Eight Days in Paris

It was fun coming back to Paris after 11 years.  I was able to retrace my steps and see how much things had changed.  I actually didn’t expect anything to change since the city was already so old, but change is inevitable no matter the age of the city.  One thing that hadn’t changed was the high cost… of everything.  The thought of retracing my steps was much more fun than the realization that I couldn’t afford to actually retrace my steps.  We wanted to walk up the Eiffel Tower, not just marvel at it from the ground.  We wanted to go inside the Louvre museum, not just look at the glass pyramids marking its place.  Unfortunately, Paris is a city you need money to truly enjoy and we had run out of money.

 When we arrived in Paris we couldn’t afford the luxury of a metro ticket.  We were very blessed to have a place to stay because our friends in Lille had arranged for us to stay in their friend’s vacant apartment.  The apartment was being used as an office, but the owner had an accident and was temporarily disabled and therefore working from home.  The apartment had a sofa bed, TV, full bathroom, a fridge and a microwave.  We had everything we would need for the week and we were grateful not only for a place to stay but for some time to ourselves. 

We only had €12 to last us until Randy’s next check came and even though the check was expected any day, we weren’t sure how long we would have to wait.  So we had to get very creative with our meals; only things that could be cooked in a microwave and nothing over €1 if we could help it.  If we were in Portugal, Berlin, or even Spain we wouldn’t have worried about it.  But we were in one of the most expensive cities in the world and that brought a bit of stress every day.  We bought a lot of bread and some butter.  We bought cans of food that we could mix together and easily microwave.  The first night we had cream of mushroom soup with chickpeas.  Other nights we would have franks and beans or tuna, peas, kidney beans and olive oil salad.  We had ravioli from a can for lunch a couple of days and just a package of hotdog weenies for dinner another night.  Bread was our filler during the day, since it was the cheapest.  It was a long way from the glamorous meals we were eating in Lille, but we did our best to be creative and we got by.

The weather was cold and raining (no surprise), so we spent most of our time in the apartment watching music videos and old movies.  We now know a handful of popular songs (and their music videos) that played about a million times just in the one week we were there.   With the weather being unpredictable, we having to walk everywhere, and having no umbrella, we took short day trips to see the sights.  As the week went on we spent more time outside sightseeing. Of course, we saw all of the famous architecture like the Eiffel Tower, Arch de Triumph, Notre Dame, Louvre pyramids, the Opera house, the Sacred Heart….the list goes on.  If it was in Paris and it was a famous, we saw it.

On Thursday we met up with a friend of a friend, Laurent.  He was living with his wife, Emmanuelle, and son, Paul-Loup, in a flat just a couple of blocks from the apartment we were staying in.  We had a lovely walk around town with him where he gave us a bit of French history and insight.  We ate lunch and saw places I have never been in Paris like Sacred Heart (Sacré Coeur) and the Moulin Rouge as well as some great local markets.  Then we picked up Paul-Loup from daycare and he was all smiles when he saw us, not shy at all, holding on to his favorite Llama.  We picked up some cheese and bread for dinner and went back to their flat. Randy played with Paul-Loup before he got his bath, then dinner and bed for him.  We waited a bit for Emmanuelle to come home from a work cocktail party then we ate Quiche Lorraine then chocolate cake for dessert that she made with Paul-Loup the night before.  We enjoyed some great conversation with them and learned a little bit about them and Parisian life.

