Thursday, March 3 - Sunday, March 6
Getting to Paris was a serious chore. Looking back on it, I probably should have been a little more prepared. I decided to pack, print my boarding pass, and get my train ticket to Pisa the day of… oops. Packing was the least of my worries, the first major problem came when I went to print my boarding pass. Because Ryanair is run by a bunch of jerks, they require you to print your boarding pass before you get to the airport or it’s a 50 Euro charge. When I got to Squola’s computer room, I wasn’t able to find my damn confirmation email. This is absolutely something I should have noticed, oh I don’t know, maybe before the day of my flight? Anyways, the charge was on my debit card so I was about 80% sure I was on the flight and just gave them the wrong email address. Typical, right? I know.
A little annoyed about the 50 Euros I was going to have to pay and a lot nervous about not even being on the flight, I focused my attention on packing and getting to the train station for our 3pm departure to Pisa’s airport. Whelp, no passport. I had all my things packed up and ready to roll when I realized I was shit out of luck and not going anywhere without my passport… obviously. Maggie and I had about 15 minutes before we needed to leave for the train station- crunch time, biatches. We tore the apartment apart looking under ever cushion, in every drawer, between every book. You name it; we looked in and around it.
Fast forward 20 minutes, Maggie is by herself in a cab on her way to catch the train and I am sitting in front of my computer panicking to Sean on Facebook. I felt my life ending. Spring Break travel plans where slowly slipping between my passport-less fingers and the idea of not having my passport AND visa was paralyzing. That’s when Sean stepped in with his pep talk. He assured me it was somewhere in my room and that I was just going to have to turn the place upside down if I wanted to get on my flight. So, that’s exactly what I did. I threw the curtains open and went to town in my little room. I was throwing clothes over my shoulders, ripping shoes out from under my bed, and talking pleading out loud to St. Anthony … I looked like a crack head searching for his very last rock. But that’s when I found it. My damn passport was jammed in my bedside table (where I always keep it, mind you). Every time we opened the drawer, it would flip up onto the roof of the drawer and get stuck out of sight. Maggie, Molly, and I all checked this drawer multiple times during our search- but after ripping the entire drawer out in a fit of rage, the passport fell to the ground. Wow. I felt like the world’s biggest idiot, but I didn’t have time to wallow in my patheticness- I HAD A FLIGHT TO CATCH!
I hustled myself into a cab, got to the station, bought a ticket, and boarded the train in what felt like 2 minutes. Unfortunately, my bad luck was not over. The ticket guy came around and I handed him my ticket to be stamped. He looked at me and handed it back saying it wasn’t valid. Are you serious right now? First of all, your English sucks. Second of all, my Italian is worse. How am I going to explain to him that I just bought it from a legitimate ticket stand and not some homeless man outside? Turns out, with the help of Jack (my new Vietnamese friend and trusty translator) the ticket man just wanted me to get a validation stamp before boarding. That’s a 40 Euro mistake I just made, but the ticket man took pity on my touristy soul and I only paid him 5 Euro. I’m not sure if he just didn’t want to deal with the language barrier, or he had a major crush on me… either way, I was happy.
So Jack and I are chitchatting and he asks me where I am heading. I let him know about the obstacle course of a day I’d been having and that I was finally on my way to the airport to fly to France with my little cupcake, Maggie. He looked at me with his little Vietnamese eyes and said, “No, you’re not.” Not exactly the response I was expecting but I gave him a second to explain before I switched seats…
“What do you mean, this train is going to the airport.”
“No, not to the airport.”
“Well, then where are you going?”
“Cinque Terre.”
My heart stopped. Cinque Terre? Are you kidding me?
After calming me down, he said the train was going to Pisa Centrale- a stop (on the way to Cinque Terre) close to the airport and only a few stops away if I transferred trains at the central. I guess in all my hustling, I bought a ticket to Pisa Centrale and not Pisa Airport. Rookie mistake. I really should have read more than just the first word on the train ticket I was buying.
After arriving there, I was almost run over by an American girl trying to catch a flight to London. She asked me where she could hail a cab because the airport shuttle wasn’t coming for another hour. I suggested splitting the cab and both getting our butts to the airport before our planes leave us in Pisa. She agreed and the rest is history.
