Montpellier: The Accidental Tourist

Now it’s time for a little bit about Montpellier. As you know, I didn’t want to do anything but switch trains in Montpellier, but that hope died almost as soon as I arrived. Between what I had learned at the train station and the bus sales office, I was going to have to spend the next thirty hours in Montpellier and I had to make the best of it. (Note: The pictures in this entry were taken from my little tour of Montpellier and may or may not correspond with the paragraphs to which they are closest. I’m sure you can handle any confusion that may cause.)

The first thing I had to do was get a hotel room for the night. The first hotel I stopped in was a Holiday Inn and I asked if it had any single rooms for the night. The guy at reception told me that it did, but that the rooms were 110 euros a night. He pointed me in the direction of cheaper hotels and I went into the first one I said that had a “Free WiFi” sign on the door. The rooms here were only 48 euros a night and I decided that would do. I forget the name of the hotel, but the hotel was pretty forgettable anyway. I went up to the room and discovered that the toilet didn’t have a seat. I hadn’t seen that in a hotel before, but at least it flushed and was sufficiently clean, so I didn’t argue. I also learned the next morning that the walls were incredibly thin as the couple next to me enjoyed a little them time and displayed little modesty in doing it. Whatever. The bed was comfortable enough and I slept well.

In the morning, I left my backpack at the hotel because I still had ten hours to kill, but I brought my other bag with me because it held my computer and I was a little nervous about leaving it in the baggage room at the hotel.

The day was beautiful, but I was carrying a load and had no idea what to do. The hotel’s location was fantastic, however, as it was close to the train station and to the central square in the old part of the city. (I later learned that the square is shaped like an oval and that it is one of the largest pedestrian squares in all of Europe, or so I was told.) There was also a mall nearby, so I went to that to kill some time. I also spent some time in a McDonald’s because it had free wifi and a bathroom. It also had a CBO – chicken, bacon and onions – that was actually quite tasty. Do we have those in the U.S.? I don’t go to McDonald’s there often enough to know.

Since the day was so beautiful, I decided to sit out in the park and write some blog entries. While I was sitting in the park, I noticed a little, white, toy-like train go by full of tourists. On the side of the train, I read that it was a 40-minute tour of Monpellier that cost only six euros. I also saw that it left from Comedie Place, which I recognized as a place that was just around the corner from where I was sitting. I needed to kill some time and this seemed like a good way to kill it.

The little tourist train was actually pretty interesting and well-worth the six euro price of admission. We went all around the old city of Montpellier and learned some of the history and saw all of the landmarks. The post office was really nice. No, seriously, it was. There also was an Arc de Triomphe, patterned after the famous one in Paris and not a hell of a lot smaller than the original. One interesting tidbit was that I picked up was that Magnolia trees were named after a guy from Montpellier named Magnol. At least that’s what they said. I always blame my misinformation on them.

Okay, that’s about all I have for Montpellier. I wasn’t there long and I was there against my will, so my bitterness probably prevented me from enjoying it as much as I could have. From here, you can go back and read my last post about leaving Montpellier and then read the next one about my next day in Valencia.

I'm An American, Get Me Out Of Here!!!

Montpellier was a pretty nice city. This post, however, is not about Montpellier. That probably will be the next post. This post is about why I was in Montpellier. If you had seen my itinerary at any point during my journey (since my itinerary changed often while I was on my journey), the only reference that you would have seen to Montpellier is that this is the city in which you need to switch trains from any point in France to Barcelona. I figured that I was going through it at some point, but I had hoped for a much shorter period.

I knew that many trains in the south of France had been cancelled due to the train strike. A few days before I was scheduled to go to Barcelona, the train people in Nice told me that my train to Montpellier from Nice had been cancelled, but that I could catch a train from Nice to Marseille and then catch another train from Marseille to Montpellier and head to Barcelona. Fair enough. I arrived at the train station an hour earlier than I needed to, just in case something went wrong. Something went wrong. I saw that my train to Marseille wasn’t on the board. I went to the ticket counter and found out that my train had been cancelled, but there was a train to Marseille that was boarding now. He told me that if I ran, I could make it. I ran. I made it.

I arrived in Marseille, and having been there before, went straight to the ticket counter to see what I could find out. The person at the counter told me that there was no way I could get to Barcelona today. Another person at the booth suggested that the best way to get to Barcelona would be by bus and pointed me (sort of) to the bus station, which is located in the same building. After I finally found the right line in which to stand and making it to the front of said line, the bus dude told me that the next train going to Barcelona that wasn’t sold out would be departing Saturday morning. It was still Thursday morning and I was only going to be in Barcelona for one day, on my way to Valencia. That wouldn’t work. I went back to the train counter and spoke with another ticket agent. She told me that she could get me to Montpellier, but that she had no idea if there would be a train to Barcelona waiting for me. She told me that they had run some busses a few days before from Montpellier to Barcelona, but she didn’t know if they were doing that today. I had already spent some time in Marseille, so I bought a ticket to Montpellier and decided that I would try my luck once I got there.

