Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Wednesday, Sept. 24, 2003 - 11:10 p.m.

Have you guys seen the new Nextel ad? It's awesome. Truly. Romeo & Juliet condensed to 30 seconds. Sheer brilliance. Whomever thought of that is a frickin' genius, my friends. I am not kidding. It really is just brilliant.

So...it seems some time ago I promised to again pick up the tale of my journey to Paris. Alas, life did get in the way for a time, but I have some time to kill this very evening...oh crap. No, I don't. ::shrug:: Oh well. Let's start that over.

So...it seems some time ago I promised to again pick up the tale of my journey to Paris. Alas, life did get in the way for a time there - and indeed, still is, since I just remembered I have to make a necklace for my friend Wendy because I promised I'd give it to her tomorrow night after work, when we gather to celebrate the birthday of Wendy's friend Sharon, who seems a decent person, though I find most of Wendy's friends incredibly tedious users - but since I was in a frame of mind for Paris recounting when I sat down here, what the hell, let's live life on the edge and try to fit both into what remains of my night...damned Law & Order, anyway. Why the hell did I watch that cheap show? It's a ridiculously guilty pleasure, I suppose. I put my brain on hold during that hour, since it's not particularly well-written - in fact, most times it's amazingly weak - and the actors frequently chew major scenery, plus it has that guy who used to be an actor who played uptight conservative Republican policy makers and then went to Washington to actually be an uptight conservative Republican policy maker and who is now once again an actor who plays uptight conservative Republican policy makers...hmm. It really is only a matter of time before everything on tv is "reality" programming, huh?

Anyway, I digress. I sat down to tell the story of Paris - Day 3 and maybe 4, anyway - so by golly, that's what I'm a-gonna do.

Actually, I sat down to tell you guys that Nextel commercial is scathingly brilliant and awesome, and then decided to tell you about Paris, but let's not quibble, since I'm pretty overdue on Day 3 and maybe 4, 'kay? So here we go.

Katie's Adventures in Paris, Part the Long Overdue Second
I forgot to tell you guys about the debacle that was the downloading of pictures from the digital camera to MP's uncle's Mac. See, the software for the little upload device came with pretty slender directions, and that, coupled with the fact that I am not always good with directions, did not mix well with the fact that the Mac is all in French, being, as it is, in Paris and belonging to a Frenchman. So none of us could figure it out, because the directions were in English and the computer was in French, and never the twain did meet, because the "english" in the directions was the type written by someone who doesn't actually *speak* english as a first language, PLUS, I have discovered that most terms in computerese are not exactly universal. For instance, instead of compose, french computers say "write." Apparently, french is an exceedingly economic language. Which means whereas we in America have different terms for pretty, attractive, lovely, cute, and adorable, just to choose one example off the top of my rather limited head, the french have just one: jolie. Which means pretty. As for oh, say, nice, cool, neat, awesome, cute, nifty, great, and fabulous, the french say sympa. Which you say sorta like sampa. That pretty much drove me nuts, because I am all about choosing the exact word for a given situation, and being tied to a vocabulary of about 12 adjectives was pretty limiting, but whatever. The bottom line is that it took a very long time to get the setup going, and everyone got involved but the dog. So that was Day 2. I did mention the camera eating all my totally bitchin' fountain photos, yes? I'm still pretty bitter about that.

Anyway, Day 3 was an easy day. I had my first trip to an actual French market - le marche - and bought actual real french bread. Baguettes, which they give to you with naught but a square of tissue paper wrapped around the middle of the loaf or loaves, just big enough for the palm of your hand. I found that rather interesting...and in subsequent trips, when I was the one purchasing the bread and bringing it home alone, I was rather nervous walking under trees and eaves, in the fear that a wandering pigeon, of which Paris has billions, would choose one of my loaves of bread on which to make a deposit. Buying bread is a precarious occasion when one is in Paris...

I might note at this time for the record, that I am not at all certain either pigeon or occasion are correctly written in the above paragraph. They look odd to me.

After the market and downloading photos, we had a nummy lunch of ravioli in marinara with olives, which was really good, and the world's best vinaigrette in the entire world, which Marie-Pierre learned to make from her aunt Annie, and which I have still been unable to master, despite smuggling real french dijon into the country and having purchased sunflower oil with which to make it. But I keep trying, so there's always hope. I also need to find someplace here that makes real french bread, because I gotta tell ya, after you've had the real thing, the crap you find here is truly abysmal...

