My flights to Paris were uneventful and
on-time. I had only one connection, in Minneapolis. By coincidence,
my path through Minneapolis crossed with Merrill and Sunni Bradshaw,
friends from Arlee who were flying home from visiting family in La
Crosse. We'd arranged to meet, but a tornado kept them grounded for a
few hours, so our plan to grab a beer in the sky lounge were
thwarted.
Upon landing at Charles de Gaulle the
adventure began. The plan here was to pick up my bike, then take the
train to Gare du Nord, in the heart of Paris. I would stow the bike
in a locker there. Unburdened and carefree, I would then enjoy a leisurely
half-mile stroll to my hotel, taking in the sights as I went. I would
have all of that afternoon and the next day to see Paris before
returning to the station to catch the train out to my AirBnB near the
start of the ride.
Reality had other ideas. I
found out how big Charles de Gaulle airport is, and how heavy 48
pounds can get. A smart traveler would have availed himself of one of
the luggage carts that abound in airports. I am not a smart traveler.
 |
| Didn't take many pictures the first day. Sorry. |
Soon though I found the train station. Now, ticket in hand, nothing but a train ride stood between me
and Gare du Nord. And also a turnstile. Which turned out to be less
than obvious to operate. My best attempts at nonchalance produced no
clue so I was forced act like the hapless tourist I was, and a
merciful passerby showed me how to get through.
OK, now then, to the Train! And look,
there is a woman standing in the door of a train waving me on and
saying “Paris! Paris!” How good of them to provide guides for us
hapless touristes!
Turns out, she's a beggar, and isn't
too impressed that I hadn't changed any money to euros yet. Oh well,
at least I'm on the right train. I hope.
-----
Gare du Nord. One of the largest and
busiest stations in Europe. From the internet I had a vague idea of
where the luggage lockers are. Vague won't cut it though, the place
is huge. I don't dare leave the bike sitting unattended to search,
but by now I am pretty tired. Up an escalator, to another floor,
still underground, no lockers. But there is an information booth. The
man inside speaks English and so at least now I have directions.
Up the stairs to street level. Here are
the platforms for the 'Grande Lignes,' the fast long-distance trains.
At the far end are the lockers, I'm told. Just a couple hundred yards
to go. By now I'm used to the bemused looks I've been getting all
through the airport and the station, lugging a big red bag around.
But I feel exhausted and I think I must look it by now. As I start
across, I happen to catch the glance of a short guy in a driving cap.
He points to my bike bag and says, “Help?”
I'm leery to say yes, but I'm also
desperate for relief. I'm sure this must be some kind of hustle. But
he is insistent on helping me, and so against my better judgment I
let him carry the bike to the lockers. We talk along the way, about
what's in the bag, Montana, Trump, and PBP; me holding onto a strap,
just in case. He seems too nice to be a crook, and I figure there's
no way he's outrunning me with a 50 pound bag anyway, so I let go of
the strap.
I'll never know what, if any, the
hustle was, because he didn't get anything off of me. Instead, he
gave me change for the locker, (I still had not hit an ATM, and
wouldn't have had coins anyway,) a map of the train lines, and a
handshake and well wishes. Pretty poor
crook, I'd say.
-----
The walk to the hotel was no more
straightforward but much less interesting. I got lost, although I don't know how you can get lost when you never knew where you were in the first place. But I did learn some things about navigating paris which would come in handy later. I learned:
- Parisian streets are haphazardly named and just as haphazardly signed.
- There is no such thing as a 'block' in Paris.
- My GPS was going to be no help in the street-canyons of a city.
I eventually found the hotel. After checking out the room and showering, it was dinner time. The cafe suggested by the charming woman at the front desk was packed, so I wandered down to another likely looking spot. Here I learned:
- The pace in French restaurants is glacial
- You can have a bad meal in France
- Don't go to dinner alone at a bistro in Paris, unless you like feeling extremely awkward for two hours
 |
| The Hotel Taylor on the Left, cool arch leads into the rue Taylor. |
Backtracking to the hotel through the
evening streets of Paris, I was feeling very tired and a little lonesome.
But also excited and looking forward to the coming days. Surely
things would go better tomorrow! Back in my room, I fell into the very comfortable bed and, having been up almost 24 hours, slept like a rock.
 | ||||
| The view out of my hotel window.. If you squint you still can't see the Eiffel Tower. But it was a really nice room. The bed was so nice. |
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