Writing on Toilet Paper in a Paris Hotel
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Plugging into JU what I wrote a couple of days ago:
This is hilarious. For lack of computer access or even writing paper, I turned to this medium. Writing on Toilet Paper. It's 2am and I can't sleep. My brain won't stop, even though I'm utterly exhausted, and I NEED sleep. But I need to write my thoughts down to get my brain to shut up. It's not like I'm thinking up brilliant inventions or anythings. Now THAT would be something worth writing about.
But now, my muscles are aching, and John is denying me a massage. He gave me his precious body pillow to get me out of his hair.
We checked in to the Hotel de Paris at 10pm, after a four hour train ride. We're pooped. In the morning when we're well-rested, we're conquering Paris, within our capabilities. Our goals include the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre Museum, and the Notre Dame Cathedral. So far John has made me have all of the conversations with French people: train info, maps, directions, hotel check-in. Just like he makes me do in Germany. So I do it. I talk to these people. We're both timid about speaking to people whose native tongue isn't English...but you know what? My fear of language barriers has dwindled as I've come to discover that just about everyone speaks English to some degree anyway.
In regard to languages, I need to give another big THANK YOU to Cathy for gifting me a 5-language pocket translator for Christmas a few years ago. It's Super Cool. On our way to the train station (bahnhof) we got fresh batteries for it, and we had fun learning how to use it (I'm re-learning).
We got to the bahnhof plenty early for the 4:30 train, because we missed the noon train. Another story on another topic. Michael discovered the motion-activated escalator before we did. I'd just assumed if it wasn't moving, then it wasn't working. But Michael plowed straight ahead toward the escalator, and as his foot fell on the conveyor, the steps slowly began. I got the hang of it too, and now I like it better than the kind that are in constant motion. It gives you time to approach it at your own pace, without freaking you out, "Am I going to trip?!" Michael got really good at it. He ran the circuit of escalators no fewer than sixteen times. John & I took turns chasing him. I handed the privilege over to John after the first 8 laps.
You'd think Michael would be pooped after that, but oh no. He was pretty much a livewire all the way to Paris. He wouldn't even take a much-needed nap. I guess all the new excitement was well-worth staying awake for. Sure beats sitting around the house!
We were momentarily bewildered when we got off the train in Paris, because our next task was to find a hotel room. Pick one, any one. The travel agent told us with confidence that right outside the bahnhof in Paris are a plethora of hotels, and there'd be no problem getting a room on a moment's notice. She was right. We just had to tackle our fears, have a few conversations in French-glish, and get a room. I looked around, and with prior knowledge that hotels outside of the US are not held to any standards at all, I was very picky. With that in mind, the hotel that interested me at first, 'le Hotel de Paris,' looked a bit *old*, and there was one window wide open, fully illuminated, and comfortably occupied. It looked gross. So I went around the corner to the cleanest hotel in sight, 'Imbis'. The clerk said they were fully booked, but he was really helpful. He called around to other hotels in the chain (too expensive, and too far away), gave us maps and directions to whatever we asked for. He spoke English with the most beautiful French accent. As of now, I'm devoted to leanring French. It's gorgeous to hear, and I feel beautiful pronouncing their beautiful words, "Bon soir. Merci beau coups. Au revoir."
I decided to give "le Hotel de Paris" the benefit of the doubt. We approached it, passing groups of people, and a man standing outside on the sidewalk. We walked in, seeing no one at the front desk, but couldn't help noticing as we walked in that the man on the sidewalk quietly followed us in. We slowed down as we approached the desk, he moved past us, then took his place behind the desk. He asked us something in French, something probably along the lines of May-I-Help-You?
"Parlez-vous anglais?" I asked. No problem. He helped us out in broken English. He had a double-occupancy room available, but I was still leery, so I actually had the boldness to ask if I might inspect the room first. He was easy-going, said, "Sure," handed me the card key, and told me there is a "small lift" around the corner. Around the corner I went. John & Michael waited in the lobby with our life possessions of a stroller, rolling suitcase, and a backpack.
There was the "small lift" at the bottom of a winding staircase, carpeted in soft, rich burgundy. The lift had room enough for two skinny people to stand with their arms pinned to their sides. I opted to take the stairs instead. Evidently the lift goes up the center of the winding staircase, but from the stairs you wouldn't guess it. Very quaint. The place is old, but well-kept. The room is clean. So we're staying. The best part is the french windows. They open inward, they're screenless, with a balcony-feel to them. There's a wrought iron banister to keep us from tumbling out onto the street. So European. So beautiful.
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So we accepted the room, and it's at a reasonable price, 89 Euro / night. We'll stay two nights. We rearranged the room a little bit to suit our quirky tastes (we moved two twin beds together for John & Michael; I took over the queen bed, stripped the rough bedspread off, took a soft blanket from the twin bed, and all the pillows I could scrounge up. Voila.)
But I'm so eager to get out there and conqer Paris in the morning. John & Michael have been sound asleep for a couple hours. Now if I can just get some sleep...
