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