Thursday, November 1, 2007

Paris

After a rocky start (delayed flights, train strikes, loud irate hotel owners throwing suitcases into the street) I made it to Paris, and my long awaited reunion with the Frenchman. After a few days with his family in a little village on the edge of France and Switzerland, we returned to Paris.

There, we dispensed with planning in general, and maps in particular. After a failed attempt to make it to our free continental breakfast (seven to ten), we nixed our original idea of hitting the museums and went to Montmartre instead.

Side note: during this lovely excursion, I was afflicted with a debilitating bladder infection. It was very horrible and painful and sad, but I sucked it up and stuffed tissues in my pockets so I could pee at will anywhere in Paris. So try to imagine a really romantic Parisian adventure, only interjected with pit stops to the loo every thirty minutes.

Anyway, once we were all bundled up, we stopped by the reception desk to drop off our room key.

Also - to tell them about the deluge in room 219 made by l'americaine.

The Frenchman: So, while my girlfriend was taking a shower (in the 4x4 cubicle you call a douche) she spilled a little water on the floor.

Nice perky lady at the desk: Oh, totally not a problem. The cleaning ladies will clean that right up.

Frenchman: Great! Oh, except it's everywhere and actually made it all the way into the bedroom so we took the blanket and used it to cover the water.

Lady: No! You should not do that.

Frenchman: Right. Thanks so much!

We finally made it to Montmarte, aka why have I never been here before? As we trekked up the hill to the Sacre Coeur, the theme song from Anastasia kept playing in my head. (No joke - the whole time.) You know...Paris holds the key to your heart, sung in Angela Lansbury's voice....

By the way, Anastasia may be one of the best animated films of our time. Seriously.

And it's true, you can see all of Paris from Montmarte. We even ventured into the church. No, I didn't melt.

After being briefly trapped in the Montmarte funicular, we hoofed it back down the hill and decided to keep walking.

We walked for nearly two hours, just people watching and sight-seeing. But then the cute stores became not so cute.

Me: Where are we?

The Frenchman: Ho-town.

Well, not exactly. He actually said Pigalle. Or as I call it - Skanky McSkankVille.

Or: "Get naughty during your next visit to Paris by visiting the notorious Pigalle Place, an epicenter of sex shops, peep shows, strip clubs, cabarets and general adults-only, X-rated adventures."

Because who doesn't want to get naughty?

So we strolled from peep show to sex shop. But it wasn't so bad - there were tons of normal looking people, kids even. If you're into that.
We stopped, had some hot cocoa, took in the atmosphere. Of course.

Eventually we out walked Pigalle, and found ourselves near a cute Italian restaurant. So we ate, got a little sauced, and called it a lovely, Parisian night.

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