Day 36: Paris

Wednesday, September 18

My alarm was going off. The guy next to me's alarm was going off. The third guy in the room got up and left. The other five bunks were empty.
    I was remaining diligent on getting that sucker snoozed every time it dared make a sound, but i wasn't actually getting back to sleep. I knew i should've just gotten up, but of course i did not do that. I kept thinking, another half hour will probably be good for me. I can afford it.
    It was 6:30am, then it was 7, then 7:15. Check out was at 10. I still didn't have a plan for the morning. I finally got out of bed, soaked in sweat. It had been a hot night in my little enclosure, for some reason. I brushed my teeth, realized i'd left the shaving cream in the room and decided not to bother, and got in the shower. As soon as i was in the stall, i found that i had forgotten to take my watch off. It's just as well, i usually take it in the shower with me and wash it off after i run, and i haven't been doing that, so it could probably use a lil scrub. I hung it in the only place available, off the fixture above me at point where the shower head detached for handheld use.
    Okay, glad i had time for that. I returned to the room, unlocked the drawer under the bed, and started pulling things out to repack my bag. First, clean clothes. Just gonna slip this shirt on real quick and
    oh shit my watch
    it's still in the shower
    someone else has already gone in there.
    Alright what do i do here? Just wait for him to finish and then go grab it? What if he steals it? He's probably not gonna steal it, i've never had anything stolen in a hostel. People are generally all we're-all-in-this-together types at these kinds of places. But he might take it down to lost and found or something? Then how do i prove it's mine? What if i carry on packing, and then forget about it and leave without it anyway? What if that guy doesn't see it or leaves it alone, but another guy gets in there before i come back? Idk idk idk idk i'm just really anxious here i do not want to lose my watch i need that for monitoring my health and fitness and knowing that i walked half a marathon in a day ahhhhh
    Before i knew what i was doing, i found myself knocking on the door to the shower stall.
    "Hey man, this is really awkward, and i'm really sorry about this, but i left my watch in there. Any chance you can pass it through the door to me?"
    "Uh. Watch?"
    "Yeah, it's hanging up by the shower head."
    "Oh. Yeah. Give me two minutes."
    So i stood there and waited, staring in the mirror of the bathroom, like a dumbass. I hadn't even put that shirt on. There's no door on the bathroom, either, so anyone walking by will see me standing here, like a dumbass, staring in the mirror, doing nothing, wearing only basketball shorts.
    The guy in the center shower came out. I dodged out of the way, and gave him some space to get to the sink and do whatever. He left.
    The guy in the far right shower came out. I stood back in the left corner, and waited for him to leave.
    Man. I must look like a huge idiot.
    The left shower door opened. I thought this guy would just stick his arm out, but he just opened the door up, one hand holding my watch, the other covering his junk. "Here you go."
    "Thank you so much. Sorry about all this."
    Alright. Time to finish packing. Got everything into my bag, had both room keys, was about to walk out the door, when suddenly it hit me that i hadn't taken any photos or videos of this room yet. That's a thing that i always do, on every vacation.
    I started shooting a clip with the R6m2, then realized my lower bunk was just a black hole in the center of the frame, so i ducked under to switch on the reading light and get a good look at it.
    My phone was lying right in the middle of the bed.
    JESUS CHRIST.
    That's three things i've already forgotten this morning, in the span of an hour, with dramatically increasing degrees of severity.
    I sure hope that's not the kind of day it's gonna be.
    I got checked out, and finally remembered to ask the clerk about the skateboarding stuff, thinking that, if they had anything in the morning, i might still have time to do that.
    "Oh, yeah, i don't know about any of that," he said. "It's not through the hostel. Go to the skate shop next door and ask there. We technically own them, but i don't think any of that is connected."
    Okay. Pretty sure the skate shop has been closed every time i've walked by this week.
    I took a seat in the common area, drank a bunch of water, and filled out the next round of postcards. Then i booked accommodation for Brussels, and made some solid plans for the rest of the day. Got my bag stashed in the lockers below the hostel, and headed over to that post office across the street. I've been meaning to do this for days.
    As i waited in line, a man started going down the queue and engaging everyone in a short conversation. My guess was that he was asking what we needed from the post office today, so that he could try and triage us into other directions or help directly if he could, to alleviate the wait. I was hoping he somehow wouldn't get to me before i reached the desk, though that seemed unlikely.