My luck wasn’t in the mood to be tried. I arrived in Montpellier, got off the train and looked at the big board. There was no reference to Barcelona or anything else in Spain. I went downstairs in the station where the information booth was located. Rather than a “booth” they had a few people at a few tables telling lots of angry people that they weren’t going anywhere because of the strike. I was informed that there were no trains going to Spain that day or the next, but I was directed to a travel agency a few blocks away. The travel agency was useless, but when I left the agency, I saw a sign down the block for the European bus lines Eurolines.

I went in and inquired if there were any buses taking off anytime soon for Barcelona. The answer was no, not until the next night. How about Valencia? Madrid? Zaragoza? Bilbao? Anywhere in Spain? Nope. Vive la France!!! Well, if I couldn’t get to Barcelona tonight, I was going to Valencia. When was the next train to Valencia? It was the same train as the one to Barcelona, leaving Friday night at 9 pm and arriving in Valencia at 7 am on Saturday morning. Okay, that would have to do.

The guy’s directions to the bus station were horrible. I took a tram to a station in Montpellier where the guy told me I would see signs for Eurolines. (Getting off the tram, I fell and my backpack got wedged between two empty seats. I had to squirm out of the backpack – it’s huge – and then pull the backpack out from the seats to exit. Nobody even bothered to see if I was okay. Thus France.) I didn’t see any signs for Eurolines. I walked around in full gear for an hour, following useless directions located on my ticket. Arriving back at the tram station at the last possible minute, I finally saw a Eurolines bus and learned that I only needed to walk around 200 feet to the bus stop. A sign would have helped.

Whatever. I got on the bus and headed towards Valencia. From here on out, the story gets mundane. The bus was pretty full, but not packed. The trip was rather uneventful and painless, except for the French dude who was pulled off the bus at the Spanish border because he didn’t realize that he needed a passport in order to get into Spain. (I’m not sure I would have realized that either. I’ve crossed many an EU border and have never had my passport examined before unless I was entering or exiting the U.K.) I arrived in Valencia and another post will pick it up from there, after an earlier one talks about my time in Montpellier. I’m being productive on the train from Valencia to Madrid.

Nice - The Name Says It All

While I’m stuck in Montpellier, I might as well accomplish something, huh? Yeah, I agree. I’ll write more later about being trapped here in southern France, but first I’ll do this entry about my one full day in Nice.

Actually, I stayed for three nights in Nice, but only really spent one full day there. The first day was a mix of travel and exploring the neighborhood and the final full day was spent in Monte Carlo, so Nice didn’t get my full attention.

When I think of Nice, I always think of the beach. So, I picked up a map at my hotel and got myself oriented with respect to which direction I needed to go to see some water. I could tell from the map that if I headed south, I could pick up the Promenade d’Anglais and the Promenade des Etats-Unis and could walk along the beach from there. Also, the promenades led to Nice’s Old Town, so I figured that if I was diligent, I could get much of my Nice sightseeing done at once.

I headed towards the Mediterranean and the walk was very nice. Nice is a very clean city. It only took me around fifteen minutes to get from midtown to the shore. On the way, there were numerous fountains and hotels and restaurants. There was no question that I was in a big tourist town, slightly off-season.

I got down to the shore and looked at the beach. Unlike Monte Carlo and Cannes, which I saw at other points, the beaches of Nice aren’t the most picturesque. Rather than being sand beaches, they would be better described as rock beaches. I don’t think a beach towel would have been enough to make one feel comfortable. At a minimum, a chair would be necessary. And forget about sand castles. Real castles, maybe. Sand castles, no.

Even though there was a little nip in the air, some people were out in the water. I suppose it is difficult to go to the Cote d’Azur and not get into the water, though I managed. Perhaps if it was a little warmer and I was at a sandier beach. But anyway.

I walked along the Promenade des Etas-Unis and it led me to the harbor. Here, the harbor was full of sailboats and huge yachts. It was cool to see, but not very interesting, so I moved on to Old Town. What’s in Old Town, you ask? Old buildings and stuff. There really wasn’t anything too interesting, as far as I could see. I know that there are some nice art museums in Nice, but I wasn’t in the right area for that. I took some pictures and moved on.

One of the nicer landmarks in Nice probably was Cathedral of Notre Dame. No, not that one. A different one. I say probably, though, because I couldn’t see it because it was covered for renovations. The most prominent landmarks, however, appeared to be the nice, expensive, and older hotels along the beach on the Promenade d’Anglais. At least they featured prominently on a lot of the souvenirs that were sold here and there.

I was a little confused about how to find landmarks in Nice. In Old Town, I kept seeing signs pointing to the Acropolis. Since this was old town, I figured maybe there were some old buildings or at least something of interest. Nope. It was a modern sports complex or convention center or something like that. Similarly, I followed signs downtown pointing to a building that ended up being a shopping mall. Well, fine. I guess I needed socks.

That’s really all I have for Nice. It’s an expensive (though not as expensive) spot on the Cote d’Azur between Monte Carlo and Cannes that has some of the charm and some of the fame as its neighbors, but really is the least attractive of the sibling cities. I spent most of the next day in Monte Carlo and I’ll write about that visit next.