Maggie and I were reunited within minutes of walking into the airport, so we went to check in and guess who was on the flight?! MEEEE!!! I was 50 Euros down because I had no boarding pass, but going to Paris none the less!
On the plane, people started cheering and clapping when we took off. This was a little disturbing, like everyone was surprised to see it go so smoothly. They did the same thing when we landed… a celebration horn even played over the loud speaker. I was thrilled to have arrived safely, but wasn’t that what we were expecting to happen? I’m thinking we should all try this in America just to see people’s reactions.
After a trip to the French Airport’s candy store, Marge and I jumped on a bus to the city. On the bus, I asked Maggie a million questions in an attempt to get to know her better… because we haven’t accomplished that in the thirteen plus years of knowing each other... (What’s your favorite color? She doesn’t know, but her least favorite is orange. What’s your favorite flavor Pringle? Sour Cream and Onion. Do you prefer chocolate or gummies? Chocolate. Etc.)
When we got to the bus stop, we had to take a taxi to our hotel- Hotel Bellevue. This was not your average cab ride. Maggie and I got in first. A female DJ, DJ BETTY, and a Palestinian man joined us next. Our driver was a French Algerian, but he made an extremely awkward joke about being from Israel… that did NOT go over well.
We got to the hotel and went straight to bed (after our nutritious and delicious dinner complete with gummies and Pringles).
The next morning, we received an unexpected wake up call from the front desk. Ali and Cynthia were downstairs and needed to put their bags in our room until theirs was ready. Ali, Cynthia, Maggie, and I saw a free walking tour in a brochure downstairs so we figured we would give it a whirl. Well, we couldn’t find it in time. Standard.
Instead, we walked around and saw some sights on our own. We took the metro to Montmartre. The street was full of risky shops selling scandalous clothing, taboo videos, and “toys”- if you know what I mean. Ali and Cynthia were blushing immediately and demanded that we get back on the metro to go somewhere else. So we got some pastries and headed back on the metro to check out the one and only Eiffel Tower. It was amazing! The park around it (full of people with their lurrrrrvers, dogs, and friends) was beautiful too.
Back at the hotel, we showered and got ready for our very first Parisian night out! I decided to rock the middle part… super trendy, I know. Sara and Lindsay arrived in time to join the festivities… haaaaay!
The next morning we went to the ever exciting and delicious Starbucks for breakfast. While waiting for Lindsay and Sara, Maggie and I sat outside people watching- most memorably; we saw an Asian man skipping by on the sidewalk.
Our lunch date that day is one of my favorite memories from Paris and this semester. The four of us went to the grocery store and bought some marvelous Brie cheese, strawberry jam, and pink champagne (Sara’s favorite). Then we followed it up with a trip to a local bakery for two fresh French baguettes. Holy shiz, these things must have been baked by the gods. SO GOOD. We took our goodies to the Eiffel Tower for a romantic picnic in the grass. Life doesn’t get much better- fabulous company, perfect weather, and delicious food.
Later in the afternoon, we visited the Louvre and window shopped down the Avenue des Champs Élysées.
That night we went back to visit our BFF, the Eiffel Tower, to see it’s nightly lightshow.
Sunday, we took advantage of the nearby Starbucks for the second morning in a row. We brought our coffee to lunch… big mistake. HUGE MISTAKE. I got a French hot dog baguette, but after we finished I went to pick my coffee up and spilled the whole thing. All twenty ounces flooded the floor around us. I died. I grabbed as many napkins as possible but this thing did not want to be absorbed. After a failed damage control, we got the check and bounced as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, I forgot my sunglasses inside and the waiter had to walk them out to me. I’m uncomfortable just thinking about it. As penance, I threw away as many pieces of trash on the street I could find.
After lunch, we saw the Notre Dame. We took some silly tourist shots while standing in front. On the way back to the hotel, we saw a market with the most PRECIOUS little bunny rabbits. I was reminded of my big-eared friend, Freckles Cinnamon Stripe, right away. Rest in Peace, my lovely little bunny foofoo.
Upon taking off in France and landing in Florence, the Europeans burst into cheers once again… this seriously cracks me up.
