To Paris...
Last week, during class, one of the infectious disease professors mentioned that the big annual meeting on tuberculosis would be happening in Paris in a few days. I know I wasn't the only one whose eyebrows went up at that, but I figured at first that it wouldn't be feasible for me to go, between the expense and the time away from school and the fact that, heh, I wasn't really invited or anything. But I put it in the back of my mind that I might go. Later in the week, I talked with another person from the class (whose name I memorized as Anne-from-Canada in the first days of the course, when I still held out any hope of remembering everyone's name before the year runs out), who was thinking of going, mainly because her ex-professor used to run the organization who puts on the conference. But she didn't think she would be able to afford it, and I wasn't seriously thinking about it yet, so neither of us realized that we were both going until after we had both made independent arrangements to go. At some time over the weekend, we both had the same thought: cost or no cost, this is not an experience either of us would have time for again, and if we've come as far as London, why not go three hours further to Paris? And as far as missing school - well, someone would get the notes for us!
So on Wednesday, I left after the first class of the morning, caught the tube to the downtown Waterloo station, and cau
ght the Eurostar train to France. Just under three hours later, I was in the heart of Paris at the Gare du Nord station; Anne came in a couple of hours later on a different train. From there I made my way to north via the Metro toward the neighborhood of Montmartre, where I found hotel/hostel Caulaincort just off the street of the same name. I had decided on a hostel to keep down costs. There was hotel very near the conference that was too expensive for me alone but would have been perfect if Anne and I had known that we were both going, but by the time we looked into coordinating this trip, they no longer had reservations open there. So I stuck with my hostel reservation, and for 24 euros a night, I couldn't really complain about sharing the room with up to three other strangers. The Caulaincourt was a little smokey and a little dingy, but having somehow missed the experience of staying in a hostel ever before, I was not disappointed. All I could think was: it's better than that hole I stayed in when I arrived in London. And, the shower was new-ish and very clean. And: free internet terminals in the lobby. Also a very good thing.
From there I went out walking, with some vague intention of finding something to eat. I came armed with my five key phrases in French: I don't understand French, Where is the bathroom, I want a sandwich, I want a crepe with cheese, and I want a hot chocolate. I find that this, used in the proper combination, gets me pretty much everything I need. I walked south, or at least tried to, and after a few turns around a hilly part of the residential area of Montmartre, I found the right direction. Much time later, I reached the Place de la Concorde, where I remember visiting once when I was 18 and in Paris with my mother, the first time I had been to the city. From there I crossed the river and headed east along a very quite Seine, toward an area I saw on the map that I seemed to remember from the last time I was in Paris, three years ago, just before I started medical school. I was entirely unsure if Saint Michel was the area I was looking for, but it looked right on the map and I remember it for its cheap, diverse food stands and restaurants. Along that route I looked up from the windy street to see the moon, just a few shades past full, rising through the thin clouds over the Lourvre, reflecting a dull light off the Seine itself. I didn't have a camera with me, and usually I don't regret that, but this time I did - I wish I could have captured that in a way that would never leave me.
In any case, it turns out that I was right about Saint Michel. After a good two and a half hours of walking through the chilly night along the tourist scenes abandoned in the mid-week evening, I found what I was looking for: cheap, plentiful eats. Even on a Wednesday in fall, when the rest of the river-side areas were eerily quiet, this little neighborhood was full of people, alive with smells of all sorts of food (since, oddly, Saint Michel is full of ethnic eateries, but of all sorts of ethnicities - Greek, Italian, French, Middle Eastern, Indian, even Mexican), and populated by people who speak enough English to communicate with foreigners like me, who can order a crepe-avec-fromage but can't answer whether I want to for there or to go. And that's what I had: crepe with cheese. It seems that every culture has some dish (quesadillas, grilled cheese, to name a few) that consists entirely of cheese wrapped in pure carbs, and I'll always go for that. Plus, in France at least, when you order something cheap with cheese, it's good cheese. No over-processed plasticized cheese substitute products, but real, good cheese.
From there I took the Metro back to Montmartre, since I didn't care to retrace the last couple of hours of walking, only backwards and uphill. Back at the hostel, my roommates were not in yet, and arrived long after I was asleep. It was a long day, and I slept well under the Parisian night.
So on Wednesday, I left after the first class of the morning, caught the tube to the downtown Waterloo station, and cau
ght the Eurostar train to France. Just under three hours later, I was in the heart of Paris at the Gare du Nord station; Anne came in a couple of hours later on a different train. From there I made my way to north via the Metro toward the neighborhood of Montmartre, where I found hotel/hostel Caulaincort just off the street of the same name. I had decided on a hostel to keep down costs. There was hotel very near the conference that was too expensive for me alone but would have been perfect if Anne and I had known that we were both going, but by the time we looked into coordinating this trip, they no longer had reservations open there. So I stuck with my hostel reservation, and for 24 euros a night, I couldn't really complain about sharing the room with up to three other strangers. The Caulaincourt was a little smokey and a little dingy, but having somehow missed the experience of staying in a hostel ever before, I was not disappointed. All I could think was: it's better than that hole I stayed in when I arrived in London. And, the shower was new-ish and very clean. And: free internet terminals in the lobby. Also a very good thing.From there I went out walking, with some vague intention of finding something to eat. I came armed with my five key phrases in French: I don't understand French, Where is the bathroom, I want a sandwich, I want a crepe with cheese, and I want a hot chocolate. I find that this, used in the proper combination, gets me pretty much everything I need. I walked south, or at least tried to, and after a few turns around a hilly part of the residential area of Montmartre, I found the right direction. Much time later, I reached the Place de la Concorde, where I remember visiting once when I was 18 and in Paris with my mother, the first time I had been to the city. From there I crossed the river and headed east along a very quite Seine, toward an area I saw on the map that I seemed to remember from the last time I was in Paris, three years ago, just before I started medical school. I was entirely unsure if Saint Michel was the area I was looking for, but it looked right on the map and I remember it for its cheap, diverse food stands and restaurants. Along that route I looked up from the windy street to see the moon, just a few shades past full, rising through the thin clouds over the Lourvre, reflecting a dull light off the Seine itself. I didn't have a camera with me, and usually I don't regret that, but this time I did - I wish I could have captured that in a way that would never leave me.
In any case, it turns out that I was right about Saint Michel. After a good two and a half hours of walking through the chilly night along the tourist scenes abandoned in the mid-week evening, I found what I was looking for: cheap, plentiful eats. Even on a Wednesday in fall, when the rest of the river-side areas were eerily quiet, this little neighborhood was full of people, alive with smells of all sorts of food (since, oddly, Saint Michel is full of ethnic eateries, but of all sorts of ethnicities - Greek, Italian, French, Middle Eastern, Indian, even Mexican), and populated by people who speak enough English to communicate with foreigners like me, who can order a crepe-avec-fromage but can't answer whether I want to for there or to go. And that's what I had: crepe with cheese. It seems that every culture has some dish (quesadillas, grilled cheese, to name a few) that consists entirely of cheese wrapped in pure carbs, and I'll always go for that. Plus, in France at least, when you order something cheap with cheese, it's good cheese. No over-processed plasticized cheese substitute products, but real, good cheese.
From there I took the Metro back to Montmartre, since I didn't care to retrace the last couple of hours of walking, only backwards and uphill. Back at the hostel, my roommates were not in yet, and arrived long after I was asleep. It was a long day, and I slept well under the Parisian night.
posted by skylanda at 7:03 AM
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