After my trip in February with Alison, I swore that I would never fly through Paris Beauvais again. However, I just couldn't pass up a chance to visit the city of lights again with Amber and Vince before they left for Hawaii, their next duty station. So, we boarded the flight one Saturday morning in April, landed in Paris a few hours later and even caught the bus to the city center without too much trouble. Perhaps the airport isn't quite as bad as I remembered. The bus from the airport dropped us off at Porte Maillot. We wandered around for a while before agreeing our best option was to forgo the metro and just catch a cab straight to the hotel on Rue Cler.
Within minutes of checking in to our rooms and throwing down our (heavy) backpacks, Vince realized his cell phone had fallen out of his pocket in the taxi. We called his number from my phone and the driver actually answered. Vince rushed my cell phone downstairs to the front desk where the receptionist asked the driver in French to please return the phone. The driver agreed, for the low, low price of just 15-euro for the return fare! (When we returned to Camp Darby on Monday, the MP at the gate told Vince he'd tried calling and got some "French guy" that kept saying, "Oui! Oui?") While we were waiting for the cell phone to be delivered, Vince then realized his passport was missing. He searched the cab when it arrived but to all of our disappointment it wasn't there. I suggested we head for the American Consulate but then remembered it was a Saturday. We tried calling the coach company that runs the buses from the airport but could find no one that spoke English. Utterly defeated and with bike tour reservations fast approaching, we gave up for the night and headed to Fat Tire headquarters, just around the corner from the Eiffel Tower.
Seeing as how it had been no less than 10 years since I'd really been on a bike (the 2 times around the Cotswolds on Walker before my tire went flat does not count) I was a bit nervous about biking through Paris. After hearing me express my concern, our tour guide told me there were helmets available. Since NO ONE else in the group was wearing one, I threw caution to the wind, put my life on the line and set off sans helmet. I'm happy to report that I did not fall off my bike. (The only major incident to report was my camera falling out of my pocket. Luck was on my side and the guy riding behind me happened to notice it dropped and stopped to pick it up. Phew!) In fact, I rather fell in love with biking again and am contemplating buying a cheap one from the Shoppette so I can ride from my house to Ponsacco's city center on market days when parking is virtually nonexistent.
Our tour ended with a boat ride down the River Seine. Freezing cold, Lexie (oh yeah, I forgot to mention my friend/Alison's cousin met us for the tour) and I moved inside for the last little bit and day dreamed about opening an import shop in the US. Most of the store will be French things, but Lexie promised to reserve a small corner for my Spanish and Italian finds. After disembarking the boat, I was cold, sore and sleepy from the glass of wine I toasted with onboard. Not thinking it possible, I peddled the few minutes back to the Fat Tire building and parked my trusty bike. The 4 of us found somewhere to eat, tried not to fall asleep and then parted ways. I slept soundly that night for a full 4.5 hours before it was time to wake up for our next adventure!
The morning train from Paris delivered us first to Bayeaux where we had over an hour to explore the small town before meeting our guide who would take us to the key sites of Normandy and D-Day. We stopped in for a below-average lunch and waited out the rain. Once we joined the group, we set out, first for Pointe de Hoc followed by Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, the American Cemetery and the Longes-Sur-Mer Battery. Much like Dachau, I found these sites sobering and heart wrenching. The biggest difference between the Concentration Camp and the coat line however, is their current use of the space. Dachau is a pure memorial and I doubt the land will ever fully "heal" and be usable or developed. At Normandy, while there are plenty of placards, museums and monuments in memory of the thousands that died on the beaches, there's also vacation homes and families picnicking on Utah Beach while their children build sand castles nearby. The beaches and shoreline are beautiful and the locals' enjoyment of the land didn't strike me as disrespectful, per say… just bizarre. Less than 70 years ago, not quite even one generation removed, those beaches were stained red and now they're used for holidays. I just can't connect the two and only hope that those using the land for enjoyment and relaxation also remember and respect the immense sacrifice and loss that made it possible to enjoy the beaches they lounge on now.
After our somber day in Normandy, we boarded the train back to Paris for a complete change of pace. Unfortunately, we over booked ourselves and showed up 30 minutes late for our reservation to ascend the Eiffel Tower. Despite our tardiness, they let us up anyways, where we had just enough time to ride to the first platform, snap a few pictures, wait in line to ride a 2nd elevator to the top platform, snap a few more pictures and then wait in line again to ride the elevators back down. From there, we hailed another cab (Vince kept a hold of his cell phone this time) and rushed off to the Lido for our cabaret show. Once inside and seated, we shared a champagne toast and I blew out the candles on my belated birthday cake. It might have been almost a month late, but I can't think of a better way to celebrate my Birthday than at a cabaret show in Paris. (Except perhaps with a Chip 'N Dales show in Paris… Hmm. Something to aim for in 2011?)
Completely exhausted from the last 48 hours of non-stop fun, I decided to sleep in Monday morning while Amber and Vince went to the Consulate. (After such busy days, we'd almost forgotten about the whole Vince-can't-leave-the-country thing, until reality came crashing down around us the day of our return flight.) I enjoyed a leisurely morning… Woke up without an alarm clock, showered and then set out to a) explore the area around our hotel and b) find Amber and Vince. The first few times I called them and didn't get an answer, I didn't think anything of it. After 3 hours of not reaching them, I started to worry and my overactive imagination kicked in. They were mugged and cell phones stolen. They were deported for loosing a passport. Lost on the mean streets of Paris. I settled in to a Starbucks to weight the pros and cons of flying back to Pisa without them that night when they called. I tried to direct them to the Starbucks but my keen sense of direction failed me again. Eventually, we met in front of the hotel where I learned the Consulate issued Vince an emergency passport. He could return to Italy with us! Hooray!
Vince came with a restaurant recommendation from a friend, so we set off to find it. I believe the exact review was, "The best restaurant in the whole world." Uh, I beg to differ. While not bad by any stretch, I've had better meals in Charlotte. Underwhelmed and pretty worn out at that point, we set out for the hotel to collect our bags and start the long journey back to the despised Paris Beauvais airport.
As per usual, the airport was crowded with crabby (myself included), travel-weary passengers. Once checked in and through security (not before being forced to cram my purse in to my backpack -- "strictly only 1 piece of carry on luggage is allowed") we settled in to the tiny terminal with 5 other plane loads of people all waiting to board.
The rest of the story is rather dull… We landed back in Pisa just before midnight. Rachel picked us up and took us back to our cars at Darby. I made the long (only 30 minutes but after a weekend like that in Paris, it seemed to last a lifetime) drive home, fell in to bed and didn't move again until my alarm woke me up for work the next morning. Back to the grind.