A Few Hotel Reviews

Last time I came to Europe, I did little reviews of all of the hotels in which I stayed. I noticed that it kind of cluttered up the blog so, to the extent that I did it again on this European trip, I thought I’d do them in little blocs. This is the first of those blocs for this trip – Paris, Marseille and Milan. (Update: As a bonus, I’ve added Pisa.)

In Paris, I stayed at the Hotel Des Nations Saint Germain. It is located in the Latin Quarter, almost literally a stone-throw’s away from the Pantheon and very close to Notre Dame. It was in a very good location, though I’m convinced that there is not a bad location to be found in Paris. The closest familiar chain that I saw was a Starbucks that was located about a kilometer away. There also was a Carrefour grocery very close, which is a grocery chain that I fell in love with in Buenos Aires. The room was about average size for a European budget hotel room. Just a little bit larger than the full-size bed in the room, but large enough. There was a small television with CNN International and BBC and the bathroom was roomy enough. Nothing spectacular, but it was under $100/night, so I will take it. Oh, and internet. It was available, but you had to pay for it. Not too pricey, though, as I spent about $5/day.

In Marseille, I stayed in the New Hotel Select. It is located about four blocks south of the main train station. As I’ve written about before, the neighborhood is a little sketchy between the train station and the hotel, but wonderful in the other direction. When I arrived, I was given a rather large room with a huge bathroom. I was ecstatic for the price – around $80/night. On the second of three nights, though, the toilet stopped working. I was a little less ecstatic. I was moved to the room next door, which was much smaller than my previous room. My ecstasy had pretty much ended by this point. The hotel had free wifi, but only in the lobby, which sent me down to the lobby on a few occasions to play with the beautiful internet. The staff was friendly, but one thing that was really curious was that when I checked out, at 5:00 in the morning, I had to wake the night person up as he was sleeping on the floor behind the desk. I still got out on time, though, so whatever.

In Milan, I stayed at the Hotel Aladin. I’m not sure what to say about this place. It was cheap. So it’s got that going for it. Location-wise, it wasn’t ideal. It was a 25-minute walk to the nearest metro stop, so that was a pain. It was clean enough, I guess. The proprietors were an Asian couple that spoke a little English and were very friendly. That’s about where the good things ended, though. The shower stall was entirely too small for me, and I’m not a huge guy. Somehow, Expedia believes that the fact that there is a computer downstairs for public use during the five minutes a day the owner or his family wasn’t using it constitutes “high-speed internet service.” It didn’t help me none. The television had only local stations, nothing in any language other than Italian. The walls were thin, the room occasionally loud, and there was no breakfast. And when I say it was cheap, I mean only in terms of Milan. Thus far, it’s still the most expensive hotel I’ve stayed in on this leg of the road trip. Had I known, I probably would’ve stayed somewhere else, but I just wanted some place cheap that would allow me to see a match at the San Siro, so I guess the place wasn’t bad enough to ruin my trip, but I don’t think I could recommend it.

As a bonus for you, my special friend, here’s a fourth hotel review in this entry. Since I’m currently on a train from Pisa to Rome, I can comment on the Alessandro Della Spina Hotel, in which I stayed in Pisa. Again, I went cheap, but this was at least listed as a 3-star hotel (which aren’t as nice as 3-star hotels in the U.S., but aren’t bad). Here, my experience was much better than in Milan. Even though I didn’t have an address for the hotel, just a general idea that it was to the southeast of the train station, I found it easy enough and it was only about a 10-minute walk away. The staff was extremely friendly. Although the room was small, typical for European hotel rooms, it was very nicely decorated and very clean. Internet service wasn’t free, but it was there and after Milan, I was extremely thankful for that. It was about a 20-25 minute walk to the main tourist areas in Pisa, so the location was adequate for that as well. The hotel also served free breakfast. There was nothing hot, but they had two of my favorite luncheon meats – mortadella and salami, so there is no way I can complain. All-in-all, I have to say that I was rather pleased with my experience at this hotel.

There you go – the first of a series of hotel reviews for this trip. Tune in next time for Rome, Athens, Thessaloniki . . .

Marseille To Milan

Every now and again, I like to write about one of my trips because those are a big part of the fun/misery on these whirlwind trips, right? Right. So, on Thursday, I took off from Marseille, heading for Milan.

So, a few days before the trip, I got the reservations to go along with my Eurail pass. There’s no direct train from Marseille to Milan, so I had to break the trip into three legs. A mistake I made, that I won’t make again, is that I didn’t tell the ticket guy the exact legs that I wanted to take. As a result, he selected a train leaving at the crack of dawn, with dangerously short layovers and he demoted me to second class. (For Pisa and Roma, I underlined the trains and times I wanted and made sure they were in first class.) My trip was taking me from Marseille to Nice to Ventimiglia to Milan.

