| Page Views: 979 Last Visit to Paris: January, 2006 I Visit Here Frequently | Paris When it Sizzles by ginalynne - last update: Apr 9, 2007 |
A First Night in Paris
E. Johnson
The tunnels are closing. We run with the girl with the long red hair who only moments ago spoke nothing but French. Now she shouts (in quite passable English) "I hate zee gov-orn-mand!" As we race through the underground labyrinth and scale endless flights of maliciously placed stairs we are no longer bothersome tourists mucking around her city--we are her companion marathoners seeking Olympic gold. A suddenly burst of fresh loud air greets us and we fly through the gate with only moments to spare. As the latch clangs into place behind us, a disembodied voice intones, " Blah, blah, Metro, ferme, blah, blah." "The Metro is closed," our red-haired compatriot translates. With that--and a breathless "Au revoir!" she disappears into the pulsating throng.
I look at Anne. Still winded from our mad dash, we stand on the street and look around. We have no idea where we are. Anne wants to hail a taxi. This time I agree. It's late and we haven't slept in two days. A cab--success--we're in--we're off! Anne tells the driver, "Rew-vit-troo-vay," and he nods his affirmation. I look at my booking slip. Rue Vitruvre. I think Anne has mispronounced our destination, but I say nothing for fear of sparking yet another argument and being wrong. The cabbie sneaks glances into the back seat as we careen through the narrow streets. He serpentines among the other cars at top speed, stabbing the brakes occasionally, but never actually slowing down. The streetlights are a blur. Anne is looking at the map of the city in her now battered guidebook. It has all the detail of a dead man's chalk outline. The driver stabs the brakes again--this time we stop abruptly. A dull thud and we look up to see a handsome young man roll theatrically across the hood of the car. He regains his balance and slams both hands down against the hood. He yells at the driver--words I don't understand--and raises two middle fingers in an obscene yet familiar gesture. This I understand. The cabbie smirks and punches the gas.
As we are hurled forward in awed silence, a pretty blonde rushes toward us--yelling--and flings the tattered remains of a once beautiful bouquet through our open window and into Anne's lap. Speeding onward, I see the girl through the rear window, petulantly promenading down the alley, trailed by a groveling beau. A few blocks more and the cabbie pulls to the curb. "Your room is just ahead," he says pointing up the narrow street. Awash in relief, we pay the hefty fare and reward our driver with a generous tip. He is gone in a flash.
We start walking up the street to our hostel. It isn't there. Instead we find windows bathed in a red haze of electric lust while scantily clad women of questionable repute dance seductively in storefronts. Sinister men line the street and lurk in doorways cajoling passersby to enter the darkened realms of smoke-filled sex shops. We can see the end of the street ahead. We walk briskly--eyes front. Blaring car horns cut through the buzzing night air. A sudden thunderous crash--for a moment silence--flames erupt and soon after, sirens scream toward the street. After running the gauntlet of the damned, we have arrived in hell proper. We approach a policeman who is nonchalantly diverting traffic away from the chaos of the accident. I show him my booking slip with the hostel address printed at the top. He sizes us up with an annoyed eye and informs me, "It is very far. You must take a TOCK-see." I try to tell him that we arrived in a "TOCK-see" but we are no longer of even a passing interest to him.
We resume walking. We flag down the first cab we see. I am tired, and rude to the driver. I thrust the booking slip in front of his face and demand, "No long routes! No stopping! Just go there right now!" He mutters something in French and I tell him to stop pretending he doesn't understand me. He sighs and pulls away from the curb. Thirty minutes later I am safely and soundly sleeping in my room.
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 Comments for ginalynne about Paris | | | | |
BeatChick Tue Apr 3, 2007 23:54 UTC
I agree with you that the Musée Rodin is an absolute must-see and especially about les jardins and the sculptures it holds! | dsantosh Thu May 29, 2003 03:13 UTC
Excellant narration..Pges filled with excellant phtographs, nice tips and useful information to a tourist.Superb presentation..Great job | morgane1692 Wed May 14, 2003 12:08 UTC
the looong hike up those winding steps of ND is so worth it for the eye-to-eye Gargoyle encounters! nice cemetery shots, too! | pchamlis Tue May 13, 2003 19:27 UTC
Your pages are an outstanding literary, as well as photographic, work, Gina. Nice job. |
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