Sitting in the hotel now. 815pm and it feels like 5pm back home. What a day.
Yesterday we arrived in Paris. First impression - Quaint. Everything about Paris is very old and 'quaint', as if these buildings had been there since le Revolution. [and maybe they have] Unlike London, everything here has the same old 'quaint' feeling and it's a pretty homogenous city. People here include whites, ( of course ) blacks, and some middle-eastern (?) but the majority is white.
They also have that haughty air about them that has been talked about so much, but to be honest, I haven't noticed it so strongly. Maybe it's because I've been acting dumb all the while I've been in France, mainly talking in sign language to most French people. Eg, when I buy a sandwich, point to the one I want, and put up 1 finger to indicate quantity. Somehow they get the msg. Some guy behind the queue even thought I didn't understand French OR English and helped me to explain to the cashier what I wanted, while I just stood there and acted blur. ( Something which I apparently do very well )
But order and method. Yesterday, we touched down in Paris and went to find the hotel, then we, as usual, got the rooms, and sneaked everyone in. Who'd've thought, when we went out, we made the mistake of going out together. The lady noticed and started shouting as we were walking down the street, and though all I heard was "trois" I kinda got the message. Busted!
Anyway we decided to make the most of the evening ( what else could we do anyway? ) and went to Montmarte, apparently the sex district of Paris. By night, all the strip clubs and peepshows put on their gaudy neon ads and the sex shops open for business. In the dead of the night, the mice come out to play. We had to be wary for pickpockets, people wanting to pick fights and the touts outside the sex shows, offering "student discounts". One man even greeted us in Chinese! "Ni hao mah" Of all the unlikely places to hear that... We also saw the Moulin Rouge, but from the outside, it was a bit disappointing, just a building facade with the red windmill. No one felt keen to pay for a cabaret show there. Too bad.
Then when we got back, we faced the music with the hotel. I got in with Sophia all right, but when Greg and Wiki tried to get in, the guy was looking out for them and started yelling at them. The end of it was, they didn't get an extra bed, ( too ex, no breakfast, and they were too pissed to face that guy in the morning ) and so the 3 guys and Wiki went walking around the area trying to find another hotel with room. What luck. ( Of all this, Soph and I were quite unaware, as we were sitting up in our room. When Wiki didn't show up after a long period, though, we kinda guessed that they had been caught )
So now they're staying in another hotel, and me and Sophia have the room to ourselves. What a change from London. There we were in a lousy room, but had loads of fun becos all of us could be together. Now we were 2 in a room, 2 in another hotel, and the guys were on another floor from us altogether. Sigh. Although the room is now more comfortable and even has a private bathroom, I feel the times in London were more lively. Oh well, let's see how it goes in Stockholm.
Aside note: The Hotel Perfect, where we stayed, is a small hotel in a street off Montmarte, a building wedged against the rest of the buildings on the street. The room is small, but comfy, and full-length windows, which open up onto the street. A steel balcony rail prevents us from falling over, and me and Sophia spent some time during the nights simply leaning against this railing, watching the people in the streets and those in the buildings across us.
this tells you that we're standing in the direction of Singapore, and that it's 10745km away from the Tower.
You can't tell from the photo, but dammit, I was freezing up there.
Anyway, for today, ( 19th June ) we went to the Eiffel Tower. In pretty miserable conditions, I might add. Firstly, it was raining like heck when we were on the way there, so we were standing around the Tower in the rain and the cold, huddling in our inadequate jackets. Even when we took a lift to the top, it was even colder there, because of the winds. ( teeth cackles ) Have to admit though, the Tower is way more massive than I had ever imagined it to be, and it's truly a work of engineering genius. This impression is even stronger when you stand at the foot, and gawk at the massive steel legs and its lattice of beams and bolts. Suddenly, you feel really small at the bottom of something so massive.
Secondly, my
period had to come while I was up there. ACK! I felt a bit tired at first, while I was at the top, and at first, I attributed it to the height. ( Yes, I stuck firmly to the walls while I was up there. Didn't trust myself to go to the edge. I also spent the least time up there, compared to the rest. Stood there, got hit by the wind, admired the view, fine, very nice, now let me down ) Then later on, the familiar aches and cramps started and I knew that shit, it had come. When someone saw me leaning against the door, waiting for the lift to come bring us down, and asked me whether I felt sick, I said, "Weak from loss of blood." Bleah. Strangely, I didn't feel very crampy, just a strong urge to sleep, sleep, sleep. Later on, Wiki told me that they were pretty worried because my lips had apparently turned white. I didn't even have the mood to eat, or take any pictures or anything. I just wanted to sit on the pavement and fall asleep. Later on, when they finally stopped at a cafe to eat, I slept and when I woke, I felt much better. Maybe my body did manage to adjust to the sudden loss of blood.
Julian had his own way of seeing if I was still ill. While we were walking to the Champes Elysees, he said, "At least you've managed to experience something that others hardly do."
Menstruation? Don't all women go through that? "So, what's that?"
"How many people can say they've menstruated at the top of the Eiffel Tower?"
That earned him many painful whacks from my fist, which proved to one and all ( especially Julian ) that I was fully recovered, and back to my old self.
Later on, we walked along the Champs Elysees, which is basically a very high class version of Orchard Road. Most of the big brands have their own store there, and we got pulled into Louis Vuitton and Swatch by Wiki. Pity though, 'cos it's not the kind of place you can ( or want to, in my case ) linger in, unless you've got wads of cash.
We didn't go into the actual LV store, seeing as it was under renovation. However, as a testament to LV's economic power, even the wooden panelling covering the store during renovation had been made to look like an LV luggage case. Good god.
Saw the Arch of Triumph, and then walked down the stretch, to take a Metro to the Church of St Vincent De Paul, where the preserved body of the Saint lies. One of the more miraculous things about the body of St VDP is that even though he's been dead for more than 100 years, his body still retains its lifelike appearance, though a bit wax-like in appearance.
Looking at the body, I mention a bit hesitantly to Greg, "Er, I don't wanna get struck by lightning or something, but the body looks a bit like those wax figures in Madame Tussaud's."
"Well," countered Greg, "I guess it's all a matter of your faith then."
My faith wasn't strong even to fully counter back what my eyes saw, but later on back in Singapore, Greg told me that sometime in the past, they'd covered the Saint's body with wax, presumably in an attempt of preservation. Now whose faith isn't strong enough?
What I do think, though, is that it's a little sad and embarrassing to be gawking at the Saint's body, encased Snow-white-like in a glass coffin, like some animal at the zoo. *shudder* Seems a bit blasphemous. Have to admit, the church is very grandly designed, in typical Catholic fashion. After that, dinner from a supermarket, and then home.
Some 1st impressions of Paris: They love their dogs. I haven't seen a single stray cat in London or Paris, but I've seen tons of pet dogs in Paris, and they're allowed to roam almost anywhere, even onto the Metro! Thus, one has to be careful where one steps, before one steps into a pile of poo. :p
Londoners and Parisiens aren't really clean-minded people. There aren't many dustbins around, and the floors of the Tube and Metro are covered with cigarette butts of those waiting for their trains. Not only that, but I've seen rampant litterbugs in both countries, throwing rubbish around without a regard. Yet the city retains a certain level of cleanliness, surprisingly. ( And without threat of fines ) Almost as clean as Singapore, though it has about half as many dustbins. ( As I found out when I was trying to find one ) They don't have the same fanatical need for cleanliness and hygiene as do Singaporeans. Maybe they pay their cleaners better.
