At about 6 a.m., we pulled into a musty station and I took the stairs down to its depths to grab the metro. I vaguely remember purchasing my ticket from a machine, and hopping on the first leg with ease. The windows were open, so you felt the damp air of Paris' underground all over you. It helped me wake up after only two hours of sleep. I transfered with no trouble, and arrived at the correct stop.
What worries me is that I'm far more competent and street-smart when deprived of full consciousness and reaction time due to lack of sleep. Oh, well.
I climbed up to the opening of the metro stop and it was pitch-black outside, with a few pools of light from street lights and emergency lighting through store windows. I squinted to my right. There was some big monument thing. "What is THAT?" I wondered. It was this:
Well, Mom and Dad weren't there. But it really was the Arc d' Triumph. It's kind of a big deal.
I wandered for a few minutes looking for building numbers to find the hotel. I crossed the street randomly and was astonished to find that I had ACTUALLY FOUND IT.
I walked into the lobby and the receptionist was extremely confused. "Uh...what is the matter?" He thought something must be completely wrong if I was showing up at 7:00 a.m. at the hotel. I swore I was staying there and he said I could park myself on a fancy couch. I gladly took a seat. I then spent the next hour pretending to read the french newspaper and desperately trying to stay awake. I don't think the receptionist was entirely convinced I wasn't a crazy homeless person, and falling asleep there wouldn't have helped my case.
At 8, a new receptionist took over and figured out that our room was empty. She took pity on me and let me into the room. I have never been so excited in my life.
I woke up at about 9 in a panic that Mom and Dad weren't there yet. I was convinced their flight had been cancelled because of the strikes and blockade of oil refineries. I ran downstairs to see if I could access a computer to find out. I turned the corner...and there they were. Mom and Dad. I don't think I've ever been more relieved to not be in a foreign country by myself.
We then set off on foot and explored. Eventually we ended up by the Seine and hopped on a canal boat that would take us to all of the major destinations in the city.
The next day, we decided to tackle the Louvre. This is after we slept for approximately 13.5 hours. They had an excuse because they were jet-lagged. I am just a college student.
I didn't take any pictures inside the museum because I find it more enjoyable to make fun of people taking pictures of art than actually participate. I did take pictures on the way there, though.
Okay, at first I was all excited to go to the Louvre because I'm trying this new thing where I'm an adult and appreciate things like fine art. I failed. Because after an hour, I noticed that all art in the Louvre must has one or more of these three things:
1. Unhappy Jesus.
2. Flying naked baby angel.
3. Slightly unhappy woman who is naked for no particular reason.
I am serious.
Dad and I found a picture that had people nearly smiling and I did what amounted to a happy jig. My favorite thing in the Louvre was actually the running commentary of my parents, who are both significantly funnier than I am.
The third day we climbed the Arc to take some pictures.
We then went to meet up with an old co-worker and friend of Dad's who works in Paris. We had a fancy lunch, in which Dad and I somehow ended up with an appetizer that was quite literally gelatin with soggy vegetables suspended in it. It was the only thing I consumed in Paris that wasn't absurdly delicious. This is probably because it was the equivalent of veggie jell-o and the only thing I ate there not slathered in butter.
After that, we dragged our suitcases and made it to the train station. It was time for Belgium.
