During our initial frenzied planning phase, I'd mentioned to Maggie that it might be fun to spend a few days in Paris before the first UK concert in Bristol. She agreed, but without much enthusiasm. None of it seemed real, anyway, so why not dream big? I'd never been abroad, knew nothing about travelling in Europe, but wasn't daunted by the task of finding out. I know my way around the internet, and one of the first things I did was check flights to Paris. It was doable, so I "mentioned" it from time to time, until Maggie thought it was as good an idea as I did! LOL Ok, I found out long ago that Maggie's big weakness is an inability to say no to the earnest pleas of her dearest friends, so I resorted to begging and pleading. Hey, it worked! Twenty-four hours was not the week we wanted, but it's what we could get, so on May 1 we embarked on our month-long journey, beginning in Paris. The plane ride on Delta was uneventful, cramped, and b-o-r-i-n-g. In order to minimize the dreaded jet lag, it's crucial to sleep on the overnight, nonstop flight, so of course I couldn't, at least not very well. I have trouble dozing off in a moving vehicle, whereas Maggie falls asleep while we're still at the gate (she can sleep in the car before we pull away from the curb, too, which I why I do all the driving LOL). However, after a couple glasses of wine, I did manage a halfway decent kip (some lingo I picked up from our British friends later), and arrived in France at 8:00 the next morning feeling pretty good. The only other time I've flown internationally was last summer, coming home from the Canada concerts. I was grilled by the US Immigration officer, who informed me a driver's license was not proper identification (hell, it was always good enough for the border-crossing guys!), and that he could deny me re-entry, if he felt like it. I remained calm and collected, though I wanted to jump over the counter and throttle him. This was even before 9/11! Anyway, after that experience, I was prepared to deal with French Immigration, duly armed with the requisite passport and a full explanation of my reason for visiting. HAHA! The young man working the counter gave my passport a cursory glance, didn't bother to stamp it, and asked me not a single question. In fact, I don't think he uttered one word during the 15-second encounter! Apparently, the French are unconcerned about middle-aged Caucasian women entering their country and, though surprised, I was glad it wasn't a big hassle. I was just disappointed not to get the France stamp on my passport. LOL My reason for nagging my way to Paris was the Eiffel Tower. I've seen the replicas at King's Island in Cincinnati, and at the Paris casino in Las Vegas. I wanted to see how they stack up to the real thing. They don't! Le Tour Eiffel is an awe-inspiring sight, and Maggie's Parrothead travel agent, Jill, did her job well in booking us a hotel at the base of it. 
Naturally, it's visible in the distance on the taxi ride from DeGaulle airport, but when we pulled up to the Hilton we were blown away by the sheer magnitude of the thing. Of course, it was also exquisitely beautiful, to me at least. Once I got a glimpse of it, the jet lag didn't stand a chance. We checked in, got directions to the nearest sidewalk cafe from the concierge, who generously offered to draw us a map to the corner, and headed out the door. Confident in our ability not to get lost, in spite of turning down the concierge's map, we decided to go straight to the tower, which was actually two blocks from the hotel. The day was bright and sunny, but the air was cool and I was glad I'd brought my jacket. We walked slowly, savoring the fact that we were in PARIS, and that we'd gotten in from the airport alive. I guess I should mention that, though the French drive on the same side of the car and road that we do, they are maniacs behind the wheel. Traffic was unbelievable, and there were motorcyclists everywhere, dodging in and out among the cars as it suited them. However, as incredible as it looked to us, they seemed to have some kind of system going with it, so we just watched in terror and amazement.  Upon reaching the base of the tower, I commented on how quiet it seemed - not many tourists, no bustle of any kind. We walked through the park surrounding Le Tour and it was peaceful, pleasant and beautiful. What we failed to realize was that we'd not made it as far as the actual tower plaza, and that on the other side of those trees behind Maggie were a million people waiting to ride to the top! We sat in the park awhile, watching the few people who strolled by, blissfully ignorant of what was in store for us later that evening, when we were scheduled to have dinner in the tower restaurant. LOL  Despite the mild chill in the air, we were determined to experience the full flavor of Paris and eat outdoors. We had a darling waiter who, fortunately, spoke something similar to English, and was able to fill our need for coffee with a minimum of fuss. Also fortunately, the French menus came with English subtitles, so we had some idea of what we ordered to eat. I got an omelette, which came with French fries. My request for toast, instead, was flatly denied. LOL I realized later that I was being prepared for a month of European culinary peculiarities. Another surprise was the dogs! People came and went freely in the cafe with their dogs, not the sort of thing one ever sees in the States! We soaked up as much ambience as we could (and froze our butts off in the process), then decided to move on. We walked a ways down Avenue de Suffren, browsed the shops, bought postcards, then returned to the hotel for a nap in preparation for the evening ahead. Jill had booked us a delightful-sounding package, which included a meal at the tower, then a cruise down the Seine. 
