This trip of mine definitely had its share of good and bad luck; it just seemed that it was concentrated in one place.
Paris: la ville de malchance et les “argents” et les “diamants”
Like I’ve said before, I can write epic novels about Paris. It was my third time being in Paris, and it still hasn’t lost its luster and allure to me. The Grands Boulevards, Haussmanian buildings, the sparkling Eiffel Tower at night, Musée d’Orsay, all bring back nostalgic feelings, feelings of unbridled happiness and freedom. In spite of what transpired while I was here the third time, I was still able to enjoy myself while I was here, and still think of Paris as my favorite city.
When I arrived at the apartment (on the 15th arrondissement) that we had rented out, apparently, my friends Frances and Kat had already started having bad luck. The heater wasn’t heating up the place adequately, and so they’ve had to walk around the apartment in bundles, and as a last resort, had used the oven as an impromptu “fireplace”. Frances had troubles with her credit cards and had to call her credit card companies back home to lift the fraud alert. Travel tip #643: Make sure that you have contacted your credit card companies BEFORE leaving; otherwise, you’ll have issues up the wazoo. (And I know they say that you can call them collect overseas, but to my experience, that’s another headache in itself, so save yourselves from the troubles)
Anyhow, as we were getting ready to head out, Frances used her flattening iron, and within 2 minutes, shorted the circuit: hello frozen apartment. We tried resetting the breaker, but to no avail, or so we thought. We called Theo, the apartment owner’s friend who was looking after the place, and he came over after work. Apparently, when the circuit shorts, there’s a switch that automatically turns off, and all we had to do was switch it back on; of course, we felt like big bêtes.
I’ve heard horror stories about French locksmiths; they charge a premium, and that they’re not nice people. I guess it was my turn to live this horror. The apartment that we rented out was recently renovated, with double pane glasses, wooden floors, heated drying racks (which were AMAZING) and a secured, double-locked and double-bolt door, the kind that you have to use a key to get out. But just in case of an emergency, Frances thought that it would be safe to leave the key on the door, so we can open the door easier. On our way out, we accidentally left the keys in the knob inside the apartment, and since there were bolts that automatically activate once the door is closed, we couldn’t just push the door in. We ended up calling this locksmith that Theo recommended, and after assessing the door, he said that aside from the 120€ charge for his service, that it’ll take another 600€ to replace the locks. We were outraged, and kept telling the guy to just open us up, and the landlord will take care of it when she gets back. He finally relented, and he started hammering away. Only after the fact did we realize that he screwed us over. He essentially broke the lock for no reason; he only needed to jimmy the bolt using a thin but strong film paper to pry the bolts loose, but he hammered into the lock anyway. Since we were so frazzled, we just let him do what he was doing, and paid him as soon as he was finished.
As if it weren’t bad enough, the next day, as I was heading out to grab some baguettes and pastries for breakfast, another misfortune happened. Like the apartment door, the outside door also required using a key to get out, and as I was trying to get out, the key SNAPPED while I was turning the key; now, both the outside and inside doors cannot be locked! Luckily, most of the tenants in the apartment were gone on holidays, and Sofiane, a carpenter who was working on the apartment above ours, was the only other person in the apartment. Basically, we ended up taping the door to both the inside and outside doors so we can leave; Sofiane helped us out big time by giving us the tape and sand paper (to place on the inside door so it’ll stay shut). See, whoever said that French people are bitchy?
With all the bad luck that we were having, we swore we were on some sick and twisted French reality TV show or something. I kept waiting for a French Ashton to pop up somewhere and tell me that we’ve been punk’d, but alas, no trucker hat-wearing fool was there to give us the good news.
But in spite of all of this, my friends and I still ended up having a grand ol’ time in la cité de lumières. Paris is best enjoyed by foot, but since it was freezing (it was hovering around 4 degrees Celsius), we decided to do walk a bit, and use the smelly but highly efficient metro when we got too cold. I took them around my old school, AUP, where I pointed out the cafés that we would frequent while we were there, and showed them my favorite boulangerie, Boulangerie Julienne, where they make the best chocolate au pain and sandwich de poulet curry. I took them to my favorite Church (Madeleine), my favorite place to shop (Chatelet-Les Halles), and my favorite place to people watch (Sacre-Couer).
While having our “French moment” (eating crepes) at Champs de Mars, we created our new “ratings system”; instead of rating people using numbers (1-10),To be a bit more discreet (if that was EVER possible), we’ve decided to rank them using a different system: a “10” was considered a “platinum”, a “9” is a diamond, an “8” is a gold, “7” is a silver, and a “6” is a bronze. For 5 and below, we clumped them all together to “cubic zirconium” or CZ for short.
There was no shortage of bronzes and silvers in this city; though we were a bit more discerning in handing out anything any rating above silver. We decided to stick to this rating system, and made one more caveat; if we see anyone “gold” or above, we HAD to talk to them. I mean, how often do we get to travel, and besides, we’re probably not going to see them ever again, so what’s the harm, right? And who knows, something nice might come of it.
Le Six Seven, a posh little club near Champs-Elysses, was littered with silvers, gold, and diamonds, of all different races; see facebook photos to see them. I have heard of this place while I was studying here, but the cover here was always ridiculous (25€), so we went to other places (Le Queen on Wednesdays, and Barrio Latina and Sanz Sans in the Bastille area on the weekends). Fortunately, I was able to get us in to a free guestlist, and so for New Year’s night, we braved the cold and headed out, putting our miseries aside for one night. And what a night it was; partying until the wee hours, just in time to catch the first metro, just like the good ol’ days.
