It’s been XIV days since we have started this little
adventure; and for Jessica, I’m sure, it has seemed much longer. Yesterday, we
began our drive south from Paris, through Lyon and now on to Nice. Driving
south to the French coast adds another dimension to our trip that we could not
experience if we stuck to train lines and big cities. Before I get ahead of
myself, however, let me talk about a little town called Paris.
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| Pont de l'Archeveche: The "Love Lock" bridge in Paris |
Paris is all that you imagine it to be. One can see why so
many people are drawn to it in search of the romanticized experience that poets
and artists have put to page and canvas. Having spent the last 2 weeks
traveling through century old cities, Paris had many similar characteristics to
some of our previous stops. Museums, churches, bridges, monuments…repeat.
What makes Paris so unique, however, is how pivotal it has been in the development of western civilization. Countless artists, architects, chefs and military ideals (hello Napolean) have been directly influenced by Paris or its derivatives. For example, you might not be a fan of the Beatles, but the bands you love were most certainly influenced by them. France, and more specifically Paris, can be seen as the Beatles of western culture. It is because of this that the French really enjoy being French and why they often get the label of being a bit pretentious. I had heard all of the stories about tourists being met with turned up noses when attempting to communicate in English; but throughout this trip, the people we have run into have been simply amazing. In Belgium, the Netherlands and France, almost everyone we met had not only a functional understanding of English, but could communicate with the nuance and complexity of a native speaker. It was not uncommon to meet someone who spoke at least three languages. In America, if you have the ability to speak three languages you are probably working in the international offices of some large company or maybe for the US government. In Belgium, you are the dude at the waffle shack.
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| Notre Dame |
What makes Paris so unique, however, is how pivotal it has been in the development of western civilization. Countless artists, architects, chefs and military ideals (hello Napolean) have been directly influenced by Paris or its derivatives. For example, you might not be a fan of the Beatles, but the bands you love were most certainly influenced by them. France, and more specifically Paris, can be seen as the Beatles of western culture. It is because of this that the French really enjoy being French and why they often get the label of being a bit pretentious. I had heard all of the stories about tourists being met with turned up noses when attempting to communicate in English; but throughout this trip, the people we have run into have been simply amazing. In Belgium, the Netherlands and France, almost everyone we met had not only a functional understanding of English, but could communicate with the nuance and complexity of a native speaker. It was not uncommon to meet someone who spoke at least three languages. In America, if you have the ability to speak three languages you are probably working in the international offices of some large company or maybe for the US government. In Belgium, you are the dude at the waffle shack.
Jessica, having been practicing her French with an iPhone
app, tries to power through in French; but people, upon seeing my stupefied
face and hearing her accent, just speak with us in English. No one should ever
travel overseas without a Jessica. She possesses such an infectious energy and
disarming charm that people are more than eager to offer help. We have found
ourselves the beneficiaries of good fortune on more than a few occasions simply
because of her smile and laugh.
Our last night in Paris was one such occasion. We stumbled upon an empty bar to watch the Germany vs Ghana game. The plan was to watch the game, then head home and pack before calling it an early night. As the game progressed the bar began to fill up. We were sitting at a table with four chairs so the waitress asked to sit a couple along side us because there was no other table available. Of course that was OK and seeing as how the woman was German our soccer interests were aligned for the time being. They were a young, soon to be married couple; Charlotte, originally from Germany and Jean-Marie, a native Frenchman. After about an hour or so of talking and cheering, the game was over and they asked if we would like to go downtown with them to meet up with friends. Always up for a new experience, we said sure and off we went. As we were looking for a taxi, Jean-Marie mentioned that on this night in Paris, the longest day of the year, Paris celebrates by having a bunch of bands playing outside. How cute, a local summer music festival, I thought. I had noticed a few bands playing at the local bars, but nothing more than I would have seen back home on a Saturday night at a coffee shop. We found a taxi and as we piled in Jean-Marie said to me with an almost apologetic tone, “This might not be a real taxi.” Umm, pardon? I did a quick search for evidence of the poor decision we had made… duct tape, rope and shovel. Fortunately, I found none. Before I could buckle my seat belt the driver passed back a microphone and said something in French. That is when I noticed the large speaker in the passenger’s seat. This was a karaoke taxi. Jessica and I looked at each other with an expression of “why not”. The driver would play a song, Charlotte would quickly look up the lyrics on her phone, and with the windows down for all of Paris to hear we would all sing out of key. In between renditions of “Billy Jean” and what I think was the French version of Miley Cyrus, I began to notice that the streets were becoming more crowded the deeper into the city we drove. Mind you, it is now about 10:30P.M. and there are people everywhere. Eventually, the cab could only creep along because the crowd was so dense. We hopped out, thanked our DJ and began to walk. The streets were alive. This made Amsterdam look like a backyard barbeque at an AA meeting. There was a band or DJ playing on what seemed like every block. As we walked, and the sound from one band would fade into the distance, another would grow louder as we approached a different corner. Some corners had proper stages and set ups, but most bands just put their equipment down were it would fit and started jamming. Apparently, what I thought was going to be a few bands playing at a couple coffee shops was a citywide block party. And this wasn’t just kids running a muck. There were old folks, young children and families mucking it up as well. At one point, Charlotte turned to me and said, “You’re probably the only tourists here right now.” These were Parisians celebrating being in Paris. We had fallen through the rabbit hole and found ourselves in the middle of wonderland.
