Chapter 6: First Day in Paris

Walked along the Champs-Élysée today and bought a sugar crepe for my first French breakfast. I walked in and under the Arc de Triomphe and walked back to get another crepe and I ran into a close Australian family on vacation having trouble ordering their crepes, "What's the difference?" he said in broken French, pointing to the menus.
"One is waffles, one is crepes." The attendant said in French, but it was obvious our Australian didn't understand, so I translated.
"Oh, thanks, mate. And what are the choices?" So I told him, "Sweet, thanks."
"Are you guys Australian?" I asked, biting into my crepe.
"Yeah, from Melbourne."
"I'm from Sydney."
"Well, there you go!" And he introduced himself and his family; his daughter Jane, his son Sam and Sam's girlfriend Maddy, and he himself was Peter. We kept chatting for a few minutes outside the crepe stall when I finally said, "Hey, if it isn't too much trouble, would you mind if I tagged along with you for a while? It gets kind of lonely travelling alone."
"Hey, no problem." And now I was the family translator. We continued along the Champs-Élysée to the obeliskof Turin (?) and on to the Louvre, which was closed because it was a Tuesday.
We moved off, then, to a small cafe to get some eats where I recommended Jane and Peter's first onion soup, which they loved. I had a croque-complet which is a toasted sandwich with tomato and ham in the middle, and cheese melted on top with an egg. We moved on to the Musée d'Orsay which housed some amazing impressionist paintings and others by Renoit, Degat, Pissqro, Picasso, Courbet, Manet and Monet along with some ancient and modern granite and bronze sculptures. We had a drink in the incredibly decadent looking restaurant housed in silver and gold and paintings and mirrors and it felt like I was wasting a fortune just sitting in there. Soon thereafter we made our way to the Eiffel Tower, a truly magnificant end to a first day. And what a structure. It was bathed in blue light and the reflection of the foggy clouds created a beautiful atmosphere of awe around this incredible structure. Here, the family left me, and I climbed the tower on my own. At the top, to say the least, it was simply breathtaking and every photo I took looked like an impressionist painting because of the multicoloured lights reflecting off the cloud cover over the city. And I, and only I, your self-appointed narrator and hero, would be the one to almost trip and fall down the small staircase on this magnificant feat of engineering. I also happened to be lucky enough, my faithful readers, to be on the tower just as the light show began and the tower exploded in a million flashed of a million lights, providing a beautiful backdrop to this dream-like experience, but which I'm sure was equally, if not more, impressive from the ground. I descended the tower, less impressed to be back on flat ground, battling off souvenir salesmen on all sides, "1 Euro, come on, special discount!" I walked through the brisk Paris air, smiling.
When I reached the Champs-Élysée, it was lit up like a magnificant tree, and along it led to the brightly backlit Arc de Triomphe. I took the incredibly crowded Paris metro home, paying close attention to my belongings so they were not stolen, and got back to the hostel, bursting for a piss. I got back to the room to find my things had not, in fact, been stolen. I lay on the bed and rested my fee from another full day, soon to head out for dinner, I wonder what tonight...

Got to a restaurant for dinner that had tartare - and they were OUT! So I order the side of beef (cote to boeuf) to settle my hungry stomach. The waitress warns me of its enormity, "C'est tres grand!" but I pursue. She brings out a raw side of beef - "That's not what I meant by tartare!" I should've said - and a small stone slab hotplate, with a side of fries. I proceed to cook tiny pieces of beef as I cut them from the steak and season them with salt and pepper and various sauces provided. I polish it off rather quickly and am very satisfied. The waitress returns to take my plate, "C'est fait? C'etait bon?" - all done? it was good? - and I said "oui". She enquires about how well I speak French - at first when I order the tartare she stares blankly at me, "You know what that is, right? You know it's raw, are you sure?" I nod and tell her I know this, "Oh, so your French, not English!"
"I'm Quebecois." - and I tell her I am from Quebec and living in Australia, "Mais, ton francais est tres bien en tout cas!" - well, your french is very good anyway! - and she sounds surprised.
"Do you want a desert?"
"No thanks, I couldn't eat any more." I said, holding my stomach.
"Do you like champagne?"
"Well...I...yes..."
"Good, I'll bring you some, on the house." She said and sped off, bringing me a caraffe of water and a glass of champagne. How friendly.

NOTE: You'll never guess what song was playing in my first cab in Berlin, "coz it's too late, to 'pologize..."

Walking back to my room and after collecting my key, I notice there is no room 630, why?!

- from the Journal, 16th Dec.