Couple of Guys with a Map: Paris + Versailles = happy

Paris: Day 2

We started Day 2 off hot with some coffees but cold on decisions. We masterfully crafted a plan to beat the crowds and get to the interior of Notre Dame early. 10:30 felt mighty early after spending the previous night of fending off beer vendors approaching us like we were the sharks on Shark Tank. The only differences were that their products required 0 innovation, their propositions were preposterous, their presentations were shoddy at best, and their asking price was about 1/500,000^th of a normal investment. Unfortunately, about 10,000 other tourists had the same morning plan. Seeing the line of tourists wrapped around tourists was a bit discouraging. We decided that this was Notre Dame the non-French and fake Irish rural Indiana school's fault, and that it probably wasn’t that cool anyways. So we moved on to the Natural History Museum.

Cool - we've seen enough

This was actually a convenient accident. Becca’s first bathroom break of the hour was about 30 minutes into the day, and brought us into the museum upon arrival at the zoo/Esplanade/flower walk/conservatory/Natural History Museum grounds. Aaron magically learned how to translate a sign in what looked to be Elfish to me, but was actually just French, and determined that 26 and under had free admission. No, we still have not determined a single reason why 26 would be the cutoff age. But PSA to 26-year-olds like myself: you can’t be on your parents’ insurance anymore, but you CAN get free admission to Paris’s Natural History Museum, so those pretty much cancel out.

The museum was like a regional Southeastern U.S. United flight – it was packed with unreasonably enormous immobile creatures basically sitting on top of each other. This included a narwhal, which may or may not have been totally fake, amazing reconstructed blue whales, whale sharks, dinosaurs and creatures I think they made up. Each exhibit had accompanying French explanations that we made up translations for and concluded “Yea that sounds pretty accurate I guess.”

Aaron is just as chiseled as the archeology remains

After our fictional pre-historic tour, we walked the gardens outside which, of course, insisted on containing the most robust flowers ever. I now recognize that when Paris doesn’t know what to do with some slightly unused plot of land, they just start making it rain flower seeds all over the place. Flowers, or just a palace. Or the biggest cathedral conceivably possible. One of those three though. Patios, roofs, windows, street lamps, even flowers within flowers – everything is a victim of flower attack, almost to the same level as Switzerland. Luxembourg Palace is a good example of all of the above. This glorious, pristine little summer home and estate has been turned into a public park complete with miniature boat rental for the main fountain, 109 statues, tennis and basketball courts and cafes, as if the palace itself is just an afterthought. Whatever, just another dumb palace, let’s go play doubles. A quick follow-up on the fountain boats: Katie has insisted that the sticks that these motor-less wooden toy sailboats come with are more than just sticks for kids to move them from the wall with. You wouldn’t just rent these for 4 Euro if there weren’t some magical superior force emanating from the aforementioned stick. They could be anything from magnetic to spiritual to supernatural to dark wizardly powers. She insists. Predictably, just about every boat/yacht/barge we see now comes with a sarcastic question from Aaron or myself regarding where we can get the spell casting stick to control said vessels.

Flower..

..Power.

Magical mini boats

The view from within

We headed from here to the Eiffel Tower. Previously, we had placed bets on how many steps it contains. Despite breaking it down mathematically, estimating about .75 feet per step, my guess of 750 steps was actually 1,000 short, and Katie’s prediction of 1,700 nailed it. No less, Aaron and I were determined not to short ourselves of a manly conquering experience, so we were going to climb every step. Ladies, if we don’t make it, we love you. Stay strong... about 500 steps later, despite our insistence to be valiant in the face of such a treacherous journey, we discovered that tourists aren’t actually allowed to climb the stairs to the top. There’s a stop midway for all, no matter what. Whoops. A bit of a blunder on my end here, as I had done the Eiffel before, and bragged that I climbed the stairs to the top, when really it was about midway, and now I am way less cool. I feel like I need to call all my previous life achievements into question as well, maybe they’re only half as good as I thought.

We legged it to the Arc de Triumph, which I believe was built for anyone who climbed up to the second level of the Eiffel Tower instead of using the elevator, mixed in a dinner crepe at some point, and then made the trek to Sacre Couer. Sacre Couer is a gorgeous church perched on a hill overlooking the city, complete with a 270-degree view of the sunset and swarming with Parisian teens and more beer suitors. The nightly summer crowds overwhelm the trash system, and 0 porta-potties in sight meant the streets were brimming with urine as the locals have absolutely no shame urinating on the other hillside just feet from a palace of the Lord. I believe this downhill urine tributary to the Seine could be an alternate explanation for the same scent wafting into our apartment windows.

