Short Stay In Paris

Air France 🇫🇷

Friday evening I took Air France from Stockholm to Paris. I can’t remember the last time I was on a plane where they had a free inflight meal service. Air France served everyone a cup of yogurt, a cup of applesauce, a nice fresh croissant 🥐 and, get this, a small bottle of red wine🍷.

So far so good with my short stay in France. And then I got off the plane in Paris and the adventure began.

I wanted to take the train 🚊 from the airport to Paris because the train from the airport to Stockholm was such a pleasant experience. Not so in Paris.

First, I screwed up at the ticket machine and instead of buying one ticket, I bought three. If anyone needs two train tickets from the airport to Paris please let me know.

Second, I got off at the wrong station. We were all tightly packed into the train with our luggage and it was very difficult to get off the train. The conductor was announcing the station stops in French and I don’t speak French. Getting off at the Notre Dame stop sounded like a good idea. What Catholic doesn’t like Notre Dame. The Notre Dame Cathedral at night is truly awe inspiring. It makes the churches and cathedrals in Scandinavia look like peasant huts. Unfortunately, Notre Dame is two miles away from the hotel. I was not going to try to walk to the hotel at midnight, I am stupid but not that stupid, so I hailed a cab. Fifteen minutes later I was at the hotel. Calling this establishment a hotel is an insult to all other hotels worldwide.

I had to hit the call button at the front door for five minutes before the ancient and now very pissed off proprietress opened the door and, with much gabbling in French, allowed me to enter her establishment. We discussed the checkin procedure for five minutes, her speaking French and your humble correspondent speaking English. Finally she gave up and handed me a key and pointed to the room. As I opened the door to the room I realized it was not really a room, more like a monastic cell.

Now to be fair, I only paid $100 for this “hotel” room in Paris. And that is Paris France. I should have known that it was not going to be The Four Seasons or even a Holiday Inn.

The silver sequined throw pillows on the bed added a touch of luxury to the room and there was no additional charge for this added amenity.

I slept fitfully until about 7:00 AM when I got up to take a shower in the world’s smallest shower stall. Little did I know that the Lilliputian size of the shower stall would be the least of my complaints. I was in that shower stall for 15 minutes and could not figure out how to turn on the water. I even Googled “How to turn on a European shower”, to no avail. I finally gave up and took a shower using water from the sink, a cup at a time.

No checkout or “How was your stay?” at this place. After I finished packing, I left my key in the room and skeedadaled out of there as fast as my feet would carry me.

Now I had to walk to the train station that was only a couple of blocks away. Google Maps kept trying to tell me, in this irritating French accent, that I was going the wrong way. Like any other red blooded American man of a certain age, I ignored the proffered directions and took off on a meandering one hour tour of the neighborhood. After passing the same boulongeire three times the baker took pity on me, gave me a fresh warm croissant and gave me directions to the train station IN ENGLISH! It turns out I had been circling the train station for the whole one hour amble.

I finally got to the train station and had another croissant 🥐, after all it is Paris, and a yogurt and orange juice.

Did you know that in Paris train stations you need to pay to use the restrooms? I certainly didn’t know that in Paris I had to pay to do what I have doing for free my entire life. How was I supposed to know that. And you need the proper change to open the coin operated door lock. My advice to you is don’t wait until the last minute to find a bathroom in Paris.

After the bathroom adventure I went down to the boarding platform and got on the wrong train. There were two trains leaving at the same time for different destinations on adjoining tracks. That is almost purposefully confusing. The conductor, in a torrent of indecipherable French, threw me off the train to who knows where and pointed me to the train that is going to my intended destination.

The bullet train that took me from Paris to Bayonne was smooth, comfortable and fast. And I mean really fast. One hundred and eighty miles per hour fast!!

The local train from Bayonne to St. Jean was jouncy, slow and uncomfortable. I am not complaining, just reporting the facts.

Train car full of pilgrims leaving Bayonne heading to St. Jean Pied de Port. It is so exciting to be on this pilgrim train.

I can’t believe the size of some of the backpacks 🎒 these people are carrying. They are HUGE! They are twice the size of my backpack. They look like pack mules. I imagine that a lot of the crap in those backpacks will get shed along the way. This train is packed to the gills with people and backpacks. Not one cubic inch of empty space. I am glad it is only a one hour journey.

I finally got to St. Jean at about 4:00 in the afternoon and was comfortably ensconced in my little apartment by 4:30.

Villa Esponda Apartments.

View from my window.

The French bathroom adventure continues. As you can see, I have a bidet in my little apartment.

I unpacked, walked around this charming French hill town and then had a bite to eat.

A pint of Basque beer 🍺.

Pan fried cod and octopus with mushrooms, peas, lima beans and red peppers.

Sunday and Monday I will take care of some logistical issues and make sure I am in the right frame of mind to start the Camino. On Tuesday, early in the morning, I take the first step of what I hope will be a million step journey.

I hope everyone is having a restful Saturday.

Good night from St. Jean.