Day 174 An Undignified Exit

I wish I could say that my exit from Paris was consistent with the rest of my visit. It wasn’t.

My Easy Jet flight to Rome was leaving from the Orly airport at 7 am and I had to check-in no later than 6:40. I had been distracted during my time in Paris, (surprised?) and had forgotten to book an airport shuttle, leaving me with two options: taxi or public transportation. The taxi option would have been very expensive to go from my hostel in Montmarte all the way to the airport south of the city (more expensive than my flight), but the train to the airport stopped at 11:30 pm and did not start up again in time for me to make it in the morning. What to do? I decided to go to the airport on the last train and camp out. It would not have been the first time I had to sleep in an airport. I had talked to several people, including locals, and this seemed to be the best option. “Seemed to be” is the key phrase here because I was making one big incorrect assumption.

All went well until midnight, when, after I had just settled into an airport chair which was cleverly designed to prevent comfortable sleeping, I heard the announcement that the airport was closing shortly. I have been in many international airports at all hours of the night and had assumed that they all were open 24 hours. Orly closes for fours hours from 12:30 to 4:30. This would not have been as bad if the announcement hadn’t come after the train stopped running. My only option was to take a taxi. After almost not finding a cab, I took one to the nearest metro stop, 3 miles and $28 away. I then had the option of either paying for a hotel room ($100) for four hours or camping out on a bench. I walked around for a bit, my backpack and eyelids feeling heavier by the second, until I spotted a fellow backpacker sleeping peacefully with a blanket of cardboard under a building awning. It looked tempting. The rain drops tickling my face were the final impetus I needed. I helped myself to the plentiful supply of clean cardboard awaiting pickup outside the shops and fashioned my temporary nest. Two layers for a mattress, one over the top, and my backpack as a pillow. I set my alarm and tried to sleep.

Between the barking dogs, loud pedestrians, trucks, hard bed, and the cold breeze sneaking under my stiff blanket, I miraculously managed to get about an hour and a half of uncomfortable sleep. By this point, the cramped airplane seat was looking good. I still would not have made it to the airport in time by train and had to take another $28 taxi back. My flight was only $40.

After all that I can’t complain. I was not robbed, injured, or otherwise maligned. I accept being tired and uncomfortable and paying too much for some things as part of long-term travel. As the French say, “c’est la vie.” Fortunately, my undignified departure is only a comical footnote to the magical memory of being with the woman I love in the most romantic city in the world.

Day 172 Paris, Patrícia, and Perfection

You will have to forgive me for not blogging while Patrícia was here. Let's just say that I had other things on my mind.

This city is made for romance. We had a wonderful time staying in the heart of Montmarte at a little hotel only 100 meters from the Moulin Rouge. It was a perfect base for exploring the city. We hit all the big sights: L'Arc de Triumphe, Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, St. Chapelle, Versaille, a slew of Museums, Bastille, and the Sacre Coeur. And we saw some of the infinite number of little sights that make the city what it is: charming cafes, tree lined stone stairways, tiny parks, cobblestone steets, metro stations, bakeries, little shops, street performers, chimney cluttered rooftops, the Seine, bateau mouches, bridges, and the people.

I bought the Museum and Monuments pass that let us bypass lines and walk right into our choice of 60 places. And with the passes we could leave and return whenever we wanted allowing us the much needed freedom to rest from art overload and go to a little romantic cafe whenever we needed a break. Combined with Carte Orange unlimited metro passes, we were unhindered in sightseeing, eating, shopping, relaxing, and soaking up all that is Paris.

Once again I could not help myself from shopping. Partly because I didn't want to look like a traveler when Patrícia would look like her normal elegant self, and partly because it is Paris. It is hard to not buy clothes in this city. I blame it on the French; they are too damn stylish. I also could not resist getting Asterix figures for Eric. I won't discuss what I bought at all the creperies, bakeries, and sweet shops while I have been here--let it suffice to say that I will be eating a bit less for a while.

I couldn't pass up taking my lovely Patrícia to the Moulin Rouge for the caberet show. I asked around and everyone said it was the best in town, so we went. I was expecting to be impressed and I was not dissapointed. First, the interior and atmosphere were beautiful and very romantic. I also arranged to get a very good table at the front center of the first tier--the best seats in the house. Second, the meal with Champagne, foie gras, sea bass, duck confit, and chocolate macaroon was magnificent. Third, the show was everything from amazing to beautiful to stunning to surprising to really funny. The most surprising was when one of the dancers was thrown into a huge glass tank of water, that suddenly rose from the stage, to wrestle/dance/swim with two very large snakes (boas?). The tank was about 15 ft square and 6 ft deep. The sets were spectacular and changed with incredible speed, and the performers, recruited from all over the world, were truly talented. The costumes were over-the-top (and topless) and the choreography was first rate. It was a great night.

