I woke up somewhat sad. It’s not that I don’t want to go to Paris, it’s just that there's still so much to see in London. But, there’s nothing to be done now. We get up, do our last minute packing and preparation and head downstairs. Joy collects our money, checks us out, and then the two of us have breakfast. Luggage in tow, we trek back to the Russell Square tube station.
On the train, I’m wistfully looking out the window and saying my own private goodbye to London. The Sundays song “Here’s Where the Story Ends” runs through my head, only one of the three songs that I’ve had on a constant loop since arriving. “London’s Calling” by the Clash and “Underground” by David Bowie have also been playing in my own personal soundtrack for the last few days. I try to shake them off and prepare for the next adventure (and a new bunch of songs, most of which come from the movie French Kiss).
At Heathrow, we run into a bit of a problem. Apparently, both my luggage and Joy’s are a couple of kilos over the limit. The trainee behind the Air France desk asks us if we would like to switch some stuff from our checked bags to our carry-ons. We oblige her to a point but then she has us not only weigh our carry-ons but put them in the metal bag measuring device because they “look a little poofy”. Joy is visibly losing her patience as a line begins to form behind us. I merely mutter to myself as I try to redistribute some weight. Then, after all this, the attendant says that we’ll be fine and asks us if we wouldn’t like to change the stuff back so that our carry-ons wouldn’t be so heavy. Lady, we’ve already spent a good 15 minutes in line with people staring at us. Can we just get on the freaking plane? No. Not until after she shows Joy our itinerary (we already know where we’re going so why bother?). In a huff, we’re finally able to get our bags and tickets and proceed to the gate.
We make a quick stop outside of the mini mall (set up in the airport to sell mostly perfume) to reorganize and get our blood pressures down. Since we’re early and our gate hasn’t been posted yet, we park ourselves near some of the shops. We passed by a money exchange place on the way so Aletha and I got up to change our pounds into euros. Traveler’s tip #4: if you’re traveling and would like to see the exchange rate between currencies, log on to www.expedia.com and click on the Currency Converter under Traveler’s Tools. This table updates every couple of days to give you some idea of how much money to bring. Additional tip: this is something I read in a guidebook after the fact but learned to be true later. Once you’ve set out your clothes and money to take abroad follow this easy 2:1 rule: take half the clothes and twice the money. After having to make more than one ATM hit in both countries for food, hotel, and admission prices for different sights (not to mention souvenirs), and knowing that the dollar does not fair very well in most of Europe, take my word for it that you will need more money than you originally planned. I had also packed more warm weather stuff than I needed. The weather in both countries was gorgeous (late September is definitely the time to visit) but not warm enough for shorts. A mix of long and short sleeved shirts along with a jacket, some jeans, and serious walking shoes should be all you need.
I took a brief walkabout along the stores after we exchanged our money. Of note, there was a tea shop and a caviar store obviously geared to people who actually have money. Since that ruled us out, we went on to the gate.
The three of us are seated together in a row, but as I look around I have to wonder why. Here we had gotten all this grief about our slightly over the limit luggage and the plane was only half full. And some of those people were commuters so they only had overnight bags. What the hell? We could have each had our own row to ourselves! But, we figured, why make a fuss. The flight was only an hour. Joy and I got in a few extra minutes of sleep and before you know it, we were on the ground.
Back in Charles De Gaulle, Aletha and I were very wary. But, much to our surprise, we had an easy time of it. No bus rides this time. We landed in the terminal, got our luggage, and headed for an ATM machine. We got out some euros and thanked God that we didn’t have the problems of the male passenger behind us in line. The ATM ate his card which left him broke and confused in a foreign country (he was British). We wished him luck and went outside to catch a taxi while Joy commented that his situation was her worst nightmare come true.
On the roughly 30 minute ride into Paris, I make note of everything I see on the road while an American song, “Don’t Cha”, played on the radio (we’d hear this song many more times while in Paris – so much for the French soundtrack in my head). It’s good to note that driving on the wrong side of the road is reserved only for Great Britain and its territories (like the Bahamas). There are a lot of businesses on the way from the airport, most notably Ikea (a favorite of Aletha and Joy). Most of the time, though, there are just trees. This changes gradually as we reach the heart of the city. There were tons of brand names that I recognized on the office buildings. Car manufacturers, electronics, and make-up companies all had offices in Paris.