We were to leave early Sunday morning so we spent Saturday doing all of our last minute sightseeing.  Well, we tried anyway.  Randy’s check had finally come so we had a bit of money to enjoy (finally).  I wanted to see the catacombs because they sounded awesome, neither of us had seen any before, it was probably the cheapest sightseeing we could afford (€4, youth 14 -26), and the Parisian catacombs were famous.  If we were going to see any, this was our last opportunity.  We headed down on foot and when we arrived we saw a line at the door that wrapped around the corner.  I asked Randy what time it was and he said 2:00p.m.  Well, the men monitoring the line said the wait was about 45 minutes and the last entry was at 4:00p.m.  I figured we would make it inside, no problem.  That was until we realized Randy’s watch was still on Portugal time (1 hour behind).  So those guys monitoring the line were actually giving us a warning that we were cutting it close and might not make it inside today.   This was the only activity I had been able to do since we came to Paris so I was keeping my hopes up and praying we would get in before they closed the doors.  Well, my prayers fell short because we got to the very front of the line (we were next to go in) when the door man said “No more”.  I begged and pleaded with him in my best French, “seulement deux, s'il vous plaît, deux.”  He took no pity on me or the fluent French group behind us who begged him for a longer period.  I’m sure he hears that from tourists every day so I can’t blame him, but my dreams felt crushed as I watched them pull in the rope and close the door.

In a sour mood we headed toward the Champs-Élysées where a winter festival was taking place along the street between the famous shopping street and the Louvre.  The festival consisted of tons of white (North Pole type) huts that sold food, drinks, and Christmas gifts.  There were rides for the kids, sculptures made out of old trees, pictures with Santa, and an ice sculpture exhibit (which we couldn’t afford to see).  It took me a little while to lighten up after my world came crashing down at the catacombs entrance, but once I started enjoying myself Randy and I both had a great time walking from booth to booth.  We tried a bit of the food and randy got some great pictures.  It was a wonderful way to end our visit to Paris (despite the frigid weather).   

Notre Dame Entry Doors

The tiny "3" person elevator in the apt building 

Of course, Le Tour Eiffel

Arc de Triomphe

Randy tried caviar at the winter festival

Relaxing at the Tuileries Gardens

Outside of the Louvre

Can you say Cascais?

             Again, we came to Portugal with no idea of what to expect.  It was just another obscure country that no one really talks about.  And, as it turns out, its not very easy to get there by train.  We later learned that the reason for only one train between Madrid and Lisbon is because Portugal had been under dictator rule well into the 20^th century which caused them to stay disconnected from the rest of Europe with limited railroads in and out of the country. 

            We were staying with some couch surfers in a suburb of Lisbon in the city of Cascais (which in Portuguese is pronounced cash-caish).  Maybe it was our love of the beach or perhaps because we hadn’t seen the coast in months, but as soon as we arrived in Cascais we felt at home and, despite our exhaustion, went straight to the beach.   We had a couple of hours to kill until our hosts could pick us up so Randy went exploring the beach and found some cool shells. 

            We learned a lot about Portugal in the first few hours with our hosts.  We found the Portuguese language fascinating and not Latin sounding at all.  We always thought it sounded like a weird version of Spanish, but in fact it sounded to us like Russian.  We also learned that Brazilian Portuguese is much softer and sounds “prettier” which, after watching a Brazilian soccer player being interviewed, I agree.  Brazilian Portuguese actually sounds Latin and (not surprisingly) there are quite a few Brazilians in Portugal so I heard it spoken a few times. 

            Our hosts were very kind and well-traveled couple, Vania and Tiago, and we all got along famously.  Tiago had actually worked in Los Angeles for a couple of years as a film editor, until he got sick of it and moved back to Portugal.  They are now planning to move and study in Australia for a couple of years.  So if we ever get down under we will have to visit them there.  On our first day in town they drove us to some popular tourist points right away.  One of those tourist attractions was the furthest point West in Europe, getting us the closest to home that we would ever be on this trip.  After a little sightseeing, we ate traditional Portuguese food for lunch at a small restaurant (without tourists).   Our meal was served family style, with a variety of meat and cooked veggies on a large plate.  It was here I tried blood sausage for the first time and was pleasantly surprised when it was rather tasty.   After lunch we did a little more sightseeing in the town on Sintra where an old Moorish castle, town, and monastery are still in use.  Here we tried a popular Portuguese pastry which was like an egg custard filled filo dough covered in sugar.  I could not for the life of me remember the name of this pastry but it was delicious.  It was not the Pasteis de Nata, which is a famous Portuguese pastry, which we were supposed to try in Belém, but sadly never made it.  The basic rule to finding food in Portugal is to look for the busiest restaurant (most often with a line out the door).  This pastry shop in Sintra was the best place to go for these pastries because they were always busy so your pastry was hot and fresh and therefore, well worth the wait. 

