I was delayed. And the Hampton gave me this executive suite with a kitchen and meeting room attached which was actually kind of weird. I popped an Ambien to ensure I slept through the night and went to bed.
The next morning I woke up at 7:30, had an American buffet breakfast (thank goodness for sausage, scrambled eggs and bagels) and went to the airport. The flight to Memphis was delayed 35 minutes while ‘the computers recycled themselves’. Not good. My layover in Memphis was only scheduled to be 50 minutes. Yikes. I didn’t think about it much though for the first part of the flight.
The second part of the flight, I realized it was already 12:50 (my flight to Austin would leave at 1:40) and we were still 30,000 feet in the air. I asked the flight attendants about it and they were entirely unsympathetic. One of them said to me “Well, it’s only 1:00” and that “There are other flights to Austin.” I was not enthused. I was in the back of the plane too so that would delay me even more. At the same time, I kind of figured that running wouldn’t make a difference. Northwest would decide whether to hold the plane for me based on the time we arrived at the gate. Didn’t matter; I was still going to run. Heck, at this point I was good at it.
At 1:00 the pilot announced that we would land in Memphis in eighteen minutes. Fantastic! I might just make it. Then we took about 15 minutes to taxi and find a gate. Wonderful. I waited patiently for the plane to unload, only asking the five people or so in front of me if I could cut through so I could make my flight. Once I got on the gangway, I started running, only pausing to ask the gate agent right outside the gangway exit which gate to go to (Northwest doesn’t announce which gates your connecting flights leave from before you land like American does).
Airport hallways seem much more crowded when you’re running. I had to get from one side of the terminal (gate B3) to the other (B39). I had to pause twice to wait for a gap to open up between people but otherwise my progress was unimpeded. As I was within view of the sign for B39, I heard the following on the PA:
“This is the final boarding call for flight (I didn’t remember the flight number at the time) with service to Austin. Please proceed to gate B39 immediately.”
Oh...crap.
I still couldn’t see the actual gate itself but I could just imagine them locking the door. So when I got a little closer, I yelled out ‘AUSTIN!’ just in case it would help. I couldn’t take missing another flight. I just couldn’t.
I turned the corner and saw a lady behind the desk smiling at me. The gate was still open! She looked at me and said something like “Oh honey, you still have four minutes.” Phew. I asked her facetiously if I could take a break and catch my breath. She then asked where the other two people were from my flight. I looked at her funny and said I was one of the last people to get off the plane. So she replied that I must’ve passed them. Sure enough, a lady from my flight comes walking up. I didn’t care, I still was glad I ran. In a weird way, it was kind of fun, not that I want to make a habit of it.
I then asked if my bag was going to make it. I was assured it would. Not that it mattered that much since I was going home but I was curious. I got on the flight and took my window seat next to a gentleman who turned out to be the Chief Information Officer of the state of Minnesota (the chief Information Technology guy) who was going to Austin for a conference. I love meeting interesting people on planes. I interrupted our conversation real quick though to call Jennifer and tell her I made it. She had been ‘biting her nails’, eh.
So we get to Austin without incident and I am reunited with a smiling Jennifer at baggage claim. Then we wait for my luggage. Which doesn’t arrive, along with a bunch of other people’s. Having had this happen before, I didn’t wait long before going to the lost baggage office for Delta/Northwest and filing a claim, beating the long line of people from the flight. Sure enough, my bag went to Atlanta. C’mon Jennifer, let’s get the heck out of here. And we headed home.
It’s now 8:30 on Sunday morning and the bag arrived twenty minutes ago. I’m back home, for now, and getting back in the swing of things. In two weeks I’ll be in Phoenix, Arizona, for my buddy Scott Fillian’s wedding and then a week after that in China though there is an outside chance I’ll be going back to Hungary very soon (I’ll make the final decision this Tuesday or Wednesday). But by Nov 19 I will be home for good, at least until March.
Anyway, I hope you are doing well and give yourself a pat on the back for reading this entire e-mail.
Matt
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Paris Baby, Paris
Bonjour/soir mi familia and mis amigos! No, amigos is not French but I don’t know the French equivalent. I’m on a British Airways flight over the English Channel right now headed for Budapest (pronounced Budapesht!) and finally have some time to crank out an e-mail. Our flight was delayed by about 20 minutes due to the fact that IT’S SNOWING IN BUDAPESHT!!!! That and Heathrow is so crowded we lost our takeoff slot and had to wait for another one. Anyway, let’s get this rolling.
Ooh, and the sandwich choice on British Airways is either ‘Double Cheese & Red Onion’ or ‘Egg & Tomato’! Where are the bangers and mash?!! Anyway...
