My alarm went off at 5am this morning. It usually goes off at 6am, but I set it for 5am the Friday before I left. Thus, it remained set to go off at this time every weekday. Today was monday and true to form, the damn thing went off.
Thing is, the alarm was successful only in waking everyone else up. Me? No, sir. Instead I was awoken by three people - Alisa and two strangers - shouting.
"What is that?!?"
"What the HELL is that sound?!"
My purse was stowed underneath the bed, and I was on the top bunk. Apparently I awoke just long enough to tell Alisa that it was my alarm before rolling over and returning immediately to my drooling slumber. An Argentinian voice wondered, "Is sheee already asleeeep? I doo not think that alarrm works for her."
A few hours later, I peeled open my eyes to the sight of a beautiful shirtless man. He looked like the guy DIane Lane cheats on Richard Gere with in
Unfaithful. He was fumbling around the room looking for his shirt. I remember hoping to god he never ever found it. His girlfriend woke up a few moments later. Dammit.
They were doctors. Just graduated medical school and were on what I later learned to be the customary "Shit Yea Were Out of Medical School Tour O' Europe." Alisa thought she had a fever, and he offered his help. Had he not found his shirt, she may have accepted. Hell, I'd have feigned the plague for sommathat.
Alright, Alright.
Anyway, we got dressed and headed to Versailles. Halfway on the way, it was brought to our attention that Versailles was closed on Mondays (What is this? A corner beauty salon?) Alisa busted into crisis management mode and suggested that we instead get off a few stops early to the Eiffel Tower.
Sounds good to me!
The Metro exit she chose spit us behind a random building. We started walking straight ahead (read: zombies) for a block or two. Alisa suddenly came to the realization that she couldn't see the damn tower so she started looking around (As usual, I was spacing out, perhaps nonchalantly assuming that the reason I could not see the tower was that it was behind something)
"Ahh, there it is!" - Alisa shouts.
I turned around...and there it was.
The Eiffel Tower is huge. Its friggin huge. It was so tall you could hardly look all the way to the top without falling backward into oncoming traffic and causing a scene. It was so close to the Metro Station that it was humorous we were walking away from it. Funny thing is, it is exactly the size a tower like that is supposed to be, yet you cannot believe it. The base looked to be the size of the Colloseum. Each pillar has a ticket booth where you can fork over some euro to get on a cart and scoot up the side. This was thrilling to see, because I always secretly wondered how the hell people go up the Eiffel Tower. It doesn't appear to have any floors, so I was always confused. Instead, you get in a car that looks alot like that big red thing at Magic Mountain that pulls you up the hill to get you from the Revolution area to the Superman area... (Anyone...no?). It slowly pulls you up one of the four bases up to the part where they meet. Wheels, levers, pulleys, clanking noises - It was a real, genuine piece of machinery in action.
We stared and stared, snapped a gajillion pictures, and got on with our day. Walking across the garden, we came across a military building dedicated to Joseph Jacques Césaire Joffre, a WWI French General. I think it was a military building of some kind. I don't really know. What I do know was there were some good looking men strolling around in camo gear and berets. Oy.
After this, we wandered over to the neighborhoods around the tower. We decided to grab an appetizer in an effort to kill time before our dinner appointment. At the cafe, I ordered a cheese plate that should have put me in the hospital. Brie, bleu, something that looked like brie, and something that looked like bleu. Mmm Mmm good. I love cheese as much if not more than I love old shit. Both are absolutely essential on vacation (Please understand that by old shit I mean art and sculptures).
After scarfing down enough cheese to ensure a complete digestive shut-down, we headed towards our meeting place. Soon after, Sabrina came to meet us. Sabrina is a lovely woman, about 30, who grew up in both Sweden and Boston. She studied fashion design at Parsons in New York and moved to Paris soon after her graduation. This was 8 years ago. Now, she is fluent in French, and a happy, assimilated Parisian. Sabrina is a friend of a our genius friend
Heather. Her parents are responsible for getting her parents together or something.
Get this. Sabrina is a fashion designer. She used to work for Michael Kors (when he was still employed by the design house Celine). She now works freelance, designing whatever someone hires her to design. She designed the dress Liv Tyler wore to the New Zealand world premiere of Lord of The Rings: Return of the King (Nerd Alert!).
She took us to a really great French restaurant where we seriously got to know some lamb, chicken, gravy, potatoes, and french bread. The real highlight, however, was dessert. I had been avoiding the desserts in Paris because I am a dumb chick and I don't want to turn into a fat, fat monster. Nonetheless, we devoured some kind of flaky pastry stuffed with ice cream and topped with a holy shitload amount of chocolate sauce. Alisa and I shared; Sabrina had her own. Apparently, this girl loves desserts. She lives in Paris and exercises very regularly in order to afford herself this luxury. What a life.
After slamming down 3 days worth of calories, we headed back to her place for a night cap. Sabrina lives with her husband, who was out of town, in a small flat not to far from where we were staying. The place was packed full of her work things, but it was a wonderful, cozy European home. I am so glad I got to see it.
Overall, the night was very peaceful and, dare I say it...adult like. Alisa and I found ourselves standing outside the hostel chatting about our lovely night when out of nowhere, a drunk French bum with a big gold top hat staggers over to us. He did not say a word, we only stopped and stared with his big, vacant eyes. I returned the intense gaze for a few moments before busting out my camera and snapping a great shot of this late night weirdness. He blinked, seemingly blinded from the flash, and staggered off. Ahhhhh...one last moment to remind you that you are, after all, in Europe.
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