Prague: -11 C and dropping
I have been once to Prague (sometimes called the Paris of Central Europe) two summer ago, but Frances and Kat hadn’t been, and they’ve heard me gush about Prague ad nauseum, and after Paris, we decided that we’ll stop over to “The Freezer”, formerly known as Prague.
Like Paris, Prague is best enjoyed by foot, though with below zero temperatures (one day the high was -11 C), it was a bit difficult. We did about one or two tourist-y thing a day, and the rest of the time, we spent in a restaurant, café, or anywhere warm.
For a daytrip, we took the train to Kutna Hora, a quaint little town about a 2 ½ hour train ride from Prague, most famous for its ossuary. Aside from the chilly collection of bones made into ornaments, chandeliers, and whatnot, Kutna Hora has a picturesque center square, lined with shops, restaurants, and cafés, with neoclassical architecture as its main motif.
I ended up staying with Denis, a fellow CouchSurfer, while I was in Prague. He is a software engineer working for Opera. He took us (twice) to the best Italian place I have ever been to outside of Italy; who would’ve thought? Their penne chicken pesto was to die for, as well as their white cream seafood pasta; their thin crust pizza was also marvelous, as well as their Czech beers on tap. It was ridiculously cheap too, something that is becoming more of a rarity here in Prague, as it gets more and more tourist-y. For two pizzas, three pastas, a bottle of wine, and 3 pints of beer, we paid about 600 Korunas (about $30). I also met up with Daniel, another CouchSurfer. He took us out clubbing to the biggest club in Prague (I forgot what the name of it was, but it was near the Charles Bridge), a six story behemoth, outfitted with different themes each floor (hip-hop, dance, electronic, lounge, chill,)
Istanbul: the “default” vacation
While I was planning this trip, I was trying to decide whether to go to Istanbul or Morocco, places that I have heard great things about, so really, when it came down to it, price and availability of flights ultimately decided it for me; there weren’t that many cheap flights out to Casablanca, Marrakesh, or Fez around the time that I was looking, and I was able to snag a one-way from Prague to London for 35€ a return from London to Istanbul for 65£, and so Istanbul it was.
Sultanahmet Square was in one word: exquisite. The manicured lawns are well kept, with a fountain beautifully appointed in the center. The Hagia Sophia was a thing of beauty, a great example of early Byzantine architecture; it started out as a traditional Latin colonnaded basilica with a wooden roof, and five naves back in the fifth century, and now, after riots and fires, it currently stands as a domed longitudinal basilica, with a central dome, protruding apses, and an internal and external narthex. It is most famous for its richly decorated mosaics, with gold gilded motifs. It was actually in the running for the New World Wonders, but ultimately didn’t make the ranks of the Chichen Itza in Mexico, Christ of the Redeemer in Brazil and others.
Across the square from Hagia Sophia was the Blue Mosque, a culmination of both the classical Ottoman and Byzantine architecture. Its exterior is stunning, made up mostly of marble and local stone. Apparently, it changes colors, depending on how the sun hits the surface, or at least that’s what the old man selling the pretzel outside the mosque. The interior was even more dazzling, with the colorful handmade tiles, with representations of flowers, fruits and cypress in the gallery level, and a more classical design in the lower levels.
Of course, the square was littered with tourists, and the vendors that sold everything, from disposable cameras, to baklavas and other sweets, and other knickknacks. I had an encounter with this persistent man who kept offering me “free” books and postcard sets, only to ask for 45 liras as a “donation”. When I kept telling him that I didn’t have any money, he kept insisting that I take it, and to give him whatever I had to spare. I relented, and I gave him 20 liras, which wasn’t bad, considering the book was about 10 liras, and the postcard booklet was another 10 (I saw their prices on a stand nearby).
London: Reunited with the big furry red bird
One thing that London knows how to do right is museums. All of their museums are free! And not just on every first day of the month; it’s free 365 days out of the year! Imagine: da Vinci, Monet, Boticelli, whenever you want! Well, not whenever you want apparently; da Vinci’s “Madonna on the Rocks” was in restoration, and Boticelli’s “The Birth of Venus” was temporarily moved to a paid admission wing in the National Gallery. At least I got to see some Titian (“Bacchus and Ariadne”) and got introduced to Canaletto, whose remarkable eye for detail and precision and infusion of tiny, lifelike incidents in his paintings had made him the definitive painter of Venice. I especially enjoyed “A Regatta on the Grand Canal”, with realistic waves that appear to move and the intricate details of the spectators.
I met Sharon through our common friend Diane, whom I went to college with and my neighbor while I lived in International House my junior year. She visited San Francisco last summer, and I told her that while I thought London was a good city, I wouldn’t want to visit it again because it was so darn expensive; in essence, the same amount, but switch out $ for the £. She promised me that she’d take me out to the cheap but good places to eat and go out; she held up her end of the bargain. If there were any beneficiaries of the crumbling global finance, it is American travelers; six months ago, 1£ was about $2.20, now, it’s about $1.55.
On our way to lunch, we were walking through a square, and out of nowhere, someone yells out my name. When I looked back, it was my friend Ellen, another I-House alumnus. I would’ve contacted her to let her know I was going to be in London, but I thought she was still in Edinburgh (thanks facebook status updates). She just moved back to London for the holidays, and is now working for a theatre group in London. Randomness, I thought: five million people in this city, and I happen to bump into one of my old friends out in the streets. What are the odds of that?
So after five weeks, I finally got home, with all of my body parts still intact. Despite my best efforts to avoid jetlag, for a week, I kept waking up at 3 am and falling asleep at 7-8pm, but it was all worth it.
