Romantic.
I'm sure that word crossed your mind when you thought about Paris. Maybe it crosses your mind every time you think about Paris. Maybe you've been, maybe you want to go but, no matter who you are, you have an opinion about Paris.
Here's mine... I'd say it's unsolicited but you're the one reading this voluntarily...
What an amazing damn city. It's one huge heartbeat. Everything's connected, it really is, that's not hippie nonsense. You can feel it the second you leave CDG, the world's most outdated airport (mind you, I've not been to Mumbai or Damascus). But dear God, Charles de Gaulle Airport needs a nice, thorough Spring cleaning.
If and when you get your luggage, you just leave. No customs, no stamping, no declaring, you just walk out. That was a bit of a red flag to me. Now, if and when you find the train to the city, it comes rather quickly and, luckily for you, does not have air conditioning. When you pull into, let's say, Gare du Nord, because that's probably where you'll pull in, you'll notice several things in a hurry. 1. It's a modern, fashionable train station underneath a really old, beat-to-shit one. 2. You needed your ticket to exit. 3. That man's swinging a backpack around, yelling in Arabic and trying to hit people. 4. The policeman with the machine gun is just kind of watching him. 5. The young kids with the "English" flag on their Information uniform don't speak English and will send your ass to the far ends of Hell and back for whatever you're about to ask them.
So, live by the sword, die by the sword.
For many years, I always thought it was super strange that people would travel to the United States to live and not learn English. I mean to say, if you were, knowingly, going to take a job in Germany for the rest of your live or even the next ten years, wouldn't you hit the Duolingo pretty hard? Maybe pick up a word or two of German? You know, in case you needed toilet paper at 1am or had an emergency of some kind, or ran out of smokes or something?
So, as someone who's going to enter the U.S. for an extended period of time or forever, why not pick up some helpful English words? I dwell on that all the time. Just never understood it. But still, my happy arrogant ass waltzed into France like the SS and just butchered the hell out of some French, expecting them to hand me what I was intending to ask for.
It doesn't work that way. And it's true, what you've heard, "As long as they see that you're trying... blah, blah, blah..." yes, partially. But you're now open to the "Here, it's close to what you're wanting and it just went up 5-Euro." So crack a book and study or date/marry/kidnap someone who is fluent. It'll help. It's a SUPER touristy town, it's what it's there for, so sure they cater to you for the most part, but you can't help feeling like you're missing out. Plus, the fifth asshole waiter you encounter is going to set you off enough to wish you had.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, bread. It's everywhere. You know that relative you have, or that lady that used to live on your block that "collected" porcelain figurines? Or thimbles or frogs or whatever? But it wasn't just one little curio cabinet with ten figurines in it? It was her whole fucking house? You had to step over them to get to the kitchen? That's France and bread.
Yes, your brain is correct. They also collect cheese. We'll get to that. We're talking about bread right now, focus.
Everywhere in the city you'll see the most attractive, physically fit people on the planet, just cramming bread into their face. Morning, noon, night, midnight, sleepwalking, bread. Bread with chocolate in it, bread with custard in it, lemon bread, do the whole Bubba - shrimp thing, yeah, bread. Sure they walk everywhere, but ask any marathon runner you know, you can't train and run and live on bread.
Also, Europe just learned about cheesecake. (Modern New York cheesecake, not the bullshit you're Googling right now from Greece) It's everywhere, cheesecake croissants, Starbucks Cheesecake Frappuccino (an actual thing, it's 6-Euro, which is roughly $8). I'm sure those exist in the U.S. too, I wouldn't know, haven't seen them. But A. Why would anyone want a 4,000 calorie "coffee" drink? B. Why do you have Starbucks, France? Thanks for the free wifi and everything but cmon, there are so many other, better places to buy bread.
ASIDE: THANK YOU STARBUCKS for every smiling, friendly, English-speaking, African kid that works at every Starbucks in Paris. Some days, you just want someone to smile at you. And when you're a 46-year-old white guy who isn't Brad Pitt or Richard Branson, it is a rarity. With the exception of the Dutch, Spanish and Japanese people who think you're Kevin James.
Wine. Never been a wine drinker. I am now a wine drinker. It's delicious, there's lots of it, there are lots of different kinds. You can learn from it, study it, get involved in it like some kind of cult and - in France - it's cheaper than air. And it's a very particular kind of hangover, I'm not a fan of that. It's as if you're remembering everything from second grade in the morning but at the same time you're remembering that weird Christmas sweater Mrs. Wilson used to wear, or Becky Deatrick's braces, you're remembering that you hated second grade.
Cheese. Never been a cheese connoisseur. In fact, I once sent a burger back at 24-Diner in Austin because I ordered the Gorgonzola Burger and they brought me a burger with Blue Cheese and I hate blue cheese. They were cool about it, smirked at me when they brought out a fresh one. I later wrote the manager a letter, thanking he and his staff for not laughing me out of the building for not knowing what Gorgonzola was. Long story a bit shorter, I don't care about cheese.
After a week in France, I care slightly more but not that much. Until, of course, you get into the pairing it with particular wines, now we're talking. Alas, I'm still no expert.
Bread. Wine. Cheese. France. The shit you already knew. So why read further? Because I have some things to tell you about Paris you didn't already know and that you can't Google.
PARIS IN PHOTOS:
I'm sure that word crossed your mind when you thought about Paris. Maybe it crosses your mind every time you think about Paris. Maybe you've been, maybe you want to go but, no matter who you are, you have an opinion about Paris.
Here's mine... I'd say it's unsolicited but you're the one reading this voluntarily...
