What a whirlwind first day in Paris!
Once I got to Paris and survived a train change at Châtlet (Julie G, you know how much of a nightmare this is with luggage), I easily found a bank across from the hostel and checked in.
Once I got to Paris and survived a train change at Châtlet (Julie G, you know how much of a nightmare this is with luggage), I easily found a bank across from the hostel and checked in.
The hostel is really…hip. Clean and hip. As long as it’s
clean, I’m happy, and the Montmartre-worthy décor is an added bonus. The
hostel, Oops! (which I highly recommend) is located just off of Place d’Italie
at Les Gobelins. It is in one of the more quiet neighborhoods, and it has
really good métro connections: les lignes 5, 7, and 8.
I am rooming with a guy named Cole, who is an accounting major at the University of Oregon. He is from Idaho (wonder if he like potatoes), and he is teaching English to elementary-aged children as part of a camp in the French countryside this summer. He is also a French minor.
My other two roommates are some of the sweetest people I have ever met: Allie and Will, a couple from Australia. They’re on a six-month long backpacking extravaganza: 3 months in Europe and 3 months in South America. Will said he quit his job to take the trip (a celebration for Allie becoming a CPA); it was either make a down-payment for a house or take the trip. So they took the trip and plan to move to London and live with friends for awhile in order to save $ once all’s said and done. (I definitely wouldn’t have the courage to walk away from a job like that, but it seems to be a pretty normal thing Down Undah.) Nevertheless, they are both kind-hearted and have a gentle, yet warm sense of humor.
As I quickly discovered, the shower in our room floods. Big
Time. As in I-might-need-to-give-Noah-a-call-big-time. Note to self: for future
showers, only turn the shower on half-way in order to avoid 1” of water on the
3’x3’ bathroom floor. (I also discovered that my shower shoes don’t exactly cut
it as squeegees….
…..Oops!.....
Nevertheless, I am exhausted after my rollercoaster travel adventures. I can’t remember where I spent the night last night—oh yeah, the plane!--, nor can I tell when one day rolled over to the next. Maybe jet lag has a side effect of brain lag. I seem to have a severe case.
After I got settled in at the hostel, bags safely bike-locked to my bed frame, I wandered around Place d’Italie at one end of the street all the way down to Les Jardins des Plantes at the other end, and then some.
For those of you who have heard of my previous Paris excursion, wandering the city is one of my favorite things to do. You never know what you’re going to find! On my daily meander, it is as if Paris becomes this magical toy chest of mysterious streets, all capable of taking you on a marvelous adventure. You never know what you’re going to find (but you know it’s going to be something grand), so all you have to do is choose one and begin walking.
On the way to Jardins des Plantes, I took a side-street/shortcut (and got lost) and found a mosque/Hamam school tucked away beside the garden. Part of it was closed for construction, but there was a really neat little café tucked in one corner. Graced with Arabian arches and mosaic-clad tables, the café seemed to add spice the otherwise Haussmanian surroundings.
But the gardens. Oh, the gardens. I might have found a new (additional—not exclusive—) favorite spot in Paris.
There was a rose garden.
With climbing roses dotting walkway arches.
And white marble statues.
And birds splashing around in puddles.
And cooing doves.
It was literally postcard perfect.
Needless to say, I took a few pictures. ;) (Only 500 from today alone…)
There was also a museum of some sort in the gardens, in addition to a very expansive greenhouse, a bird exhibit, and a section that showed various stages of plant development. It seemed to be a botanial garden of sorts, but whatever it is or was meant to be, it was the runner hangout in Paris. Some were literally running circles around me as I stood there looking every bit the tourist.
But I did get some good people-watching in. Turns out many French wear normal clothes for running. Not jeans, of course, but sweat pants and a baggy tank top, or something along those lines. And very few of those fancy running shoes I’ve been looking at recently. Many seemed to just wear whatever old sneakers they had. Of the ones who did have technical shoes, most of them were Mizuno, followed by Asics. Good choices, both ;)
Afterwards, I left through the front gate of the garden, looked up, and saw the Bastille over the rooftops! It was naturally a very exciting moment, as I had waited all year to go back to ma petite Bastille.
