I love the short flights from London to Paris. People are always in such a good mood, the pilots talkative…This time I took an Air France flight and the pilot didn’t speak English too well. He’d crack everyone up with things like, “Put your seat belt up.”
And boy do you need that belt on that ride. The descent is quick, almost like a baby roller coaster. My belt held me down for a good while, I was floating, my butt did not touch the seat. And the turns, I’ve never felt turns like that on a plane.
This is the fourth time I cross the channel this way and I’m just catching on now that they do it like that on purpose. That’s why everyone is giggly. They even thank the pilot for it when they’re getting off the plane.
First thing I did was get my souvenir. Got my cartilage pierced in Paris. Hurts like hell, especially when I sleep, but it’s worth it. At least it is not a corset piercing.
Just the left ear. The guy who did it hated, hated wasting that other earring. The French hate waste. If you ever get invited to dine with them, don’t ever leave a morsel on your plate or a sip left in your glass. Never ever drink soda with your meal. It makes them ill to see us do it, really, they dine with wine.
I never thought I’d see a Starbuck’s in Paris. First one I saw was in an underground shopping mall. Thought it was a fluke, but when we got out of the Louvre, there it was on the street. And that is a real shame because Starbuck’s is inferior to the espresso in the cafes there. It may be better than much of what you can get here in the States, but damn, it is a really big mistake to go for that stuff when the authentic stuff, the espresso Starbucks tries to copy is right there.
Every once in a while in the subway stations the police are checking tickets, to make sure you have one and that it was validated. So we make it through the police checkpoint and while waiting for a train, a man pops up out of nowhere, flashes a badge briefly and asks to see my ticket. I thought it was a crook trying to steal our tickets because of the swarm of cops up ahead, so I tell him, “No.” He flashes his badge again so I hand them to him and he drops one but catches it just before it hit the ground. “Wow” just pops out of my mouth and this man smiles for a fraction of a second and then puts back on his “serious” face. When he handed back the tickets, I checked them over really well to make sure he didn’t hand me some expired tickets. They were legit. He was legit. I think he was having a good time playing Inspector Clouseau or something.
Okay, do not touch the electric wires around here, or else.
The highlight of the Paris trip was seeing my Parisian friend Helene, the one with that second home near Paris. She took us to her sister’s apartment late on the last night we were there. We’d been driving for quite a while in Paris when I realized she was lost. It didn’t bother me one bit. We drove around for about an hour or two and I sure did enjoy the view.
Not as much as the one at the sister’s place though. She lives on the 17th floor and from her balcony is the most beautiful sight, The city of Paris spread out perfectly like I’d never seen. And this was at night. I didn’t have my camera.
We didn’t get back to the hotel until about 3 AM and the flight back to England was later that day, so, technically I got to see my British friend and my French friend in the same day. I never thought that would happen.
This is how Parisians move into an upper floor.
See that thin metal ladder going into the window? There is a sort of elevator thingy that carries everything up that ladder. It sounds like a garbage truck. It was right next to our window and it took about two full days to get all the stuff moved.
But hey, now I know how they do it. One day, you see, I’ll get my turn to move into a Parisian apartment.