But that view

The main event is the ensuing sing-along provided by the acoustic artist on the steps. This included not one, but two renditions of ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis. An African American friend of mine, Ian Roundtree, once referred to this as “the whitest song of all time.” While that’s definitely accurate, it’s also a European anthem of sorts, as I’ve now heard it covered just about every time I’ve heard someone playing a guitar in Europe. The crowd made it echo into the Parisian night. Some more annoying beer suitors repetitively confronted us, and when Aaron and I didn’t whisk them away with a royal wave of the hand, we went to town with some soul crushing deals. Aaron, incredibly, went one on one with a suitor who looked to be friendlier than most. A few feet away just minutes earlier, some English lads achieved a 2 Euro for 1 beer deal that they assumed was the deal of a lifetime. Little did they know, our elite standard was 5 Euro for 4. Aaron smelled blood in the water though, and this suitor was weak. Evolution selected for the fittest and Aaron managed to pull off the previously inconceivable one for one deal. There was a point he was literally dangling a 1 Euro coin in front of the vendors eyeballs. He couldn’t resist it.

A final previously inconceivable event occurred on Sacre Couer. This is such a sketchy and ridiculous business, that one suitor seriously approached us, spoke some jumbled words, pointed at a large box at our feet, and walked away. Generally, this is the same format for a terrorist attack, but the guy seemed trusty enough. Turns out, he wanted us to watch over his box of 20 Heineken while he went and sold elsewhere. Never seen anything like this in my life. Here, customer, watch over the only thing I have to make a living off of while I walk around for a half hour. We considered pulling off a 20 for 0 Euro deal, but after considering we had his liquid currency at our feet, we opted against it, and instead walked down the steep hill to find a late night Doner Kebab and Crepe oasis before retiring.

Day 3

Day 3 was dedicated to the most ridiculous, overzealous, totally selfish and unnecessary housing unit on earth…next to Neuchwanstein castle, maybe. King Louis XIII established this immense plot of land as the “family hunting grounds” after Louis XII started that trend. Louis XIV then decided the 6+ palace options within Paris (that we have seen, at least) just weren’t good enough if he was expected to get up and, you know, be a rich king every morning. Tough life. So we arrived at ol’ Lou’s house by noon to assess the line to get in. This assessment took approximately 3 seconds, as we saw that it wrapped around the golden gates of the gorgeous palace and, again, promptly decided the interior was probably old and run down anyways. Couldn’t be that cool if it was built 400 years ago – Louis XIV probably didn’t even have WiFi LOL!

The gardens in back, though, were mind blowing. Even a second time through, I’d somehow forgotten the pure majesty of this place. The incredible insistence on detail and manicured lawns and flowers would make St. Andrews’s golf course Head Greens Lieutenant (pretty sure that’s a real job title) shudder. We walked and walked and then did some more walking. After my legs transformed into linguini, we shifted our mode of transportation to our masculine manly men upper bodies. Aaron served as house servant, and whizzed us royalty up the royal grand canals. That was fun, but then I came in as the closer, which wasn't as fun. Fun fact: approximately 3% of tourists know how to row a boat properly. This creates for a fun scene of beautiful views mixed in with 7 or 8 near-disastrous crashes per tourist. We docked, and luckily timed it so that we had 1 hour left of the “Musical Fountain Show.”

The Musical Fountain show is a ridiculous concept. Essentially, they turn the fountains on on Saturday afternoons. To watch this, you must pay 9 Euro per person, although the fountains are only doing…exactly as they were built to do. But there is music, so, you know, that’ll cost ya. No less, we paid our dues, and it was glorious. Louis XIV absolutely LOVED water structures, apparently, so he built a hundred or so, as was necessary.

Running short on time to see them all, we started...well, like I said, running. The Tour de Fountain was probably the most unique way one could see the palace. We jogged for about 3 minutes through the perfectly trimmed 40 foot hedges until reaching another fountain exploding with joy, took a picture, maybe two, and took off for the next. ‘Cool! Alright, ready, smile! Andddddd NEXT!’ Nailed it all, with exception to the two fountains that never turned on. You had one job, Versailles.

We concluded our Parisian voyage with Steak and Frites. Just kidding – we had steak and frites and THEN concluded the night with “dessert crepes” down the street from Hostel de Urine. Had to get some sleep before departing for Dublin. Any sleep. Becca was very excited to hear that Aaron is different from Katie and I in terms of travel. Accordingly, then, my beauty sleep would be cut a few hours short, as Becca and Aaron insisted we leave about 16 hours before our flight, but we compromised at just 4.

Next, came possibly the most outrageous experience we’ve had yet: our first Ryan Air flight. To those who have ever flown Ryan Air, you’ll understand why I say that describing this experience needs to be saved for the next post. It was…well, you’ll see.

Enjoy some pics from Lou's Place, see you in Dublin