We arrive achy, tired, and hungry.
The previous exploration of Amsterdam combined with our 3 hour train to Paris had gotten the best of us.
Our packs are seemingly heavier, so we decide to taxi the one mile commute to our Hotel de France. Probably a good idea considering the 50lb backpacks we're hoisting around.
Check into the quaint establishment, which is slightly more polished than the last, yet it's doors are easily camouflaged amongst the various shop entrances on Rue Monge, in the Latin Quarter.
Drop our belongings, scope the rooms, and venture 4 doors down to a cheap recovery meal at Starbucks (I know, eating Starbucks in France is quite lame, but perfect for quick sustenance). With food in our bellies, we crash hard.
Wake late, close to 10pm, and casually wander down our street to discover a nighttime establishment still serving small sandwiches. The ham and cheese baguette is perfectly suited for a late night snack, and it's quite delicious. Our server helpfully suggests a nearby spot to grab a beer, Z Bar. We proceed to wander the neighborhood streets curiously observing this new area, then circle back to Z Bar to have a few beers before heading back to rest our eyes.
DAY 2
Day 2 in Paris is a whirlwind. We head over to St. Germain to browse the stores. From there we walk to the gorgeous Notre Dame.
Wander a bit more and then make our way to the Louvre, constantly hounded by ultra-persistent deaf-mutes wanting signatures and donations. They're worse than the timeshare hounds in Atlantic City, but I may be biased. Is sign language universal or would I have to sign in French? I'll be looking forward to googling that.
From the Louvre we hail a trike taxi and catch a scenic ride over to the astonishing Eiffel tower, a magnificent site.
With such little time in this city we aren't able to tour any of these monuments, something to look forward to with an eventual return trip. Regardless, it is still a complete joy to observe these amazing historical wonders.
Grab a sandwich and bottle of orange juice at one of the Eiffel tourist snack stands, relax on a park bench, and observe the grandiosity of the tower. The park is buzzing with liveliness and it's the perfect place to rest momentarily and people watch.
After a long day of walking, walking, trike-riding, and walking, it's time to head back to Hotel de France to rest and freshen up for our nightly activities. We decide it best to embrace the local culture and use the subway system. Turns out to be a fairly simple ride, and a small trek back to our home base.
The small amount of rest has barely quelled my screaming feet, but nonetheless, I motivate some Paris adrenaline and we are off. Coordinate a meet up with my cousin Samantha who happens to also be in France, studying abroad for 6 weeks. P-Lo and I are to have dinner near Notre Dame, and Samantha and her new roomie Lilly will meet us for drinks, conversation, and translation. We had motivated later than we wanted and most of the restaurants are closing, yet we manage to find a random alleyway establishment with open doors. Fresh rotisseries slowly rotate in the front window, luring us inside with drooling mouths and empty stomachs. I wish I can next write about the amazing the food, and that it's the most perfectly crafted cuisine for our last night in Paris. I cannot tell such lies.
Everything is mediocre, except for the above average lamb and the French onion soup starter (the only saving grace of this meal).
Lesson learned, no more last minute dinner plans.
Meanwhile, Samantha and Lilly have quite the adventure of their own trying to find this back alley eatery. Even with fluent French at hand, they wind up having to meet us in front of Notre Dame. The adventures tonight will now continue into overdrive.
We stroll ourselves over to a random discotec bar with glowing violet ambience strobing from inside. Once seated we realize we're just about the only ones in here. A lonely dance floor in the center of the club begs for grooving feet with it's erratic blasts of mist, we did not oblige.
First round ordered, sparklers placed in the ladies drinks. Note to dying bars, fire in your drinks will not light up the entire establishment, only the cocktails.
Toast to our first drinks, and sip slowly, rapidly catching up.
Although holding unique atmosphere, this empty disco was about to become emptier. With the emptying of our beverages, we were off.
The search for Club Prive begins. A random establishment P-Lo had spotted in our earlier restaurant search. We wander in circles allowing the girls to despise their heels on the tricky Parisian streets. And finally… the dim lit glow of Club Prive beckons our attention.
Upon approach, Prive seems as though they will not be entertaining tonight. Sturdy oaken door shut tight. Peering through the windows shows nothing but darkness, and we turn to leave.
The door slowly creaks open, and there stands a weathered looking French woman, draped in black cloak.
She looks us over, and motions for our entrance.
Okay… Let's do this.
Once inside we immediately descend a tiny spiral staircase, wondering what this basement dwelling shall serve up.
A dim lit, well polished, compact bar is the first thing spotted. This place rests empty, aside from a small group of well dressed Parisian mafioso type gentlemen seated in the rear corner. They stare at us as we enter, sipping slowly on their drinks. Their judgments are accompanied by the sounds of a live pianist, seated in opposite corner, belting out obscure American tunes with slowed tempo. Seductive red velvet couches line the compact room, and we immediately grab seats.
I'm now waiting for vampire Leststat to enter for his midnight feed. The walls are solid block, and no one would hear the screams. Definitely time for a drink.
Converse to ourselves as we sip on overpriced cocktails, and decide it's time to move forward.
The bill is payed and immediately an acoustic mariachi band sets up, blocking our exit from the small room.
What is up with this transnational room of death?
We climb over and through the three piece band to our eventual escape.
Ok, it's time for something a bit more… normal.
We jump in the first cab we see and he's zipping us around in search of somewhere that's still open. A crowded alleyway with alcohol indulgent Paris locals looks to be our best bet. We plunge into the packed sweatbox of a bar as my bladder screams for mercy.
Stand in line as drunken Frenchmen converse with me never figuring I'm not comprehending a single word.
Once relieved, I find the rest of the group outside and curbside, forced out by the wall of sweaty bar-hounds blocking access to our much needed alcoholic refreshments.
Ok. New spot. The search continues.
Somehow we manage ourselves back into a cab, and wind up at an establishment with outdoor seating, delicious cocktails, and a handful of casual folk enjoying their late night. Perfect.
I feel like the Parisian Goldilocks after the nights prior events. Too empty, then too over-packed, but this place was juuuuuuust right.
We sip our final cocktails, say our goodbyes, and return to our humble hotel room. 4:30am?!
Damn. must. Rest. Eyes.
DAY 3
Awake early and tighten up our packs. Checkout and store our baggage in the lobby closet. We kill some time before our departure to Spain by stomping lightly around our neighborhood, baggy-eyed and bushy-tailed we somehow lazily wander further towards Saint Germain.
Attempt to shortcut it back, wind up walking random alleyways, and find ourselves completely off track.
This map is not helping and we momentarily subdue our adventurous pride by asking direction.
Hustle back towards our hotel as rain begins to spit from sky.
Return promptly, grab packs, situate brains, taxi it to the train station.
Perfect timing. Perfect pace.
Grab one final meal in Paris at the station, which is surprisingly decent.
Wait patiently until our Spanish Caravan arrives. 13 hours before we hit Madrid, and we can use the rest.
Location:Paris