    The woman in front of me needed something done with her phone. He spent several minutes with her on that, and the line moved forward one person. Maybe maybe maybe...
    Nope, they're done. He moved on to me, greeted me, and then something in French.
    "Uh. Bonjour. Je suis desolée, ma français n'est pas bien. Parlez-vous anglais?"
    Holy shit! I did it! I said the whole practiced line!
    "Oh, non," he replied.
    SHIT.
    "Ah. D'accord. Je dois envoyer des cartes postales," I said, slowly, pensively, producing the postcards from my inner vest pocket.
    His face lit up. I think he was pleased and impressed that i'd tried, and that i'd succeeded. "Oui! C'est ici!" he said, gesturing toward a different line.
    After i got to the front of that line, i said my phrase again.
    "I can try," she replied. This would be the only thing she actually said to me in English.
    "Okay. I just need to mail some postcards to the United States," i said, spreading them out on the desk.
    She nodded, and pulled out some stamps, asking if i was okay with these ones. "Oui," i replied, nodding.
    I'm not sure what happened next, but she poked around in the computer for a minute, then tried to leave the desk, but the other guy came over and had a conversation with her in French that i couldn't follow at all. He was flipping through a binder of stamps, as she kept trying to walk away, and saying things. In the end, she came back to the desk, and sold me six stamps of two different varieties.
    I moved aside so she could help the next person while i struggled to affix the stamps to the cards. All of these stamps were huge. Some of them edged off the postcard when i tried to keep them off of the address, and i had to fold them over. The last one covered the recipient's name almost entirely, so i had to find a pen and re-write it up next to the stamp.
    But i did get them mailed!
    After that, i hit up a sandwich shop right outside the post office, which i'd walked past every day and thought about. Got a pretty decent chicken salad sandwich. I sat at a table just outside the shop to eat. As i was finishing, a man approached me.
    "Anything to drink?" he asked.
    "No, thank you," i said. He looked confused. I shook my head, and he shrugged and left.
    I was just as confused as he looked, but as he walked away, i realized that this table was not for the sandwich shop. It was for an entirely different restaurant, right next door. He thought i had come to eat at his place.
    I shoved the last of my sandwich in my mouth, and got up and beat it.
    Alright! First things first, as i discussed at the end of yesterday's post, i would like to see the spot where the famous French guillotine stood. It's not too far from the hostel.
    I passed Père-Lachaise again, although this time, when i got to the main gate, was turning left instead of walking straight by. I crossed the street and continued, with the cemetery behind me. This was familiar. This was the direction we had walked to the cemetery in 2013.
    Out of nowhere, a few blocks later, i found myself looking at an enormous birdhouse, at the entry to a park with a huge bed of beautiful flowers just beyond its gates.
    I know this place. I know i have a video of Amanda standing in front of that giant birdhouse. I know that we walked into this park in 2013, when we found it randomly on the way to Père-Lachaise. It's not in the log, which i had just re-read a couple days ago. But i know i have photos and video.
    I think the fencing and gate has changed over the last 11 years. Also, there's a fenced-in dog park around the birdhouse, i don't think that was there before.
    I walked around the park a bit, feeling serene, feeling nostalgic. Square de la Roquette, it's called.
    I didn't want to take too much time here, so i headed back toward the entry. I checked the map quick to see how much further to the guillotine spot.
    I was there.
    It's literally in the intersection right outside the entrance to the park.
    This is so silly. It's been right there the whole time, since 1899. I had thought, as i passed the cemetery gates, about how the map was only showing another three minutes of walking, and how we could have easily gone to see this last time, if we'd known it was there. But now i see that we actually walked right past it accidentally, unknowingly. I know we were on the side of the road with the park, though, which is how we'd seen the park; if we had, arbitrarily, been walking on the other side, we would have stepped foot directly on the guillotine site.
    I had thought from the Atlas Obscura article that the site was marked with five indentations in the asphalt, which seemed strange to me; this asphalt obviously wasn't here in the late 19th century, how could the guillotine have left a mark in it? Maybe the indents were put there intentionally, as a tribute.
    But now that i was actually here, i could see that, no, that's not what this is. These are the five stone blocks that made up the guillotine's actual foundation. They'd poured the asphalt around them, to preserve them, intentionally leaving them visible on the new street, as a historical marker.
    That makes much more sense.
    I stood on the center block, in the middle of the road, for a few minutes, trying to feel the weight of history, as i'd done in other spots.

