The End of Paris

Our last day in Paris was relatively smooth. There is no need to complain about the wait in lines, because we didn’t go anywhere. It’s what a vacation should be – simply go somewhere, pick a spot on a bench, look at something pretty, shop a little, eat something light, a delightful dessert, and go home.

Amanda and I took a train (finally) to the ritzy Paris shopping center. Our experience with Haute Couture wasn’t necessarily rewarding, but it’s always fun to see what people would rather spend their money on. We did some window shopping, talked about the seemingly-diseased mannequins in the displays of whatever absurdly-priced shop we passed. We went into Hermes, a place known for their scarves. I looked around and saw a bunch of 300 Euro cuts of cloth that wouldn’t keep anybody warm in 70-degree-fahrenheit weather. Nobody ever said fashion was functional, right?

After walking around a bit, we decided we were sick of the uniform façade of the Parisian row houses, so we crossed the Seine to the big park in front of the Eiffel Tower. We sat there for about an hour and talked, sipped on water, and avoided the potential scam-artists asking if we spoke English or bending over to grab a ring we dropped, but had never before seen. We decided it was time to head back to the hotel and grab our bags, so we meandered down the street, found a bakery so Amanda could acquire her last round of Parisian macaroons (still delicious), and skiddadled.

We took a bus to Amanda’s train station, Gare du Nord. Once there, we had a few minutes so we sat down at a restaurant without ordering anything, filled out the UK immigration form, and said goodbye. Amanda is now off in London.

I had two hours to blow before my train. Parisian train stations are not exactly places one feels safe hanging around, so I took the metro to the Bastille area just to see what’s there (don’t get excited, that is not the former location of the Bastille Prison.) I found bit of lunch at a market-grocery-store (given the standards of cleanliness I’ve witnessed in other Parisian establishments, I settled for a banana, a bottle of water and the croissants I stole from the Hotel breakfast), nothing too exciting. When the time came, I made my way to MY train station, Gare de l’Est, became frustrated with the disorganization of the French rail system (the departure board said platform 4, but there was no train there. It was really platform 7), boarded the train, and am now back on my way to Germany where I don’t have to aux Pickpocket (as Amanda and I jocularly pronounce aww pee poe to mock the French ability to ignore 2/3 of the letters in a written word), pay too much for a hunk of bread and a bottle of water, where I can enjoy walking down the street without the fear of traversing through a puddle of urine (like we narrowly avoided Gare du Nord), or have to put up with the generally unpleasant French demeanor.

So now I’m off to reconvene with my studies and have a productive week. I have quite a bit to which I should attend in the coming days.

Peace out.