Finally In Gay Paree!
It was a bit of a lazy morning for our last day in Grenoble. Ross had a few phone calls to make so we had a late breakfast and set about packing for Paris. Toby’s getting quite accustomed to these chocolate croissants for breakfast – it’s going to be hard to go back to Weet-Bix!
Having trouble with the Wi-Fi in our room (they actually call it “wee-fee” here!) I came downstairs to use the lobby computer.and was interested to find that they don’t use the querty keyboard. There are letters all over the place. It made typing a bit tricky!
With the song (ad) “Booshay, Booshay” going round in our heads we travelled the short distance it was to the train station to get ready for our fast train to Paris.
At first it’s quite confronting to be faced with people constantly approaching you for money – in fact, virtually as soon as we arrived in France we were asked for money. We were sternly advised by one of our fellow-passengers that they were scamming us and not to fall victim to their dishonest schemes. With that in mind, we just had to walk past saying “no, sorry” but it does feel slack, especially when they seem so sincere, holding out their paper cups with pleading eyes. Occasionally they’ll get a bit aggressive and follow you which is a bit scary. There’s one lady that seems to have set up a little home for herself at the bottom of the stairs in the station. Everyone greets her as they go past and she’s just like part of the furniture. Her hair is like a shag-pile rug, all matted and grey and her clothes are all shredded. She looks like something out of a movie, with her toothless grin and dirt-covered face. She has a little fort around her “bed” (a couple of tattered blankets) made from plastic bags containing various kinds of food, in varying states of decay, and her meagre belongings. She always seems to be eating something when we go past and seems cheery enough.
Our train was a lot more crowded than any of the British National Rail ones had been and there was a car up the end where you could go and buy snacks and hang out at bar-style tables with your fellow-passengers. Everyone seemed to be constantly in and out of their seats and pacing the aisles. We just sat back and enjoyed the view – speeding along at 320kms an hour – and were amazed at how much farming land there was in France! Virtually the whole three hours we were travelling from Grenoble to Paris, we were gliding past pastures, green fields and rows of crops. There’s so much wide open space! Dotted amongst the fields we saw gorgeous little French farm houses, so typical in their architecture and just how you’d imagine them to be. Most of them were narrow two storey, flat-fronted houses with rows of narrow rectangular windows with characteristic wooden shutters, pointed rooves and minimal eves. All the same earthy colour, some of them had little Rapunzel towers at the side, with little turreted rooves and green vines clinging to their walls. So beautiful! Along the way we also passed snow-covered hills and frozen lakes – which we’d certainly never seen before.
Disembarking the train in Paris was quite an experience. Everyone had already gathered around the door, bags in hand, ready to push out into the Paris afternoon. It was hectic! With all the announcements in French, we were largely in the dark about where to go and just pushed along, wielding all our luggage and moving with the impatient throng. Popping out in front of Gare de Lyon was a sight! Paris sure was bustling and not laid back like Grenoble at all. The station was huge and people were dashing everywhere.
In what seemed like a miracle at the time, we glanced up and saw, in bold green neon letters “Holiday Inn”, right in front of us! This was where we were staying. How great! We didn’t have to go searching for the hotel. Despite the fact that our next-door neighbours were displaying a sign with letters equally bold and neon that read: “SEX SHOP”, we were pleased that we’d only have to walk a small distance with our heavy bags. Unfortunately, there are apparently numerous Holiday Inns in Paris and we’d come to the wrong one. Bummer! We were informed that we’d have to tackle the Paris Underground to go a couple of stops to our desired destination. Easier said than done! If the London Underground had been as easy as painting by numbers, the Paris Metro was like writing out the constitution in braille. All the signs were in French (as you’d expect) and the Parisiens seemed to all be in a massive hurry! We lugged the bags up escalators, down escalators, on and off platforms and generally wandered aimlessly looking for a name on a sign that we recognised.
We saw a lady wandering through the station with a French Poodle on a leash and we also saw a couple of daring lads, take a mighty leap and jump right over the 2m high gates to evade the fares! They didn’t look back!
We were very relieved and very grateful for the eventual help of a young lady who actually went out of her way, leading us up an escalator and showing us in person, where to catch our train. We soon discovered that she was the exception rather than the rule. On the whole, we weren’t received very warmly by the natives of Paris. I was experimenting while I was waiting for Ross, smiling at everyone whose eyes I met and not one of them smiled back. I know there’s a stereotype that French people are rude and we wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt but our experience today showed us they certainly aren’t as friendly or helpful as the British have been. They mostly come across as aloof. I was juggling my big bag up and down escalators and was mostly ignored by those around me who just saw my slowness as an inconvenience. Out on the street, my bag fell into a pot-hole and there was a man standing right in front of me that just laughed!
Arriving at the right Holiday Inn couldn’t have come sooner! The lovely lady at the desk spoke beautiful English and was very helpful. Our hotel room is even smaller than the one in Grenoble – don’t try to swing a cat in here – but the beds are comfy and we seem to be walking distance to most of the sights in Paris. Our dinner was at a cute little Italian restaurant downstairs where all the waiters spoke English and we were even given “Anglais” menus! Too easy! We overloaded on butter, cream and cholesterol again and are lucky they only weigh the bags when you get on the plane and not the passengers! We’re excited to have a good look around tomorrow!
