Having been to Paris once before, and indeed the same hostel before, I was fully aware of what to expect from the 'city of lights'. Will, however was overawed from the start, and thus began a three-day tyrade of abuse aimed in the direction of anyone French. Having checked in at the 3 Ducks hostel and put down our crap, I decided to take Will to the Eiffel Tower in an attempt to inspire him to say something more than "bloody french bastards". We headed towards the museum of cinema to attain a more panoramic view of the tower. Having fought our way through the crowd of skating gimps, we posed for some photographic gurning japes.
However, Will still seemed unimpressed. I dragged him to the Champs Elysee to gaze upon the Arc de Triomphe; this was however greeted with little more than a downturned mouth and shrugged shoulders. We'd only been in Paris for an hour and already Will was a natural Parisian. Splendid.(It was close to freezing temperatures - Will). We headed back towards the hostel, and to our suprise, discovered that we had another roommate. An American called Amos who had been studying in England. Having introduced ourselves, we headed out to the local creperie for dinner. The evening was a pleasant suprise, as not only had we found an American that we liked, but also that we weren't eating from the safe haven of the golden arches.
After the meal, Will headed straight for bed, whilst Amos and I headed for the bar for a couple of swift jars on top of a bottle of cheap red wine from the local supermarche.
Amos, Will and I headed out across Paris to the Louvre, determined to make ourselves feel a little more cultured. The Louvre building itself is a work of art, and is absoloutely magnificent. There is however too much to see, so we concentrated on the biggies: the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa. Amos' critical analysis of the Venus de Milo was inspired:
"Dude, check out that chick's rack!". We left the museum after about 3 hours, and walked around the chilly grounds.Montmatre was beckoning. Having followed the Lonely Planet map towards Sacre Coeur, we were utterly lost. After the interrogation of several bemused shop owners by Will in his AS level French, we made our way to the rear end of the magnificent cathedral. We had somehow managed to avoid the giant mass of Japanese tourists who awaited us at the panoramic summit. Again, after gurning tomfoolery and the world's most expensive coffee, Notre Dame was calling to us from afar. This was also a fantastic sight, and good exercise to boot. The climb almost killed me, having had no exercise since leaving Uni. Yet again Will's luck deserted him, as at the foot, he was cursed for refusing to give money to a gypsy woman. It was hard not to laugh at this point, as Will's dislike of Paris quickly turned to pure hatred. This prompted a return to the hostel, but in our quest to find the metro station, we walked half the length of the Seine, stopping only to drag Amos away from collectors' editions of Playboy magazine. We decided that after 9 hours of walking, enough was enough, and we adjourned to Macdo's for un Big Mac. Having stocked up the fat levels in our arteries, we headed back out into the cold (I was actually beginning to feel quite healthy for second).
We then did what people do in Paris: climbed the Eiffel Tower. It was now dark, so it was beautifully lit and shining down on us. Will took his bottle of 'Sunny D' from his backpack and posed triumphantly. Don't ask me why. Strangely enough, being hundreds of feet up exposed to the bitter Parisien winds was still warmer than being the hostel; and that was where we were now heading for bed time. Unfortunately, Will slept for about 2 hours collectively in Paris, probably fuelling the fire of his dislike of the place.
Our last full day in Paris saw us rise early to visit the famed Palace of Versailles. After 40 minutes on the metro, 30 minutes on the bus, and a further 45 minutes queing to get in, Will was already ticking like a time-bomb. The Hall of Mirrors was absoloutely stunning, but not for the last time on the trip, stuffed with screaming, sweaty tourists. This therefore made it impossible to enjoy, and we ended up shuffling around as quickly as possible, just to escape the crowd. The palace itself can be classified as a disappointment. The same cannot be said however for the magnificent palace gardens.They offered the chance to escape the crowd for at least an hour, and let Will concentrate on his shivering technique. He was fed up with Versailles, Paris and the French (in that order, I think), and just wanted to go home. After quick bitch-slapping and the reminder that we left home to get away from the monotony, he quickly perked up again and continued his merry slagging off of the French. He was so happy, he set a precedent. He Brucied (see left). It would now be the benchmark for places deemed worthy of rememberance throughout the trip.
We then headed back into town to purchase our supplements for the next day's journey down to Bordeaux; and we did so only after a giant struggle to break through the massed ranks of roller-disco goers who barred our way into Montparnasse train station. We also passed the headquarters of the FFF (the Federation de Franciase Football), where Will offered his services to the French National team, possibly as replacement striker for Thierry Henry.
