I'm not at my computer right now (currently in Italy trying to type on the weirdest keyboard ever) so I'll repost this post with photos later. In the meantime, clicky clicky.
So after the walking tour, Anna, Jenny and I went back to the hostel, rested, then went out in search of some food. We went to a pizzeria (don't judge!) and had some yummy food and wine, then headed over to St. Germaine in search of some bars or clubs to go to. We'd been told St. Germaine was the place for it, so we got off at the metro and walked around. We were pretty disappointed to begin with as there was nothing in the direction we were headed, so we started on the backstreets which did not disappoint. All these little restaurants and bars, a couple with accordian players (accordianists?) and other musicians setting the mood. But we kept on, wanting to find the one that was right for us.
And did we find it!
On Rue Jacob we wandered past a little bar with a few people inside. We checked out the menu on the door, had a peek inside, then quickly went in. Forget the teapot cocktail craze. The cocktails were being served out of BABY BOTTLES. Baby. Bottles. It was awesome. Plus, the cocktails were named after cartoon characters (there was even a Marsupalami! Why am I the only one in the world who remembers that cartoon?), and you didn't just order your cocktail, you had to draw a representation of it.
Which did I choose? Why, Princesse Sarah, of course.
Now, I don't know about you lot, but I haven't drunk out of a baby bottle since I was, well, 16? 17. Something like that. ;) But I thought there'd be nothing to it, after all, babies seem to have it down pat.
Meanwhile, it's really difficult to do. There's a real technique to it. But eventually I drank my 12 Euro cocktail. It's probably for the best that it took to long to drink so we could savour the $24 concoction. But it was worth every cent.
The next day Anna and I went to the Catacombes, which was a weird experience. Descend a billion stairs (spiral, of course), then walk through a bunch of dark tunnels until you get to... miniature towns carved in the rock? Then keep walking, and finally you get to the bones. And are there bones! It's just so creepy and macabre to think you're standing with millions of dead people, that someone has actually touched these bones to make patterns, that someone even thought that would be a good idea, that you've actually come to visit these dead people's bones, and that you're really very fascinated by it all.
So yeah, it's an odd experience.
After climbing a billion spiral staircases up (argh!), we decided to have a makeshift picnic lunch in the park.
So here's the thing with parks in Paris. The grass is there for show. You don't walk on it, sit on it, or anything else on it. You look at it, longingly, thinking, 'My, wouldn't it be lovely to eat our food whilst sitting on the grass,' while you're actually sitting on a park bench surrounded by homeless people, wishing the wasps would leave your ham alone!
But anyway...
That night the Louvre was free for under-26s after 6pm so I went there. I was already exhausted when I got there, so it wasn't really a good idea for me to be gazing at important works of art. But I still enjoyed it. I hit the famous ones first, just to get them out of the way (oh god, that sounds terrible to say. I only mean that I didn't want to forget to see them (imagine going to the Louvre and not seeing the Mona Lisa!)), then I was able to spend a bit more time looking at things that interested me.
Is it wrong that I only lasted about 2 hours in there? Seriously, I was so bloody tired. I missed the bottom and very top floors. Oops.
That night was good in my dorm. Had a beer with an American brother and sister, got talking to a guy from Ballarat ... who asked me whether I touched the bones in the Catacombes. Erm, a WORLD OF NO! Ew. They're bones. And not just bones, but they're the bones of people. Disrespectful much? Apparently he'd been trying to tug a femur out and stuff like that. The only excuse I can come up with for him is that he's young and he's from Ballarat. It doesn't exactly prepare you for what to do when faced with a pile of bones. Anyway, a few more randoms from the dorm: the guy from Edinburgh who sounded really English; the guy from Texas who came in speaking French to everyone, then when met with blank stares proceeded to inform us that he didn't want to speak English on this trip. Yeah, that's fine, for sure. You go with your bad self, and all that, but don't expect us non-French speakers to be able to speak to you. Anyway, he was hillarious - just really dry and rude to everyone. Especially the other Americans who were from Las Vegas, which really made him annoyed, what with Vegas being an ecological disaster. Because that was these kids' fault. Anyway, Edinburgh and I went to the bar downstairs and met up with Anna and her friend Nicki. Nicki had just flown in from New Zealand so we had a few drinks to welcome her in. Also made friends with some guys from Louisiana. I swear they were twins. Apparently not though.