The taxi goes around a circle made of cobblestones before traveling the narrow streets to our hotel. The Hotel Du Lion D’or is located on a small side street across from a bar and a restaurant in a very nondescript building. We pay the driver and Joy checks us in. She looks as us in alarm once she finds out that our room is on the 4th floor – and there is no elevator. Okay. The cute French guy behind the desk offers to help with the heavier luggage as we start the trip up with the smaller stuff. What is it with the winding stairs? The hotel has one landing with a small sitting area after the first set of stairs and then way too many spiral stairs leading up to our room. After taking a breath, Joy unlocks the door … and bumps right into the bathroom door on the other side. As we pile in, we now know that our room in the London hotel was a palace compared to this room. There’s a standing bureau directly across from the door and a double bed to the right. In lieu of another bed, there are these 2 low chairs beneath a huge open, unscreened window. As we gaze around in wonder, the desk guy brings up the bigger luggage. Now this stuff was not light (as the Heathrow attendant informed us) and those stairs were a bear, but he seemed to handle them with ease. We, on the other hand, decide that we will only be going up and down those bad boys once a day.
We freshen up and discover that yes, the little chairs each unfold into a bed. Of course, once one is unfolded, we no longer have any room for opening our suitcases or even walking. But, no matter. As it is Sunday and prices are cheaper, we have already decided to hit the Louvre. Maps in hand, we descend all those wretched steps and begin our search.
This hotel was our third choice after the first hotel cancelled our reservation in favor of closing for renovations, while the second hotel had a price hike. This hotel was chosen for its price and proximity to things we wanted to see. That was the idea on paper. It’s an entirely different thing when you’re trying to navigate a foreign city. We’re walking around for blocks seeing much more of Paris than we had intended as we search for the Louvre.
Finally on the right track, we go through these lovely gardens before we spot the arch and the pyramid that are at the entrance. http://www.louvre.fr/llv/commun/home_flash.jsp
Visiting this museum was Aletha’s idea. The only thing I knew about it was that it was big and held the Mona Lisa. ‘Big’ does not begin to describe this place. Massive is more the word. The arch is in a kind of courtyard surrounded on three sides by the museum which just goes on and on.
We take a few pictures while trying to decide how to get in while avoiding the major crowds. We end up taking a tube-entrance-like set of stairs and entering the museum from underneath. 
There is something like a mini mall connected to the museum with shops and restaurants lining the halls leading to the main entrance. At the base of the pyramid is a large open area where visitors can pick up maps (a necessity) and buy their tickets from an automated machine. Then it’s on to the second of two security checks. We show our tickets, open our bags, and then begin our own tour.
Like most tourists, we make a beeline for the Mona Lisa. But, that doesn’t mean we didn’t see a lot of stuff along the way. The Louvre is full of fine are that is not limited to the statues or paintings. The building itself is artwork. In between art displays, the three of us divided our time between navigating, avoiding the worst of the crowds and gawking at the ceilings. A typical stance for me was standing in the middle of a room of paintings trying to get a good shot of some amazingly ornate ceiling while not tripping over the people around me. Then I’d have to catch up to Joy and Aletha in another room.
There is no real way to describe all you can see in this museum. You can literally take an entire day and still not see everything. We didn’t have that long. We’d arrived about 2 hours before closing time and the ladies had an agenda. We passed through the Greek and Roman statues (which I love) and the Egyptian section on the way to the lady herself. We passed by the Venus de Milo and into a really cool section of massive paintings from the 1800s. I’m kicking myself for not remembering the painter’s name but the canvases were really beautiful. Then we entered the room where the Mona Lisa was held. My first impression: she looks so small. She is on a wall in the middle of the room all by herself while there’s a roped area in front of her for the tourists to pass by. There was a quite a crowd in front of her taking in as much in as they could with their eyes because you’re not allowed to take flash pictures of her (too many will ruin her). I never did understand all the fuss about her. While it’s great to say that I was in Paris and saw this famous painting, I found the paintings surrounding her far more interesting.