    It was just a smidge past noon. My entry ticket for the Paris Catacombs was at 1:45. The post office had taken much longer than i expected. The plan i'd made called for me heading from here straight to the metro stop near the Catacombs, and then hitting another Obscura spot over there, with whatever time i may have. Montparnasse Cemetery is another graveyard renowned for interesting sculpture work on the tombstones; but whereas Père-Lachaise's offerings can be extravagant, holy, and symbolic, Montparnasse's tend to be...a little weirder. It's more of an artists' cemetery. Also, the Arago Medallions are close, those could be a couple minutes' distraction if i needed more. They mark a line of longitude that was once in contention to be the Prime Meridian, before Greenwich stole the honor.
    I looked for transit directions over to the catacombs.
    It would be 45 minutes by rail, which included a 25 minute walk back the way i came so that i could get on the train at the Nation station, the one i've been using all this time.
    That is. Extremely silly.
    There are so many other train stations that Google Maps just flat-out refuses to send me to. There's one much closer to the hostel than Nation, the Buzenval station, which i have tried using as my starting or ending point, only for Google Maps to tell me to go to Nation and then walk to Buzenval.
    I've had a number of issues with Google Maps on this trip, so i don't know if Buzenval is legitimately just not an option for the directions i keep trying to go, or if Maps is maliciously keeping me out of there for some reason. But the only thing i've actually done at Buzenval is buy metro tickets, which i've then gone on to use at Nation.
    Ugh.
    So it's that, or else it's an hour and fifteen minutes to just walk all the way to the catacombs.
    Fuck it! Let's do that!
    Half the joy of this trip has just been walking through strange cities anyway. And i still have a bit of padding, if i find something shiny to distract me on the way, then so be it!
    And i did!
    Jardin D'Iris et de Plantes Vivaces is a well-maintained garden featuring rows upon rows of gorgeous flowers, trees, and other various plants. It seems to be overseen by a college or a scientific institution of some kind. I'd entered from Pont d'Austerlitz, over the Seine, and straight through the gate was greeted by a monument to Jean-Baptiste de Lamarck, a biologist from the late 18th-early 19th century and one of the earliest proponents of the theory of evolution. He's best remembered for his theory of inheritance of acquired characteristics, or Lamarckism. Throughout the garden, i kept seeing signs pointing toward the Museum of Evolution nearby.
    I took a leisurely stroll through that garden, smelling flowers, taking pictures, you know, like i do, and finally came out the other side. A little further down the street from there, i suddenly realized that i'd done that goldfish thing and expanded to fill the allotted space. I was still 23 minutes away from the entrance to the catacombs, and it was quarter after one. I needed to stop stopping to smell the roses.
    At the entrance, i was greeted by a long line of people, wrapping around the building. I joined at the end, and a man soon came down the line and asked to check my ticket. I showed it to him, and he moved on; then i noticed the sign that said time slots were sold out for today.
    The Paris Catacombs are every bit as harrowing as they should be. I was given a device for an audio tour. The first half is just tunnels through the rock, and the audio explains how, in the 1700s, Paris was in danger from sinkholes opening suddenly and dragging buildings underground. This was due to excessive limestone mining under the city. Much of that limestone was what built Paris in the first place, but its absence underneath the city was a bit of a problem, from a physics standpoint. The Catacombs were the solution to two huge problems, and that was one of them. The audio tour points out the locations of several load-bearing retaining walls, and explains about the backfill that was added behind them. The Catacombs literally saved Paris.
    The second half of the tour is the more famous part, the bit that everyone thinks of first when they hear "Paris Catacombs." The other problem that the catacombs solved was the city's overcrowded cemeteries, which had also become a public health hazard.
    Six million.
    Six million bodies were removed from other Paris graveyards and transported to the Catacombs.
    I don't know what i was expecting, but it was not this. First of all, that number. God damn. That is a huge amount of people.
    But what i was truly unprepared for was the presentation of the bodies. I knew i was here to see human remains, but i guess what i thought i was going to see was the bones embedded into walls, on display for all who dare enter to see.
    That is not what's going on here. Again, six million skeletons. They're not all gonna be able to display neatly on a wall, there, buddy.
    It's just piles and piles of femurs and tibias and what have you, stacked neatly, rows and rows and rows deep, ten or fifteen or twenty feet from what you see until it reaches a stone wall. Skulls are placed in between the long bones either in rows, or sometimes in fun patterns, as art. Occasionally you'll see skulls stacked in the shape of a crucifix.
    Someone in the 1700s was having too much fun with these bones.