Alright, so Jennifer and BB the 14 lb bundle of furry love dropped me off at Austin-Bergstrom Airport early last Sunday afternoon. I was more worked up about this trip than any I’d taken since the days of my insane turbulence phobia (i.e. back when Jennifer was embarassed to fly with me). I think it’s 75% the fact that there’s a kid on the way and 25% that there are so many great things going on with life right now (job going well, fall garden cranking away, eating great home-cooked meals, high school football, rain in the forecast, etc.) that I don’t want to leave it. Kind of the same reason I never did study abroad for a semester in college; who wanted to miss a semester at Southwestern (well ok, not everyone felt that way but you get the idea). This trip is 13 days, from Sunday to Friday, and I guess the feeling that I had as I kissed Jennifer (and BB) goodbye under the terminal awning was finally relief that I could finally get this show on the road.
And oh yeah, that I was going to Paris for the first time in my life (besides a brief stopover in the airport last year for those of you who count such things).
I love taking a flight to a foreign country for the little things that remind you that you’re flying internationally. The flights were with American, first to DFW and then to Paris (CDG – Charles de Gaulle) so I didn’t get the benefits of a non-US crew. There’s just something about having a flight attendant ask you what you want to drink either a) in a foreign language or b) with a strong accent. Plus the maps on they show on the little tvs in the plane have place names in the other language. I bet you folks in Dallas weren’t aware that you live near ‘Lac Joe Pool’, har!
The flight from Austin was pretty uneventful. My seatmate was a Colombian lady who lives in Miami. I love speaking to people on planes and she seemed pretty eager to talk also. When she found out I spoke Spanish, we talked in that (as well as I could manage) for a while, at least until the turbulence of descending was bad enough that I couldn’t concentrate enough to figure out what Spanish words. Talking with people on planes is the best because you meet the most random people. Highlights on my flights have included the airplane seat salesman visiting Pakistan for a four-hour sales call, then turning around and leaving, the mother of the CEO of Mozilla (makers of Firefox), two married postal workers from LA who had sold their condo at the top of the market and were looking for homes in suburban Austin, the warehouse manager who was flying to Austin from DFW in the late afternoon so she could go clubbing on 6th St and then, without going to bed, catching a flight back the next morning to go to work and the elderly couple who taught me how to play Sudoku.
Oooh!!!! I get tea with my double cheese and red onion sandwich!! There’s just something about drinking tea that is so cool, especially when you’re away from home.
The sandwich wasn’t too bad. It had more lettuce and tomatoes than cheese and onion but maybe that wasn’t such as bad thing.
ANYWAY, the flight to Paris was also pretty uneventful. It was only maybe 1/3 full so I got the window and seat next to me all to myself, allowing for me to sprawl out a little bit. Well, sprawl is not the right word; more like uncurl. American packs you in pretty tight. Anyway, the flight left around 5 or so and I was planning to pop an Ambien and see about getting some shuteye. As soon as we reached cruising altitude, I took one pill and waited for Mr. Sandman. And waited. And waited. Dangit, these things are supposed to knock you out for eight hours but the flight was only 8 hours 20 minutes. I didn’t want to have to have a flight attendant pop an ammonia ampule or something under my nose to wake me up so let’s get to sleep, darnit. About twenty minutes after I took it, I was feeling slightly off but still very much awake. That was when dinner arrived. Yum, chicken and rice. I wasn’t too hungry but I ate all of the entree, packed up my trash and started reading. I didn’t want to be listening to the iPod just in case the Ambien should kick in so that a) I wouldn’t run out the battery or b) have it slip onto the ground, slide down to the row of seats behind me, never to be seen again as the middle-aged American couple sitting behind me accidently step on it and break it. So I busted out Jack London’s the Assassination Bureau, Ltd. instead. Good book. It (or more likely the Ambien) soon put me to sleep.
Well, it was five hours of sleep but it was crappy sleep. I kept waking up in strange positions and had some really weird dreams that I don’t remember except that they were really weird. And then I’d go right back to sleep. I remember waking up at least twice and perhaps more. When I finally woke up for good it was still dark outside which was a bad sign since we were arriving at Paris around 9:30am. I knew I’d slept but of course I had no idea how long. I was overjoyed to find that there were only 2.5 hours left in the flight. Fantastic! Not only did I sleep away well over half the flight but I figured I had a much better chance of beating jet lag!
We landed in Paris without incident except for the American couple behind me deciding to pull the classic ‘I’m going to get up as soon as the plane stops, jump into the aisle and move up about five feet so I can get off the plane ten seconds sooner’ routine. The wife couldn’t keep up with the husband so there was actually someone in between the two of them, the guy sitting on the row they were blocking. She actually had to ask the guy to excuse her so she could push past him. Don’t people know we’ll all be waiting at the baggage claim anyway? That stuff drives me nuts. So many people do it. It’s another refreshing reminder that despite nationality, skin color, language, height, gender, etc., human beings are deep down all the same. The only reason you should ever do it is if the plane is late and you have to hurry to catch the next flight. And if that’s the case you need to tell me and I’ll let you move past.
