Surviving Paris: A Trip Into The Gutter

Welcome back for the 3rd installment of the “Surviving Paris” saga. If my disasterous adventures in Paris are new to you, click here for part 1 and here for part 2 to read how I narrowly escaped death twice in the City of Light. This time, even my Mom couldn’t save me from the perils of Paris.

We’d had a great time exploring, wandering and eating our way through France’s capital city and, after a big day, decided to hit up the Hard Rock Cafe on Boulevard Montmartre for some diner. Two luscious salads (a break from the baguettes we’d been scarfing) and a couple of Cokes later (a rest from all the wine we’d been consuming), Mom and I were out on the Boulevard trying to figure out a way back to our hotel.

After a couple minutes of deliberation, we decided that a taxi, after our long day of using the heel-toe express, was our best option. Alors, back into the Hard Rock and towards the hostesss I went to ask about calling a cab.

“There is a taxi stand right across the road, madame. That is the best way to get a taxi around here.”

“Excellent. Merci!” Mom and I steered ourselves in the direction the girl pointed and were happy to find that there was indeed a taxi stand just down the road from the restaurant.

Malheureusement, there was nary a taxi to be seen.

We waited. Cars zoomed past.

And waited. Horns honked. Not at us, unfortunately.

And we waited some more. Parisians raised their eyebrows as they passed us on the sidewalk.

In most cities, you wouldn’t think that hailing a cab on a Wednesday evening in October would be very difficult. It wasn’t raining, and  it wasn’t terribly cold (yet), but not one taxi pulled into the stand.

Now, any one who knows me knows that I’m a take-charge kind of girl. And I’m terribly, painfully, frustratingly impatient. At this point, Paris had exhausted my patience, and I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“Mom, I will hail us a cab,” I declared, distancing myself from the stand. ”Don’t you worry!” Like I’m some sort of cab-hailing superhero, right?

So I set off down the road to what I had decided would be a more advantageous spot from which to snag a cab. It’s not that there weren’t any cabs on the street. Au contraire! There were a ton of cabs, but they were all filled with people whose cab catching skills were obviously superior to my own.

I raised my arm and waved. I motioned for cabs to come my way. I tried to make eye contact with passing cabbies. I promenaded slowly up and down the sidewalk, each passing cab representing a dashed hope in my now chilly and very frustrated little traveller’s heart. As my frustration mounted, so did Mom’s amusement with the whole situation. From her post at the taxi stand, she watched me walk back and forth, forwards and backwards along the edge of the sidewalk for probably 15 minutes before catastrophe struck.

Finally, a vacant taxi turned the corner onto the Boulevard and started to drive slowly in our direction. Naturally, I started to wave and walk backwards towards my Mom, never taking my eyes off of the long-awaited cab.

The cabbie looks up and sees me. My heart flutters. Finalement!

I launch into one final flurry of exaggerated waving. Mom applauds my success. The cab drives towards us.

I continue to walk backwards (not a good idea) towards Mom, the whole upper half of me positively shaking with the force of my—Oof!!!

And there I am, mesdames and messieurs, yours truly,  sprawled on my back in a Parisian gutter after having lost my balance and fallen un-elegantly and very ungracefully off the curb. It was the flurry of exaggerated waving that propelled me over the edge, I’ll bet.

“Sarah!”

“Unh…” I lay in the gutter, thinking about how ridiculous I must look with my arms and legs and hair all akimbo, my scarf covering half my face. I send up a silent grievance to the Travel Gods.

Why me? Why this? Always me! Always something!

“What are you doing down there!? How did you do that!?” I can hear the laughter threatening to break through her voice at any moment.

I shrug, as nonchalantly as I can manage. Then I start laughing too.

Just before I make a move to get up, (still laughing, by the way) a little old man on a bicycle pedals towards the edge the sidewalk and peers over onto the road, curious to see what Mom’s looking at. When he sees me, his caterpillar-like eyebrows shoot up so fast I fear they might lift right off of his wrinkly little forehead. He shakes his head at the ridiculous scene and pedals on.

Paris 3. Sarah 0. 

Surviving Paris: The Arc de Triomphe

Warning: Paris is a city that undoes me like no other. Terrible things happen (or almost happen) to me in Paris. Paris turns my slightly disasterous self into a very disasterous self. Read on and you’ll know what I’m talking about…

Before embarking on my study abroad trip to France, I had to endure the “use good judgment while you’re in a foreign country” lecture from my folks. I felt I didn’t really need to hear it, especially in the check-in line at the airport.

“Mom. Dad. Seriously. For 20 years I’ve made good decisions. What makes you think I’m going to start making bad ones now? Just because I’ll be in another country? Please!” I rolled my eyes and hoped the subject would be closed.

