Alarm didn't go off this morning when I set it for 8, but I woke up shortly after anyways. I ran about the house packing up my things. Evan was coming to pick me up and drive me to Belfast International. My easyJet flight would be at 13:30 to Charles de Gaulle in Paris. Neily and Adam woke up while I was packing so when Evan came we said our goodbyes and off I went with Evan at 9:30. It took two hours to get to the airport in Belfast.
The lines weren't bad getting through security so I bought some food and ordered an Americano. Way too hot to drink.
A half hour before my flight they announce the gate number I'll depart from. I run off to the toilets to start my airport ritual.
Time to put the clothes on.
Unlike Ryanair, easyJet doesn't have a weight restriction. Only size matters they tell me.
I gamble. I have it figured that if I take out just my bulky pants my bag should be small enough to meet their standards. I get dressed and head to the boarding queue. I'm wearing four pairs of pants and drinking my piping hot Americano so I am dripping.
What a freak.
In the end, my bag was never checked.
I sit down at the window seat and a couple of young Irish boys sit in the two seats next to me. I'm still sweating profusely. I need to get these pants off.
This will look horrible if I start taking pants off on an airplane next to a couple kids.
I strike up a conversation with them, solely so that I break the ice and explain myself before I eventually start taking off my pants in front of them. After this uncomfortable encounter I spend the majority of the flight blogging.
We land in Paris. Nobody looks French.
Everyone looks so hostile.
It took me forever to figure out how I should get to the city. I decided the RER train from the airport would be the best. After a while I decide this stop is as good as any so I get off the train. I walk up the stairs to get out of the subway and find myself in the middle of a packed French music festival.
Beer and wine sold on the street, people flocking to the square with their own drinks, and good music.
Welcome to mainland Europe.
I'd love to stay for a while, but after a few songs I decide I'm checking in later than anticipated at the hostel and I've got to get going. A few more metros later and a short walk and I'm at the hostel. I throw down my stuff and use the Internet to see if my friend Jen had written to me yet. Jen and I graduated from Santa Clara together. A few days ago, Jen told me she's living in Paris and that we would meet up at some point. Facebook tells me today's not going to be the day.
Time to meet some friends.
I walk down to the Bastille to take photographs and find some food. I decide a bottle of wine would be the easiest way to meet people in Paris so I buy a Bordeaux. And a baguette. And Brie.
I start to bring it back to the hostel and I realize I don't have a bottle opener so I start going from store to store trying to find one. No luck at first, but eventually I walk into a Chinese electronics store. They sell wine too.
"Parlez-vous Anglais?"
"Yes I do."
"Do you have a corkscrew?"
"Oui."
He must have a stash of them behind the counter because he doesn't even get up to give it to me.
"..and cups?"
Again he just casually grabs one from behind the counter as if he were just giving me change.
I came to the right store.
I head back to the hostel and eat dinner and drink my wine. A few guys my age sit down next to me and we get to talking. They're from Andalusia, Spain and are heading down to the river, la Seine, tonight. Last night they brought a case of beer and did the same. They said there was music and dancing so they're expecting the same tonight.
We hang out at the hostel for a few hours then head down to la Seine. Tamara would have told me there's a certain spirit in the night.
Smells like teen spirit to me.
The youth are singing, dancing, and drinking late into the Parisian night. Paul McCartney is even there with us. It goes on for hours with sporadic cheers of "Bastille! Bastille! Bastille! drowning out the night.
At 2:30am the Spaniards want to head back so they can rest up before going to Brussels tomorrow. I tell them I want to check out Notre Dame since I'm already so close to it.
We agree to meet up in Berlin.
The lines weren't bad getting through security so I bought some food and ordered an Americano. Way too hot to drink.
A half hour before my flight they announce the gate number I'll depart from. I run off to the toilets to start my airport ritual.
Time to put the clothes on.
Unlike Ryanair, easyJet doesn't have a weight restriction. Only size matters they tell me.
I gamble. I have it figured that if I take out just my bulky pants my bag should be small enough to meet their standards. I get dressed and head to the boarding queue. I'm wearing four pairs of pants and drinking my piping hot Americano so I am dripping.
What a freak.
In the end, my bag was never checked.
I sit down at the window seat and a couple of young Irish boys sit in the two seats next to me. I'm still sweating profusely. I need to get these pants off.
This will look horrible if I start taking pants off on an airplane next to a couple kids.
I strike up a conversation with them, solely so that I break the ice and explain myself before I eventually start taking off my pants in front of them. After this uncomfortable encounter I spend the majority of the flight blogging.
We land in Paris. Nobody looks French.
Everyone looks so hostile.
It took me forever to figure out how I should get to the city. I decided the RER train from the airport would be the best. After a while I decide this stop is as good as any so I get off the train. I walk up the stairs to get out of the subway and find myself in the middle of a packed French music festival.
Beer and wine sold on the street, people flocking to the square with their own drinks, and good music.
Welcome to mainland Europe.
Time to meet some friends.
I walk down to the Bastille to take photographs and find some food. I decide a bottle of wine would be the easiest way to meet people in Paris so I buy a Bordeaux. And a baguette. And Brie.
I start to bring it back to the hostel and I realize I don't have a bottle opener so I start going from store to store trying to find one. No luck at first, but eventually I walk into a Chinese electronics store. They sell wine too.
"Parlez-vous Anglais?"
"Yes I do."
"Do you have a corkscrew?"
"Oui."
He must have a stash of them behind the counter because he doesn't even get up to give it to me.
"..and cups?"
Again he just casually grabs one from behind the counter as if he were just giving me change.
I came to the right store.
I head back to the hostel and eat dinner and drink my wine. A few guys my age sit down next to me and we get to talking. They're from Andalusia, Spain and are heading down to the river, la Seine, tonight. Last night they brought a case of beer and did the same. They said there was music and dancing so they're expecting the same tonight.
We hang out at the hostel for a few hours then head down to la Seine. Tamara would have told me there's a certain spirit in the night.
Smells like teen spirit to me.
The youth are singing, dancing, and drinking late into the Parisian night. Paul McCartney is even there with us. It goes on for hours with sporadic cheers of "Bastille! Bastille! Bastille! drowning out the night.
At 2:30am the Spaniards want to head back so they can rest up before going to Brussels tomorrow. I tell them I want to check out Notre Dame since I'm already so close to it.
We agree to meet up in Berlin.
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