What was the result? Well, I got up at 4:45 am on Thursday, after my one-man bar crawl in Marseille the night before, and had to get ready to go to the train station. The train station in Marseille is on top of a hill. The walk to the train station is all uphill to the base of that hill. Although the trip was only about a half-kilometer, it was the longest half-kilometer I have ever walked at 5:30 in the morning. Nevermind; there was a McD’s at the station that was open that provided me with latte and free wifi, so all was good in the world. At least for a while.

I noticed on the board that my train was running about ten minutes late. That wouldn’t have been a big deal except that I only had a fourteen-minute layover in Nice. Well, if everything went right and I rushed, I would still be okay. Everything didn’t go right, though. By the time the train left Marseille, it was obvious that “ten-minutes” was wishful thinking. As we started hitting stop after stop, it was clear that we were running around thirty minutes late.

So how did this affect everything else? Well, if I missed my train in Ventimiglia, it meant that I was going to have to wait another four hours for the train to Milan and arrive at night, which I tend to avoid since I walk everywhere with all of my belongings, and usually have to depend on street signs that are difficult to see at night and in a foreign language, when they are present at all. As far as worst-case scenarios go, it’s not the end of the world, but it was still a fate that I wanted to avoid.

I could tell by our tardiness at every stop that I was not going to make my train from Nice to Ventimiglia in time. I had two hopes. One, my train in Nice could be late. This one was, why couldn’t the other? The other hope was that there was another train thirty minutes after the one I was supposed to be on in Nice. This hope goes like this: I had a 47-minute layover scheduled in Ventimiglia. If I got there thirty minutes late, I could still catch my train. The problem was that I didn’t know if there would be another train in Ventimiglia. According to my schedule trains from Nice to Ventimiglia run “1-2 times an hour” that time of day. Well, which is it? Every half hour or every hour? Every half hour and I may be okay. Every hour and I’m screwed with a four-hour wait in Ventmiglia.

When we arrived in Nice, I ran straight to the board. There was a train leaving for Ventmille (which I assumed was French for Ventimiglia) in twelve minutes. Luck!!! I caught that train and rode to Ventmiglia. En route, we traveled down some very beautiful coastlines in France, as well as a brief stop in Monaco, though that stop was underground with a definite lack of scenery.

When I arrived in Ventmiglia, I had about ten minutes to spare to catch my train to Milan, as scheduled, and I was fortunate to make it. That train had cabins instead of airplane-style seats, and I don’t like cabins. I spent the next few hours in a tiny room with five others that I couldn’t communicate with. There was nothing particularly unpleasant about it; I just didn’t enjoy it.

When I got to Milan, I realized that my walk to the hotel was going to take about thirty-minutes. There was nothing really I could do with respect to public transportation or anything to make the trip any shorter, so I sucked it up, picked up all my luggage and started walking. I found it easy enough. My troubles with the hotel will be identified in a future post.

More Marseille - Say It Five Times Fast

Let’s see, what else can I say about Marseille? I guess that depends in part on what I said about it before, huh? It’s been a few days. Maybe I should go back and check. Wait here.

Okay, I checked. Since the weather was beautiful for the first two of the three days I was in Marseille, I walked a lot. As I assume is predictable, the most beautiful part of the city that I saw was the Mediterranean. I didn’t make it to many beaches, and I doubt many people did while I was there since we never got any warmer than 60, but I did make it to the shore and got to touch the sea. There were sailboats and yachts in the water and people looking longingly at the tiny waves, longing for summer, or at least spring.

Down by the water, there were old men playing boule. At least that’s what we called it in French class back in the day (when I was 1982-83 French Club boule champion, but I digress). There also were two lighthouses. One looked old, and the other looked really, really old. The old one is the more modern one, but still looks a century old or so. The really, really old one looks several hundred years old and has not withstood the ravages of time very well, but then neither have I and it’s seen much better days than I have, so who am I to judge?

On the last night in Marseille, I decided to get yet another pre-Italy pizza. I stopped by this little pizzeria and ordered a Pizza Provençal. I had no idea what that meant, but seeing as everything I kept seeing said I was in Provence, I figured that it was probably something local, so I tried it. To make sure I knew what it was before I ate it, I watched them make it. The first thing applied to the crust was cheese, there was no sauce. Then, a stew of tomatoes and onions was applied very generously to the shell. Then, more mozzarella and a handful of black olives were used to top the pizza. And it was a huge pizza. (Sorry, but for some reason, I didn’t take a picture of it. I’ll find some picture from Marseille to post in its place, though.)

I have to say that the pizza was meh. I like sauce, even if its not tomato sauce. It didn’t have anything that actually took its place other than the loads of tomatoes, which I’m less fond of. I love me some onions, and these were good onions, but there were a lot of them and I paid for it later. It wasn’t a bad pizza; it just wasn’t a really good one. Oh, well, I guess that’s what Italy is for.

After the pizza, I went on a one-man bar crawl. (Not sure if I have any pictures to join this either, but maybe.) I hit a few Irish pubs, named O’Malley’s and Sullivan’s. I’d like to say that what they lacked in originality, they made up for in ambiance, but they didn’t really. Unfortunately, there was no good football going on when I was in Marseille for me to enjoy watching with the locals. That will change in Milan over the weekend.