There is much more to write, but at the end of each day we find ourselves exhausted. Please bear with me as I try and keep up with everything. More pictures and hot chocolate updates to come.
Our last night in Paris was one such occasion. We stumbled upon an empty bar to watch the Germany vs Ghana game. The plan was to watch the game, then head home and pack before calling it an early night. As the game progressed the bar began to fill up. We were sitting at a table with four chairs so the waitress asked to sit a couple along side us because there was no other table available. Of course that was OK and seeing as how the woman was German our soccer interests were aligned for the time being. They were a young, soon to be married couple; Charlotte, originally from Germany and Jean-Marie, a native Frenchman. After about an hour or so of talking and cheering, the game was over and they asked if we would like to go downtown with them to meet up with friends. Always up for a new experience, we said sure and off we went. As we were looking for a taxi, Jean-Marie mentioned that on this night in Paris, the longest day of the year, Paris celebrates by having a bunch of bands playing outside. How cute, a local summer music festival, I thought. I had noticed a few bands playing at the local bars, but nothing more than I would have seen back home on a Saturday night at a coffee shop. We found a taxi and as we piled in Jean-Marie said to me with an almost apologetic tone, “This might not be a real taxi.” Umm, pardon? I did a quick search for evidence of the poor decision we had made… duct tape, rope and shovel. Fortunately, I found none. Before I could buckle my seat belt the driver passed back a microphone and said something in French. That is when I noticed the large speaker in the passenger’s seat. This was a karaoke taxi. Jessica and I looked at each other with an expression of “why not”. The driver would play a song, Charlotte would quickly look up the lyrics on her phone, and with the windows down for all of Paris to hear we would all sing out of key. In between renditions of “Billy Jean” and what I think was the French version of Miley Cyrus, I began to notice that the streets were becoming more crowded the deeper into the city we drove. Mind you, it is now about 10:30P.M. and there are people everywhere. Eventually, the cab could only creep along because the crowd was so dense. We hopped out, thanked our DJ and began to walk. The streets were alive. This made Amsterdam look like a backyard barbeque at an AA meeting. There was a band or DJ playing on what seemed like every block. As we walked, and the sound from one band would fade into the distance, another would grow louder as we approached a different corner. Some corners had proper stages and set ups, but most bands just put their equipment down were it would fit and started jamming. Apparently, what I thought was going to be a few bands playing at a couple coffee shops was a citywide block party. And this wasn’t just kids running a muck. There were old folks, young children and families mucking it up as well. At one point, Charlotte turned to me and said, “You’re probably the only tourists here right now.” These were Parisians celebrating being in Paris. We had fallen through the rabbit hole and found ourselves in the middle of wonderland.
There is much more to write, but at the end of each day we find ourselves exhausted. Please bear with me as I try and keep up with everything. More pictures and hot chocolate updates to come.
Me thinks you need a remedial math refresher course. Your first post was on June 8th and this one is on June 28th . . . that's 21 days, not 14. Looks like all of that chocolate has had an adverse effect on your brain, my sire.
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