I recently read that the average blog should be 300 - 3000 words. In fact 3000 is almost too long. On average that is a 12 minute read and people move on. Adding these words to an already too long blog. I am changing my strategy, my travel entries are going to be shorter than I wrote. Maybe more entries and a bit more frequently. I am babbling and already making it longer.... When I left off we were just in line at the Calgary airport to board our flight to Paris.
Months before we flew, I was offered to upgrade our seats. We could put a bid on premium seats. I have never flown anything but economy; that is what we booked in. My wife convinced me to place a bid. I said OK but the very minimum, which was $750. Months passed, and honestly, I forgot all about it until one morning, I opened my credit card app to pay, and there was $1500 on it. We got our seats, but it was $750 / ea seat. I wasn't 100% prepared for that; this is a prime example of having extra cash when you travel! We boarded the plane, and for the first time ever, I turned left to the fancy area rather than right down to the regular people. The shitty thing was the bids did not let us pick our seats. So we were a row apart and on opposite aisles. My wife sat down and was sad. She commented she would miss me. There happened to be an old couple beside her. The wife asked if we were together, and my wife said yes. So she switched me seats. According to her, they had been married for over 40 years and did not need to sit together. I felt terrible and asked her if she was sure; she said she was, and we were side by side. I still felt bad, but she didn't mind at all. So it was my wife, me, and the husband in our row. Premium is the way to fly, a warm towel, and a mimosa when you sit down. Blanket and a little goody bag. Some oversized headphones, and I can't honestly remember it all. Nothing extraordinary, but all nicer than the nothing you get in the back. Nice reclining seats that are better for sleeping in, not that I have ever slept on a plane. Free drinks! As I said, I don't get drunk on a plane, but I had to have a vodka. The meal, well, it looked so much better! No, we didn't have it because we had already eaten, but it comes on an actual tray; you get salt and pepper in teeny tiny little shakers; it is almost a meal! Then comes the small talk part. I kind of hate flying just because of that. People generally feel the need to talk to the person beside them. I have traveled with coworkers that I have watched talk a person's ear off for a 2-hour flight. Personally, I hate it. Flying is one of the only times you are free of being on your phone. Yes, you can do some things, but you can't sit there on social media for hours, distracted. You actually can relax, read a book, listen to a pod, and do all those things that in this world we get distracted from. You have some free time for yourself, and being polite mindless talking, do you waste it talking to someone who is likely doing the same? Neither of you actually cares, but you chat. I fall into the polite people group, so of course, I had a small chat. Plus, they had traded seats, so I almost felt I had to talk to the husband. They went to France to help install a small elevator in the castle his brother-in-law had purchased. That was actually neat. I cannot for the life of me remember where they were going. It was a few hours outside of Paris, and I have heard the name a million times, but I cannot place it now. They had been to France a few times, and he did tell me we would enjoy it. Somehow, we got onto the farm fair in Saskatoon but slowly drifted to our own worlds. I watched The Accountant. That's another thing you can do on a flight. Get caught up on a movie or show you wanted to see but haven't had a chance. So, as the night wore on, they dimmed the lights, and everyone went to sleep, or most people did. The old man beside me kept watching movies. I am not even sure what he put on, but it had a lot of nude shots. I couldn't sleep and ended up watching his screen; it probably looked strange: an old man watching softcore and the guy beside him staring at his screen. I may have gotten an hour in for sleep at some point. Then, slowly, the lights came back on. They brought around breakfast. I will be honest: I don't remember what it was, but I know I scarfed it down, and not long after that, we landed in Paris.