So, you'll notice that people will be referred to as their place of origin from here on in because we all know how crap I am with names, and it was so much easier in my mind to just remember their hometowns.
Next day Pavel, one of my roomies, and Nicki, Anna and I went to Notre Dame Cathedral. We had a look inside, and it was absolutely gorgeous. Then we stood in line for an hour and a half in order to climb to the top. First, you climb a million stairs of a spiral staircase (they love these!), and oh, it's a deep burn. Those few months of the gym before I came over here helped, I'm sure, but then I had three weeks of eating stodgy food in the UK (delicious, stodgy food... mmmmm...) and not doing anything more hardcore than walking for the last three weeks, so I was huffing and puffing like an 80 year old chain-smoker with emphysema. Hot.
Anyway, the reward is the beautiful views once you're there. Paris is absolutely gorgous. It's quite flat as apparently buildings aren't allowed to be built over seven stories. There are a couple of ugly high-rises from the 70s which they can't tear down due to aspestos, built before the law was passed. The low buildings though allow things like the Tour d'Eiffel to really stand out though. Is it wanky to refer to it as the Tour d'Eiffel? Am I one of those people that goes somewhere then affects an accent, dons the hat etc. for calling it that? Then from now on, it's the Eiffel Tower, all the way. And it's pronounced "car-donnay" too.
Anyway, so we're at the top of Notre Dame, chillin' with the gargoyles and such (unfortunately, they don't come to life and burst into song. LAME. Honestly, what's the point? Nor do they fight the forces of evil like the gargoyles in that late 90s cartoon that was on Saturday mornings. OK, now who's lame for thinking of this crap?). It's kind of like, "OK, got my photos, have admired the view, now what?" Now, you've got more stairs to climb because you're not at the complete top yet. Out comes Shirley again, huffing and puffing away (yup, Shirley. You can totally see her with a roll-your-own dangling off her curled bottom lip, stained, yellow fingers gripping onto your arm as she asks you to be a darl and find her BIC), then we get to the top...
And it's kind of the same, but higher? Awkward. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was a beautiful view, but it was the same view, now with burning calf muscles.
Anyway, for lunch we went to a crepe restaurant. Mmm yummy. I don't think I can ever get enough of banana and nutella crepes. So good. Better than the crepes though? The bathroom!!! Anna had gone in there to freshen up then came out and said we should really use the bathroom. Erm, how do you know whether I need to use the bathroom, young lady? Anyway, I needed to wash my hands before lunch so I went in and I'm still kicking myself for not taking video footage or something.
It was a DISCO TOILETTE!!! Seriously, there must have been motion sensors in there or something because as soon as you opened the door dance music starts playing and coloured lights start flashing through the room. So awesome. I'm thinking this should be the next thing in night-clubbery. Forget Night at the Roxbury with their inside-outside clubs, we should have clubs in the bathrooms and have the main rooms really sterile and white. Besides, certain people I know *coughRebeccacough* would spend most of their night in the bathroom anyway. ;) Love you long time!!! (Can't wait for mardi gras next year, by the way. I'll be back just in time.)
After that we went back to the hostel to rest before having a picnic dinner by the canal next to our hostel. It was really lovely and cheap. We had a few bottles of cheap rosè and made plans to go out that night to the Montmatre district, where Moulin Rouge is, in the hopes of finding some good bars or clubs. I went upstairs and recruited some people from my room, a couple of awesome English girls from Lincoln named Sarah and Maddy, then went to meet with the others downstairs. We were talking to some people who really discouraged us from going out for a big night due to the cost of drinks (10 euros for a voda and orange, that sort of thing), so we hoofed it a block to the dairy (I've totally been around Kiwis for too long - look at my new vocabulary!) and bought some cheap bottles of wine and beer. By this stage we had a pretty big group with us and we were all downstairs in the chill-out room having a great time. There were the Kiwis, Pavel the Russian, the Lincoln girls, the Louisianas, a few Aussies (Wollongong, Melbourne and some Bondis) and some guys from Bath. Then we were joined by Peter Andre, named thus because of his uncanny resemblance (I still can't see it - he didn't even have the six-pack). Peter Andre was from Texas and was the loudest, most obnoxious person you could meet. The Louisianas turned to us and asked if he was the reason people hate American tourists. Unfortunately, yes. Anyway, it was an awesome night. Got kind of too drunk, watched this shitty Brazillian "band" upstairs in the bar unable to find any key to sing in... good times.
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