Paris, Part 2

Sorry I fail at keeping this blog... So, Saturday morning we partook of the stellar breakfast offered by the hotel before heading out for a bus tour to hit the tourist highlights, including the Champs D'Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe, the Trocadero (which serves as an excellent viewing place for the Eiffel Tower), and Les Invalides. The Arc was fun, because it's surrounded by the roundabout of ruination and despair (if you even think about crossing it, a car will hit you, just to save time), but there's an underground passageway that takes you right up under it, so you can see all the gigantor sculptures and things (quote: "That guy's hand is all over that guy's thigh!"). There was also a very cute policeman there as well - bonus! We finished up the tour at Notre Dame, where we were once again made paranoid about pickpockets before going inside. GORGEOUS. SO incredible (or, should I say, incroyable?). And no one was pickpocketed! We then had the rest of the day to as we liked, so we walked around outside a bit before setting out. There were a group of three immigrant women taking it in turns to dress up in shiny gold robes and Egyptian masks in the hopes of collecting money, and I took a picture because, well, she was shiny! An old homeless French man came up to me and asked why I would take a picture of that, and I said "something to look at, I don't know" (clearly I was full of wit that day), but he didn't quite understand me, so I said, "it's just sort of fun," and he shrugged but looked satisfied, "ok," and walked away. Ah Paris.

We (Jaye, Julie, Jess, Shaina, and I) went down a sidestreet to find some lunch and got gyros at an adorable restaurant. We ate in their underground cave, all nicely decorated with Greek paintings and such. We went across the road for gelato and did a little touristy shopping, then headed off along the Seine to look at the vendors and make our way to the Pere LaChaise Cemetery. We walked past the Bastille Memorial and through the hipster part of town, full of cool stores and people in lots of black leather. When we got nearer to the cemetery, we found ourselves blocked by a vibrant rally/protest thing. Our French skills (hello, the check please, I would like a baguette and cheese) were not quite sufficient to allow us to know what it was all about, but many people had identical stickers (see picture on Shutterfly) that mentioned the Antilles. Many of the people in the rally were black, so I don't know if they were all immigrants and that was what it was about or what, but there was much shouting by the rally leader, and singing, and you couldn't help feeling a little stirred up yourself. Mob mentality, I suppose. There were some fears that we might be tear-gassed if we lingered too long (we were only there for about a minute), so we found a break in the parade line and moved on.

Pere LaChaise Cemetary is the resting place of many many famous people in the arts world, as well as regular families. We went because Julie wanted to see Jim Morrison's grave, but we also wanted to see Oscar Wilde. We also saw Moliere and Proust. I looked and looked for Chopin (they give you maps to help you find the famous people) but I just couldn't find him, and sadly Georges Serault was in a different part of the cemetery that we didn't make it to. It's an incredible place, eerie and beautiful and awesome, which is why I took so many pictures. If graves skeev you out, you should avoid that section of photos. We then headed the long long way back to our hotel to rest before dinner - Jaye has a friend studying in Paris, so she was going to come out with us. We had a lovely walk, past the Place de la Republique, but it did go on for ever and ever, so it was nice to get back to the hotel. Shaina and I collapsed in my room and watched some Pink Panther. At one point later in the night, we were in the lobby, and some boys walked past us to leave the hotel, and said "bonjour!" to us, to which I replied, "bon nuit," and then one of them said "nighty-night" in his regular British accent, to which Julie replied "g'night." The boy laughed and called to his friends, "they're English, you twats!"

So we went to dinner, and had delicious food, and had some awkward conversation with the waiter, who was from Algeria, and who, through a sad combination of overhearing part of something Jess said and misinterpreting a joke, thought that we were on the prowl for men. After he gave us the check, he very very awkwardly stopped an acquaintance of his from leaving (we were sitting in the enclosed outside area) and asked us, "he's handsome, isn't he?" After he gave us the check, he hovered, not even kidding waiting for us to ask for his number. We refrained. We walked the couple blocks down to see the Moulin Rouge by night, and it's cool with the windmill all lit up and people everywhere. Crepes were purchased, and we headed back towards the hotel, and our walk was peppered with catcalls and things. Julie and I walk a little faster than the others, so we were walking in two groups, and at one point, as we came upon a group of boys around our age I guess, one of them took a swig of beer, turned to us, and spat it at us. Technically, it skimmed my scarf and the front of my coat, and Julie got the brunt of it (all on her hand-knitted-by-Grandma scarf!). We said nothing but walked on, faster, and speedwalked our way back to the hotel, where we waited and commiserated over our beer-spit smell while the others walked Jaye's friend to the Metro. Not the highlight of the trip. The others came back and we hung out a little before heading to bed, because Sunday was a big day: Sacre Coeur and Versailles!! Which I will tell you about another time. And my trip to Belfast. Eventually.