I had a feeling someone would ask me about a picture of the arm (thank you Brandon). Funny enough I did not really think of taking a picture to track the progress of the wound. I had several people ask me about a picture when I first mentioned it and I did not take a picture until I got back stateside. This is about 10 days after the fact. My forearm was still about twice its normal size and was a plethora of colors.
So we plan a trip to Paris and what do we do on our first full day there? Drive four hours west to the Atlantic Ocean. Ariel did a great job setting us up with housing for our trip. In both London and Paris we stayed in places owned by Korean entrepreneurs who bought places and rent them to tourists.
In London the place we stayed at was pretty much like a youth hostile with several rooms and a shared kitchen and bathrooms. In Paris we got our very own private apartment. It was a pretty sweet set up and we were only a 10 minute walk from the Louvre.
The couple who own the apartment in Paris offer trips outside the city as part of their business. They have a minivan and we ended up taking a trip with another couple to Mont-Saint-Michel and Saint-Malo. Mont-Saint-Michel is a monastery that is built on a rock outcropping in the ocean. When it is high tide, the outcropping is surrounded by water. It is a pretty stunning site.
I did not know it but I would end up taking a very personal souvenir with me from my visit. About half way through the tour we started to walk down a small flight of stone steps into a room filled with a large group of Japanese tourists. I was checking out the ceiling and before I knew it I slipped, fell back on my right arm, and skidded down three or four steps. Blame it on big feet, old steps, and lack of attention.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd and I stood up and waved my arms like an umpire declaring that I was safe. Considering what could have happened to me, this seemed to be a correct call. My right arm was burning but I was wearing a long sleeved shirt and was sure I just took off a bit of skin.
I decided to wait a minute of two before assessing the damage. A few rooms later I unbuttoned my sleeve and found that I did indeed lose some skin, but I also had grown an enormous lump on my arm. Within only a few minutes, it looked as if I had a tennis ball under my skin. The good news was that the pain was not bad, it just looked nasty.
We made our way down to the entrance and managed to find the first aid station. I knew I would get along with the First Aid worker when after he examined my arm he said in a heavy accent, “Oh, very bad, we’ll definitely have to cut the arm off.” He rubbed some disinfectant on me and gave me an ice pack and sent me on my way. I did exchange cards with him and maybe I will have a new pen pal. Three full weeks after my fall my arm was still a mosaic comprised of shades of yellow, purple, and red. Call it an epidermal postcard.
With my swollen arm and my bruised pride we made our way to another ancient edifice, Saint-Malo. The wall surrounding the castle has a walkway which enables you to circle the whole complex. It was incredibly pleasant and was a nice shift from the overall city based focus of our trip.
One cool thing was a swimming pool that captures ocean water for a nice calm place for a swim.
One the way back into Paris we passed through a tunnel that seemed familiar. It turns out it was the tunnel where Princess Diana lost her life. Our tour guide did a great job of showing us a different side of France.
Our Tour Guide
We took the Eurostar through the chunnel from London to Paris. I like trains. I have to travel to D.C. several times a year and 100% prefer Amtrak over taking a plane. Airports are so draining to me.
The chunnel is as anticlimactic as one might anticipate. You enter the chunnel, it’s dark for 20 minutes, and then you see light again. No fancy light shows, just your reflection.
When we arrived at Gare du Nord (AKA, the train station) we did not have the best experience. Within seconds a woman came up to us and asked, “Speak English?” I nodded and she handed me a card with scraggly writing declaring that she was an orphan and would like money. During our 30 minutes in the train station we had about 10 such encounters.
When we approached a pay phone to make a call we were then approached by people wanting us to use their phone cards for a fee. It seems like everyone we ran into wanted something from us.
I then exchanged some currency and the lady gave me gruff about my signature on my passport not matching my signature on my traveler’s checks. I am an individualist when it comes to my signature: no two are identical. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that when I had my passport photo taken I had not had my hair cut for two years and now I have a buzz cut.
The coup de grace was the subway ticket booth lady who threw up her arms and shooed us away when we did not present passport sized photos when requesting a week long subway pass. I have been on subway systems all over the planet and none has ever required photo ID. More power to them I guess and when I reflect on it now, NYC ticket window folks can be pretty crotchety.
So we did not have the most pleasant entry experience. Fortunately, the rest of our time was much better.
Nice to see that American television is two decades behind in London.
An ad, and behavior, definitely not Parisian.
During my short stay in London, the environment struck me as more polite and proper in comparison to the Big Apple. NYC is in your face whereas London seems to gently tap you on the shoulder.
I noticed several differences between the Tube and the Subway in NYC. For example in NYC you have “Construction.” In London they have “Improvements.”
When the trains are on schedule in London a loudspeaker announcement came on saying, “A Good Service is running on the (insert subway train) line.” In NYC, well, every once in a blue moon they will announce the trains are “approaching.”
NYC encourages you to “Watch your Step.” London encourages you to “Mind the Gap.”
NYC is also very direct as seen in the subway line names. A, 1, Q, G, etc. – one letter or numeral, not a name to be found. The trains in London are all names, i.e. District and Jubilee.
One advertisement in the subway also caught my attention. It was not the subject matter as much as it was the language. It was an ad for volunteer police officers and it said, “Help make London, one on of the greatest cities in the world, an even better place.”
I can pretty much assure you that an ad in NYC would read, “Help make NYC, THE GREATEST CITY IN THE WORLD, an even better place.” I love how NYC is constantly called “the greatest city in the world” with no qualifiers. Greatest in terms of pollution? Greatest in terms of noise? Greatest in terms of congestion? Funny how “greatest” is never defined.
One thing that also stopped me dead in my tracks was very simple, but amazing. Check out the following:
Might seem curious to someone who does not live in NYC, but scaffolding is everywhere in New York and if you brush against it, you better have an up to date tetanus shot. Rust and jagged edges are the norm. Thus when I saw scaffolding that was politely covered with foam padding, I was stunned.
At a local park I also found the following sign:
Instead of a bunch of pictures with lines through them denouncing what cannot be done and every sentence starting with the word “No” they “welcome responsibility.” And “Worry wildlife” cracked me up.
Gotta give it to the British, they have the polite thing down.
One of the coolest things about London for me was the “Pub Life.” Beer is obviously a big part of the social scene and I witnessed pubs overflowing into the streets each and every day. When you see people in NYC overflowing from a bar it is to light a cancer stick and you witness a disgusting cloud of smoke wafting from the pack. I was surprised to find that London does still allow smoking in bars, but from what I could gather, a new law will take hold on July 1 banning smoking from eating establishments.
One of Ariel’s friends from fashion school now lives in London and we hung out with him one evening. After Indian food we were wandering down the street and stumbled into some type of street pub event. They had tall cans for sale and picnic tables set up in a long alley. It was a very cool scene.
I think it is pretty common to associate particular sounds with travel. Being in a foreign environment heightens the senses in a way. The most common sound I remember in London? The sound of bags of empty beer bottles being set out for recycling.
I saw lots of interesting modes of transportation and it is safe to say that NYC is wayyyyyy behind in terms of alternate forms of transportation. There were several types of very small vehicles obviously meant for city use. Many were not that different from a motorcycle in terms of ability to carry possessions and people, but having the ability to shield yourself from the rain is a must in London.
And how stoked do you think I was when I saw a bike ambulance team? Genius idea if you ask me. In gridlock, how are emergency vehicles supposed to get where they need to go? Weekly in NYC I see ambulances jammed in traffic with nowhere to go. Bloody wicked idea don’t you think?
