Paris at Street Level
I got word of a token rail strike when I was planning my trip to Paris. Europe always has labor problems that inconvenience tourists. It was a very tiresome trip past canals, derelict train stations, and rolling fields that reminded me of Nebraska. I traveled second class on this first European trip. I saw Amiens Cathedral on the way to Paris and arrived at the Gare du Nord during rush hour. I tried to get a room at the youth hostel on J.J. Rousseau St., but it was packed. As soon as I entered another hotel the smell of urine was really bad. Again, the French have a sanitary problem. I disappointed the girls of another establishment when they beckoned me upstairs. “No thanks, I have a headache.” When I came out of a subway a lady came out of nowhere and directed me to Hotel Montgolfier which turned out to be a decent establishment at 17F a night. Of course the room was on the top-most level. The toilet had its reservoir several feet above my head controlled by a pull chain. Every flush was its own trip to Silver Dollar City. Finding food was hard. Liquor was everywhere and at all times. A sugary roll and coffee for breakfast doesn’t produce robust healthy people. I never understood it, but I did have a real breakfast of tea, chips (fries), eggs, and ham for 7.90F or $1.60. The exchange rate in Europe was always in my favor.
On Friday, June 9, 1972 I walked to the Louvre past many policemen who had secured the area against demonstrators who were apparently trying to influence the Paris Peace Talks. I saw many of the radicals throwing rocks just one block away. Inside the Louvre I saw things that were the stuff of my art history books: the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, Venus De Milo, and a haunting Greek temple. I had the whistle blown on me for violating Napoleon's granite end table with my camera case. Paris has a lot of whistle blowers that seem to take particular pleasure in castigating English speaking tourist by yelling “Anglais!” Later, I climbed the Arc de Triomphe and had my picture taken to record the historic event. It was cool, windy, noisy, and pollution constantly blew in my eyes. Parisian dogs do their business all over the streets. The “April in Paris” mystic that Americans developed from the movies is just that. I saw the Place de la Concorde where over eighty thousand people saw the king executed - “Son of Saint Louis, ascend to Heaven.”
I pondered going to the top of the Eiffel Tower, but it cost 8F and I was getting tired. On Saturday I went to Notre Dame and saw the magnificent Rose Window. There was a wedding going on at the time and everything was beautiful with the candles burning and multicolored reflections against the massive stonework. I rested on the park bench outside when it started raining and found that I had only 22 cents (not Franks) left and the banks were closed because it was Saturday. Back at the hotel the room was cold and I was grateful for my felt sleeping bag.
Paris’ night life escaped me. I didn’t have the money, besides, I suppose you have to dress up and backpackers travel light – no Moulin Rouge or Folies Bergere for me. The city’s architecture is beautiful and faithfully represents the best you’ll see in the tourist brochures. Only later after many years did I develop a fascination for the French Revolution and its players. If I were to go back today I’d like to see the location of the Bastille, the infamous Conciergerie where France's unfortunate nobles awaited their terrible fate, and the Hôtel-de-Ville. Legend has it that a cannon ball rests or rested in its outer wall. Who can forget Georges-Jacques Danton, Maximilien Robespierre, and Citoyen Marat done in by the beautiful Charlotte Corday? I still remember her cat, Minette, but there are other discoveries that lie far to the south of Paris.
