An American Girl in Avignon

June 11
The ringing of the alarm hit me like a ton of bricks. This is the day that I had to leave Avignon. Leave? But I wasn’t ready to leave. I packed up some last minute items after ditching the majority of my toiletries. Martine said she would wake up early with me and walk me to meet the taxi on the corner to go to the train station. We walked to the corner, and I could tell that something was bothering her. Was she as upset that I was leaving as I was? While waiting for the taxi, she began to cry, gave me a big hug(something the French never do) in addition to bisous , told me I reminded her of her daughter, that she wanted to keep in touch with me through e-mail, and told me that I was welcomed back at her house whenever I wanted. I reminded her of her daughter? I thought I was going to lose it right there in the street next to the St. Pierre église with all the early bakery frequenters out and about. I contained myself as the cab pulled up. We loaded my things. I hugged Martine again, waved goodbye, and sat in complete silence on the way to the train station. I looked out at the window at all of the buildings passing by and realizing how much I really loved Avignon. It was time for me to go and find someplace and or maybe someone else. My time here was over.
While contemplating how ridiculously overcharged I was for such a short taxi ride, I went over to the bakery in the gare to get my last Avignon croissant. It was a sad moment. While sitting there in an absolute daze, I see John across the way, waiting with bags in hand. We talk for a little while and agree to meet in Paris if we can as the others show up. Although I knew it was the last time I was going to see any of them, I didn’t want to acknowledge that fact, so I just simply said goodbye. My friend Rachel is currently in London and I barely saw some of the others students in Paris (in fact, some not at all) that weekend besides Kristina and Kyle. I know I will see them all again in the fall, but it’s not quite the same.
During the ride, Kyle, Kristina, and I planned out or plan of action for the day: go to the hotel we reserved for the three of us (which we had canceled, then rebooked, since it was supposedly thought that Kyle would not be able to stay with us if we stayed in the hostel). Thinking it would be best to be prepared to run with our 50 bags in hand, we went down to the bottom of the train 30 minutes before we were supposed to arrive to pull out our 50 bags and prepare to run as soon as we hit the station. We were ready to get into that nice hotel and start our day.
When we arrived at the hotel, our reservation appeared to have never been made. Kristina neglected to mention that the reservation said “pending” on the hotel, but we thought that that meant we could stay. We knew that they were booked for the night, and they demanded to see a confirmation e-mail. Kristina pulled up her OU email, and had our old confirmation, which we had stupidly canceled thinking we would definitely have a room in the hostel, until we read the reviews. We showed him our first confirmation, and as always, the truth comes out and he saw our cancellation in addition to the fact that our second reservation had never been confirmed. Ugh. He at least let search the computer for a new room at another place. We found a place across town, and took a cap over there.
I thought that we were driving to Spain or something for how far we were going. The taxi ride cost us all a pretty 20 euro, and when we got there, the rude people behind the desk said that a reservation had never been made that day. Never, never, and I mean NEVER book a hostel through hostelworld.com. We have had problems every single time we have tried to. Wanting to cry and scream and punch something, I asked them for the number of our original hostel that Marie had reserved for us (which was where I wanted to go in the first place!), but no, things always had to be difficult. To top things off, our phones were out of minutes, so we had to sit around and use our last centimes on texts before asking to take another cab to the hostel. The rude man behind the desk called a cab, but neglected to ask for a big one. When the poor little old man arrived with the regular sized trunk and our army-worthy luggage, he knew it wasn’t going to work. I asked the man to request a big cab, but he insisted that it wasn’t possible. Well, excuse me, but the man at our hotel fail had done just that, and guess what…we got a big taxi. I wanted to slap someone at this point. He told me the taxi station was down the street and I should just walk there. Jerk.
Toting my two large suitcases, a duffel bag, a laptop bag, and a purse, I made my way slowly down the street, my top-heavy bag falling over every half block or so. Seriously I love Paris, but this was a little much. I was wishing that we had agreed to stay with Kyle’s friend whom we met at the Bastille for lunch that day, even though she lived an hour away. This was getting stressful. Finally, after a struggle, we get in a cab (a big one) with the first nice Parisian we had encountered during our half day stay. He took us to the Blue Planet hostel, located right by the Gare de Lyon. If we had stayed here in the first place, we wouldn’t have even needed a taxi in the first place. I’ll just keep my thoughts on this to myself right now.
We had our own room and breakfast every morning, which consisted of a pre-packaged croissant, pain o chocolat, and coffee….from a vending machine. There was one toilet and one shower on each floor, but at least there were locks on the doors. The shower was a scary closet-type thing with a nozzle above and no lighting. In our room there was a random area off to the side like a closet, only not, with swinging doors. We referred to as our changing room. Less than 20 euros a night, you get what you pay for, but it wasn’t that bad, I didn’t mind it at all. I was just happy we wouldn’t be sleeping under a bridge by the Seine that night with the other vagabonds.
Well after our grumpy and very long morning/afternoon, I walked outside, took a deep breath, and forgot all about it, because I was in the most wonderful place on earth: Paris, France. We were in Paris! What’s not to be happy about? They don’t call it the city of love and lights for nothing. As soon as I saw Paris, I fell hard. Paris, Je t’aime. Je t’aime, Je t’aime.
Our first stop on the list we had made earlier was the Centre Pompidou, the Centre George Pompidou to be exact, which doubles as a modern-art museum. Although we didn’t go inside, just walking around and seeing the outside was enough. There were so many people sitting outside in the square, sunning themselves, eating, playing guitars and singing, This is why I love Paris so much. We went and sat by the fountain with a bunch of little modern art statues and works within it. There was even a little spinning wheel that turned water round and round in the pond. It was so neat. This was the same fountain featured in the film Sabrina with Richard Gere. Remember the Vogue fashion photo shoot?!
Next stop: the Jardin des tuileries by the Louvre then Notre Dame again. Just walking along the Seine was enjoyable. Heck, I even bought a painting off of a street vendor and got a euro off. Hey, it’s better than nothing.
Wanting to see the Saint Chapel, a famous church that is almost all stained glass and gold on the inside and built specifically to house the supposed crown of thorns, I made my way over in that bank’s direction. But by the time we got there, workers were cutting people off in the line. Although I was disappointed, this just means that I’ll have something to come back for.
I went into the Concierge next, the jail for Marie Antoinette and other revolutionaries who lost their heads during the Reign of Terror. Inside, they had a list of those who were beheaded, and I could not believe the length. It was bothersome. I know why they chose the guillotine now: it was quick and efficient, but most importantly, it was quick. The French Revolution had cake, the American Revolution had tea, and the revolution of my pocketbook involved a lot of crêpe and souvenir purchases. Let them eat crêpes!
Not wanting to pass up a second visit to the oh-do scandalous and oh so endearing and intriguing Montmartre, we made it the next Metro stop. The evening would not be complete without some of that good French flatbread pizza that seems to be on every street corner in the old Red Light bohemian district. We picked out a pizza café and encountered our first non-rude waiter in Paris. Finally. Although, I was frightened though when he brought out the carafe d’eau and said, “This is special water, straight from Montmartre.” I think I may need to get checked for a few diseases now. “Great,” said Kyle, “Std infected prostitute water.” He added, “I’ll take a coke.”
After dinner we went to Sacre Coeur to enjoy the view of Paris. It was gorgeous. All of the people lying in the grass enjoying the view amongst couples waiting for the sunset. It was breathtaking.
We stopped at the Moulin Rouge to snap some photos before heading back to the hotel. Now excuse me, while I go rinse out my mouth with some Listerine.