PARIS THE HARD WAY

Friday morning arrived.  Everyone slept pretty well.  We got up around 9am and Isabella got up around 10am.  We had a typical Parisian breakfast of croissants and baguette.  Then being American, we added cereal, orange juice and fruit. 

Grandpa and GG went grocery shopping while the kids were watching some French TV.   By the time we were ready to do something it was noon and so we ate a bite of lunch before setting out to explore Paris.

We thought about going to the catacombs today, but by the time we were ready to leave the house it was too late and the line stretched all around the block.  We decided to go next week and to get up earlier and be in line by 9:30am for a 10 am opening.

GG bought some Paris Passes and we had to go across town to pick them up.  We took the metro, but by the time we got there the office was closed.  We forgot it was Saturday and they close at 1pm on Saturday.  So we have to go back Sunday morning to pick them up before 1pm.

We went back down into the metro, the underground train, and GG and Grandpa tried to buy another carnet (a package of 10 metro passes) because we only had 4 left from our first purchase.  They had a lot of trouble navigating through the machine instructions and finally had to get some help from a native.  We kids waited patiently for a half an hour while they messed around with the machine.  But, since it was lunch time, there was no one at the ticket window, so a machine was all we could use.  A long line of people were waiting for them to finish, growing rather impatient as they waited.

Finally we got our carnet and looked at the map to figure out where we wanted to go.  GG suggested we take a stroll  on the Champs Elysees.  We finally decided which line to take and just as we were going down the last set of stairs two gendarmes (policemen) came running down in back of us, spinning Grandpa around like a top as they shoved past him.  When we got to the platform the two policemen were running up and down the platform area, talking on their walkie-talkies to the policemen across the tracks and looking down the long, dark tunnel.

After some time one of the policemen told us that the line was closed due to a shooting at the next station and we would have to find another route.  Since we had used up most of our carnet GG wanted to talk to the station cashier, who was back from lunch by now, about getting a refund.  After some discussion in French the man understood and began to write on the back of our ticket so we could use it again at another metro station.  In the middle of this he got a call, shoved the tickets back through the window and dropped everything else, flipped his closed sign into the window and ran away in back of his counter.

Oh, well.  Out into the Paris city streets we trudged trying to figure out where we could go to get the metro.  GG and Grandpa had a lot of discussion about the metro map and figured that we would have to go to a completely different line that did not go through the Bonne Nouvelle station.  Finally we got on the metro again, after showing the station agent our annotated billets (tickets) and we went off to the Theodore Roosevelt station.  By now the metro lines were very crowded with people trying to work around the closed lines.

GG made us get off at the Champs Elysees station instead of the Theodore Roosevelt station and this was too early to get off, so we walked and walked and walked along the famous Champs Elysees through crowds and crowds of people.  It seemed like miles of walking.

There were lots of sidewalk cafes and the waiters had to bob and weave their way through the cross traffic, carrying cups of cafe and trays of food to the seating areas across the sidewalk.  We stopped and looked at a fancy Formule 1 race car on display at a car dealership and also a Fiat concept car.  There was a cafe in the Renault car dealership and while Grandpa looked at the small car, kind of like his Smart, we watched a server navigate down the long staircase, balancing two cups of coffee in her hands, and wend her way through the crowds in the showroom and through the door where there was a steady stream of people trying to get into the showroom or go out of the showroom and people milling about inside the showroom.  Then she was out on the sidewalk and had to weave through the throngs of tourists who were looking up or down or to the side and not paying any attention at all to cross traffic.  Miraculously she made it to her customer's table, served their cafe, and then started through the whole process again.  What a job!

About half way along to the Arc de Triomphe there began to be some requests to go home.  We were hot and tired and thirsty.  We staggered the last few blocks, looked dully at the traffic going around and around while GG promised that it would be much more interesting when we got to go up to the top and look down, and then we were done.  So, back to the metro, look at the map, figure out which line we wanted, which direction, find the platform, up and down stairs.  Finally!  We got on the train and sat down.  It was good to rest our feet.  And, we were on the way home for a drink.  We heaved a collective sigh and settled back in our seats for a comfortable ride home.

Oh, no!  Not so quick.  The train took off and went one station and the man came on and said everyone get off, the train is closed due to construction.  OMG!  We were exhausted and we didn't need this.  How do we get home?  

After a lot of discussion and map checking Grandpa decided we would take the 63 bus.  We trudged along, too exhausted to appreciate the Eiffel Tower as we stood in the plaza in front of it looking like Zombies while Grandpa took a picture.

Around the circle to get the bus.  Oops, wrong group of buses, go back to where we came out of the metro and wait, then try to explain to the bus driver about our used tickets and the problem with the shooting in the Metro.  Finally we got on the crowded bus and rode for a long distance, passing by many of the important Paris points of interest and not caring a fig,  before we got off the 63 and waited for the 32.

This time we didn't even try to explain the ticket issue.  We just went in the back door and skipped the ticket process altogether.  GG figured if a fare inspector fingered us she would explain at that time.  

This line was even more crowded than the 63 and we were squashed into the bus like sardines.  There was a man standing next to grandpa who kept pressing up against him.  It was so hot and grandpa was sweating like crazy in that crowded bus and he got mad that this man, with garlic breath, BTW, was pushing him, so he used his big guy tactics to elbow the man.  Next the man was standing next to GG and all of a sudden she felt some fingers wiggling in her pocket.  That man was trying to pickpocket her!!!

Well, ha ha to him.  All he got were 3 used metro tickets because the purse he could feel in the pocket was actually attached to a a belt and not in the pocket, but tucked into the waist of her pants under an the elastic waistband.  GG was very mad about this attempt because she has just recently forgiven Paris for the time she did get pickpocketed 35 years ago.  She jabbed the guy in the ribs and loudly yelled "OH! He is trying to pickpocket me!"  So, he got off at the next stop.

After this exhausting trek we finally made it home and took off our sweaty clothes and rested.  The kids wanted to take a nap, but GG was afraid they would be out until 2am if she let them sleep very long, so she fixed dinner and then got everyone up around a half an hour later.

After dinner the kids played with their electronics for a bit and gave up their clothing to the laundry bag.  Brendan was out cold by 8pm and GG had lights out by 9pm.  Bryce just had to wake Brendan up then and there was a bit of trouble getting everyone to sleep.  Finally GG had to take Bryce's electronics away and everyone fell asleep and the house was quiet and dark by 10:30.

We all hope tomorrow is a less difficult day.

Grandpa's comment, "and that's what life is all about in Paris--those wonderful memories we will never forget. Now I have yet one more story to tell.  If you don't read this now, don't worry, I will tell it to you at least 10 times in the future.  Oh well, that's what you do when you get older. I can hardly wait to relate this story to Jim, our neighbor, at least five times over the next few months. The stories many Americans tell about Paris and the French being rude, I have never found to be true. Parisians have tried to help us with directions on our Metro map and purchasing tickets at the machine and giving directions on the street.  True Parisians really offer a lot of friendship and help. Americans need to remember the reason we travel to France is "Vive la Difference!"