My flight from CDG to Amsterdam was scheduled at precisely 4:20 PM. I kid you not.
The plane smelled suspect, although I thought nothing of it at first, but when all the flight attendants were red-eyed, I became concerned.
Of course, it goes without saying, the plane left a few minutes late. …

I arrived at Central Station unsure of my lodging for the night, or of how many successive vowels to use in my speech here. Continue reading →

No first trip to Paris would be complete without a visit to the Eiffel Tower, and I’m happy to say it’s as impressive as it seems in any black and white postcard you’ve ever received. It’s grandeur is all the more when you consider it was built in 1889 (wtf?) and entirely of wrought iron. That’s no joke.

No, you’re not docking with the Nostromo there – that’s the tower’s rarely photographed undercarriage. Something perverse about looking at such an iconized structure from this POV, no?

The tower is almost a thousand feet high, and although I arrived too late to visit the upper observation deck (classic George) I was still taken with the view from the lower one, especially at night.

Every hour, the tower is lit up by hundreds of small flashes giving it a sparkling effect from afar. Awesome to witness, but I’d hate to be the one who has to change a light bulb up there…

Went to the Rex Club the following night – the wait in line was lousy and some cute girls tried to cut in front of me. I figured I’d have an easier time getting in with them and their male counterpart than I would alone, so I made a deal and it paid off despite the wait. Once inside, I realized that it’s not the French that should stereotypically draw the ire and revulsion of Americans, but simply French hipsters – a total lack of self-awareness and simple courtesy: elbows in my back, my side – and that’s just the chicks… Hate to generalize, but it’s a motion that would soon be seconded by many Dutch acquaintances.

But we gave them Jerry Lewis, so we’re even, I suppose…

Too much good livin’… The French gave me their charming cough – a rumbling by-product of the cold weather, long nights, and too many Gauloises… admittedly, not entirely the Parisians’ fault – everybody in Europe seems to smoke – Continue reading →

Getting out of the hostel took a bit of effort, but I finally scored a flat – not too far from the same area, but at least I’d be in assuredly more private environs – the place was the size of a doghouse, but it had a shower and kitchenette – albeit in the living/bedroom – it was all I needed. I was now living in the 17th Arrondissement on a street just off the Avenue de Clichy, a pretty active strip with plenty of cafés, bars and such. At night, my block definitely grew a touch seedier – at least I knew where to find hash if I needed it – too bad I don’t speak French.

By contrast to Madrid, Parisians are quite comfortable dining alone – or smoking, walking, sitting, what have you – alone. Continue reading →