After a couple more parental reminders and some very tight hugs, I was checking my bags and on my way to France for five weeks of living la belle vie! I mean… studying French.

Fast-forward three weeks. Delighted to have a long weekend to spend in Paris, my friend and I were intent on cramming as many experiences as we could into our 72-hour sojourn. Climbing the Arc de Triomphe was one of them. So there we were, strolling happily along the Champs-Élysées towards the Arc, dressed in our spiffiest French duds, wearing our spiffiest French heels. Normally I would not totter around a foreign city in heels, but looking the part was essential to fully experiencing the French lifestyle. Obviously.

As we approached Place de l’Étoile, I could see why the square that housed the Arc was referred to as the “Square of the Star”. 12 lanes of frenetic traffic swirled around the Arc which stood like an island in the middle of a very fast-moving stream. The sun was beginning to set, and we were hurrying in order to get a twilight glimpse of Paris from above.

“So, do you see a crosswalk anywhere?” I asked my friend as we approached the Place.

“Non!” She replied in her most zealous French accent. “I don’t see a crosswalk or a stoplight or anything. Rien!”

“Hmm.” That was just a little concerning. I surveyed the Place and indeed did not see any indication as to how we should cross to the Arc. No signage, no little French man waving his arms, nothing.  “Do we just…cross? Wait for traffic to slow then make a break for it?”

“I guess.” She replied hesitantly. “It just doesn’t seem very safe, you know? I mean in Canada they’d probably have an official, well-marked way to cross. Safety first!”

“You’re right.  But, this is France, ma cherie! They do things differently here. Maybe traffic dodging is a skill they’d like everyone to have.” That was a decent rationalization, right? The French did do things differently. And, when in France…

Time was ticking and daylight was fading. With a mutual shrug, we toed up to the curb and waited for the flow of traffic to lessen.

“Ok. One, two, three…Allez!” And we were off, clip clopping across the massive expanse of road as fast as our heels would allow. About halfway across, a look to our left told us that we had not crossed in time, and that cars were turning into the Place and proceeding in our direction.

Naturally, we started to scream.

Just then, we heard the not-so-distant wail of sirens as a police car careened towards us and skidded to a halt in the middle of the road. We stopped, traffic honking and speeding all around us and braced ourselves for the fine or the arrest that was sure to come.

“Mesdames! What are you doing? You could be killed! Turn around maintenant and use the underpass to the Arc. It is located over there!” cried the exasperated gendarme.  He pointed to the half-hidden entrance to the underpass, muttered something about touristes and promptly sped back into the fray.

Chastened and feeling foolish, we waited for traffic to lighten up as we made a run for the very welcoming, traffic-free sidewalk. We managed to make it up the Arc without further incident.

Looking down on the Place from above, we surveyed the very large amount of road we had tried to run across, took stock of the very high volume of cars that flooded onto the road each second, and realized that we could have very easily been mowed down by a speeding French driver…

Place de l’Etoile – As seen from the Arc de Triomphe

I guess I could have used that “good judgement” talk after all, but I prefer to blame Paris. Why? Because the city has it out for me! Literally. Just wait until I post about the time I was nearly dismemembered by a Parisian metro (subway) or the time I nearly died hailing un taxi…

The Travel Budget: A Case For Spending

Do you pride yourself on being the most frugal traveller? Are you the one person you know who can stretch your travel dollars from here to Russia? Do you budget your funds down to the last centesimo and always stay within those guidelines? If so, I applaud you. Give yourself a pat on the back, Scrooge. Now after you’ve finished patting, take that hand and use it to rip up that budget of yours. Seriously. Do it.

Now, think back to all the cold showers you had to endure in bathrooms down the hall from your bedroom, the hard and creaky bunk beds you had to sleep on in dorms full of strangers, the sketchy neighbourhoods where you found the cheapest accommodation . Think of the cattle-car train rides that  left you standing and squished. The restaurant meals you didn’t eat, opting instead for cheap, easy and lacklustre supermarket fare. The sites and attractions you didn’t visit because they were cost-prohibitive. The whirlwind itineraries that left your adventurous spirit weary, because you just had to cram all of Europe into 10 days. Sound familiar?

Is that what you wanted your European vacation to be? Didn’t think so. So what’s my advice?

Spend. Spend time and spend money to make your travels more worthwhile.