Traveler’s tip #5: a bit of a French lesson. If you ever plan to visit the Louvre, learn this phrase: Où est la sortie? Translation: Where is the exit? There are about a million exit signs all pointing in different directions to exits that don’t even exist. I still think the French did this just to trap tourists into becoming permanent additions to the displays (why spend the time and money to go digging for mummies when you can just wrap up a bunch of Americans and make them look like ancient corpses? Other dumb Americans won’t know the difference!). Since the Louvre has been added onto continually since its construction, the exits that these signs point to do exist but they are not in use (I know this because I tried one). The employees will point you towards stairs that will lead you further into the maze (and into circles in our case) before you reach the same entrance area that we first saw. The trip was annoying Joy and Aletha but I was cool. Again, it was the joy of not being in charge of the maps.
Outside (finally) we head across the street to get a bite to eat. Because of its location near a major tourist attraction, the fare was both French and American. They served quiches and sandwiches (very big with the French as well as the British) right next to pizza and hotdogs. Even the guy behind the counter was a sort of hybrid. He was French but really enjoyed talking to Joy about American football and music.
We continued our exploration of Paris on yet another unbelievably beautiful day. Everywhere you look there are ancient buildings incorporated into daily Parisian life. An ornate fountain might front a building that houses a McDonalds, centuries-old statues sit in the middle of circles of modern traffic. We walked along the Seine and noted that there were more private cars here than in England and fewer cabs. It seemed like every other car in London was either a black cab or a luxury model. Paris, though, seems more practical with a lot of impossibly tiny economy cars zipping around the fewer cabs. Like London, Paris has a subway system but I get the feeling that it’s not as widely used as London’s Underground since so much is in walking distance.
Whether by intent or accident (I don't know since I wasn't steering) we found our way to Notre Dame.
This place is beyond grand. We join other tourists who are either trying to take pictures of the building or simply staring at it in awe. A mass was just letting out so we went in. Like Westminster Abbey, this church is rimmed by small chapels for different saints (Joan of Arc has one). There is an area where you can light a candle and say a prayer and another area where you can buy medals bearing pictures of saints. We pass by a group of robed people preparing for another mass before we line up with other tourists near a far wall of the church. The robed people climb onto the pulpit while a woman with a beautiful voice begins to sing. We listen for a minute before making a quick exit. Once we’re back outside I say that it was a little strange being in the church as a grungy tourist while these French people are trying to attend service. There were even people taking pictures of the mass. Now even I, as a complete heathen, know when I’m intruding. Joy agrees with me and admits that for some reason she didn’t realize that the mass would be in French
We walk around the side of the building and find a park behind the church. We sit for a while and watch the pigeons walk by while Joy and Aletha again consult the map. The park is closing soon so we pick a direction and start walking. We’re all starting to get hungry so we figure it best to find a café on the way back to the hotel.
Finding something to eat in Paris is something you never have to worry about.
There seems to be a café every few feet in this city! Since September is still somewhat warm, most of the tables out front are filled with tourists and natives alike, smoking their cigarettes, drinking their cappuccinos and watching the world go by. We chose one of these cafes, Le Mussett, and eat dinner. Traveler’s tip #6: as I mentioned in my account of our first trip to Charles De Gaulle, the French have a serious issue with smoking. All restaurants have a smoking section and depending on where you go, there usually isn’t much of a difference where you sit if there are several people smoking around you. You will get smoke in your face. We found it best to either sit inside whenever possible or chose a patio table only if there weren’t a lot of people around. Also, if you don’t want to pay for water, make sure you ask for tap water. If you just order water, you will be getting bottled.
Back to the hotel, we make use of the computer room that’s conveniently located next to the front desk. We charge the room for our time and then it’s back up those freaking steps. We take our turns in the tiny bathroom. After Joy takes her shower, she comes out and says “that place is so small, I couldn’t even feel if I was wet. One turn and I realized I had touched every wall.” Who says that you can’t find adventure anywhere, even when taking a shower? I make an attempt to watch some French TV before sinking onto the really low bed and trying to sleep.
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