When we left off, your heroes -- Emma and Ryan -- had found a Starbucks in Heathrow's Terminal 4 and collapsed.
We felt sick, neither of us had slept on the flight over, we were irritable, still hungry (the candy bars and "artisan" sandwich from Starbucks didn't do much for us), and we still had another flight ahead of us.
Shocking, I know, but our flight to Paris was 45 minutes late. Which was grand considering I had arranged for a private transfer from the airport to our hotel. And as stated in their Terms of Service, if we were an hour late, the transfer would leave and we'd need to arrange for another.
Back at Heathrow, contrary to our initial beliefs, Air France wasn't the luxury travel alternative of the French.
The plane looked thirty years old and the only difference between first class and economy is a dirty faded blue curtain that crosses the aisle; not that it mattered from our economy seats.
The flight from London to Paris was only 45-minutes long, so that it made it more tolerable. At one point in the flight you can look down and see the English coast on one side and the French coast on the other, with only the English Channel laying below.
Geographically, I knew this was the case. But, still, to see it, surreal almost. And not 'surreal but nice' in the Notting Hill sense.
Paris, finally
Emma always gets the window seat. Why, I'm not completely sure, but it's hers.
On the decent into Paris, Em looks out the left of the plane and spots the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Instantly, the trip was a success. Happy wife.
When we were in Maui, we got off the plane and immediately noticed the air was cleaner, easier to breathe. In Paris, we landed, got off the plane, and smelled food. It was perfect.
Maybe because we had been traveling for the last 14 hours and we just needed something to eat. Or maybe because the Parisian food is just that good.
Unfortunately, the food would have to wait because it took us 3-times as long to get through customs at Charles de Gaulle than it did at Heathrow -- ya know, the airport with its customs agents on strike.
It didn't get much better at baggage claim. Our bags had arrived yet again (yay), but there was an unidentified bag left near one of the turnstiles which completely shut off the exits; nobody in or out.
All that to say, our private shuttle transfer had come and gone. So there, outside an airport in Paris, your heroes -- Emma and Ryan -- stand waiting amid foreign smokers for their shuttle to come back. This turned out to be an hour's wait... what's another hour, right?
The hotel had recently been remodeled. It was probably three of four rooms wide and four stories high.
The elevator was big enough for one of us, plus one piece of luggage. So getting up to our room on the third floor took a bit of time.
We walk into the hotel, there's a nice gentlemen manning the desk, we fill out our info, we learn that when we leave the hotel we give the hotel attendant our room key and they give it back to us when we get back (odd), and we're on our way upstairs.
The plus side being it was still bright outside and the room was quaint and charming. The room looked back into a courtyard of local apartments.
It was peaceful and picturesque; nothing like it back in the states (and we'd learn this would be a recurring theme).
I booked this particular hotel because of its proximity to the Eiffel Tower. If we got to the Tower and nothing else, the trip would've been a success.
And the hotel was perfect. So close. About 3 blocks close in fact.
We'd walk outside the hotel, pass 2 small cafes immediately to our right, cross the street (looking over the Seine), look up to our right and immediately gaze upon the strength and height of the Eiffel Tower.
We were so impressed by how close we were... and by actually being in Paris, we took a video of it... a video that Emma decided not to be in. Though she'll claim you can see the back of her head in it. Watch it, won't you...(it features some pretty fantastic music)?
After freshening up in the hotel, we walked downstairs, returned our room key to the attendant and told him there was no electricity in our room. To which we learned you actually had to place your room key in a slot near the doorway to activate the electricity. ...woulda been nice to know initially...
We walked along the Seine at sunset (an amazing experience) down to the statue (it stands 37 feet high and was given to Paris in 1889) and just kind of breathed for the first time.
When we got to the statue, there was a local gathering at its base; a bunch of people standing around drinking wine. A bit strange.
You look up, see the Tower, and despite taking a hundred photos of it before, you take another one because it's so deserving.
The closer we got back into our area of town, the darker it got, which meant, the more the Tower lit up. Another amazing experience.
Like I said, there were a couple cafes immediately next door to our hotel, so we sat down at Le Pont de Seine for a 10:30 p.m. dinner. And still at 10:30, the sun was still shining a bit and the city was so alive; bustling with people and sounds and energy and happiness.
Immediately next door to the cafe was the equivalent of a sweet snack bar. And at the near end of the bar is a nice French guy cooking-up crepes on order.
Before we called it a night, we walked back across the street, looked up to the right and saw the Tower shimmering and lit up in the night's sky. It was breathtaking.
And here we stood for about five minutes, and no longer, because Emma (maybe a bit too tired) could've sworn she saw a drug deal happening fifty feet away.
So we went back to the hotel, called it a night at midnight in Paris. After all, it was 3:00 p.m. back in Los Angeles, and we needed some sleep.
If you want to view more photos (in bigger size and better resolution) check out the slideshow below and click through.
NEXT
Barton walking tour (Paris edition)
1 comments:
Like your French music!
Post a Comment