The Iron Giant

Thursday, 7/28

Early to rise for another chocolaty breakfast in Belgium. Greg grabbed one more St. Bernardus for the train and we tossed on our packs and boarded the Belbus, which was there early (Thanks to Jackie for reserving it for us) and got us to the station with plenty of time to spare. By 11:30 we had already changed trains twice. First Poperinge to Kortrijk and then the train from Kortrijk to Lille Flanders. Luckily as we got on the second train Greg read and understood something about "diese zug hier gesplittet" at this station, so he checked with conductors and sure enough we were sitting in a section that was to be split and left behind! We hurried to one of the front three cars as instructed that were going on to Lille Flanders and were on our way. I never would have caught that, thank goodness for his quick acquisition of foreign language! In Lille Flanders, we had an hour before boarding the train to Paris Nord. We ventured out of the station, heavy backpacks in tow, to find a snack and see the city for a moment or two. A few beggars and a very upset mentally ill woman made for a poor initial impression of the city, but we did manage to see another impressive church and to find the final holy grail of Belgian food in the border city. We enjoyed a second breakfast of a Belgian waffle topped in chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and sliced bananas. After this quick bite it was time to head back to the station and board our train for Paris. This was a reserved train, as it can be a popular one. Our seats in first class were very posh (It is funny how much this varies from train to train, sometimes there is virtually no difference between the 1st and 2nd class seats save a partition and the marking of "1" on your car. Other times 2nd class seats are very shabby and 1st class has arm chair style seats, tons of legroom, lap tables and treats.) To quote Forrest, Trains across Europe.." are like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get!" The same can be said of WC on the train. When I first wrote about the water closet on the train, I mentioned how fun, breezy and refreshing it was. Not always true, sometimes they are filthy and stinky (even in 1st class). But if you gotta go... There were other distractions on the train to Paris, a mom had boarded getting her 8 and 12 year old daughters settled in their seats, with many kisses and reminders in French before she departed. I was wondering what adventure she was sending the girls off on. They seemed excited going into the city alone but were extremely well behaved and entertained themselves on the hour ride talking in whispers to one another. We wondered who would meet them at the station. Greg wondered were mom and dad separated and the girls were going to spend the weekend with him? But when we arrived at the station, my theory won out, their doting grandpa was there to receive them with hugs and kisses on their cheeks. They had the joy and anticipation on their faces that only a visit to the grandparents could have supplied. People watching is one of the best forms of free entertainment we have experienced. Back in a big European city again after many days in the countryside, an automatic shift takes place in a traveler. Relaxation and slow pace are vanquished by the slap-in-the-face-like urgency of the city. It is either move with the rhythm of the city or be trampled by it. This is not necessarily a bad thing, it gives one new energy and forces you to live in the moment. As we were examining the metro boards trying to figure out how to get to our hotel, a supposedly stuffy Parisian who was checking the board along side us asked kindly, "Do you need help?" Yes, we did. While we thought that we'd mastered the metros due to our experience in Rome with it's four lines, Milan's city metro system, and an even larger number in Berlin for both the underground and S-bahn, this 14 plus line system of various different hues (plus upwards of 250 stops) was tough to make heads or tails of. When we told the Parisian man where we were headed he said, "Ah, this is easy, it could be worse." He studied the map with us patiently found the most direct route, only one transfer, pointed out the way to that line through the station, and reminded us to keep a close eye on our bags. What a nice man! He was the first of many to help dispel the myth that Parisians are mean or rude. With his instructions we easily made our way to our destination. Walking down the Rue Cler, the market street where our hotel is located, even though a few raindrops fell, various sights and smells tantalized our senses. Heaps of fresh fruit were set out on stands, fresh fish waited on ice. The cheese store had an impressive window display and the wine shop was right next door to our hotel. Four flights up, not about to attempt the one person plus one bag lift that looked like a transparent coffin to me, we hoofed it. Our room was small but rich colors of brown and mauve made it feel chic. The bathroom, tiny but functional. We have a tiny window balcony, complete with a box of geraniums, that looks down on the busy market below but perhaps the best part is that we are only a few blocks from the Eiffel tower. So of course, we had to go see that gigantic iron maiden. As we approached the imposing structure, we realized if we were to climb it, we would need more fuel. Lucky for us at that moment with little warning the sky burst open in a sudden downpour of rain. Looking to take cover, we ran back about a block to a small cafe we had passed on the way. The owner welcomed us, but asked that we move deeper within the cafe to sit, because the sudden rain might bring him more customers. What a savvy business man. We split our first French meal, and omelette with potatoes, mushrooms, onions and cheese. As the clouds parted and pockets of sun peaked through we tossed back an espresso and headed for the tower. The lines for the elevators looked between one and two hours long, though we had already opted to ascend using our able bodies. We only needed to stand in line for ten minutes to get our tickets to climb to the second floor. NOTE: The first floor is many, many, many flights of iron stairs up and the second floor is as far as one can go on foot. Our quads burning furiously, we stopped at the first floor for some photo ops. You can see all of Paris at close range from this level. Greg pointed out Notre Dame, Sacre Cour, the Invalides, and more. After a sightseeing break, we braved the stairs to the second level. We emerged, calves throbbing, to the slow patter of rain. We got a few good peeks from up here but had to duck into the center for shelter. As the rain slowed, we popped back out to look at the amazing views. We opted not to take the elevator to the summit for multiple reasons, the 45 minute line that you needed to wait in (in the rain), the sardine packed status of the conveyance, and plus we were tired from our climb and had already seen the best views of Paris I could imagine. Slowly down the steps, I'm not sure how many steps there are but you are too tired to count them in the end. Somehow after this physically taxing experience we decided to try to find the Arc de Triumph. I had seen it from the tower but it was just a speck. Greg with map in hand, was sure we could find it before dinner. So we crossed the River Seine and found the Champ d' Elise. This expensive street houses the most expensive and famous cafes and stores in Paris. We passed the famous Lido movie theaters and then there it was, at the end of the boulevard. We passed through the underground tunnel to get a closer look. By the time we reached the honary flame that lit the arch, I was beat. We were both tired beyond belief, the omelette that fueled our tour climb had long since burned off, and I had a raging headache to boot. We decided to find a metro back to the hotel and then grab a late dinner. After some advil and a brief rest, we emerged after 10pm to search out a light supper. Luckily this was prime time for dinner in Paris. We found a small cafe on our street that was not at all pretentious. We ordered the risotto with asparagus and pesto to share. Our waitress didn't even bat an eye at our tiny order. She brought us a basket of bread and I'll be damned if it wasn't the creamiest most perfect risotto either of us had ever had. This sweet girl from Eastern France and of Chinese descent who happened to be our waitress, went above and beyond dispelling the grumpy French myth. She chatted to us about our travels, genuinely interested in where we had been and where we were going. In fact she was able to tempt us into dessert "to share" a small apple tart with creme fraiche. Oh, la, la! The meal while simple was lovely and memorable and by the end of it my headache was long gone. Hopefully after a long night sleep we'll be up for seeing more of the city in the morning.