Not to get Forrest Gump on you, but that’s abut all I have to say about Marseille. It was a surprisingly beautiful city. I’ll go ahead and say something that I anticipate saying a lot on this trip – I think it probably would have been a lot more beautiful if I had come during the summer, but the weather was good for the most part, so I can’t complain too much about that. I’d certainly recommend it.

Okay; now through the Alps and into Italy!!!

Marseille - My Introduction

I really didn’t know what to expect to Marseille. I’ve heard of the city, of course. I knew it was on the Mediterranean, in the south of France, though I realized that the weather wouldn’t be ideal this time of the year. I knew that its football team is the most popular in France. In the few days that I’ve been here, I’ve learned that it is truly a beautiful city.

If you’ve followed this blog at all, you know that I love to walk around cities when I first arrive. I find that the pace is a good speed in which to take in everything that is going on around me. One thing that is noticeable right off is the strong Arab presence in Marseille, or at least in the parts that I have frequented. (I suppose if I landed in New York and spent all my time in Chinatown, I’d think that New York has a strong Chinese influence.) There are numerous Tunisian restaurants around and falafel and kabab are available everywhere.

The more that I walk around the city, the more beauty I find. There are magnificent churches all over the city. I’ve taken numerous pictures, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t know the names or stories behind any of the churches that I’ve seen. I came to Marseille without any type of guide or list of must-see attractions so I’ve basically just taken pictures of things that have caught my eye. The most significant view is the church (I think, but I’m not really sure) on top of the hill that overlooks the city and is visible from almost everywhere in the city. You see it as soon as you get off of the train. I’ve been too lazy to walk all the way up hill to get a better look, but perhaps I’ll try that tomorrow.

Speaking of the train station, it is a wonder in and of itself. It was built in the mid-nineteenth century when Marseille was a major port of trade between the Middle East and Paris and its majesty belies its importance. It was built on a plateau high above the city center and also is visible from many places throughout the center of the city.

As I left the train station and walked to my hotel, which was only a five-minute walk away, I was a little concerned. The neighborhood between the two spots isn’t the most picturesque in France. In fact, it was kind of scary. Cars were parked on the sidewalks, so you had to walk on busy streets, and there were people congregated in front of little apartment buildings drinking and having a generally good time at around 2:00 pm. I made it through to the hotel, dropped off my stuff, and decided to walk in the other direction. It was quite amazing what a difference a block made. A block from the hotel in the other direction led to a shopping thoroughfare with many nice stores and lots of happy young people.

That street leads straight to the docks of Marseille and the Mediterranean. Admittedly, it helped a great deal that the weather was beautiful for the first time that I had seen on this trip. I stopped at a few stores and walked to the docks to see all of the sailboats and yachts. Occasionally, I would get a whiff of the ocean, though I’m coming down with a cold so I didn’t smell a whole lot of anything.

I’ll be back with another post about Marseille including the lighthouses, more churches, and a little comparison of Marseille and Paris.

Au revoir.

One Last Day In Paris (Until Spring)

(For the record, I don’t have any pictures to accompany this post, so I’m just putting up random pictures of Paris. Enjoy!!) If you followed my trip from my first tour of Europe, you might recall that I met people here and there but it was usually for a day or so and then we’d go our separate ways. Ah, the traveling life. In Argentina, however, I was in the same place (mas o menos) for two months and I was able to make a bunch of friends. One of those friends was a guy named Joe who was in my TEFL class in Buenos Aires. His partner is a student in Paris now, so he has been living there for several weeks. Yesterday was my last day in Paris, so I met up with Joe to catch up and see what he’s learned about Paris in the past few months.

After getting some wires crossed and a delay caused by the cyclone (or whatever the Hell it was) that hit France like a German tank division (sorry, is that in bad taste?), Joe and I met at the Café de Flor on Boulevard Saint Germain. It is next door to Les Deux Magots, but is supposed to be better and less touristy that its better-known neighbor. I had some coffee and some bread, which in France is always good, and we talked for a while. The wind died down and the rain stopped, so we headed out of the café and walked down the Boulevard towards the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe. It was a long walk and we decided that since twilight was coming, it was time to grab a beer.

I don’t know the name of the place we went to. I know it was on a side street in the Latin Quarter and it had lots of Irish Beers, but I didn’t hear anybody inside who sounded Irish. I also don’t know if the place had a juke box or if the music was run by the people at the bar or if it is haunted by a sadistic DJ but whoever was in charge of the hit parade decided to play about half of the Grease soundtrack while we were there. This was followed by half of the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. Now, I’m used to traveling overseas and seeing things hit in other countries a few months after they hit in the United States. Thirty-three years, though, seems a little ridiculous. Nevertheless, Kilkenny’s and John Travolta turned out to be a pretty good combination and a good time was had by all. (And in case you were wondering, no it wasn’t Disco night. John Travolta was eventually followed by the Black Eyed Peas , Madonna and a pinch of Michael Jackson. Okay, I guess the Michael Jackson stuff could fall into the disco category, but I think it was just a sadist with a five-Euro note.)