After lunch, we took the Metro to the Champs Elysees - le Champs - and the Arc de Triomphe. We wandered around that and took photos - I took quite a few; MP marvelled at my propensity for picture-taking - and then we "cooled off" (78 degrees instead of 85) in a movie theatre watching this animated film called Les Triplettes du Belleville, which was very funny and more than a little odd, about this little kid who lives with his grandmother and just mopes around all the time, so she buys him this bike and he gets into cycling and ends up in the Tour de France, until these weird square shaped mafia guys snag him off of the Tour and force him to race with 2 other guys in front of a movie screen of the course, hooked up to an i.v. of red wine, until the gramma, his faithful dog, and les Triplettes - who used to be all the rage in the 30's - show up to rescue him. If you get the chance, you should rent it. There's almost no dialogue, so you don't have to read it or anything, and it really is pretty funny until it gets odd, and then it's still amusing. But you will need to know that a van trails along after the racers in the TdF, or a pivotal plot point will make no sense to you whatsoever.

On the way home, we stopped to buy me underwear, because some asshole baggage handler opened my bag and stole all but 4 pair of my frigging underwear, and no, I do NOT want to think about why, thank you very much for asking. If it were like fancy lacy underwear or something like that, it might make sense to me, but it was all my favorite, plain cotton, comfy underwear, damn him to hell. Frickin' Air Canada better pay me back for it, that's all I got to say. We came home from there, and I wrote The Boyfriend while MP made dinner and more of that incredibly delicious vinaigrette of hers. I'm serious - if she bottled it and sold it here, she could make a *fortune*. MP asked me over dinner how I manage to meet people from my neck of the woods out of all the tourists in Paris - every single person we'd met over my first 3 days were either from LA or Texas. And that was pretty much true my entire trip, except for one family from Tennessee.

By Day 3, I had pretty much decided I love Paris. The streets are all cobblestone and most of the buildings are either old or seem to be. There's something old or grand and full of grace everywhere you go. Even the view from MP's apartment is of slate tiles and traditional french architecture. I figured I was going to hate leaving. If I hadn't missed TB so much, I probably would have figured out a way to stay...except for the heat, which I admit really made it a LOT easier to leave. That and the flu, but we'll talk about that later.

Day 4 was July 14, the Fete Nationale, which, my friends was absolutely amazing. I wish I'd written about it in my journal, but I was so exhausted, I didn't get to it that night, and the next day there was so much, I figured I'd cover it the day after, and I think you can pretty much see the pattern there. But it was the coolest thing EVER. I love Bastille Day. Everyone goes to the Eiffel Tower about 9 or 9:30, which is still broad daylight in Paris, which is totally cool. The whole time I was there, it was light until at least 10:00 at night, which is just the coolest thing ever. You can sleep until noon and still have *tons* of daylight to mess around in. But anyway, we headed over there after a day of mostly doing nothing, I think...or we probably did, but I have no idea what, because it was totally eclipsed by the Fete Nationale. We stood under the Eiffel Tower, between the Northwest and Southwest pylons, and there were people literally for miles behind us and all around us. The whole place was FULL of people. I don't know what the official number was, but it had to have been at least 200,000 people, and there was no violence of any sort, which would like, never happen in America. I'd be surprised if there were fewer than half a million or more people there. It started over an hour late, because the entertainment people were on strike, and the fireworks people wanted to make a show of solidarity. Before the show started, the head of the entertainment union got to make a speech about how terrible it was we had to wait an hour and wouldn't it be worse if we'd never gotten to see anything at all, and the whole crowd whistled, which is how the French boo, and then after another 20 or 30 minutes, the fireworks finally started. They pick a theme for the fireworks display every year, and this year it was Paris, so all the music was about Paris, and it was really a great range of music, mostly french, but some american, and just in general very cool. They have different fireworks over there than we do, too, so I got to see stuff I have never seen before in my life, and there was all this great music, and a couple of times these white strobe lights all over the entire Tower started flashing with the stuff, and at one point, I admit it, I cried. All I could think was I am standing in Paris, underneath the Eiffel Tower, watching amazing fireworks, and it was just too much to handle. Totally the coolest thing ever, my friends. It. Rocked.

Of course, when it was over, we had to literally *run* the two miles back to the Metro station, because the last train at that station was at 12:45, and the fireworks weren't over until 12. But it was worth it, my friends. It was worth it.

Plus, I impressed a group of guys who were kicking this can down the street, which I found really annoying after half a mile or so, since they kept kicking it to just behind me, and my nerves were on edge from all the friggin M80 firecrackers people kept setting off, so when they finally kicked it past me, I seized my opportunity and kicked it away and then kicked it again, right into the drain in the gutter, and then I felt really guilty because they laughed and applauded the first time I kicked it and said sympa, and then when I kicked it into the drain, they yelled But! which means goal and applauded, and I felt bad because I just did it so they couldn't have their annoying little toy any more. So yes, I learned a lesson, tho' I will not vouch for how long it will last. And people, you do not know jumpy until you are in an incredibly large crowd, and some are setting off insanely loud explosions every so often. And if it hadn't been for September 11, I can't say for sure, but I don't think it would have stressed me out as much as it did, but as it was, it was extremely unnerving.

And that brings us to the end of the second part of Katie's Adventures in Paris, Days 3 and 4. :)

Peace out,
Katie

2 comments so far

I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles...

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