This is hilarious. For lack of computer access or even writing paper, I turned to this medium. Writing on Toilet Paper. It's 2am and I can't sleep. My brain won't stop, even though I'm utterly exhausted, and I NEED sleep. But I need to write my thoughts down to get my brain to shut up. It's not like I'm thinking up brilliant inventions or anythings. Now THAT would be something worth writing about.
But now, my muscles are aching, and John is denying me a massage. He gave me his precious body pillow to get me out of his hair.
We checked in to the Hotel de Paris at 10pm, after a four hour train ride. We're pooped. In the morning when we're well-rested, we're conquering Paris, within our capabilities. Our goals include the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre Museum, and the Notre Dame Cathedral. So far John has made me have all of the conversations with French people: train info, maps, directions, hotel check-in. Just like he makes me do in Germany. So I do it. I talk to these people. We're both timid about speaking to people whose native tongue isn't English...but you know what? My fear of language barriers has dwindled as I've come to discover that just about everyone speaks English to some degree anyway.
In regard to languages, I need to give another big THANK YOU to Cathy for gifting me a 5-language pocket translator for Christmas a few years ago. It's Super Cool. On our way to the train station (bahnhof) we got fresh batteries for it, and we had fun learning how to use it (I'm re-learning).
We got to the bahnhof plenty early for the 4:30 train, because we missed the noon train. Another story on another topic. Michael discovered the motion-activated escalator before we did. I'd just assumed if it wasn't moving, then it wasn't working. But Michael plowed straight ahead toward the escalator, and as his foot fell on the conveyor, the steps slowly began. I got the hang of it too, and now I like it better than the kind that are in constant motion. It gives you time to approach it at your own pace, without freaking you out, "Am I going to trip?!" Michael got really good at it. He ran the circuit of escalators no fewer than sixteen times. John & I took turns chasing him. I handed the privilege over to John after the first 8 laps.
You'd think Michael would be pooped after that, but oh no. He was pretty much a livewire all the way to Paris. He wouldn't even take a much-needed nap. I guess all the new excitement was well-worth staying awake for. Sure beats sitting around the house!
We were momentarily bewildered when we got off the train in Paris, because our next task was to find a hotel room. Pick one, any one. The travel agent told us with confidence that right outside the bahnhof in Paris are a plethora of hotels, and there'd be no problem getting a room on a moment's notice. She was right. We just had to tackle our fears, have a few conversations in French-glish, and get a room. I looked around, and with prior knowledge that hotels outside of the US are not held to any standards at all, I was very picky. With that in mind, the hotel that interested me at first, 'le Hotel de Paris,' looked a bit *old*, and there was one window wide open, fully illuminated, and comfortably occupied. It looked gross. So I went around the corner to the cleanest hotel in sight, 'Imbis'. The clerk said they were fully booked, but he was really helpful. He called around to other hotels in the chain (too expensive, and too far away), gave us maps and directions to whatever we asked for. He spoke English with the most beautiful French accent. As of now, I'm devoted to leanring French. It's gorgeous to hear, and I feel beautiful pronouncing their beautiful words, "Bon soir. Merci beau coups. Au revoir."
I decided to give "le Hotel de Paris" the benefit of the doubt. We approached it, passing groups of people, and a man standing outside on the sidewalk. We walked in, seeing no one at the front desk, but couldn't help noticing as we walked in that the man on the sidewalk quietly followed us in. We slowed down as we approached the desk, he moved past us, then took his place behind the desk. He asked us something in French, something probably along the lines of May-I-Help-You?
"Parlez-vous anglais?" I asked. No problem. He helped us out in broken English. He had a double-occupancy room available, but I was still leery, so I actually had the boldness to ask if I might inspect the room first. He was easy-going, said, "Sure," handed me the card key, and told me there is a "small lift" around the corner. Around the corner I went. John & Michael waited in the lobby with our life possessions of a stroller, rolling suitcase, and a backpack.
There was the "small lift" at the bottom of a winding staircase, carpeted in soft, rich burgundy. The lift had room enough for two skinny people to stand with their arms pinned to their sides. I opted to take the stairs instead. Evidently the lift goes up the center of the winding staircase, but from the stairs you wouldn't guess it. Very quaint. The place is old, but well-kept. The room is clean. So we're staying. The best part is the french windows. They open inward, they're screenless, with a balcony-feel to them. There's a wrought iron banister to keep us from tumbling out onto the street. So European. So beautiful.
So we accepted the room, and it's at a reasonable price, 89 Euro / night. We'll stay two nights. We rearranged the room a little bit to suit our quirky tastes (we moved two twin beds together for John & Michael; I took over the queen bed, stripped the rough bedspread off, took a soft blanket from the twin bed, and all the pillows I could scrounge up. Voila.)
But I'm so eager to get out there and conqer Paris in the morning. John & Michael have been sound asleep for a couple hours. Now if I can just get some sleep...