Entering the European Union (EU), or at least France, is great. No forms to fill out. They just stamp your passport and wham, you’re in. I waited for my bag to arrive so I could begin my harrowing journey across Paris by subway and on foot. And waited. And waited a little more. Good thing the flight wasn’t very full because it only took about ten minutes for the bags to all come through without mine being among them. Oh wonderful. This marked the third time my bags have been lost in the last five flights I’d taken. At least this time I was smart and packed my bathroom stuff in my carry-on bags (my REI backpack and an InterSpar grocery bag gingerly holding a bag of Tostitos chips [more on that later] and my heavy jacket). After speaking with the not-so-apologetic-but-not-mean-either American baggage lady, I had another claim form for my bag filled out and a phone number to call and check (and a website). On the bright side, I didn’t have to roll a 38 lb. suitcase across Paris.
Time to hit the subway. It took about ten minutes to walk across Charles de Gaulle to get to the subway station. An English-speaking attendant helped me try to buy a ticket but I couldn’t because I didn’t have enough Euro coins (it wouldn’t accept bills or at least the bills I had). She then left me to wait in a long line to buy one from a clerk. Undaunted, I found a change machine, got my change and then bought my own ticket. It wasn’t easy because when she had navigated the menus, she used the French text but I knew what the ticket was supposed to cost so, through trial-and-error and the English text offered by the machine (with all the tourists in Paris English translations are mandatory) I bought my ticket.
Now what platform? I didn’t even know what train I was supposed to be on. Luckily, there was another attendant, obviously eagerly awaiting me to ask him what platform. Platform 11 or 12, just down the stairs. That was easy. There was a train waiting on Platform 11. Was it mine? Enter attendant #3. Yes it is but you’re going to need to get off at shat-o-lee-al. What’s that, I thought? Oh well, I’ll figure it out. I hopped on the train and off we went!
Luckily, after scanning the subway map I saw that there was a stop for Chattelle – Les Halles. That must be it.
After at least a half hour on that subway, I got off at Chattelle – Les Halles and tried to figure out where to go next. I think it was the A train I was supposed to take and my stop would be La Défense (that’s La Deh-fahnce to you!). I found what I thought was the right platform, saw that a little bulb was lit up next to La Défense on the route sign and thought, this must be it.
And it was. You were waiting for me to say I got on the wrong train. Nope. My bad luck ended with my bag not making the trip with me.
I got off at La Défense, a station in the middle of a large office building complex of apparently a ton of defense-rlelated companies. There’s a huge square-shaped building there that actually is open like a big doughnut. You’ll see the photos. Using Google Maps, I knew about where I needed to walk and thus hoofed it the mile or so to my hotel in the Paris suburb of Nanterre.
Suburbs in Paris aren’t suburbs in the conventional US sense. They still feel like you’re in Paris. It is quite a dense city and I never really saw the edge of it except on the train to and from Charles de Gaulle. Paris itself has tons of tall apartment blocks and a few tall buildings but nothing overwhelming like you would feel in New York City. The streets are very walkable and there are tons of bike lanes and paths (though very few cyclists). Unlike London, traffic drives on the right, definitely decreasing the number of tourists hit by cars (except perhaps those from the UK). The streets weren’t overloaded with people except for the touristy areas. Cars are a big thing but they’re mostly very, very small. Of course, that’s how you have to do it when parking is at a premium (you won’t believe how close they park here when parallel parking on the street). There are a lot of motorcycles also and they don’t follow the rules of traffic (which actually may help traffic flow faster). They will ride the lane markers, thus driving in between cars. They can’t do it at a fast speed though which makes things a little more safe.
Paris is a city of roundabouts, both large and small. The funny thing about roundabouts is they actually move more cars through an intersection and eliminate the whole ‘waiting for the light to turn green when you’re the only car within a ½ mile at 3am’ situation. A couple of the roundabouts in the city center of Paris are about the size of two football fields, including the one around the Arc de Triomphe. Seriously, there is room for about ten lanes of traffic. It’s absurd. It was harrowing just crossing some of the side streets as a pedestrian but I couldn’t imagine driving on them (later on, I got a chance to ride in a car through them though).
My hotel was conveniently located less than five minutes walk from the NI-France office but was also a Hotel Ibis, the Motel 6 of European hotels due to their ubiquitousness, low price and no-frills rooms. Of course, in Europe no-frills seems to mean things like only one power outlet (located in the bathroom), a toilet that doesn’t flush properly, a toilet seat that won’t stay on the toilet, no irons in the rooms (you have to request one of the perhaps two irons available for guests), no alarm clock (though you can get an automated wake-up call) and only one wastebasket. Actually, the only stuff that really bothered me was the iron part as they never had one for me to use. I had to ‘iron’ my clothes by splashing water on them, then taking a very hot shower and letting the steam smooth out some of the wrinkles. At least the room didn’t smell like marijuana like the one I stayed in in Amsterdam a few years ago. And again, it was quite close to NI-France which, since the purpose of the trip was for work, this was by far the most important consideration. I love ‘walking’ to work, eh. It’s the most stress-free way to go.