After the Travoltafest, we went out and got some pizza. I realized that it was the first pizza that I had ever had in France. I wanted to test it out because I’m heading south and will be in Italy in a few days and I wanted non-Italian pizza to be fresh in my mind when I get there. We go a trois jambon (three ham) pizza and a pepperoni pizza. To my dismay, the trois jambon pizza was the better pizza and that’s a disappointment that I’m going to have to carry with me for the rest of my life. Perhaps, though, after spending three weeks in the middle east, there was no way I wasn’t going to love a ton of pork products piled onto a pizza.

That was it. After pizza, I returned to my hotel and started to pack for Marseille. (I’m currently on the train to Marseille.) Thanks to Joe for hanging out with me in Paris and hopefully I’ll run into some more friends from Buenos Aires during my travels.

This trip, I am sort of playing by ear. I think I have the first three weeks semi-planned (Paris – Marseille – Milan – Pisa – Rome), but I’m still debating about what to do the following six weeks. I can head south to Sicily, west to Spain or east to Greece. If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave a comment or send me an e-mail.

Until Marseille . . .

Paris Revisited

My trip from Raleigh to Paris was, as was predictable, painful. I can’t say anything went wrong on the trip. As a matter of fact, everything seemed to go right on the trip. Every single flight was on time. There were no crying babies. There were fat people sitting next to me taking up all of my elbow room. The food was nasty, but typical. I really don’t have anything specific to complain about. It’s just that I have a lot of trouble sleeping on planes and this trip was no exception.

Before I get to the next topic, allow me to set it up. In 1999, I was playing softball and while I was running to first base I blew some tendon or something out in my left leg. I don’t remember exactly what it was, but I went to the doctor and he told me that it wasn’t my ACL, but it was something attached to the ACL and he put my leg in a cast and gave me some crutches. He told me to keep the cast on for a few weeks and that in five-six weeks, all would be normal. I seem to recall that it healed a little faster, but that his time frame was relatively close. In the summer of 2000, it happened again. This time, I wasn’t playing softball; I was walking in my apartment. I went to the doctor again and he wrapped it up in an ACE bandage and sent me on my way and it healed in a few weeks.

Thursday, after arriving in Paris and walking around for an hour or so, I went to my hotel. Since I hadn’t slept in about 24 hours, I took a nap. A few hours later, when I woke up, I straightened out my legs. POP!!! There it went again. On the first day of a nine-week trip in which I planned to walk several miles every day, I go back on the DL. Fortunately, I happen to travel with an ACE bandage with me, so I wrapped up a leg and, never being one to let common sense interfere with my plans, I went walking. And walking. And walking. My leg hurt after a while on Thursday and Friday, but by the end of the day Saturday, it wasn’t hurting at all. To be honest, at the moment, it feels good as new – knock on wood. Oh, well.

If you recall from my last trip to Paris (and if you don’t, feel free to go back and read all about it), I visited most of the places that I wanted to visit. I went up the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triumph; I visited the Louvre and Musee D’Orsay; I did all kinds of crap. This time, I spent most of my time just walking around neighborhoods, some of which I had visited before and some of which were new to me, and stopped in little cafés and got a sandwich and some coffee and people watched. Last time I visited, I stayed in Montmartre. This time around, my hotel was in the Latin Quarter, near the Pantheon and La Sorbonne, so I spent a lot of time in that neighborhood in the beginning. Of course, I spread out. At one point, I walked from Notre Dame to the Eiffel Tower, to the Arc de Triomphe, to the Louvre, to the Musee D’Orsay . . . and then I got tired and hopped on the Metro. But it was a Hell of a lot of walking for a one-legged man.

I liked doing it this way because, even though I am still obviously a tourist, it felt much less touristy since I wasn’t standing in lines to see all of the well-known attractions. One thing that I want to point out, though, is that when I was in Paris before, the weather was perfect the entire time and I said that Paris was the most beautiful city that I’d ever seen. This time around confirmed my earlier assessment because the weather was pretty crappy the entire time I was there (we were hit by a cyclone or typhoon or Act of God or something my last day), but even in the gray and the rain and the cold, Paris still is a stunningly beautiful city.

On my last full day in Paris, I met up with a friend of mine from Buenos Aires. That’ll give me something to write about in my next entry, though.

Bonsoir.

Paris: Passing Thoughts

I’m about halfway between Paris and Zurich – the train just made a stop somewhere in northeastern France – and I thought I’d take a minute to make some passing random comments about Paris.

I’d like to say I love Paris, but that’s not quite true. I’m in love with Paris. I already miss her and I can’t wait until I have an opportunity to go back and see her again.

I was concerned that my spotty French might be just enough to get me into trouble, but it turned out there was nothing to worry about. While I wasn’t going to have any deep conversations with anybody in French, I was able to feed myself and get around with little problem. Unlike Brussels, which was more Dutch than French, and Zurich, which will be more German than French, in Paris, everything is in French and that made things less confusing. I also was amazed at how quickly French will come back to you after a dozen years when you are immersed in it.