    And it just keeps going. After i'd seen a few piles of bones, i was kind of thinking, okay, this was fun, now i've seen it, haha. But there's so much more to go.
    Six million.
    The web site said it takes about an hour to go through the whole exhibit, and it actually took me exactly an hour. I was surprised, as i was definitely taking my time in places where other people were speeding past me; although, about halfway through the bones, i was the one who started passing other people.
    It's just. It's just a lot of bones, man.

    The very last bit of the exhibit is a spot where, in 1897, a wildly illegal secret concert was held in the catacombs, amongst all the bones, well after midnight. A 24-piece orchestra managed to sneak in, after distributing invitations, and play a full concert for roughly 100 audience members. The set list that night included such bangers as Chopin's Funeral March, Camille Saint-Saën’s Danse Macabre, and other thematically appropriate dirges.
    In all, the catacombs stretch out under Paris with over 300 kilometers of tunnels; the official tour, the only bit that is legally accessible to the public, covers but one single kilometer. Who knows what else is down there?
    Well, in 2004, Paris police found an entire secret cinema in a previously uncharted 500-square-meter cavern, complete with the screen, projection equipment, chairs, and a wide variety of films. It was found behind a door marked "Building Site, No Access" and had professionally-installed electricity and phone lines, plus motion-activated security cameras which played the sound of dogs barking when triggered. Parisian authorities remain baffled, 20 years later. The operators were never caught.
    And that compels me.
    Utterly fascinating.
    Wish i had connected with some shady group of catacomb-divers to take me to the forbidden zones.
    Next time.
    I swear i'll break into somewhere illegal on this trip yet{.}
    From here, i probably could've at least gone to see the Medallions, but instead, i just headed for the hostel. My train to Brussels would leave Paris Nord at 17:25, and the seat reservation i made suggested being there 30 minutes early; check-in, and the train doors, may close up to 10 minutes before departure, so if you're not on, sorry about ya.
    The Eurail web site told me to print a physical copy of the reservation for this one as well. When i got the confirmation email from Eurostar, the train company, it included a checklist of things to do before the trip. Eurostar's directions just say to either print your ticket OR make sure it's downloaded to your mobile device, and the QR code must be readable. The ticket itself says the same thing. So i did not bother to print the ticket this time. No one asked for it last time, i don't think "needing a paper ticket" is a real thing.
    So i arrived at the station over an hour early. The platform for my train hadn't even been posted yet. I decided to get some food.
    Once again, i was able to order my meal entirely in French! I did give her the heads up that my French isn't great, but all she said was, "okay." I'm gonna show off here for a second.
    "Bonjour! Je suis desolée, ma français n'est pas bien."
    "Okay."
    "Je voudrais ce sandwich, et un crêpe au Nutella, et un Coke Zero."
    She grabbed the indicated items, warmed up the sandwich for me, and gave me the total. I paid, said "Merci beaucoup!" and was on my way.
    It's a simple interaction, but it feels good to get it done!
    The Nutella crepe, by the way, was one last nostalgic reminder of Amanda before i left Paris. Amanda loved Nutella, this is not a secret. But the origin of that is, she had never heard of Nutella, until our trip in 2013. In Paris, she randomly ordered a Crêpe au Nutella from a restaurant, or maybe a street food cart? I can't quite remember. Part of me wants to say it was actually included with the hostel's breakfast, but i don't think that's right. Sadly, it does not appear to be in my 2013 log. I was much less thorough back then.
    By 17:00, i was starting to get nervous that my train platform had not been announced yet. We're inside the 30 minute window. I saw on the Arrivals screen, though, that a train from Bruxelles Midi, the station in Brussels i'm heading to, had come in at 16:38 on platform 9. So it's probably going to be 9, then? I made my way over there.
    There was a huge crowd gathered just off the platform. The screen did indeed indicate that this was the train to Brussels and Amsterdam. Right as i got there, the crowd started moving forward, onto the platform. Just in time, i thought, but then we all stopped again. And stood there. Waiting.