There was breakfast included with the rate. It’s funny how most international hotels for business travelers (or at least the ones I’ve stayed in) have the same buffets. Thin strips of ham, cereal, yogurt, a basket of fruit and some bread (though in Nanterre it was croissants and French bread, ooh la la!). Every once in a while you get some variation like the corn I had in Tokyo but for the most part they’re the same. Just like you’d expect every continental breakfast in a Days Inn in the US to have a waffle iron, cereal, eggs and bacon.
Oops, I’m getting ahead of myself. Breakfast wasn’t until the next day. Anyway, I checked into the Ibis without difficulty (thanks to the English-speaking clerk) and arranged my stuff in the room. After checking e-mail first and taking a quick breather as, after all, I’d been traveling for about 20 hours at that point (counting driving from Concan in the Hill Country), I set out to explore grand old Paree.
Google Maps seemed to indicate it was about five miles to the touristy part of Paris from my hotel. That was totally doable. I had maybe five hours of daylight if not more and could always take the subway back to La Défense. Due to the limited amount of time and that fact that Jennifer wasn’t accompanying me, I didn’t want to see anything in depth such as going into the Louvre but I didn’t want to miss the highlights either. I decided that at the least I wanted to see the Arc de Triomphe and the Notre Dame Cathedral, both of which were located in the same general area. Using a map provided by the Hotel Ibis (maybe they’re ok after all, eh), I set out to find my way to the stuff everyone who travels to Paris goes to see.
Being a map goober, I made a map of the walk using Google Maps for those who want to follow along:
http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF&msa=0&msid=
118415557892131827636.0004761ea942254bad9cc
I had a nice little walk wandering through the suburb of Puteaux. I found a little neighborhood bakery which sold me a croissant (you saw that coming, right?), a salmon quiche and a cherry coke. I sat down to eat it across from a nearby fountain but was soon chased away by a landscaper with a weedwhacker blowing bits of hedge onto me (when I got hit in the shoulder by a branch I knew it was time to move). To Paris’ credit, this was the only time I could say someone was unpleasant to me but I doubt it’s because I was a foreigner.
That reminds me, I often wonder how easy it is to tell that I’m a foreigner or an American. When I travel, I never wear anything identifying where I’m from, at least not overtly, so I always wear blue jeans and shirts with no writing on them. I think my tennis shoes are a good giveaway though as most Europeans don’t wearing basketball or jogging shoes like Americans do; they prefer more low-cut shoes that are kind of like old-style jogging shoes or indoor soccer shoes. My haircut is not a giveaway, that much I know. Maybe there’s something about my manner or my way of walking. Hesitation when crossing the street and snapping photos are dead giveways, of course. Perhaps the biggest one though is my apparent casualness of walking in that I’m not in any particular hurry to get where I’m going, preferring to see things as they are on the streets and soak in the atmosphere. Or, being in France, the fact that I don’t smoke, eh (just kidding).
Also, I had that silly Lady Marmalade song from Moulin Rouge stuck in my head seemingly half the day. I couldn’t stand that movie. Oh well. Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir (ce soir, ce soir)! Getchee getchee ya ya hereahhhhh!!!
I soon crossed the Seine, marking another major European River that I had seen in person, joining the Danube/Duna and the Thames. Now I just need to see the Rhine (from someplace besides an airplane) and the Volga and I’m good. It was pleasant to see houseboats on the Seine; I don’t think I’d seen those since Amsterdam. How somebody could live on a houseboat I don’t understand but then again it’s more open air and liberating than an apartment. I wonder what their largest complaint is; perhaps wakes from passing barges.
Passing through a big park which I think was called the Bois de Boulogne, I eventually found the Avenue Charles de Gaulle and the Arc de Triomphe. What a magnificent piece of architecture. I was in awe. It’s huge which tons of very intricate sculptings on the side. That and the names of the battles during the Napoleonic Wars and all of his generals. You’ll see the photos. The Germans marched past it in 1871, the French in 1918, the Germans again in 1940 and the Allies in 1944. Oh, and Lance Armstrong. More info on the Arc is here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_de_Triomphe
You can even go inside and up on top but I deferred until my next visit (hopefully with Jennifer).
Past the Arc I strolled down the Seine. You know all those movies like Ratatouille, Frantic, etc. that have scenes on the stone walks on the banks of the Seine? I was there! I even saw the tour boats that run up and down the Seine where in movies I can’t remember people jump from the bridges onto them. It’s a no-brainer idea for a stunt. I almost wanted to try it for myself but I then I would have to try to communicate with a bunch of French paramedics who wouldn’t speak English and if there’s anything I try to avoid on these international trips, it’s communicating with anybody unless absolutely necessary.
Anyway, I walked past the Louvre and tons of other awesome old buildings. I love Europe because of all these old buildings (among other things). We think the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building and the Alamo are hot stuff but they’re not even 300 years old, much less 400! Notre Dame was next. I really can’t say much else about these buildings except I was in awe (though unfortunately you can only get close to the front of Notre Dame). You’ll have to judge for yourself from the photos.