It never really hits me when I land somewhere that I am somewhere new. Airports are all the same and might as well still be in Edmonton. Well, that is not 100%. Charles De Gaule is way bigger than Edmonton International. Having to take a train around an airport kind of blew my mind. Also, the various people were crazy. Paris is an actual international airport and it was easy to tell. I was impressed by the fact they made announcements in multiple languages. I was pleased to hear taxis were at door 9 and only 9. Any other cabby is no one you want. So we went to door 9. There was an escalator down to a semi-circle railing; on the other side was all the cabbies. So it is a little bit chaotic here. There are licensed cabs here, and there are ones that I don't think are. Just in broken English, saying, "You need a cab?" Grabbing at your arms, hoping you will go. Sorry, no, I am not just getting in an unmarked cab and assuming you are taking me where I need to go at a fair rate. Then there are also the people who have booked a transport. It isn't like the movies anymore with a big sign, but iPads with names scrawled on them. I walked the whole semi-circle and didn't see ours. So I did it again and left the railing to check down the hall; I still didn't see anything. I called the number on our transfer receipt. Guess it's day 1, and we are starting to use our phone package. The lady that answered either wasn't great at English or just didn't give a shit. I think it was likely both. She said she would call the driver. Five minutes later, I saw our names on an iPad. Right off the hop, he says I have been here the whole time. I wanted to say no, you fucking haven't, but I said sorry, we somehow must have missed each other. I'm not sure why I feel the need to be polite, possibly because they beat that into us as Canadians or because he is taking me through a city I have no idea about, so I want him to do a good job. He grabbed my wife's luggage and stormed off. We followed him at a power walk. I could feel myself getting angry quickly, and we hopped in his cab. First impressions were wrong; he was not a dick. Soon as we started driving, he started chatting, for the most part, in pretty good English.
This drive killed my Paris fantasy. As an adult male, I should have let it die years ago, but I still believed a city of 11,200,000 was all salons and patios. That everything would look like the Renaissance, half expected people to be wearing those big old timey wigs. I said it there, and I stuck to it. Paris is like a porn star, beautiful but dirty. The drive was an hour from Charles Du Gaule to Hotel Leopold. I assume they go the quickest way, and I suppose that is mainly through fairs. Most of the roads looked like the industrial area back home. Many of the "sites" we saw weren't what Paris is known for but day-to-day life, modern buildings, warehouses, and malls. It wasn't stepping back in time but just seeing another dirty major city. However, as we did get closer to the hotel, it did look a lot more like I pictured Paris.
The driver, who I thought would be rude, gave a great introduction. Right away, he gets into the standard questions, where are you from? Oh, Canada, well, Toronto, Vancouver, or Montreal?? Even in the states, they make that assumption, but they usually know Alberta exists. He did not. It is crazy to realize in Paris alone, there is 25% of Canada's population, just in a single city. We have this massive country, and they fit a quarter of it into a single city. So the driver then starts asking why we are here and what we are doing. We gave him a brief overview, and he had some suggestions. First, he said for sure the Moulin Rouge. We did not end up going there; however, 100% if I ever am back in Paris, it is 1 of my 3 things to do. He made us laugh. Said to my wife, don't get jealous. They will be hot, topless women, and he is likely gonna look, but he loves you! Then he was all over Instagram. That is a little scary when he should be driving, but he showed us all the food. Paris is world-class food, and he wasn't shy about it. I don't think we actually went to any of his suggestions, but they looked damn good. The thing with a city this size is that if something isn't close, you might not see it. He did say if I wanted escargots, the greener, the better, which shocked me. I am used to the Keg, which isn't green but garlicky and buttery amazing. His last bit was advice; it was what we had heard, but he was more direct. He started with, "I don't want to be racist," anytime someone starts a sentence with this, you have to wonder what is coming, "but don't trust the Romanians. They are pickpockets and thieves." Not to single them out either; I am sure other people are pickpockets; either way, it is a plague on Paris. They have gotten so bad that the police won't do anything except give you a shoulder to cry on. We had a camera bag that zipped and carried our stuff in it, facing inwards. Even that is a bit iffy; if you watch videos of these pickpockets, they are damn good…. So, the cab ride was pretty good, and he dropped us off at the Leopold Hotel. From the outside you might not even know it is a hotel. A blue front with a small sign declaring the name. Large glass windows look into the front, which looks more like a cafe or bar than a hotel, and tables out front as well that finish off the bar look.