Our time in Paris was wonderful. I do not know how we could top it anywhere else. It was hard to let go of Patrícia at the airport and let her return to Brasil. I tried convincing her that she did not need her job, but she kept saying something about needing money to live. I can't wait for us to return.

Day 162 Oh Heavenly Paris!

I forgot how much I love this city: The buildings, cafes, streets, monuments, metro, pastry, food, and the atmosphere. Even most of the French. I love this city. And what could be even better? To be here with a young beautiful woman who loves me. She flies in from Brasil tomorrow morning to spend a glorious week in the city of light. Life is truly good.

I have been spending my few days alone here by wandering the streets, flirting with the sights, and eating. Maybe it is a good thing I did not get here too much before Patrícia or I would be fat when she got here. Oh, the wonders of cassoulet, roasted farmer's chicken, and steak frites. Of course I have to temper all that fat with a little red wine. Life is fantastic here.

I did go to the catacombs by myself. I had forgotten how long of a tour it is.
There are the bones of about six million people in deep alcoves all through the tunnels. Long bones and skulls are arranged to form a "decorative" wall at the front and the rest of the bones are carelessly piled behind. Six million people is mind boggling. It is very dark, water drips from the ceiling, and human skulls are staring at you everywhere you go. Very cool. I wish I could have gotten some better pictures, but the exposures were 15-25 seconds long and I did not have a tripod.

Day 159 Aix-en-Provence

I made a daytrip to Aix-en-Provence and found the city charming. It would be the perfect place for a romantic getaway. The streets are full of lovely, classic old world charm and the Sunday antiques market had the most interesting antiques I have ever seen. I even got the chance to go in a Chagall exposition for free. That was marvelous since I had been very disappointed that I was turned away from the Chagall museum in Nice because my backpack was too big for their checkroom boxes. No matter how I tried they wouldn't let me use one of the many group luggage bins that were plenty big enough. The French do like their rules.

The excitement highlight of the day was when our bus was cut-off in traffic by a subcompact car. Our driver yelled, honked, yelled, tailgated him, and yelled some more in fairly heavy traffic at 120kph, all the while talking away on his cell phone. If the guy ahead of us would have touched his brakes at all, the bus would have eaten his tiny little car.

I went back to Marseille and bought a ticket to Paris on the highspeed TGV train. It is amazing how fast the scenery goes by at 186mph/300kph. It is only a three hour trip instead of 8 or more hours on a regular train.

I am going to Paris to spend a wonderful week with my beautiful Patrícia in the city of light. Then I am off to Rome for a couple days to check out an apartment for my friend Chuck and then I will fly to New York to spend a few days. From there I head to Washington DC to take the Foreign Service Assessment.

Day 158 Marseille

Travel rule number one: Do not assume anything.

I bought a train ticket to Marseille from Nice. The ticket said the train number, Nice as the origin, and Marseille as the destination. Easy and straight forward right? No comment from the clerk about any transfer... I was on the train for about an hour reading when I realized that the train had been at one stop for a long time. Looking around gave me the unpleasant surprise that I was the only person on train. I found the ticket office and inquired within. I was in Grasse, substantially inland from the south coast where I should have been, because I needed to transfer in Cannes. The clerk was very good about giving me new tickets, back to Cannes and then on to Marseille. Luckily I only lost about two hours on the mistake. Note to self: read rule number one again.

Travel rule number two: Don’t second guess yourself; your first reaction is usually right.

The reputation of Marseille being the rough and tumble, drug and crime center of France was reinforced for me when I walked off the train at 10:30 at night, wandered down to the Metro, and in only those 50 meters I saw way too many malevolent looking attitudes for my comfort. Forgetting the metro, I went back up and checked into the hotel next to the station. I had planned on finding a hostel down in the old port area if I arrived earlier but that is reputed to be the worst area for crime. I am very willing to spend a little more money for personal safety.

The next day brought a whole new Marseille. The sun was shining and the city was jumping. I took a room at the Hotel Alize (seen facing you at the far right) on the Marina of the old port. I wandered through the colorful and fragrant flower market, explored the side streets filled with medina-like shops, ate half a pizza rolled up to go, and roamed the fortifications. It was a good day. I loved the city. Prices were great, street food was plentiful, and people were amazingly nice. As the second largest city in France I expected the brusque attitudes and busy demeanors that go with huge cities. Strangely, people were kind and overtly friendly everywhere I went. Maybe it is because the city is not overrun with tourists (they are all scared off by the city’s reputation).