After Notre Dame, it was getting late so I walked back across the Seine to my good buddy Chattelle-Les Halles subway station and caught a train back to La Défense. I had a slightly difficult time finding a) an entrance to the station with a ticket booth so I could buy a ticket and b) the correct platform. There are seemingly 4-5 levels in that station and it was a little confusing, particularly with the press of people. It was an interesting counterpoint to my casual stroll towards the city center because in a subway station there are usually tons of people (well, depending on the time of day) and it seems that everyone is in a hurry. It was a relief to finally get on my train, get off at La Défense and into the open air of the city again.
La Défense has a mall in it which gave me an easy opportunity to get something to eat (a salami sandwich). I also explored the Auchan supermarket attached to it, another very busy place (I only bought toothpaste as I get a kick out of having toiletries like toothpaste and deodorant from other countries). Then I went back to the hotel, tried to call Jennifer using a calling card but failed because I couldn’t understand the French message on the phone and was too lazy to call the reception for help (and I didn’t feel like trying to make myself understood even if their English was good). So I went to bed.
I was happy to sleep fairly well except that I woke up at 6:30 instead of at 7:15 as I had planned. I was still missing my luggage so I had to wear my traveling clothes (jeans, t-shirt and basketball shoes) again. I ate breakfast downstairs and then headed out to the office. I won’t go into the details about the workday except that it was quite productive, especially thanks to my shepherd for the visit, the Customer Service Manager (born in Spain, moved to France at age 1 but speaks Spanish too, which was fun). He also called American Airlines and found out that my luggage had gone to Madrid instead, then to Miami and now should be in Paris. By 2pm (or 14h in France, eh) it was delivered to the Ibis. After work, around 6, I returned to the hotel, ‘ironed’ a nice shirt and khakis and met Andres in the lobby at 7.
Oops, we’ll have to stop here as I’m already cresting at seven pages. Plus I have a busy day on Saturday and Sunday (well, sort of) and I might not be able to get out another update before Thursday evening.
So I shall say, until the next e-mail and I’m back in the States, au revoir!
Matt
Ooh, and the sandwich choice on British Airways is either ‘Double Cheese & Red Onion’ or ‘Egg & Tomato’! Where are the bangers and mash?!! Anyway...
Alright, so Jennifer and BB the 14 lb bundle of furry love dropped me off at Austin-Bergstrom Airport early last Sunday afternoon. I was more worked up about this trip than any I’d taken since the days of my insane turbulence phobia (i.e. back when Jennifer was embarassed to fly with me). I think it’s 75% the fact that there’s a kid on the way and 25% that there are so many great things going on with life right now (job going well, fall garden cranking away, eating great home-cooked meals, high school football, rain in the forecast, etc.) that I don’t want to leave it. Kind of the same reason I never did study abroad for a semester in college; who wanted to miss a semester at Southwestern (well ok, not everyone felt that way but you get the idea). This trip is 13 days, from Sunday to Friday, and I guess the feeling that I had as I kissed Jennifer (and BB) goodbye under the terminal awning was finally relief that I could finally get this show on the road.
And oh yeah, that I was going to Paris for the first time in my life (besides a brief stopover in the airport last year for those of you who count such things).
I love taking a flight to a foreign country for the little things that remind you that you’re flying internationally. The flights were with American, first to DFW and then to Paris (CDG – Charles de Gaulle) so I didn’t get the benefits of a non-US crew. There’s just something about having a flight attendant ask you what you want to drink either a) in a foreign language or b) with a strong accent. Plus the maps on they show on the little tvs in the plane have place names in the other language. I bet you folks in Dallas weren’t aware that you live near ‘Lac Joe Pool’, har!
The flight from Austin was pretty uneventful. My seatmate was a Colombian lady who lives in Miami. I love speaking to people on planes and she seemed pretty eager to talk also. When she found out I spoke Spanish, we talked in that (as well as I could manage) for a while, at least until the turbulence of descending was bad enough that I couldn’t concentrate enough to figure out what Spanish words. Talking with people on planes is the best because you meet the most random people. Highlights on my flights have included the airplane seat salesman visiting Pakistan for a four-hour sales call, then turning around and leaving, the mother of the CEO of Mozilla (makers of Firefox), two married postal workers from LA who had sold their condo at the top of the market and were looking for homes in suburban Austin, the warehouse manager who was flying to Austin from DFW in the late afternoon so she could go clubbing on 6th St and then, without going to bed, catching a flight back the next morning to go to work and the elderly couple who taught me how to play Sudoku.
Oooh!!!! I get tea with my double cheese and red onion sandwich!! There’s just something about drinking tea that is so cool, especially when you’re away from home.
The sandwich wasn’t too bad. It had more lettuce and tomatoes than cheese and onion but maybe that wasn’t such as bad thing.