This is a boutique hotel. In general, that means not as great a hotel but hip, so you will pay more for it. That is negative but also true. I have stayed in a couple, and for the most part, they weren't mind-blowing. Sure, they were nice, but rooms typically are smaller than a standard hotel room, and in general, a hotel is a place to hang your head at night. I rate hotels on cleanliness, bed, and shower quality. Often, when I am in a hotel for work, I don't even turn on the TV. Either write or read. I get sometimes like a resort where you will be in your hotel a lot and you want a nicer room, but to me, a hotel is a hotel. Our travel agent picked this one out. It looks fancy from the outside, and you walk into a small bar, I want to call it. Which is also the check-in counter. The bar wraps around into a small dining nook with bench seats along the front wall. It definitely looks like a hipster coffee shop. The guy behind the desk was charming and spoke excellent English. He checked us in and said take the elevator up. There is a beautiful old winding staircase, but with a couple of heavy bags and carry-on, it is much easier to take the elevator. This was my first time in a single-person elevator. Just enough room for a bag and me to go up. Now, the numbers confused me: 1/2, 2/3, 3/4, and so on. I picked 3/4 because we were on the 3rd floor. So it opens up, and I push my bag out. I am not paying attention, but it is a landing between floors. Who the fuck does that? SO I grab for my bag before it falls down the stairs and I twist my back. This is going to become an ongoing issue, and that sucks when traveling.
We have two doors to get into our room. The first opens into an entryway to our room and the room beside it, and the second is our actual door. I assume if you came with family or something, you could lock it and leave the door open in the room. Boutiques are fancy, not big. Our room was small. The window could be opened, but there was no screen, which annoyed me. I hate bugs! It lets in the fresh air or as fresh of air as downtown Paris. The view wasn't amazing. Yes, you could see the street, but a tree was almost in the window. To say the bed was firm would be an understatement. I have learned they hate comfy mattresses in Europe for some reason. Overall, though, it wasn't a terrible room. The bathroom, on the other hand, was a nightmare. The toilet was close enough to the wall my knees almost touched it. I am a smaller guy; a big dude would not have been able to sit on it straight. It only had a shower, and you can barely turn around in that shower. You're not going to have anyone join you in there is what I am getting at! Even with a few letdowns in the room, it was still exciting as hell to finally be in Paris. Glancing out the open window was slightly like I pictured Paris. There was a little café on the corner. Sadly, the weather wasn't overly nice for people to be out having a coffee or wine, but it was there!
We settled in. This means we dropped our bags off, took a few things out, took some pics of the room, and then headed out for a walk. I later learned we were in the Montparnasse neighborhood. Which is an artsy area of the city. It is actually kind of perfect for me or what I wanted. It had the cafes and all the people sitting talking, laughing, and drinking like I imagined Paris would have, but it was also modern. With a Starbucks as well, that came in handy…. It is the best of both worlds. I will never call Paris clean, but it definitely felt safe there, with so many people walking up and down the streets. Of course, we looked at a few places to eat, hadn't eaten since breakfast on the plane, and settled on Café de la Rotonde. Honestly, there are a ton of places that all look good, but it is hard to tell which is a coffee shop with light food and which is actually going to have a meal. Rotonde looks like a restaurant, located at the angle of a corner with big gaudy letters on it. I will say it draws you in. Something I didn't know is this place is old and famous. Picasso used to eat here often; I guess his studio was just up the road we were staying on. Hemmingway has been there and supposedly mentions it in his writing. To us, it just looked like it would have good food.
Once I got inside, I second-guessed our choice. It was red like everything inside seemed red and stuck in the 1970s. If you think of a movie in the 70s or 80s where they go to a fancy steak house, that's what it is like inside. Those little awnings inside hanging over things I never understood. Those same roundish lights hanging from the roof. A staircase headed up to what I assumed must be more seating. Our booth wasn't super comfy, but we were in for our first meal in hours; we probably would have sat on a bench to eat. French food and French wine are excellent, I have been told. I am iffy on that statement. I had a glass of red, which reminded me of being young again. I wasn't a fan of the taste, but I wanted to drink! It wasn't actually bad but it was not my fav. Then I had escargot to start. Let's be honest; you can't go to France and not try it, right? It was also very green, as the cabbie said would be the good kind. First off, it was hot. Not like spicy, like burn your mouth hot. They came still in shell, not a mushroom cap, and were not smothered in garlic and butter. Meaning nothing like you get back home. I found them bland. Maybe we do it wrong, but I would rather have our snails over France's snails. I ordered a steak, and I will give it kudos. It was tender, cooked perfectly, and in some red sauce? I don't remember what the sauce was supposed to be, and I don't even remember the sides, but the steak was actually good. Different than a steak here. It wasn't flat but more like a roll, not a baseball steak but a long roll. It was still relatively early in the evening or afternoon, but we did head back to the hotel. The adrenaline of being in a new country quickly lost out to jet lag once our bellies were full and it was an early night in bed.
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