            The next couple of days Randy and I were on our own to explore Lisbon.  Lisbon is not a large city really, but everything felt spread out (like Los Angeles), there were a lot of hills, and we spent those first two days without a map.  So we got lost most of the time, couldn’t find a tourist office (despite directions from several people on different occasions), and we were out of money so we could only ride the metro when we absolutely had to.  Despite our setbacks and a little bit of rain we managed to see most of the city.  On our second day of sightseeing we spent a good amount of time at the seaside so Randy could get pictures of the amazing cloudy sky.  While he was crouching to get a shot, the Channel 1 news reporter walked up to him for an interview.  They asked him why he was out shooting pictures in bad weather.  He was on the Portuguese news later that night. (Check out the clip if you can http://tv2.rtp.pt/noticias/?t=Mau-tempo-alerta-laranja-em-parte-do-pais.rtp&headline=20&visual=9&article=390018&tm=8 and wait for Randy at the end) They said something like "Californian likes bad weather"

                Our last day there the weather finally cleared up so we spent a day at the beach in Cascais.  We were supposed to walk up the coast to Belém but we never made it.  There was a good swell that day which attracted a lot of surfers.  Randy walked out onto the jetty and started photographing the surfers.  Before we knew it, a couple of hours had past and we were still there taking pictures.  One of the surfers (a Brazilian) with very limited English wanted Randy to take pictures of him surfing and e-mail them to him.  So we stayed on the jetty for the rest of the day.  And as the tide got higher the waves came up higher and higher on the jetty, eventually catching us off guard and getting our bags all wet.  We attempted to dry things in the sun but the damage was done and most things were soggy and/or ruined.  So as the day went on we ended up moving closer inland.  And as the day came to an end I had to pull Randy away from the surfers because we had to meet our hosts in Lisbon for dinner.  So we walked along the boardwalk until it ended in another little town on the way to Lisbon. 

                We enjoyed our last night out bar hopping with our hosts and their friend.  The next day we packed our bags and headed out for another long train ride and a mostly sleepless night to Paris.   

From Prague to Portugal

            Some might call us crazy. Heck, I would call us crazy, but we had to be in Portugal by Sunday, so we only had 2 days to get there from Prague. When we tried to make official arrangements by train ahead of time (ie. Seat reservations) we were told it would take 3 days to get there. We decided to try our luck and just wing it. I knew we could get there in 2 days, but at what cost?

            We woke up at 5 a.m. on Nov. 5^th, 2010, and headed down to the bus stop. We missed the 5:47 a.m. bus by a couple of minutes and would have wait until 6:07 a.m. for the next bus, which was cutting it close for the 6:31 a.m. train we were trying to catch. If we missed that train, we would never make it to Portugal in 2 days. By the grace of God we made it to the train in time and headed to Frankfurt, thinking, so far so good. Unfortunately, that train was 20 minutes late arriving in Frankfurt which caused us to miss the train to Paris. We had to wait for a couple of hours until the next train.

            We hopped on the next train to Paris but because the train was full and we had no reservation we had to stand with a crowd of people in the cafeteria car for the 3 hour trip.  We arrived in Paris a little after 8 p.m. and looked as to when the next train to Spain would depart. My Eurorail time table showed a night train leaving at 11:10 p.m., but the train station departure board said the next train for Spain wasn’t leaving until 6 a.m. the next morning. We were thoroughly confused and because the ticket counters were closed for the night we couldn’t get anyone to help us. We started to dread that we would have to sleep in the train station, which would be worse than any train. I was determined to figure out what was wrong. I stared at the Eurorail timetable, trying to understand where I went wrong. There were seven train stations in Paris, but as far as I could tell we were in the right one. Until I looked closer and saw an A next to the departure time, which meant that there was an exemption for that specific train. The exemption was this:  A: Paris Austerlitz ● →. I looked it up in the explanation of symbols. ● → meant that the train was leaving from another station. Blast!