ANYWAY, the flight to Paris was also pretty uneventful. It was only maybe 1/3 full so I got the window and seat next to me all to myself, allowing for me to sprawl out a little bit. Well, sprawl is not the right word; more like uncurl. American packs you in pretty tight. Anyway, the flight left around 5 or so and I was planning to pop an Ambien and see about getting some shuteye. As soon as we reached cruising altitude, I took one pill and waited for Mr. Sandman. And waited. And waited. Dangit, these things are supposed to knock you out for eight hours but the flight was only 8 hours 20 minutes. I didn’t want to have to have a flight attendant pop an ammonia ampule or something under my nose to wake me up so let’s get to sleep, darnit. About twenty minutes after I took it, I was feeling slightly off but still very much awake. That was when dinner arrived. Yum, chicken and rice. I wasn’t too hungry but I ate all of the entree, packed up my trash and started reading. I didn’t want to be listening to the iPod just in case the Ambien should kick in so that a) I wouldn’t run out the battery or b) have it slip onto the ground, slide down to the row of seats behind me, never to be seen again as the middle-aged American couple sitting behind me accidently step on it and break it. So I busted out Jack London’s the Assassination Bureau, Ltd. instead. Good book. It (or more likely the Ambien) soon put me to sleep.
Well, it was five hours of sleep but it was crappy sleep. I kept waking up in strange positions and had some really weird dreams that I don’t remember except that they were really weird. And then I’d go right back to sleep. I remember waking up at least twice and perhaps more. When I finally woke up for good it was still dark outside which was a bad sign since we were arriving at Paris around 9:30am. I knew I’d slept but of course I had no idea how long. I was overjoyed to find that there were only 2.5 hours left in the flight. Fantastic! Not only did I sleep away well over half the flight but I figured I had a much better chance of beating jet lag!
We landed in Paris without incident except for the American couple behind me deciding to pull the classic ‘I’m going to get up as soon as the plane stops, jump into the aisle and move up about five feet so I can get off the plane ten seconds sooner’ routine. The wife couldn’t keep up with the husband so there was actually someone in between the two of them, the guy sitting on the row they were blocking. She actually had to ask the guy to excuse her so she could push past him. Don’t people know we’ll all be waiting at the baggage claim anyway? That stuff drives me nuts. So many people do it. It’s another refreshing reminder that despite nationality, skin color, language, height, gender, etc., human beings are deep down all the same. The only reason you should ever do it is if the plane is late and you have to hurry to catch the next flight. And if that’s the case you need to tell me and I’ll let you move past.
Entering the European Union (EU), or at least France, is great. No forms to fill out. They just stamp your passport and wham, you’re in. I waited for my bag to arrive so I could begin my harrowing journey across Paris by subway and on foot. And waited. And waited a little more. Good thing the flight wasn’t very full because it only took about ten minutes for the bags to all come through without mine being among them. Oh wonderful. This marked the third time my bags have been lost in the last five flights I’d taken. At least this time I was smart and packed my bathroom stuff in my carry-on bags (my REI backpack and an InterSpar grocery bag gingerly holding a bag of Tostitos chips [more on that later] and my heavy jacket). After speaking with the not-so-apologetic-but-not-mean-either American baggage lady, I had another claim form for my bag filled out and a phone number to call and check (and a website). On the bright side, I didn’t have to roll a 38 lb. suitcase across Paris.
Time to hit the subway. It took about ten minutes to walk across Charles de Gaulle to get to the subway station. An English-speaking attendant helped me try to buy a ticket but I couldn’t because I didn’t have enough Euro coins (it wouldn’t accept bills or at least the bills I had). She then left me to wait in a long line to buy one from a clerk. Undaunted, I found a change machine, got my change and then bought my own ticket. It wasn’t easy because when she had navigated the menus, she used the French text but I knew what the ticket was supposed to cost so, through trial-and-error and the English text offered by the machine (with all the tourists in Paris English translations are mandatory) I bought my ticket.
Now what platform? I didn’t even know what train I was supposed to be on. Luckily, there was another attendant, obviously eagerly awaiting me to ask him what platform. Platform 11 or 12, just down the stairs. That was easy. There was a train waiting on Platform 11. Was it mine? Enter attendant #3. Yes it is but you’re going to need to get off at shat-o-lee-al. What’s that, I thought? Oh well, I’ll figure it out. I hopped on the train and off we went!
Luckily, after scanning the subway map I saw that there was a stop for Chattelle – Les Halles. That must be it.
After at least a half hour on that subway, I got off at Chattelle – Les Halles and tried to figure out where to go next. I think it was the A train I was supposed to take and my stop would be La Défense (that’s La Deh-fahnce to you!). I found what I thought was the right platform, saw that a little bulb was lit up next to La Défense on the route sign and thought, this must be it.
And it was. You were waiting for me to say I got on the wrong train. Nope. My bad luck ended with my bag not making the trip with me.
