The whole experience was pretty educational. For example, only products developed in the Champagne region of France can be called champagne. From anywhere else, it’s probably called sparkling wine. Also, once you buy champagne, it must be stored horizontally, and in a cool place.
We also visited a small family-owned champagne business. The owner told me about all of the neighborhood children who drive through his garage door and steal his champagne. He seemed pretty excited about his new defense strategy, which was a heavy-duty gate secretly placed on the inside of his garage, which would catch the young thieves off guard and certainly mess up their vehicles. Then he gave an evil little chuckle. Heh heh Heh.
We also had an AWESOME lunch included on the trip. To this day, I have no clue what the main dish was. It was meat, but it wasn’t. The sauce on top was as if it had thickened after cooking the way sauce normally does, but at the same time, as if it was never sauce from the start. The objects surrounding the meat substance seemed edible, but really, no more so than the strange off-white plate on which they were sitting. I ate the whole thing, confused, but satisfied. Afterwards came dessert. It was called soupe de fraise (strawberry soup), which, to me, tasted like chopped up strawberries in a bowl full of kool-aid. I didn’t think it was that great, until I saw the hefty price on the menu, and convinced myself that kool-aid soup had to be one of the best desserts I’ve ever had. Oh, YEAH!
On the way back to Paris, we stopped at a huge cathedral in Rimes. Normally, I don’t concern myself with such things as artistic beauty and glorious architecture, but even I thought this place was pretty cool. Tall pillars, stained glass windows…even the French bums outside seemed to have a holy aura surrounding them. You know…separate from their normal aura of heinous body odor.
And finally, I got back to Paris around 9:30 PM. That gave me about an hour to get to the Bastille Day fireworks. I didn’t know where exactly to go, just that I had to get through the whole of Paris and end up somewhere close to the Eiffel Tower. I got to my metro station as the train pulled up. Full. And when I say ‘full’, I mean there were limbs hanging out of the windows and babies being held over people’s heads. I waited for the next train. Eureka! I managed to force myself into a spot between two children and an old woman, just behind a skinny Nigerian girl, and slightly to the right of the entire population of Paris’ 14th Arondissement. Perfect Fit.
So as the entire Fourteenth Arondissement accompanied me to the July Fourteenth Fireworks, we were all shocked as our train approached the Eiffel Tower train stop, and then completely skipped it, and dropped us off across the river. Curse you, Paris. Foiled again! I got out and had to somehow get back across the river by foot. When I got to the bridge, the Parisian police force stood as a human wall, forbidding anyone to cross. Using my precious gift of logic, I noticed that it was possible to, well, simply walk around them.
I walked through the crowds on the bridge and made it to the other side. From here, I stood on the side of a road between the bank of the Seine and the Eiffel Tower. Perfect. Still, I wasn’t sure if the fireworks would come from over the Champ de Mars, over the river, or from the Eiffel Tower itself. Using my aforementioned logic, I figured that I could just observe the people sitting on the sides of the road and face whichever way they seemed to be looking. Strangely, the people on one side of the street were all facing the people on the other side, and vice versa. Unless the fireworks were happening directly over this road, half of the people in the vicinity were obviously looking the wrong way. I hovered on the side of the road where people seemed slightly less clueless, and parked myself.
Alas, moments later, a firework blasted just behind my back and scared the crap out of me, and I was enormously frustrated to be on the side of the road of the idiots, who all stood up and turned around toward the river saying things like “Oh, it’s over there.” Still, the fireworks were pretty extraordinary, and went on for about an hour. Throughout the show, music was being placed from huge speakers at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. While some of the music seemed unusually Earthy and spiritual, most of it was just John Williams stuff from American movies. Go, French Pride! All in all, a good show.
After it ended, I sprinted to the nearest metro, only to find the line all the way outside the entrance and around the block. Then I ran to the next stop. Same situation. At this point, I realized that the best way back to my place would be to just walk the 90 minute trip back. When I walked back to my building, I was famished. It was late, so I could only walk to a nearby vending machine and grab a snack. As I pulled out my wallet, I realized that felt pretty proud of myself for conquering Paris on such a busy day. After this thought though, I saw that the machine only took coins, and then noticed that I had none left. Curse you, Paris! Foiled again!!!
So I returned to my room with exactly the same thing that the Parisians found inside The Bastille on that Fourteenth of July in 1789 when they stormed the entrance:
Absolutely nothing.
Current Score:
France: 5 Paul: 1
