I've spent less than 24 hours in Paris, seen a few sights, and already I'm ready to move on to the next place. Or even back to Germany, where we stayed with Dani's relatives, had an apartment to ourselves, and people to call and check in on us, take us out to eat, etc.
The train trip to Paris from Nurnberg was very uneventful. We arrived in Paris excited to finally be on our own, eager to see all the things we've spent months pouring over travel books getting info on, and only a little anxious about how we were going to get to our hotel with our luggage and our limited French. (And by limited I mean my French vocab pretty much consists of bonjour, merci, and some things I picked up from watching "Moulin Rouge"! Oh and the numbers 1-8, which I still remember from my days as a ballerina when I was about 6.) Nothing could have prepared us for the impression we were about to encounter.
The first thing I smelled when we stepped out of the train was urine, a smell that seemed to permeate everything in and around the station. Urine in the elevators, on the streets, up the stairs, by the washrooms, standing in line for our metro tickets, it was everywhere! Apparently, the train station we arrived at, on the east end of the city, is located in a really seedy neighbourhood, to say the least. Shady people approached us on the streets asking for something or other, and I can tell you that it wasn't directions! I was scared... I'm from a small town, I've lived a sheltered life, and the feeling of discomfort from walking down those streets was something I don't ever want to experience again. It probably didn't help that we didn't really know where we were going, and that we couldn't understand what the people on the streets where saying to us. I wanted to clam up and disappear, but that wouldn't have done anything.
Somehow we made it without incident to the other train station a few blocks away, where we would buy our metro tickets, our ticket to London, and catch the RER train to our hotel. Dani went and stood in lines for the tickets while I stayed by our luggage and was able to observe the goings-on of one of the busiest train stations in Europe. Here is what I saw (all with the faint stench of urine to accompany it): several pairs of police patrolling the station, more army officials in uniform and carrying guns, a couple of lost Asians who looked just about like I felt- like a fish out of water. There was also the woman who brought her young daughter to the side of the train track in the remote and somewhat secluded corner I was standing in, pulled down her underwear, and made her squat on the edge of the platform. (Now I understand the smell...) Then there was this very very dastardly looking individual, as my dad would say- I can think of no other fitting words, who I watched make a beeline from one of the platforms to the area behind me- a deserted counter hidden behind two large pieces of machinery. As much as I hate stereotypes he looked like your typical dirty-minded but harmless criminal- long greasy hair, dark stubble, faded and worn clothes, and strong BO. He went behind the counter and started sneakily doing something standing over there, with his hands busy and hidden from view behind the counter. I don't want to think about what he could have been doing, it may have been perfectly innocent, I don't know, but it made me nervous. By this time I had been waiting for Dani for about 30 mins, was getting a bit worried, tired, and hungry, and ready to leave if only so I could get away from the creepy man behind the counter. I didn't like Paris anymore.
Thankfully she came back just in the nick of time, with bad news. The train ticket for London had gone up in price from what we had originally thought it was going to be, it raised to somewhere in the vicinity of CDN $400+. We can't afford to pay that much, so we said goodbye to all that we were going to do in London: the really cool hostel, the London Eye, the National Gallery, the pub, the shopping, the English language. We've resigned to the fact that we will have to make a stop somewhere else in place of London. Maybe Milan, maybe Zurich, we don't know yet. Which admittedly, I'm kinda excited about.
Our hotel is pretty decent- the smell of urine is faint enough to get used to after a while, and the staff have been extremely helpful. We finally arrived after a few hours of navigating, all the while carrying all our luggage, flopped on the bed and exclaimed, "I want my mommy!" Today we got lost on the way to the Lourve, ended up hopping on an Open tour bus because we hadn't the faintest idea where we were or how to get to where we wanted to be. It was worth it- we got to see the sights without having to worry about getting there, crossing the street (because let me tell you- Parisian drivers are insane. I'm afraid I will get hit by a car crossing the street when the signal says "pedestrians go", and then bleed to death because the ambulance can't get there in time due to the amount of traffic and the fact that no one moves aside for them), and figuring out the metro and train systems. We are headed to the Louvre after this and all I can think is, "Lord, I hope art has the healing power I've always believed it to hold because otherwise, I hate Paris."
Am I jaded? Yes. Is my first impression of the city wrong and completely based on a string of bad luck and bad experiences, half of which I even left out, also probably yes.
If you have been worried about me, keep worrying. If you haven't, then I'd advise you to start. And hopefully by the time I get around to writing all my postcards from Paris, I've had some positive experiences to write about!