That night I went out to grab some dinner. Everything was fine until I left the main boulevards. The under lit side streets were not friendly. I wasn’t more than fifty feet before someone tried to sell me drugs. I went around the block to the kebab shop by my hotel and ate in my room. I am really glad I did not wander around with my backpack the previous night.

A funny thing happened the next day. I was browsing in a plaza full of people peddling fake watches, belts, purses, and miscellaneous junk. I was standing in the middle of about fifty merchandise laden blankets when a yell went out among the vendors and within thirty seconds everything was gone. A policeman wandered through shortly afterward. He wasn’t interested in chasing anyone, just scaring them off.

Travel rule number three: Eat the best of the world

I had to have bouillabaisse in Marseille, the home of bouillabaisse. I had the best tomato based bouillabaisse of my life at Julia Child’s ninetieth birthday party so I wanted to try something different so as not to spoil the memory. My order came as a tray full of roasted fish and mussels, deboned and tastefully arranged on a large shallow bowl in front of me. The soup stock was added and I was given a bowl of garlic aioli to add as I ate. It was marvelous. God, I love food! It was pair with a delicious white wine too.

Day 156 Nice is Nice

To get to Nice, France from Andorra I had to go in a small, twelve person van down the much more twisting and car sickening, but scenic, north side of the Pyrennes mountains. There is no direct connection with Nice and I had to connect to a train through Toulouse.

I liked what little I saw in Toulouse; the canal that runs through the city is filled with long, narrow, restaurant/house/hotel/store barges. There is a fascinating series of water locks that I would have loved to see in action. Unfortunately, even though I had seven hours to kill waiting for my train, I only had a couple hours before nightfall and I didn’t want to wander the city in the dark with my backpack.

I splurged for a second class bunk for the eight hour overnight trip and was very glad I did. I have been on twenty-two long distance trains so far and I knew I would be miserable in a regular seat for that long. Besides, I was saving money on accommodations.

Nice is nice. The Mediterranean water is a lovely and inviting light teal. The beaches are composed of tiny pebbles at the water’s edge and larger pebbles in the middle, and then imported sand at the back. It gives you the opportunity to lie on the sand if you want or avoid the tenacious, shoreline abrasive by staying on the pebbles.

As a main vacation destination for hordes of Europeans, the city is regretfully heavily tourist oriented and thus priced accordingly even in the off-season. I did find a reasonably priced room with some effort. There is a reason it is priced low: it is on the sixth floor with an elevator that only reaches the third floor, it is a dorm room with six beds, it is in the attic and the sloped roof is too low for me stand up straight. Even so, I had no legitimate complaints to make. It was a warm bed and I am thankful for the few floors reached by the tiny “French” elevator that is barely big enough for me and my backpack.

Food is too expensive. What little street food is here is about twice the price of anywhere else and restaurants are out of the question if you are trying to travel cheap. I understand the appeal of the south coast, but would rather vacation somewhere more charming and less tourist driven. For me, places like this make me feel like I am always being ripped off because they have me over a barrel, and I do not like it.

Day 154 Andorra

Three hours by bus and I am now in Andorra. It is a tiny county wedged high in the Pyrennes between Spain and France. The towns are absolutely beautiful. The tourism office has an easy job. The county appears to be entirely devoted to skiing, private banking, and shopping. The streets are clogged with people carrying snowboards and skis and wearing expensive designer snow suits. The banking industry here is reportedly light on those nasty regulations and questions that plague “legitimate businessmen” with chronic excess liquidity. And there are plenty of places to spend that money.

Ironically, with all the rich folk in the country, it is truly a shopper’s paradise with a vast selection of high quality merchandise at prices that even I could not resist. I have really enjoyed leading a minimalist lifestyle these past five months and yet, what did I find myself buying? Kitchen knives of course! I ran across some Global knives at about half the price of anywhere else. And a ceramic knife too. I couldn’t help myself; it was too good to pass up. The stores here are absolutely astounding. Take liquor for example; I thought Liquor Barn in California was impressive. I had not seen the selection here. They have every alcohol from every part of the world at low prices. I spent an hour just looking at it all. If only I could buy for the future I would stock up. That “Le Gallon” of Pastis was tempting.

The economy must be doing well. You can’t throw a heavy stone in any direction without hitting a construction site. If fact I stood in one place and counted thirty boom cranes.