What an amazing damn city. It's one huge heartbeat. Everything's connected, it really is, that's not hippie nonsense. You can feel it the second you leave CDG, the world's most outdated airport (mind you, I've not been to Mumbai or Damascus). But dear God, Charles de Gaulle Airport needs a nice, thorough Spring cleaning.
If and when you get your luggage, you just leave. No customs, no stamping, no declaring, you just walk out. That was a bit of a red flag to me. Now, if and when you find the train to the city, it comes rather quickly and, luckily for you, does not have air conditioning. When you pull into, let's say, Gare du Nord, because that's probably where you'll pull in, you'll notice several things in a hurry. 1. It's a modern, fashionable train station underneath a really old, beat-to-shit one. 2. You needed your ticket to exit. 3. That man's swinging a backpack around, yelling in Arabic and trying to hit people. 4. The policeman with the machine gun is just kind of watching him. 5. The young kids with the "English" flag on their Information uniform don't speak English and will send your ass to the far ends of Hell and back for whatever you're about to ask them.
So, live by the sword, die by the sword.
For many years, I always thought it was super strange that people would travel to the United States to live and not learn English. I mean to say, if you were, knowingly, going to take a job in Germany for the rest of your live or even the next ten years, wouldn't you hit the Duolingo pretty hard? Maybe pick up a word or two of German? You know, in case you needed toilet paper at 1am or had an emergency of some kind, or ran out of smokes or something?
So, as someone who's going to enter the U.S. for an extended period of time or forever, why not pick up some helpful English words? I dwell on that all the time. Just never understood it. But still, my happy arrogant ass waltzed into France like the SS and just butchered the hell out of some French, expecting them to hand me what I was intending to ask for.
It doesn't work that way. And it's true, what you've heard, "As long as they see that you're trying... blah, blah, blah..." yes, partially. But you're now open to the "Here, it's close to what you're wanting and it just went up 5-Euro." So crack a book and study or date/marry/kidnap someone who is fluent. It'll help. It's a SUPER touristy town, it's what it's there for, so sure they cater to you for the most part, but you can't help feeling like you're missing out. Plus, the fifth asshole waiter you encounter is going to set you off enough to wish you had.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, bread. It's everywhere. You know that relative you have, or that lady that used to live on your block that "collected" porcelain figurines? Or thimbles or frogs or whatever? But it wasn't just one little curio cabinet with ten figurines in it? It was her whole fucking house? You had to step over them to get to the kitchen? That's France and bread.
Yes, your brain is correct. They also collect cheese. We'll get to that. We're talking about bread right now, focus.
Everywhere in the city you'll see the most attractive, physically fit people on the planet, just cramming bread into their face. Morning, noon, night, midnight, sleepwalking, bread. Bread with chocolate in it, bread with custard in it, lemon bread, do the whole Bubba - shrimp thing, yeah, bread. Sure they walk everywhere, but ask any marathon runner you know, you can't train and run and live on bread.
Also, Europe just learned about cheesecake. (Modern New York cheesecake, not the bullshit you're Googling right now from Greece) It's everywhere, cheesecake croissants, Starbucks Cheesecake Frappuccino (an actual thing, it's 6-Euro, which is roughly $8). I'm sure those exist in the U.S. too, I wouldn't know, haven't seen them. But A. Why would anyone want a 4,000 calorie "coffee" drink? B. Why do you have Starbucks, France? Thanks for the free wifi and everything but cmon, there are so many other, better places to buy bread.
ASIDE: THANK YOU STARBUCKS for every smiling, friendly, English-speaking, African kid that works at every Starbucks in Paris. Some days, you just want someone to smile at you. And when you're a 46-year-old white guy who isn't Brad Pitt or Richard Branson, it is a rarity. With the exception of the Dutch, Spanish and Japanese people who think you're Kevin James.
Wine. Never been a wine drinker. I am now a wine drinker. It's delicious, there's lots of it, there are lots of different kinds. You can learn from it, study it, get involved in it like some kind of cult and - in France - it's cheaper than air. And it's a very particular kind of hangover, I'm not a fan of that. It's as if you're remembering everything from second grade in the morning but at the same time you're remembering that weird Christmas sweater Mrs. Wilson used to wear, or Becky Deatrick's braces, you're remembering that you hated second grade.
Cheese. Never been a cheese connoisseur. In fact, I once sent a burger back at 24-Diner in Austin because I ordered the Gorgonzola Burger and they brought me a burger with Blue Cheese and I hate blue cheese. They were cool about it, smirked at me when they brought out a fresh one. I later wrote the manager a letter, thanking he and his staff for not laughing me out of the building for not knowing what Gorgonzola was. Long story a bit shorter, I don't care about cheese.
After a week in France, I care slightly more but not that much. Until, of course, you get into the pairing it with particular wines, now we're talking. Alas, I'm still no expert.
Bread. Wine. Cheese. France. The shit you already knew. So why read further? Because I have some things to tell you about Paris you didn't already know and that you can't Google.
PARIS IN PHOTOS:
The worst hotel room in all of Paris. Not kidding. One bathroom for the entire hotel.
Had to book in last minute after my lovely AirBnB hostess cancelled
without warning as I was on my way to her house. Fifth floor with baggage, compass stairs, break-your-neck-built-in-1820-when-French-people-were-4-foot-tall compass stairs.
A museum in Paris, it puts the "UR" in Love...
Preparations for the finale of the bike ride that Lance used to win all the time.
I honestly have no idea what this is but it's beautiful.
Why?
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