After taking a taxi to the other side of town to join the package company, we were put on a large, comfortable bus and came right back to the tower. LOL That's when we saw what tourism there is really like! I haven't seen that many people in one place since, well, I don't think I ever have! We were part of a large group, and had to wait in the groups-line, while our guide ran about trying to get us in quicker, but it was about 30 minutes before we were inside. The restaurant is on the lowest observation deck, and I was a bit bummed to realize that my dream of going to the top of the Eiffel Tower was not going to happen. Those lines were hours long, and I would've had to skip dinner and the cruise, and leave the group, in order to do it. Our guide, and the waitstaff, took great pains in seating like nationalities together for conversational purposes. We sat with delightful folks from Philadelphia and California, all of whom were near the end of their trips, and were treated to lots of entertaining travel stories. As they knew who the Moody Blues were, and seemed not to think we were crazy, it was an enjoyable meal. Even so, we cut dinner short in order to wander about the observation deck. The tower is right on the River Seine, and the cruise vessels were anchored just across from it. When we disembarked from the bus earlier, our guide showed us (several times) the rendezvous point for the cruise, but he was worried about letting us out of his sight for the 10 minutes we'd be unsupervised on the deck. After many assurances we would not get separated permanently from the group, he finally let us leave, obviously still worried over our radical desire to see the Paris skyline. Okay, go with me here...close your eyes and picture a cruise down the Seine. Sounds heavenly, doesn't it? When I first heard about it, I envisioned something similar to a gondola or, more realistically, a small yacht, with the warm spring breeze wafting over us as we reveled in the lovely sights and sounds of Paris. 
What we got were cattle boats, with us as the human cattle. I'd say each one held over 200 people, and the river was littered with them. It was like riding on a float in a parade - one right after the other, with people on the "floats" waving and yelling to spectators on the banks and bridges, who delighted in waving and yelling back. And it was COLD! The trip began in the waning daylight, and the already chilly air got chillier and chillier as the trip progressed. Maggie put on her gloves, and I cursed myself for leaving mine at the hotel. I could've used earmuffs as well. We'd nabbed a great sightseeing spot on the unenclosed portion of the boat, and toughed it out to the end, mainly because all the seats were taken in the glassed area. But, discomfort aside, the trip was wonderful. Since this was the only way we'd get to see much of anything in the City of Lights, we made the best of it. We passed The Louvre, Notre Dame Cathedral, the Latin Quarter (where people still go to converse in Latin!!), and eventually made our way back to The Tower, which was even more spectacular after dark. 
The cruise mercifully over, we decided to ditch the travel group, and walk the two blocks back to the hotel rather than ride the bus across town and take a cab back. LOL I imagine our poor guide is still running around looking for those damned American women! I think it was close to 11:00, but the plaza was full of people, and I assumed the elevators were still running, but felt no desire at this point to see if my top-'o-the-tower dream could be fulfilled. We fell in behind some other Americans on the walk back, and were startled to overhear them talking about terrorist threats to take tourists hostage at the tower. We arrived at the hotel bar safely, unconcerned about dastardly terrorists, and concentrated on getting the cute French bartender to make us coffee. He did so willingly, and I drank my fill of it, such as it was. We'd picked a table with a view of the tower, and we gazed at its nighttime beauty until we could no longer stay awake. Thursday was sunny and much warmer. We were sorry not to be able to hang around Paris a bit longer but, at the same time, were anxious to get to England and our real reason for being abroad in the first place - the concerts. We had room service breakfast, packed up the few things we'd gotten out, ordered a taxi, and were on our way. It's a good thing the doorman spoke French, because our cab driver spoke no English. She seemed like a nice lady, but drove with the same reckless abandon as her male counterparts, and I think she was catching a cold. As I said, it was much warmer that morning, but she had a muffler wrapped around her throat and the heater was on full blast. We were roasting! What I wouldn't have given for some of that warmth the night before! LOL She got us to the train station, which had to be the armpit of Paris. The building itself was ugly, and beggars swarmed around us as we departed the taxi. Our gal swiftly deposited our luggage on the sidewalk, deftly shooed away the panhandlers, and urged us to move quickly into the station. In spite of the language barrier, there was no lack of communication during this hurried event. 
The first thing we saw was the Eurostar elevator, and we wasted no time jumping into it. We stepped off into a different world - one where we coddled and offered champagne, coffee, Diet Coke, and anything else we desired. We had first-class tickets for the trip to London, and it was truly a first-class operation. It was my first train experience, but certainly not my last. The ride to Waterloo Station lasted three hours, with the Channel Tunnel portion being a mere 20 minutes. I soaked up the scenery (which looked amazingly like Ohio), while Maggie slept (big surprise). Some final thoughts on Paris: those drop-dead gorgeous Frenchmen are found in the movies, not in France; hearing someone speak French in the USA is lovely - hearing it spoken constantly becomes grating; French-roast coffee is merely an advertising ploy, having nothing to do with coffee in France; the Eiffel Tower was everything I'd hoped it would be; I want to go back. |
ENGLAND