So, without a map, at about 10 p.m. we set out to find this other train station. The seemingly only person still working that late was a woman who told us we could grab a bus just outside and it would take about 30 minutes. We dashed out to the bus depot, only to find we had to wait 15 minutes for the next bus, which was going to cut it close to our train departure again. Luckily, the 30 minute prediction wasn’t completely accurate and we arrived at the station in about 20 minutes. Now we had to try our luck and get on the night train without a reservation (which are required on all night trains). We walked up to the train check point and told them our situation. Luckily, the French don’t really care about such things so they laughed at little (I believe at our expense) and then let us on, no problem. The train departed at 11:10 p.m. and we were safely on board.

Our elation to be on the train was shortly lived once we realized the small and uncomfortable seats we were sitting in were the same seats we would be sleeping in.   

Like a blast from the past, this train from the 70’s had small seats that barely reclined and gave little leg room. The 70’s brown décor was complete with matching linoleum flooring, which was usually only seen on the intercity metro and trams.  The arms went up so you could at least attempt to spread out by laying across the two seats and either scrunch you legs up to your chest or just let them hang over into the isle.  There was a man diagonally across from me that slept in every possible position that night. I was jealous that he seemed to actually sleep several times during the night. I’m not sure I slept at all. The next morning we arrived in Irún, Spain.

Now I will go back a little to when I had my passport stolen.  I had the choice of getting an emergency passport right away (valid for 3 months) or waiting for two weeks to get a new permanent passport. We were told by our French friends that traveling without a passport would be no problem if I just wanted to put in for a new passport, continue our travels, and then come back in two weeks for my passport. Well, Randy and I thought it best to be safer and get an emergency passport instead. And it’s a good thing I did because we were met by a welcome committee of undercover police when we arrived in Irún. First we were asked for passports on the train before we entered Spain, and then we were stopped and asked again after we got off the train (before they would even let us in the station). Both times I was asked why I didn’t have an entrance visa stamp (which I realize now is ironic after I learned that my friend, who flew into Spain, did not get her passport stamped when she arrived).  Anyway, after a passport cross examination, we had to buy a reservation for the train to Madrid, then get our reservation tickets checked, and then put our bags through an x-ray machine before we could board the train. And that is how they do it on the French and Spanish boarder; unlike any other train station we have been too. It was a little obnoxious.

As if to make up for the horrible ride in, we were pleasantly surprised with the train to Madrid.  It was new, the seats were spacious and we even had in-transit entertainment (even though it was in Spanish).  So, with my complimentary earphones I watched “The Painted Veil” en Español.  We arrived in Madrid in the afternoon where we were disappointed to find that the only train to Lisbon was at 10:25 p.m.  We had eight hours to kill and no money.  We couldn’t go out and see Madrid, we had to sit in this tiny, dingy train station.  Randy had his book on his phone, so he had no problem with sitting for a while.  I on the other hand had finished reading Gulliver’s Travels and was looking at staring at the wall for eight hours. 

As I said, the train station was small, especially for a capitol city like Madrid.  It looked like it’s glory days had been in the 70’s or 80’s and no new money has come in since.  Between the small handful of stores to shop at, there were two tiny book stores to look through.  The first book store had nothing in English.  It was almost pointless to go to the second book store because it was the same store and I figured it would carry the same books (although that would defeat the purpose of have two stores in one small location).  I took a chance and went to the second book store; After all, I had 8 hours to kill.  After scanning Spanish book title after Spanish book title I was about to admit defeat when I came across some English words.  “Am I imagining this?” I thought.  No, the book cover was in English.  Still doubtful, I started flipping through the book because I was sure the text would be in Spanish.  It was like a mirage, I wasn’t sure if I was really seeing English on the pages or if I was suddenly fluent in Spanish.  Sure enough, it was English.  Not only that, but it was the only English copy and probably the only English book in the entire train station.  It was probably the biggest book in the train station as well, with a total page count of 851.  But the book was actually the kind of historical based fiction I like to read and I didn’t have to worry about running out of things to read for the rest of our trip, so I was willing to lug it around.  I had the biggest grin on my face when I brought the book back to Randy.  We had very little space to be adding anything to our load, let alone Madrid’s largest novel.  Randy looked very annoyed but didn’t put up much of a fight over it.  The purchase was made and I had nothing else to read, so he let it go.