Unlike anywhere else I have been, this place feels very safe. The police presence is huge, which is not surprising for a place with this many luxury car dealerships: Bentley, Porsche, Hummer, Maserati, Ferrari, Corvette, etc…. It is a playground of the rich. Accordingly, the unpleasant visage of poverty has been banished from the kingdom. The city feels slightly unbalanced and removed from the realities of life. I feel a little guilty for liking the consumerism of this place so much.

Day 151 Barcelona

Even though I was sick, I liked Barcelona right away. It has a more artsy feel than other Spanish cities and, thanks to the remodel for the Olympics, it has newer transportation facilities and is very easy to navigate. I took a room at the “legendary” Kabul backpacker’s hostel right on Plaza Real, next to the entertainingly crowded center of activity that is La Rambla. It is a kilometer long boulevard with a center pedestrian strip of cafes, pet shops flower shops, street performers of all types, lots and lots of people, and an endless source of people watching entertainment.

I had been traveling since Granada with Peter, a classic rough and ready Aussie, and had followed his lead to the accommodations. At first, I was pleased with the hostel, if not my noisy roommates. After all, free breakfast and dinner, free wi-fi, good lockers, great location, and cheap too. I was feeling really lousy and decided to spend the first day in the city in the hostel resting, doing laundry, and catching up on blogging. It was good to relax for a day even if I felt like crud.

The evenings were where I changed my mind about the hostel. The hostel is very slick and well designed to handle large volumes of people. Specifically, people who fly in to party all night and then fly home—not backpackers. There is no guest kitchen or any place that even vaguely resembles a quiet place to sit. The hostel’s main mission is to ply its patrons with cheap beer (2 liters for 4 euro during happy hour) and pummel their brains into party mode with excessively loud dance music. Forget trying to use Skype for anything but text chat. Then trying to sleep with 11 roommates who thought the dorm room was party central until 4 am was not fun. I politely asked them to be quiet or go somewhere else with no effect. Only after I asked them impolitely with a particular four letter word they realize that that tall guy with the blanket and eye mask was serious about sleeping.

I was in no mood for crowds so I went up to beautifully serene Montserrat, about an hour out of the city. A very steep aerial tram carries you up to the monastery perched in the rocky mountains. I walked the route up to the highest chapel; a two and a half hour trek that only took me an hour. And then I rock climbed to the top of the mountain above. It was an excitingly steep climb but the sun was shining and the air was clean and fresh and I could not help myself. At the top I was rewarded with a 360 degree view that took what was left of my breath away. On a weekday it is the epitome of serene-I did not see anyone for four hours. It was nice to sit and smell the wild rosemary that fills the air with its savory scent. Not wanting to go down the same way, I took the much quicker and even more exhilarating way down the other side. I reached another trail and made the mistake of thinking that the path leading down was the way down. Oops. I headed down the valley toward the monastery, climbing down rocks and steep trails. After I went a long way down, I discovered that unless I had ropes and real climbing gear, I would not be going any farther if I was to avoid a painful death. Nothing else to do but to hike back up. Way up. I was already exhausted and the opportunity to get the tram back down was running quickly out. By the time I made it back up I was covered in sweat and strangely itchy. Cue the ominous music here.

I got back to the hostel and took a shower, noticing that I was not only itchy, but also rather patchy red all over. This was bad. I was not feeling like a happy camper. Luckily, I found a pharmacist that spoke enough English to tell me that he thought it was my laundry soap not anything from the mountain. The previous day I had washed everything I owned with the cheap soap from the hostel. Doped up on Clariton and armed with new soap, I proceeded to rewash everything a couple times. The guy was right and the next day I was much better, still sick though. The exertion from climbing was not good for me I think.

I could not stand the noise of the hostel any longer and moved to another eight blocks away. The advertisement said free wi-fi and a kitchen. Of course, after I checked in and paid, I discovered there was no wi-fi and the kitchen was only a sink and a refrigerator. Insert explicative here. The room however was better. Each bed was in its own cubicle with curtains, a light, and an outlet. And quiet roommates.

The city:

The creations of Antoni Gaudi in the city are stunning. Sagrada Familia, La Pedrera, park Guell, among others will leave you stunned. The man was either a genius or a lunatic or possibly both. They are definite must see places if you get anywhere near Spain. I also hit the Picasso and Dali museums. The Picasso museum here gives a good over view of his entire oeuvre, although I like the collection in the Paris museum better. The Dali museum is just plain disturbing. Disturbing as in a so-bizarre-I-can’t-look-away fashion. There is no question that he was either doing some serious drugs or was totally insane. I loved/hated it.

Barcelona is great for such a large city. I saw a lot that I do not have the energy to write about at the moment and there is much I missed that I will have see on another visit. I am too under the weather to really enjoy it.