I’ve always heard about how rude the French are, particularly to Americans. I found this to be untrue, at least in Paris and at least in my experience. Of course, I tended to stay in touristy areas for the most part and you would expect people in that field to be extra nice and helpful to their sources of income, but even when I went out into the little shops in the other neighborhoods, I found the people to be charming and patient with my broken French.

One quick story – speaking of broken French – when I went to the soccer match Sunday night, a girl came up to me and wanted me to fill out a card, something to do with a giveaway related to the match. She spoke quickly, and I wasn’t particularly interested, so I told her I didn’t speak French. She replied that it was okay, she spoke English. It turns out that her English was like my French and after she explained what was being given away, I still had no clue. She then asked me if I was “interesting”. I wanted to assure that I was, but that I was not “interested” in whatever she was trying to get me to do. Remembering that people hadn’t picked on my French, though, I decided not to pick on her English and just passed on the card.

On my way to Sacre Coeur, I stopped by to take a picture of the Moulin Rouge (see left). After taking pictures, I walked down the street on my way to the church. Down the street was an interesting mixture of adult theaters, sex shops and other businesses of the same nature. A virtual pornucopia of adult-related . . . umm . . . entertainment. Just in case you’re in Paris and are so inclined.

Okay, that’s it for now. I’m beginning to see mountains. Alps? Maybe. I’m not sure when I’ll have internet access and be able to post this, but you’ll hear from me in Zurich, I’m sure.

Paris: Hotel Monte Carlo - A Review

Unlike in Brussels, I was able to find my hotel in Paris, the Hotel Monte Carlo, with not just relative ease, but actual ease. Once I arrived in Paris by train, the stop closest to the hotel was only four stops away and the hotel was less than a five-minute walk from that stop.

I arrived too early to check-in, but the hotel allowed me to store my belongings and gave me a map to Paris. The check-in was very quick and friendly and, this is a big plus for cheap European hotels, it had an elevator, so I didn’t have to lug my gear up four flights of stairs.

The room was very clean. It also was small, but not too small. There was a bed, a desk, a fan (which came in handy) and a sink. The room I stayed in did not have a bathroom en suite, but this was not too much of an inconvenience other than the noise of people roaming the halls.

The neighborhood was fantastic. The hotel was very close to two metro stops serving three lines. The street I was on connected was like the middle line of an H connecting two much busier streets. All along each of these streets were bars, cafes and various other types of shops. One thing I found tremendously convenient was a little market across the street from my hotel that had among the only good values I saw while in Paris. I ended up eating or drinking in several of the places up the street (Rue de Faubourg Montmartre) and really enjoyed the vibe.

The staff was very friendly and helpful. The hotel had free wireless internet which, like the other places I went, tended to go out for periods of time, but fewer periods of time here than I experienced at other places. The free continental breakfast was very basic: croissants and bread, cereal and coffee or tea. That was okay, though because it was good enough and there was plenty of other food around Paris (ham and cheese sandwiches, in case you haven’t been following) that I wanted to eat.

Besides convenience, I picked this hotel because of the price, which came out to around $95/night. By any standards, that would be a good deal. By Paris standards, it was pretty damn great. They also have rooms with en suite bathrooms, as well, they are more expensive, of course.

One problem I did have was the noise. Like the other hotels I’ve stayed in here, there was no air conditioning and it was a little warm at night. I could open the window to the street, but it was a very busy street and quite noisy. After being awakened early two evenings in a row, I abandoned the open window and used the fan that was provided in the hotel. That turned out to be just the ticket, though the hallways were noisy as well, especially in the evenings. I don’t know if others had doors that were difficult to shut or if other guests were just oblivious to the fact that people might be sleeping at 2 am, but doors seemed to slam at all hours of the night.

Overall, if you’re looking for Paris on a budget, I would recommend this hotel. The location and price alone are well worth a stay.

Paris: Last Two Full Days

This is my last night in Paris and my train to Zurich is a 8:24 am tomorrow, so I probably won’t go into too much detail about my past two days in Paris. I guess that as a compromise, I won’t dwell too much on what I’ve been eating. I’ve veered a little off of the ham and cheese sandwich routine, but not by far and I have still been getting my fair share of ham and cheese sandwiches, fear not, but we don’t have time to discuss that right now.

Yesterday was Sunday, so that made it church day, just like every Sunday in the Sheldon household. Okay, it had been a long time since I went to church on a Sunday, but this week I went to the Cathedral of Notre Dame. I was sort of mixed on this beforehand, not being a church-going person myself, but I really enjoyed it. The bad part about visiting a church on Sunday morning is that services are being held so you have to be extra quiet and you don’t have complete access. The good part about it is that it’s free.

I have to admit that I was a little awestruck as I was walking up the metro steps to Notre Dame that these were the same steps that Jesus walked when he went to speak to the players before their game against La Sorbonne and told them to win one for the Gipper. (I think that is Touchdown Jesus to the left.) Or something like that. Anyway, Notre Dame was awe-inspiring for completely non-made-up reasons as well and I took lots of pictures.