    It was quarter after by the time we were boarding the train. There were train people stationed at the doors of every car. The person ahead of me showed their ticket to the one at our door, so i did also, but she barely even looked at it. I do not think she cared. I'm not sure she was even there to check tickets.
    My tray table would not stay up, but i was planning to write this log on the trip anyway, so it didn't matter. I didn't have a window seat this time, though, so i did have to move the tray table a couple of times to let the woman next to me in and out. She had a hand bag with illustrations of many different types of boobs on it. She only spoke French. We didn't converse much, but she seemed nice.
    You know, i didn't encounter a single rude person in Paris this time around. Much is said, around the world, about how rude the French are, but that simply has not been my experience. Last time there were only two people who were rude to us, but i know now what happened there. It's French custom to always greet someone when you begin a conversation; a simple "bonjour" will do. In 2013, as an American, i had simply walked up to two older women and started asking them questions in English, which they did not respond favorably to. On this trip, i've found that, most of the time, even if i open with "Hello," at least it is a greeting, and it tells them immediately that i wish to continue in English. This works fine in the touristy areas. And in the other areas, i think people were pleased to see me at least making an effort to speak a little French, even if it came out a little broken. The French just have a slightly different code of manners. It's not that difficult to respect, when you know about it.
    French Canadians, though...Quebec is the only place i've encountered a significant number of rude French-speaking people. But i digress.

That train was so quick. I mean, objectively, i had the numbers, i knew it was only an 80 minute train ride from Paris to Brussels, but it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.
    I was in Brussels, it wasn't even 7pm yet, the sun was still up, i still had energy!
    I'm gonna go check into the hostel, and then see what's nearby that i can still go do today!
    Oh, the Meininger Hostel is only a THREE MINUTE WALK from the train station?! Miraculous!
    Check in was quick. I headed upstairs to drop off my stuff.
    Four beds in the room, a bunk and two single-levels. The top bunk, on the left, and the single furthest to the right were occupied by sleeping people. The other two were made and ready to receive guests. I chose the bottom bunk, so i could have a wall.
    At check-in, i had been given a card with my name on it and told to put it in the plastic holder at the end of the bed, to mark my spot. I couldn't find any plastic holder. None of the beds seemed to have it. The guy on the top bunk woke up while i was digging my camera out, and climbed down.
    "Oh. Hello," he said.
    "Hey," i replied. "Do you know where this is supposed to go?"
    "No. None of the beds have a spot for it. Just put it somewhere, i guess."
    So i set it on the frame, close to the wall. Good enough, i suppose. It's probably not gonna stay there, though.
    There's no lockers in the room. The other two guys just have their suitcases sitting out.
    Well, that's disconcerting. It was one of the major concerns i had about that hostel that i slipped out of before management got there in Vilnius. At least this room doesn't have a Vladmir Putin lookalike camped in the corner at all times, blocking the lightswitch, and staring ominously. Just two sleepy 20 year olds, like most hostels i've been to.
    Yeah, that's a bit of a weird thing i've noticed. Almost every hostel i've been to has at least one really young person sleeping in there pretty much 24/7. Not like, a rotating cast of them, i mean like, there's one 20 year old who seems to sleep 20 hours a day. The other four hours must be for raving.
    Seriously, the chats for every hostel i've booked on Hostelworld are always full of people asking who's up for hitting the clubs. I think there's a lot of young people just traveling from city to city to party.
    I envy them. Even when i was young, i could never do that. I was too fuckin square. I'm less square now, but more anxious, so it balances out.
    I got outside and tried to return an important-seeming phone call, but it wouldn't go through. Might need to worry about that later.
    As i stood out there, i looked up Brussels on the Atlas Obscura. 41 items, a bit more reasonable than Paris or Berlin. I checked the map. Anything nearby looked either uninteresting to me, or permanently closed. The only thing i thought might be worthwhile is a street full of comic art murals, but with the sunlight rapidly fading, it seemed better to save that one for the daytime.
    Defeated, i went back inside, back up to the room, and exchanged my camera for my laptop, to finish writing out this log.
    It's okay, i'm unbothered by this. I've walked almost 10 miles today anyway, that's two long walking days in a row, so i can feel pretty good about what i've accomplished. I'm wrapping this log up now, and it's not even 9pm. Usually it's more like 1am by the time i finish writing these. So maybe i'll get to bed at a decent hour, and get up to adventure earlier in the day tomorrow.
    Even though i'll be leaving my bag unguarded on my bed all day.
    It's a little nerve-wracking, but i just have to remember.
    I've never had anything stolen in a hostel. Hostel people know that we're all in this together. It's probably fine.

Update: 45 minutes after i typed "It's probably fine," sitting here at the bar near the hostel's reception, a man came in saying he'd had his entire bag stolen at the train station, including his passport. Everything, gone.

Welp.