We were optimistic about the night train to Lisbon after our pleasant journey from Irún to Madrid.  Well, I was anyway, until our train arrived and we saw what kind of night we were in for.  The train was very similar to our night train from Paris to Spain, except it was worse still.  The décor was more 60’s style teal colored wool seats and curtains with linoleum floor, no leg room to speak of, and the arm rests did not move.  You were stuck in your upright position with no hope of stretching out unless you lay on the floor.  A few passengers did sleep on the floor and I wish I had too.  I tried leaning my head against the window but even that didn’t work since the heat was blasting through the vent between my seat and the window.  I was actually missing the awful seats from the night before.   I tossed and turned and tried awkward positions all night. By the time we arrived in Lisbon at 9a.m. my feet and ankles were completely swollen and they did not go back to normal for 24 hours.  What did I learn from that experience?  Next time I go to Portugal, I will take a plane.
The point of this story........WE MADE IT FROM PRAGUE TO PORTUGAL IN 2 DAYS!!!  We are awesome!

On a whim to Prague

After the whole no Barcelona and no passport debacle, we suddenly realized we had spent over a week in Lille (4 days longer than planned) and we thought that maybe our welcome might be wearing thin with our host. We needed to get on with our trip and leave as soon as possible. We went to the computer to see where we could afford to run off to on such short notice. And where should we have picked but the furthest possible country that our Eurorail passes would take us to. Prague, Czech Republic. We booked a train trip on Monday and we headed out the next day.

On a personal note I would like to say, all political issues aside, how sad I am that Czechoslovakia split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia because the one word together is much more fun to say than the newer country names. But I’m sure it’s for the best. Back to the blog…

Yes, we set out for a full day of travel and an uncomfortable night of sleep on a train. And it was worth it to reach the promised land of low cost living and cheap entertainment, exactly what our pocket book had been waiting for.  Despite Randy’s belief that I didn’t like Prague, I didn’t really have any assumptions of what Prague would be like. I just knew it was Eastern Europe and from what I heard they were still a little backwards there. And we did get confirmation from a European that Eastern Europe is still a little backward but Prague is catching up to its western comrades.

Prague is currently one of the trendy European cities to go to, and the place to go to party (so I’m told by most Europeans we meet). We even met an American lawyer (who has been living in Germany for 12 years now) who told us that Prague use to be his party town. You might just say Prague would be like Europe’s Vegas (only without all the lights and dinner shows). Due to the fact that typically illegal activities fall into gray areas of the law there are a lot of brothels, casinos, and easily accessible drugs around the city. But from our recent travels around Western Europe we have learned that finding things like that in a big city isn’t that uncommon. Despite that, I would say that if you aren’t in town for any of those illegal activities you aren’t very likely to notice much of it (although there are a large number of casinos which are hard to miss, but they are still nothing like the Vegas casinos).

There are plenty of sights to see with the family, the streets are very clean, the locals are fairly nice and English speaking, the city seems rather organized, and I felt perfectly safe whenever we walked around, day or night. Ok, that isn’t entirely true. There was a moment we walked down a small dark alley behind an old church (at night) and I was worried about what we might run into. Then we saw a woman pushing a baby stroller and Randy said it was perfectly safe. I, of course, still had doubts. The woman could’ve been the mistress of a mob boss that could walk down any dark alley and be perfectly safe, but that didn’t mean we would be. Like those gangsters who park their pimped out Cadillac in a notoriously dangerous neighborhood but no one touches it because it would cost them their life. Alas, we kept walking and we never saw any suspicious characters lurking.

