spring break pt. 3: a continuation of paris

And we’re back.

I don’t exactly remember falling asleep Friday night, but at some point I went from having my book in my hands to the sun shining and me under the covers. Caroline told me that she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and by then time she came back, I was passed out cold. Only to be expected after pulling an all-nighter. When I pulled my groggy self out of bed on Saturday morning, we wandered down the street to a bakery. With the pitiful excuse for French that we picked up in high school and a decent amount of pointing, we ordered breakfast. The whole thing could pretty much be boiled down to bread and sugar – almond pastry and croissant. It also came as a great relief to get a properly big cup of coffee.  All for next to nothing, cost wise. Bellies fat and happy, filled with caffeine and sugar, we hit the streets. It was raining, so we decided to go to the Lourve in hopes that by the time we got out the weather would improve.

My traveling buddy was not as enthusiastic about lengthy looks at portraits, so we made it through the paintings and sculptures in a decent amount of time – making sure to hit all of the famous pieces and only dawdling in front of portraits for a little while. Now I can check the Mona Lisa off my “seen it” list. I probably could have spent all day looking at the paintings, but it was probably good that I had someone nipping at my heels a little bit. 

Mona Lisa: check.

After the Lourve, the sun was indeed shining and so we headed across the river toward the Latin Quarter - it's name deriving from the study of Latin because that quarter houses the University of Paris. Not, as I originally thought, a section of town where I would be able to get a decent taco. 

 Deciding that it was about time for lunch, we passed by the Michael the Archangel memorial and wove through some side streets until we found a restaurant offering a decent fixed-price lunch with the promise of real French cuisine. We were led to our table upstairs and soon after being seated, I heard the familiar nasal of a Midwestern American. Intrigued, I turned around to see two girls about our age about to be seated not far from us. As I’ve said before, something about traveling suddenly cancels out any disinclination to talk to strangers so I immediately made my inquiry, “where ya from?” They looked at me puzzled so I clarified, “You’re American, right? I heard your accent.” They indeed were, Massachusets and Indiana natives. In true red, white, and blue fashion we talked loudly across the restaurant for a moment before I decided that shouting wasn’t the most polite thing to do in a restaurant and thus, invited the girls to eat with us. An apparel merchandising and law-something or other major, they were doing work-study program in London, they were visiting Paris for the weekend. We ordered – the restaurant had a three course, fixed price meal. Score. We chatted a bit about what everyone was doing, compared notes on living in London (I spent six weeks there two summers ago). The girls were nice enough, but the conversation did run a little dry after a while. 

Also, the apparel merchandising major didn’t finish her dessert, which means that she obviously couldn’t be trusted… just kidding. But seriously, who doesn’t finish dessert?  It was nice to talk to some new people, but by the time the checks came Caroline and I were quite relieved that the two girls had hit our intended destinations earlier in the day so that we could go our separate ways without awkwardness. We bid our Midwestern friends “au revoir” and plunged further into the Latin Quarter. In Paris Caroline met the sugary goodness that is crepes for the first time and after her first bite on Friday afternoon her appetite for more was well, insatiable. In the wake of our hour of nearing painful-ish small talk, we felt like we deserved some sugary goodness. 

Having made our way significantly out of the touristy areas, we found a small crepe stand tucked between two storefronts, and right across the street from the University of Paris: College of Oceanography building. The building may not have actually been the College of Oceanography, but it had something to do with oceans as the front door was adorned with a decently large, bronze octopus. Which is awesome. We ordered our crepes in broken French and for our efforts were rewarded with a chocolate filled for Caroline and a banana and sugar for me. mmmmm. Munching on our treats, we wandered further on, stumbling across the Marie Curie institute, and Pasteur’s laboratory. Up and down the cobble stone streets, we explored neighborhoods of shops and restaurants and bars, imagining what college life would be like in Par-eeee.

Our feet were beginning to scream and the day was fading just a little so we decided that it was time to slowly head back toward our hostel. On our way back we stopped to gawk at the Notre Dome. It was hard not to sing the Disney songs all the way through. But there were a ton of “silence please” signs hanging around the inside of the

sanctuary, so I at least was limited to singing it inside my head. From there we jumped on the Metro, with still a few hours left of daylight we went a few stops too far so that we could do some exploring on our way back. Caroline had heard of an open market not far from where we were staying, which we made our destination. It wasn’t hard to spot as we made our way down the street. The curbs were lined with fruit and fish and socks and anything else you could ever imagine. As we entered into the fray, we were mobbed by people holding iPhones, lip gloss, and a whole different array of products. Pressing in like a gnat cloud, “You want phone?” “you want laptop?” rang out in an urgent chorus. It was the first time in traveling that I really thought, “not the best place for me to be right now”. We fought our way through the crowd quickly, dodging dodgy salesmen left and right until we reached the other side. Caroline and I giggled in a post-stress rush, it wasn’t the kind of dangerous that we were going to get taken or even mugged, but we definitely needed to get the heck out of there.

When we got back to our street we stopped in the grocery store to pick up some cheese and wine, then made our way to a corner bakery for fresh bread and desserts. Starving, sore, and sleepy, we went back to the hotel. We met the managers at the doorway, they were such sweet and lively people that we didn’t have the heart to escape conversation despite our aching legs. So, we stood and talked to them for what seemed like forever, but it was probably only like ten minutes. When we were finally able to say goodnight, we made our way up the narrow spiral staircase. We were almost at our room when the bag that Caroline was carrying broke, sending our cheese rolling off the side of the stairwell and down three flights. Good thing no one was standing underneath or else it would’ve been death by cheese. Caroline scrambled back down, “sorry, sorry!” as I grabbed the rest of our scattered dinner. Luckily, our cheese was a champ and survived the fall. Once we had made it into our room, we feasted.

Caroline was on a 7am flight, which meant that she was catching a 4am shuttle to the airport, so we decided to call it an early night. The next morning, I awoke to find her gone. With my backpack now smelling a bit like dirty socks and seven days of travel, I got my stuff together and headed out. The hotel manager sent me on my way with a croissant in hand and in the grey light of a Paris morning, I made my way to Paris Nord – the train station. There, I boarded the 8:45 train to Amsterdam.

So there you have it. Spring break in a nutshell. Not too shabby if I do say so myself. 

la belle France