“But Sarah, I don’t have a ton of money to spend! Or time! But I still want to have a great European adventure that isn’t going to leave my adventurous spirit weary…”

Spending more time (especially researching beforehand, not necessarily in-country) and/or money can sometimes actually lead to savings in the long run. And not just the financial kind either! You can save on headaches and heartache and even enrich your travel experience. Think about the following points to help you understand how spending time and/or money really can be a good deal:

Accommodation: Accommodation is pricer (or too pricey, you think) in the centre of town? Well, if you opt for accommodations far away from the sights you want to visit, you’ll be paying through the nose for bus fares, taxi rides, metro tickets and potentially the odd donkey ride, depending on where you’re visiting. Now, if you happen to find a hotel or B&B within walking distance to the things you’ve come to visit, you’re laughing! Not only does the heel-toe express give you a better sense for the place you’re visiting, but you save all that money on transportation costs, and burn the calories from your gastronomic indulgences.

Additionally, it’s hard to enjoy your trip if you don’t feel safe and secure. The cheapest beds in town may be found in a hostel near the train station, but do you want to have to travel through a rough part of town on a Saturday night just to save 10 euros on a bed? Nuh – uh. Not only is it dangerous, it leaves you feeling uneasy which will probably lessen the overall quality of your trip. Also, (this comes from an unfortunate firsthand experience), bed bugs do bite! Spending a few more euros a night on a place to stay may make all the difference between bed bugs nibbling on your toes, or not…

A cheap night’s stay in England. Bedbugs included in price of room!

Meals: Eating is a cultural experience. When I think about possibly heading back to Italy in the summer, the first thought that pops into my head is all the eating I’ll be able to do. So while street meat and grocery store meals may be quick, easy and cheap, they are sometimes (but not always) lacking in the cultural experience department. Nourishing, quick and easy this Parisian breakfast surely was, but eating the French equivalent of Silhouette yogurt wasn’t exactly a culture-rich experience for me:

Breakfast in Paris

So mix it up a bit. And remember, just because you eat at a restaurant doesn’t mean it has to be an expensive one. Most mom and pop places aren’t trying to hose you, but tourist-laden restaurants on the main drag or main piazza might be. Be smart. Figure out the going rate for a plate of pasta or a pizza, and check out restaurants within that price range. I’ve left many-a restaurant saying, “we can eat cheaper elsewhere” and had a perfectly good meal at a place just a little farther off the beaten track.

Doing and Seeing: With all the technology that we have in our life these days, I tell you there is absolutely no excuse for not knowing what sightseeing and activities cost (give or take a euro or two), especially the biggies. Spend time doing some research before you go and realize that, yes, it’s going to cost you 17 euros to climb the leaning tower of Pisa. Yeah, it’s outrageous, but deal with it. Do you really want to travel all the way to Europe (or wherever) only to learn that your Scroogey self didn’t budget enough for sightseeing, so you have to miss out on one of the experiences you were so looking forward to? I think not. And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen it – the forlorn traveler staring longingly at a museum, church or monument, wishing they could go inside, but unwilling to budge on the budget, or kicking themself for not having planned for the expense. Balance splurges with lower-cost or even free activities to avoid feeling gipped out of the experiences you wanted. These free activities exist. I promise.

Also, splurging the extra 3 or 4 euros to reserve tickets ahead of time for big sites like Versailles, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Vatican, the Coliseum, or the Uffizi and Accademia galleries can save you a ton of time and headaches. Do you want to be the schmuck stuck in line, waiting outside, in 40-degree weather because you refused to pay the 3-euro reservation fee for museum tickets? I think not!

Keeping Up With The Joneses: Maybe you’ve heard all about Venice, but you’re afraid of boats. Do you really think you should go there, just because everyone else has? I don’t. If your best friend went to Sorrento, but you have absoultely no idea what there is to do or see there, should you spend your money and time to go? Not unless you do some research and figure out if what Sorrento offers is worth your hard-earned travel dollars. If you’re not a Renaissance art type of person, why pay the money to go to the Uffizi or the Accademia? Don’t go somewhere just for the name – you’re bound to be disappointed. There are tons of other places that are probably right up your alley – you just have to do some digging to find them.

Lastly, keep your itinerary manageable. If you try to cram too many things and too much distance into a shorter trip, it’ll leave you feeling exahusted. And when it’s all said and done, you won’t be able to distinguish between any of the places you went. Your trip will turn into a blurry whirlwind, and at the end of it all, you’ll be burned-out and disappointed.

Now, did my case for spending seem all that outrageous? I’m not advising you to break the bank, but I am inviting you to look at the realities of travel so that you can have a more worthwhile, stress-free trip. Maybe your budget this year doesn’t allow for the kind of trip you’d like, but an extra year of saving could let you have the kind of trip you’ve always dreamed of. Or, maybe you’re bound and bent to go somewhere this year, with or without the funds. That’s fine too, as long as you adjust your expectations so that they’re in line with the reality of what you’re going to get.