After Notre Dame, I went to Sacre Couer because, well, too much God on a Sunday can never be a bad thing, right? No pictures were allowed inside, although that didn’t stop many, so my only pictures are from outside. Sacre Couer is near the top of Montmartre and I had heard how great the views were from there. If you like views of smog, there probably were none better. Again, Sunday, God, pictures, so I can’t complain.

After this, I decided to go on some wild goose chases. I guess that wasn’t technically the plan, but on some friendly advice, I went to the catacombs. They were closed due to vandalism. Then, on some friendly advice, I went to Harry’s New York Bar. Entirely different part of town. It was closed due to not being open. Oh, well. So much for the friendly advice.

Last night was for football and the reason for the timing of my trip. Olympique Lyon, who has won six of the last seven French football championships, came to play Paris St.-Germain at Parc des Princes. I am not going to go into a lot of detail here because (a) few of you care and (b) I’m doing more complete rundowns of all of the stadiums that I am visiting on my soccer blog www.worldclubrankings.com. Anyway, let it suffice for me to say the following. Soccer fans can be scary when they are yelling in English. When they start yelling at you and you have no idea what they are saying all you do is shout in agreement and hope you survive.

Oh, and I know I wasn't going to talk about food, but at the football game, I bought a hot dog. Not just a hot dog. A hot dog with a mini-baguette as a hot dog roll. I have to admit the hot dog was good. Not the best I've ever had, but a solid tube steak. The roll, however, was the bestest hot dog bun ever created. The entire cost of the trip was worth having a hot dog on that bun alone.

Today was mostly a cleanup day, trying to hit places that I had heard about, mostly little things. I went to the Pantheon and Jardin du Luxembourg, where I had lunch. (Yes, ham and cheese.) Then I went to the Bastille. Rather, I went to where the Bastille used to be and now, among others, a McDonald’s stands. Storm the Golden Arches!!!! I went back to Harry’s New York Bar and it was open, so I drank. Then I went to a McDonald’s (my first since London) to get the famous Royal with Cheese (see Pulp Fiction) and have a beer with my Royal with Cheese. (Actually, it was a Royal with Bacon.) D’oh!!! I wasn’t going to talk about food.

Okay, that’s enough. Gotta go to bed soon so I can catch the early train to Switzerland. Still don’t know what I’m going to do there, but I’ll decide once I’m there. The train ride is four-and-a-half hours, so I’ll probably write some more on the way.

Cheers!!

Paris: Another Beautiful Day

It’s been another unbelievably beautiful day here in Paris. After a sprinkle or two early in the morning, Indian Sommer continues with temperatures in the upper 70s under a gorgeous partly cloudy sky. Even if it starts to rain in an hour and continues as long as I’m here, I’ve already received more than I could have asked for.

Last night, I tried to get off of the ham and cheese sandwich kick for dinner, but I didn’t really get that far from it. I had an assorted cheese plate with bread and some foie gras with mini toasts. I also had an adequate French beer. Good meal, but too expensive. Such is Paris.

I started today with la Tour Eiffel. I hopped on a metro train to Trocadero because I learned yesterday when I was in the neighborhood what a beautiful view of the tower you get crossin the Seine from that direction. I knew that I wanted to go to the top, but I couldn’t decide if I wanted to climb the first two levels or take the elevator. I decided to compromise and take the elevator up and use the stairs coming down.

The view from the top of the Eiffel Tower is amazing. I think I saw North Carolina, though I didn’t recognize anybody, so I didn’t wave. Sorry. There are two levels at the top – one that is completely covered and an open-air level. I went out to the open-air level briefly, but decided that the enclosed area was more my speed. After taking the lift to the second level, I decided to show my vertigo what’s what and climb down. On the first level, I took a break and had the best cup of coffee I’ve had since I got to Europe. Afterwards, I made it the rest of the way down.

From there, I decided to go to the Hotel des Invalides. It contains the French Army Museum (insert joke here) and the tomb of Napoleon. I started strolling around the grounds and viewing the exhibits and never saw anybody looking at tickets, so I never bought one. My primary interest was the tomb of Napoleon (see left) and I took some pictures and left. Turns out, judging by the size of the tomb, Napoleon must have been a hell of a lot larger than I’ve been led to believe all my life. My guess is that he must have been at least 15-foot tall and 2000 pounds. Not somebody I would usually peg to have a Napoleon complex, but what do I know?

Once I was finished there, I went to the Musee d’Orsay, which may have been become my all-time favorite art gallery. The highlight of the museum for me was the Van Gogh room. (In my mind, I’m pronouncing “Van Gogh” like Diane Keaton does in the movie Manhattan because it makes me laugh.) It has some of my favorite paintings of all-time (see left). (My favorite is The Scream. That’s why I stole it.) Anyway, I took a ton of pictures at the Musee d’Orsay and will post them to my Facebook page.

I came back to the hotel to rest up, which is where I’m at now. Heading out soon to find people in a bar watching football and drinking and likely will do the same. That’s it from Paris for now.

Cheers.