I got off at La Défense, a station in the middle of a large office building complex of apparently a ton of defense-rlelated companies. There’s a huge square-shaped building there that actually is open like a big doughnut. You’ll see the photos. Using Google Maps, I knew about where I needed to walk and thus hoofed it the mile or so to my hotel in the Paris suburb of Nanterre.
Suburbs in Paris aren’t suburbs in the conventional US sense. They still feel like you’re in Paris. It is quite a dense city and I never really saw the edge of it except on the train to and from Charles de Gaulle. Paris itself has tons of tall apartment blocks and a few tall buildings but nothing overwhelming like you would feel in New York City. The streets are very walkable and there are tons of bike lanes and paths (though very few cyclists). Unlike London, traffic drives on the right, definitely decreasing the number of tourists hit by cars (except perhaps those from the UK). The streets weren’t overloaded with people except for the touristy areas. Cars are a big thing but they’re mostly very, very small. Of course, that’s how you have to do it when parking is at a premium (you won’t believe how close they park here when parallel parking on the street). There are a lot of motorcycles also and they don’t follow the rules of traffic (which actually may help traffic flow faster). They will ride the lane markers, thus driving in between cars. They can’t do it at a fast speed though which makes things a little more safe.
Paris is a city of roundabouts, both large and small. The funny thing about roundabouts is they actually move more cars through an intersection and eliminate the whole ‘waiting for the light to turn green when you’re the only car within a ½ mile at 3am’ situation. A couple of the roundabouts in the city center of Paris are about the size of two football fields, including the one around the Arc de Triomphe. Seriously, there is room for about ten lanes of traffic. It’s absurd. It was harrowing just crossing some of the side streets as a pedestrian but I couldn’t imagine driving on them (later on, I got a chance to ride in a car through them though).
My hotel was conveniently located less than five minutes walk from the NI-France office but was also a Hotel Ibis, the Motel 6 of European hotels due to their ubiquitousness, low price and no-frills rooms. Of course, in Europe no-frills seems to mean things like only one power outlet (located in the bathroom), a toilet that doesn’t flush properly, a toilet seat that won’t stay on the toilet, no irons in the rooms (you have to request one of the perhaps two irons available for guests), no alarm clock (though you can get an automated wake-up call) and only one wastebasket. Actually, the only stuff that really bothered me was the iron part as they never had one for me to use. I had to ‘iron’ my clothes by splashing water on them, then taking a very hot shower and letting the steam smooth out some of the wrinkles. At least the room didn’t smell like marijuana like the one I stayed in in Amsterdam a few years ago. And again, it was quite close to NI-France which, since the purpose of the trip was for work, this was by far the most important consideration. I love ‘walking’ to work, eh. It’s the most stress-free way to go.
There was breakfast included with the rate. It’s funny how most international hotels for business travelers (or at least the ones I’ve stayed in) have the same buffets. Thin strips of ham, cereal, yogurt, a basket of fruit and some bread (though in Nanterre it was croissants and French bread, ooh la la!). Every once in a while you get some variation like the corn I had in Tokyo but for the most part they’re the same. Just like you’d expect every continental breakfast in a Days Inn in the US to have a waffle iron, cereal, eggs and bacon.
Oops, I’m getting ahead of myself. Breakfast wasn’t until the next day. Anyway, I checked into the Ibis without difficulty (thanks to the English-speaking clerk) and arranged my stuff in the room. After checking e-mail first and taking a quick breather as, after all, I’d been traveling for about 20 hours at that point (counting driving from Concan in the Hill Country), I set out to explore grand old Paree.
Google Maps seemed to indicate it was about five miles to the touristy part of Paris from my hotel. That was totally doable. I had maybe five hours of daylight if not more and could always take the subway back to La Défense. Due to the limited amount of time and that fact that Jennifer wasn’t accompanying me, I didn’t want to see anything in depth such as going into the Louvre but I didn’t want to miss the highlights either. I decided that at the least I wanted to see the Arc de Triomphe and the Notre Dame Cathedral, both of which were located in the same general area. Using a map provided by the Hotel Ibis (maybe they’re ok after all, eh), I set out to find my way to the stuff everyone who travels to Paris goes to see.
Being a map goober, I made a map of the walk using Google Maps for those who want to follow along:
http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF&msa=0&msid=
118415557892131827636.0004761ea942254bad9cc
I had a nice little walk wandering through the suburb of Puteaux. I found a little neighborhood bakery which sold me a croissant (you saw that coming, right?), a salmon quiche and a cherry coke. I sat down to eat it across from a nearby fountain but was soon chased away by a landscaper with a weedwhacker blowing bits of hedge onto me (when I got hit in the shoulder by a branch I knew it was time to move). To Paris’ credit, this was the only time I could say someone was unpleasant to me but I doubt it’s because I was a foreigner.
