"Well, what can you say, they're French" (Part 1)

The above quote came from my boss at work. And it is SO true.

We left for our long weekend in Paris at around 4:30 and headed for Heathrow airport. After being detained and x-rayed at security (that was all me.. I'm very threatening) we got to go to our... not gate. Apparenlty in Europe, you don't get assigned a gate until right before you board, so you have to sort of guess and position yourself wisely. We got on the plane, and after a 1 hour delay caused by a threat of maybe some snow at some point, took off for Paris. 2 minutes later we landed (I swear it felt like that).

Something to note about Paris here: they speak French. Which, I may add, is NOT a language I speak. All of the signs are in French, even in the airport, and they have vague arrows pointing everywhere and nowhere at once. So, it took us about 45 minutes to actually find a train that went into Paris, but we figured it out eventually.

The hostel we stayed at was called the "Young and Happy Hostel" and was in a very... French... area with lots of markets and other... French things (like cheese stores):



We attempted to find food, but the exchange rate is evil, so we just went to bed.

The next morning we partook in the free breakfast at our hostel (note: breakfast in French means bread) and attempted to meet up with Greg at Gare de Lyon (literally... Train of Lion. Maybe). We got to go through the Jardin de Plantes (or something.. it means Garden of Plants. They're very original in France.) We found the train station and Greg and Kayleigh and we were off for some non-English speaking fun. I got some quiche which is amazing, but I only got it because I am very good at one thing - making Tim and Kayleigh translate for me. Oh, and I learned how to point very specifically.

We first went to Notre Dame (and there are a TON of pictures, see the link at the bottom of this post), where we played on see-saws:



And went inside and climbed to the top. Up a million and a half stairs. But it was worth it, because the gargoyles were awesome:



After a dizzying flight back down, we wandered over to the Louvre, but more for its bathrooms than the museum (that we saved for later). Then we got on the metro and attempted to find our way to the Eiffel Tower (again, thank god for people knowing French). We eventually stumbled upon it:



And I decided to take the coolest picture of Andrew in the history of the world:



We went to the top... I guess it was okay:


And we explored the two carousels next to the tower. Paris, I've decided, should change its name to the City of Carousels. There is seriously one at every tourist destination.

By the time we'd done all this climbing and picture-taking and queueing, we were famished. We headed back to the area near the hostel for a real French dinner. I got French Onion soup (not any better than it is anywhere else, to my disappointment), chicken covered in mushroom cream sauce (I liked the mushrooms, which scares me) and a pear covered in ice cream and chocolate sauce. And a chocolate caramel candy bar. Mmmmmm French people might not do signs well, but they make nice desserts. After dinner we went to the bar across the street where I got a glass of wine and the bartender told Alice and me that he "loves you baby!"

More pictures here. More stories soon... including: the fabulously unimpressive Mona Lisa, me being a Degas Dork (official title) and adventures at Charles De Gaulle airport.