Driving on the Flipside: Easter in Paris by Tour Bus

Thursday night we left London in a rusty, ripped seat double decker bus with no toilet. Our trip to Paris with Tracks had officially begun. Up until the day before our trip began, we believed that we were going to be staying in hotels but at £99 we should have been scratching our heads. I called to double check the itinerary and discovered that we were staying outside of Paris in small cabins. The scramble for sleeping bags ensued and more then one of those traveling with me was miffed.

We were supposed to arrive in France at Place de la Concord (the square where all the royals and aristocracy were beheaded during the Revolution) by 9 a.m. but of course we missed our booked ferry and arrived there by 12:30 p.m. instead.

That first day ended up being a lot of wandering around and very little entering of buildings. We saw the Bastille—the statue commemorating the Bastille as the actual building was destroyed in the 18th century. We also tried to take in the Catacombs but they were closed (missed it by 5 minutes).
Instead we sampled some of the delights of Parisian food—I found some Asian take-out and humus and bread—not really French food but it was so very good, better than anything I have ever tasted. Then I realized that I remember very little French and even the simplest of phrases slipped my head. Funnily enough I thought in German when I was trying to think in French…my German helped about as much as my English. I came to understand that when someone says they speak a language a little, it’s means the same as when I say it—it means little or none at all.

That night was dedicated to a boat tour of the Seine. It was beautiful. Even though the “French” music was cheesy the commentary we got was good and almost all of the major monuments/ buildings were seen—the Notre Dame, The Eiffel Tower, the Concierge, National Assembly , the Latin Quarter (very high brow—I originally thought I could find a little flamenco there but it’s actually an area where scholars used to meet only speak Latin. Now it’s just a tourist trap), etc. As we floated by the Place de la Concorde, it gave me the shivers. Being that far back, you can almost see the multitude of people crying out for justice as the guillotine flashed red. A chilling memory amongst the delicate beauty of the surroundings. After the boat tour, we went up the Eiffel Tower. I walked the first two sections and then took a lift to the top! Windy! But beautiful.

Saturday was a trip to Versailles and all I gotta say is, no wonder the French people wanted blood. This palace is gorgeous and huge! I ended up taking a tour with a few people from my group and got to go into some of the inner rooms that the regular tourists aren’t allowed to see. This included a trip into the in-house Opera House, the place where Louis and Marie Antoinette celebrated their wedding together. Talk about history.

I think the most breathtaking part is the gardens—unbelievably huge, stretching out endlessly behind the palace. Unfortunately, because the tour went overtime, we almost missed the bus back to Paris and we had to run through Versailles, past surly security guards and across deadly cobblestone to make it.
Back in Paris, we went straight to the Catacombs, an underground burial place of (dare I say) millions of bodies. The bones were stacked on top of each other like Lincoln logs and the skulls were arranged amongst the stacks to make designs—mostly crosses but we also saw a heart!! For those of you that can read French, this is one of the many poems and inscriptions that graced the walls….

Ansi tout passe sur la terre
Esprit, beaute, graces, talent
Telle est une fleur ephemere
Que renverse le moindre vent.

In the centre of this bone yard is a small chapel and the Fountain of Samaritans which was named Lethe after the mythical river surrounding Hades known to incite forgetfulness. Deliciously morbid and not a place for the faint of heart nor the claustrophobic.

We joined back with our tour after some more glorious food (I had Vegan yogurt and cheese—the most amazing I ever had! It was definitely hard to leave behind) and went through the Monteparnesse area up to the Sacre Coure. This area is the Red Light district and we passed Moulin Rouge along the way. Of all the places I had seen, the Sacre Coure was the most peaceful. Thankfully no photography was allowed and quiet reigned supreme. We spent the last hours of our evening in the Latin Quarter where I had the most amazing coffee on a patio backdropped by the Notre Dame. A magical night.

Sunday, we had the choice of wandering Paris or taking in the wonderful world of Eurodisney. I chose the city. We headed over to Le Cimetiere Du Pere-Lachaise and saw the final resting places as such notables as Isadora Duncan, Maria Callus, Balzac, Chopin, Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison. Jim Morrison’s original headstone has (sadly enough) been removed and a dull black one describing him as James was put into place and under guard.

Oscar Wilde’s tomb was fabulously decadent and covered with kiss marks—I even added my own lip prints to it as it is the hopelessly romantic thing to do. It is said that the Wilde’s Art Neavou Angel Tombstone was so blatantly anatomically correct that the caretaker at the time found it inappropriate and lobbed off the offending bits. I guess he just didn’t appreciate the art of it. On the back of the stone is the following inscription:

"And alien tears will fill for him
Pity’s long broken urn
For his mourners will be outcast men
And outcasts always mourn”

This tomb, the work of Jacob Epstein, was given by a lady as a memorial of her admiration of the Poet.
We wandered the rest of the day away, ate our lunch under an overhang of a store front as the rain freshened the streets, ate beet roots in view of the Notre Dame and even went in that fabled church. Everything else was shut up due to the whole Easter thing—a very Catholic country, and we were trying to sightsee on the biggest religious day of them all. What did get to me was the lack of respect people had within the church. Vespers was going on as flashes went and whispered conversation seemed a dull roar. Outside the front of the church were dozens of street vendors that added to that feel that tourism reigned supreme - even in church.

Monday was our last day in the City of Light and I spent it in the Louvre. There I saw the sights you cannot go home without seeing—the Mona Lisa, Victory and Venus de Milo (or as I overheard one boy say, “Mom’s off tryin’ to find that lady with no arms….”) I found the Venus de Milo breathtaking and to get up close to the Mona Lisa you had to fight your way through the mosh pit formed around it. Someone asked me what all the fuss was over that fabled lady and I honestly didn’t know. I wonder if anyone does.

On the way out of Paris, I was in charge of buying playing cards for the trip back and the man at the kiosk by the bus would only let me buy the ones with nude males on them. They gave us a lot of laughs (and a few groans from the men) for our trip back. As a side note, as we were driving out of town we went round the Arc de Triumph—the place where no insurance will cover you—and our side door flew open. Our guide had to hold it shut while we drove to safety. Ay Carumba!

If you’re thinking of doing a cheap tour, then think again. If you’re thinking of going to Paris, brush up on your French and visit www.paris-tourism.com.