That reminds me, I often wonder how easy it is to tell that I’m a foreigner or an American. When I travel, I never wear anything identifying where I’m from, at least not overtly, so I always wear blue jeans and shirts with no writing on them. I think my tennis shoes are a good giveaway though as most Europeans don’t wearing basketball or jogging shoes like Americans do; they prefer more low-cut shoes that are kind of like old-style jogging shoes or indoor soccer shoes. My haircut is not a giveaway, that much I know. Maybe there’s something about my manner or my way of walking. Hesitation when crossing the street and snapping photos are dead giveways, of course. Perhaps the biggest one though is my apparent casualness of walking in that I’m not in any particular hurry to get where I’m going, preferring to see things as they are on the streets and soak in the atmosphere. Or, being in France, the fact that I don’t smoke, eh (just kidding).
Also, I had that silly Lady Marmalade song from Moulin Rouge stuck in my head seemingly half the day. I couldn’t stand that movie. Oh well. Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir (ce soir, ce soir)! Getchee getchee ya ya hereahhhhh!!!
I soon crossed the Seine, marking another major European River that I had seen in person, joining the Danube/Duna and the Thames. Now I just need to see the Rhine (from someplace besides an airplane) and the Volga and I’m good. It was pleasant to see houseboats on the Seine; I don’t think I’d seen those since Amsterdam. How somebody could live on a houseboat I don’t understand but then again it’s more open air and liberating than an apartment. I wonder what their largest complaint is; perhaps wakes from passing barges.
Passing through a big park which I think was called the Bois de Boulogne, I eventually found the Avenue Charles de Gaulle and the Arc de Triomphe. What a magnificent piece of architecture. I was in awe. It’s huge which tons of very intricate sculptings on the side. That and the names of the battles during the Napoleonic Wars and all of his generals. You’ll see the photos. The Germans marched past it in 1871, the French in 1918, the Germans again in 1940 and the Allies in 1944. Oh, and Lance Armstrong. More info on the Arc is here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_de_Triomphe
You can even go inside and up on top but I deferred until my next visit (hopefully with Jennifer).
Past the Arc I strolled down the Seine. You know all those movies like Ratatouille, Frantic, etc. that have scenes on the stone walks on the banks of the Seine? I was there! I even saw the tour boats that run up and down the Seine where in movies I can’t remember people jump from the bridges onto them. It’s a no-brainer idea for a stunt. I almost wanted to try it for myself but I then I would have to try to communicate with a bunch of French paramedics who wouldn’t speak English and if there’s anything I try to avoid on these international trips, it’s communicating with anybody unless absolutely necessary.
Anyway, I walked past the Louvre and tons of other awesome old buildings. I love Europe because of all these old buildings (among other things). We think the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building and the Alamo are hot stuff but they’re not even 300 years old, much less 400! Notre Dame was next. I really can’t say much else about these buildings except I was in awe (though unfortunately you can only get close to the front of Notre Dame). You’ll have to judge for yourself from the photos.
After Notre Dame, it was getting late so I walked back across the Seine to my good buddy Chattelle-Les Halles subway station and caught a train back to La Défense. I had a slightly difficult time finding a) an entrance to the station with a ticket booth so I could buy a ticket and b) the correct platform. There are seemingly 4-5 levels in that station and it was a little confusing, particularly with the press of people. It was an interesting counterpoint to my casual stroll towards the city center because in a subway station there are usually tons of people (well, depending on the time of day) and it seems that everyone is in a hurry. It was a relief to finally get on my train, get off at La Défense and into the open air of the city again.
La Défense has a mall in it which gave me an easy opportunity to get something to eat (a salami sandwich). I also explored the Auchan supermarket attached to it, another very busy place (I only bought toothpaste as I get a kick out of having toiletries like toothpaste and deodorant from other countries). Then I went back to the hotel, tried to call Jennifer using a calling card but failed because I couldn’t understand the French message on the phone and was too lazy to call the reception for help (and I didn’t feel like trying to make myself understood even if their English was good). So I went to bed.
I was happy to sleep fairly well except that I woke up at 6:30 instead of at 7:15 as I had planned. I was still missing my luggage so I had to wear my traveling clothes (jeans, t-shirt and basketball shoes) again. I ate breakfast downstairs and then headed out to the office. I won’t go into the details about the workday except that it was quite productive, especially thanks to my shepherd for the visit, the Customer Service Manager (born in Spain, moved to France at age 1 but speaks Spanish too, which was fun). He also called American Airlines and found out that my luggage had gone to Madrid instead, then to Miami and now should be in Paris. By 2pm (or 14h in France, eh) it was delivered to the Ibis. After work, around 6, I returned to the hotel, ‘ironed’ a nice shirt and khakis and met Andres in the lobby at 7.
Oops, we’ll have to stop here as I’m already cresting at seven pages. Plus I have a busy day on Saturday and Sunday (well, sort of) and I might not be able to get out another update before Thursday evening.
So I shall say, until the next e-mail and I’m back in the States, au revoir!
Matt
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