Bloody France
Paris was just as hot as London
10 July 1999: Bloody
France
Once you get through the tunnel, the train goes to it's full velocity, which is prohibited by British law. It goes as fast as 300 km/h, or 180 mph. The French countryside zips along at a merry pace. It looks just as you picture it in your head. Round green hills with a thin line of half a dozen or so cypress trees along a road. A laughing cow. Etc.
What you don't know from the train is that it was hot as hell outside. Gare du Nord was pretty humid. I bought my three-day passes for the Metro and for the museums and made my way to Rue des Abbesses, to the Comfort Inn Sacre Coeur, in Montmartre. The name, Comfort Inn, was an oxymoron. The one perk I thought I had was lost upon my arrival. The concierge took me to room 41, which appeared to include, at the package price, a shirtless 22-year-old man named Jason. It turns out Jason was, like, you know, still packing? And he didn't realize the room was taken? And he like forgot the check-out time was four hours earlier?
I was very tempted to ask the concierge if Jason was meant to be the mint on my pillow, but I didn't. I went out and bought a little notebook, a jambon baguette, some cheese, two peaches, and a phone card. You cannot make a phone call in Paris, or anyplace in France, without a phone card. No coins accepted. They still have phone booths there, and they are just lovely, really. Tres chic. Except in a heatwave it's like having an individual, personal greenhouse.
The hotel has no lift and I forgot my stored bag just after disrobing. So I re-robed, got my bag, climbed the five flights, and then climbed over my toilet to get into my shower-booth. I was knackered. Thank got for showers and Body Shop products.
I headed out to the Musee Rodin. Some of Camille Claudel's works are also there. I don't know much about her except that I think she was Rodin's lover and I think she went crazy. The museum is in an old mansion and has beautiful gardens overlooked by the gold dome of Hotel des Invalides.
Then I headed to the Champs Elysees. I walked up in the bloody heat and humidity, and even went into Citibank and the post office, hoping for air conditioning, in vain. I climbed to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. It's a monument to the military glories of France. It was completed by King Louis Phillipe I, who turned out to be the last king of France. The Arc was built before France's worst humiliations, in 1871, 1914, and 1940-1945. I think they were overcompensating a bit. There's a nice breeze when you're ten stories over Paris.
Once you get through the tunnel, the train goes to it's full velocity, which is prohibited by British law. It goes as fast as 300 km/h, or 180 mph. The French countryside zips along at a merry pace. It looks just as you picture it in your head. Round green hills with a thin line of half a dozen or so cypress trees along a road. A laughing cow. Etc.
What you don't know from the train is that it was hot as hell outside. Gare du Nord was pretty humid. I bought my three-day passes for the Metro and for the museums and made my way to Rue des Abbesses, to the Comfort Inn Sacre Coeur, in Montmartre. The name, Comfort Inn, was an oxymoron. The one perk I thought I had was lost upon my arrival. The concierge took me to room 41, which appeared to include, at the package price, a shirtless 22-year-old man named Jason. It turns out Jason was, like, you know, still packing? And he didn't realize the room was taken? And he like forgot the check-out time was four hours earlier?
I was very tempted to ask the concierge if Jason was meant to be the mint on my pillow, but I didn't. I went out and bought a little notebook, a jambon baguette, some cheese, two peaches, and a phone card. You cannot make a phone call in Paris, or anyplace in France, without a phone card. No coins accepted. They still have phone booths there, and they are just lovely, really. Tres chic. Except in a heatwave it's like having an individual, personal greenhouse.
The hotel has no lift and I forgot my stored bag just after disrobing. So I re-robed, got my bag, climbed the five flights, and then climbed over my toilet to get into my shower-booth. I was knackered. Thank got for showers and Body Shop products.
I headed out to the Musee Rodin. Some of Camille Claudel's works are also there. I don't know much about her except that I think she was Rodin's lover and I think she went crazy. The museum is in an old mansion and has beautiful gardens overlooked by the gold dome of Hotel des Invalides.
Then I headed to the Champs Elysees. I walked up in the bloody heat and humidity, and even went into Citibank and the post office, hoping for air conditioning, in vain. I climbed to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. It's a monument to the military glories of France. It was completed by King Louis Phillipe I, who turned out to be the last king of France. The Arc was built before France's worst humiliations, in 1871, 1914, and 1940-1945. I think they were overcompensating a bit. There's a nice breeze when you're ten stories over Paris.
Posted: Sat - July 10, 1999 at 02:36 AM
Quick Links
Calendar
| Sun | Mon | Tue | Wed | Thu | Fri | Sat |
Categories
Archives
XML/RSS Feed
Statistics
Total entries in this blog:
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Jun 20, 2009 07:04 PM
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Jun 20, 2009 07:04 PM