Of course it wouldn’t be a European city if it wasn’t ancient and drizzled with beautiful historical buildings. As an added bonus, this city is pretty small and easy to walk around from historical structure to historical structure. We walked up to the castle to stare at the beautiful architecture and then walk around the grounds which gave an amazing view of the city. Back down in the old city center we waited with a growing crowd in anticipation for the astronomical clock to come to life on the hour. Unfortunately, it was sort of anti-climatic because I was expecting more of a coo-coo clock, where the little statues would come out of the clock and run in a circle. But actually two small doors open at the top and the little statues do their thing inside the tower. I can’t exactly tell you what they did because it was very high up and I didn’t realize I was at a visual disadvantage until it was too late. I did read afterward that Death empties his hourglass and then a procession of apostles marches by (if you were curious). After the clock chimed a man in a formal medieval trumpeter outfit blew a trumpet from the top of the bell tower and then waved to his fans and everyone clapped.  The best part of not having expectations is that you are never let down, so despite the fact that I thought the clock would put on a better show I was still happy to be apart of the experience.

We were, however, let down on one aspect. The only thing I read about Prague before we came was about an old Jewish cemetery from the 10^th or 11^th century that Randy showed me pictures of online. The pictures online looked amazing and eerie, so naturally we were looking forward to exploring the grounds. We walked all over the area it showed on the tourist map and couldn’t seem to find it. Then we found a ticket window and learned it was an entire Jewish community, mostly enclosed behind a big wall built in 1180, and we would have to pay to see everything in the community (like synagogues and such) if we wanted to see the cemetery.  We were very disappointed to learn this because we only wanted to see the cemetery and our budget would not allow for even one ticket. But as we walked away from the entrance we found an old door in the wall with a window space where we could sneak a peak of the cemetery and snap some pictures. Not exactly what we were hoping for but better than nothing.

            For dinner one night we grabbed a couple of cheap hot dogs and I saw that they sold hot chocolate. I love hot chocolate, I thought, as I asked for a cup. Now I was thinking it would be like hot coco back home, some chocolate syrup or powder mixed with hot milk or water, but as I saw them pour it into my cup I noticed it was pretty thick. When I drank it I realized it was actually hot, melted chocolate, the way Europeans have been drinking it for hundreds of years. And it was delicious! How the heck did we start drinking that powder crap?  

We also found a different kind of beggar in Prague. Traveling through these countries you see a lot of gypsy beggars; some of which try to get money for helping you buy a metro ticket, some by exploiting their deformities, children, or dogs, some buy playing the accordion on the metro, some by giving you a sob story, and some by just flat out walking up to you and asking for money. Not all beggars are gypsies, but the majority are, and you find beggars in every single country. So, naturally, after exploring city after city for one and a half months I have seen a fair share of begging. But I take my hat off to some of Prague’s beggars who have perfected the art by literally bowing on their knees and putting their forehead to the ground in true humble, begging fashion. Grown men take up a lot of space when stretched out across the sidewalk, leaving little opportunity to ignore them and the sad hat they are holding for coin collection. They got my attention, sympathy, and pity.

           The most beautiful thing about going to Prague was that we could afford to be there. Money was getting tight but we could afford a private, upscale room in a hostel in the center of the city.  This hostel was again like something out of an Ikea catalogue (very modern) with cable TV (though it was mostly German programming), a convenient kitchenette, and complimentary breakfast in the morning. We were more than happy to have a kitchenette because it was able to help us stretch our budget by making pasta and soup for lunch and dinner instead of eating out. We stayed here two nights for the same amount we would have to pay for one night anywhere else. Our American dollar finally had some buying power and it lifted our spirits.

The Astronomical Clock

A view of the city from the castle fort walls

Our kitchenette

Intermission

While some of you have already seen Randy or myself and gotten stories on the remainder of our trip, some of you have not and you may be wondering if you ever will since we have not posted anything in months. Well, since we returned home we have both become engulfed in getting back to normal life.  But now that I have more time I have decided to post the remaining blogs I wrote and we will post the pictures later. Sorry for the inconvenience. 

Erin