It’s no surprise, then, that I walked there next. It was a really emotional moment walking up to la Place de la Bastille for the first time that I just sat there on a bench for awhile just to appreciate being there, seeing the familiar cafés, the familiar sidewalks, the familiar swarms of rogue teenagers drinking on the Opéra Bastille steps (who were closely watched by armed policemen), and the familiar neighborhood itself.
I got some groceries (Camembert, baguette, Le Petit Beurre cookies, Nutella, and a Galette for dinner) and headed back to the hostel for the night.
My feet are tired from the travel and walking, and my brain is foggy with exhaustion. So I’m off to bed for some sweet shut-eye on my first night in Paris!
…..Oops!.....
Nevertheless, I am exhausted after my rollercoaster travel adventures. I can’t remember where I spent the night last night—oh yeah, the plane!--, nor can I tell when one day rolled over to the next. Maybe jet lag has a side effect of brain lag. I seem to have a severe case.
After I got settled in at the hostel, bags safely bike-locked to my bed frame, I wandered around Place d’Italie at one end of the street all the way down to Les Jardins des Plantes at the other end, and then some.
For those of you who have heard of my previous Paris excursion, wandering the city is one of my favorite things to do. You never know what you’re going to find! On my daily meander, it is as if Paris becomes this magical toy chest of mysterious streets, all capable of taking you on a marvelous adventure. You never know what you’re going to find (but you know it’s going to be something grand), so all you have to do is choose one and begin walking.
On the way to Jardins des Plantes, I took a side-street/shortcut (and got lost) and found a mosque/Hamam school tucked away beside the garden. Part of it was closed for construction, but there was a really neat little café tucked in one corner. Graced with Arabian arches and mosaic-clad tables, the café seemed to add spice the otherwise Haussmanian surroundings.
But the gardens. Oh, the gardens. I might have found a new (additional—not exclusive—) favorite spot in Paris.
There was a rose garden.
With climbing roses dotting walkway arches.
And white marble statues.
And birds splashing around in puddles.
And cooing doves.
It was literally postcard perfect.
Needless to say, I took a few pictures. ;) (Only 500 from today alone…)
There was also a museum of some sort in the gardens, in addition to a very expansive greenhouse, a bird exhibit, and a section that showed various stages of plant development. It seemed to be a botanial garden of sorts, but whatever it is or was meant to be, it was the runner hangout in Paris. Some were literally running circles around me as I stood there looking every bit the tourist.
But I did get some good people-watching in. Turns out many French wear normal clothes for running. Not jeans, of course, but sweat pants and a baggy tank top, or something along those lines. And very few of those fancy running shoes I’ve been looking at recently. Many seemed to just wear whatever old sneakers they had. Of the ones who did have technical shoes, most of them were Mizuno, followed by Asics. Good choices, both ;)
Afterwards, I left through the front gate of the garden, looked up, and saw the Bastille over the rooftops! It was naturally a very exciting moment, as I had waited all year to go back to ma petite Bastille.
It’s no surprise, then, that I walked there next. It was a really emotional moment walking up to la Place de la Bastille for the first time that I just sat there on a bench for awhile just to appreciate being there, seeing the familiar cafés, the familiar sidewalks, the familiar swarms of rogue teenagers drinking on the Opéra Bastille steps (who were closely watched by armed policemen), and the familiar neighborhood itself.
I got some groceries (Camembert, baguette, Le Petit Beurre cookies, Nutella, and a Galette for dinner) and headed back to the hostel for the night.
My feet are tired from the travel and walking, and my brain is foggy with exhaustion. So I’m off to bed for some sweet shut-eye on my first night in Paris!
Meredith it is such a joy to read you again! (Not to mention getting some vicarious Paris exposure.) You'll have to send me link/info for the hostel you used so I can keep track of it in my piles o' Paris info. I have to run now but will be back to read more ASAP!
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