Alas! Ear wax!

Note: None of these pictures are my own, it wasn't a picture-taking kind of day.

For those of you unfamiliar with the titular context of this post, I have provided the literary gem whence it comes:

“Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them — but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?” 

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. 

“Alas! Ear wax!”

     -Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

 It always seemed pretentious to say “I don’t like Paris” when so many haven’t had the opportunity to experience its grandeur, so I mostly just thought it. And as time passed, I let go the bad memories and kept the good ones. There were good ones, of course. Like Andy and Santino singing “Hips Don’t Lie” in the metro, or having fondue with Nana and Morella in Saint Michel and our Armenian waiter giving us free sangria because he loved Nana, or watching the fireworks on the Eiffel Tower on Bastille Day.

So when I had the opportunity to spend a night in Paris, I thought it to be a grand idea. Remembering the story of one Mrs. Margaret Mary Maslak, I knew that the sisters at Sacré Coeur provided free lodging. I had everything planned. My flight arrived in Paris at noon, I would get to Sacré Coeur, drop my back pack off, and be free to wonder the city, perhaps visiting some of my old haunts.

My flight arrived in Paris on time and I got my bag, no problems. Yet. Now I’ve been Charles de Gaulle Airport before and I speak French. However, it has been seven and a half years since I’ve been there and generally when you fly internationally, you are kind of herded to customs, there’s not usually a way by passport control. So what did I do? I followed the exit signs. And just like that I’m on the outside looking back in with no stamp on my passport. I’ve just inadvertently snuck into Paris.

I’m on the RER B, listening to the accordion player, watching the outer slums roll past, feeling nostalgic and excited for the day’s adventures. I get to the foot of Montmartre and decide I’m taking the stairs – my bag is only 30 pounds after all. I fend off the guys trying to tie bracelets on my wrist. Honestly, it’s hard to believe they’re still trying the same routine, thanks to the interweb people know about you. They call you “scam artists.”

After dodging two groups of these guys I find my way to guest house behind Sacré Coeur. At last. I go in, and there sitting at a desk I encounter my friendly-faced enemy. Following is a brief translated transcript of our conversation:

Me: Hi, I have a reservation for tonight.

Desk Lady: Please speak up.

Other Lady: Something unintelligible, possibly saying something about 8 o’clock.

Desk Lady and I ignore her

Me: Yes, I have a reservation to stay at the guest house, am I in the right place? My name is J-a-r-…

Other Lady: Unintelligible something about 8 o’clock.

Desk Lady: This is the right place. But you’re not in the book and we’re all full. At least you have the whole day.

Other Lady: Something unintelligible about 8 o’clock.

Sometimes I think that if I didn’t take things placidly, I’d have different results. For instance, I hear that sometimes if you cry you don’t get a speeding ticket or if you become angry with customer service they actually help you just to get rid of you. So maybe if I’d cried or blustered, that lady from United wouldn’t have been so awful a few weeks ago and maybe there, at 35 Rue du Chevalier, if I had cried or blustered they could have found at least a cozy corner for me somewhere. However, I did neither of these things. I picked up my bag, tightened the straps and headed out into the cold cloudy Parisian day.

Sitting in the Gare de Lyon, my over-active imagination has me simply spending the night there. It’s a nice station in a good part of town, above ground and everything. And then into my day dreams come the police, asking to see my passport and accusing me of all kinds of malfeasance when they are unable to find my stamp of entry. You know what? They’re probably corrupt and are going to try to extort me, and there’s no way they're getting the cash stash tucked under the insole of my shoe. I should probably just find a place to stay. 

I buy a SIM card so I can call my friends in St. Germain – I know they’re busy, but they probably have a bed. Doesn’t work. Tells me there’s no credit, 10 euros down the drain. I hop on the limited session of free wifi. It’s now necessary I find a place before the internet session expires. Hostel rooms are double, so even if you’re just one person, you still pay the price for two. And for that price, I decide a hotel room with the benefit of its own bathroom is the way to go. Hotwire here I come. I roll the dice and come up with the Premier Best Western.

Now it is important to note that none of these things actually happened with any rapidity. I was several hours out from Desk and Unintelligible Lady sending me forth, tramping all over Paris with my red Gregory backpack. I emerged from the subway knowing I was close to my hotel. 61 Rue de la something with a “V.” This is when it started to rain. 10 minutes more, and I realized I was going in the wrong direction. Hastening through the rain, I saw it shining there on the corner. My bright beacon of hope: McDonald’s. Here, at least, I knew if got lost I could come out of the rain and use their free wifi to pinpoint my location.

With that knowledge firm in my mind, I turned off Vincennes into an alley, down the stairs, under the archway art of a stretching cat, and found myself just where I needed to be. After I showered off the day’s travel grime it was already past sunset. My dinner budget blown on the hotel, I decided that finishing my chocolate from Iceland would constitute sufficient caloric intake. By the time I finished eating it, I had already let go of my dreams of a Parisian excursion. 

Paris is a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, I decided, and I got ear wax.

The Brevity Report:

• My reservations were lost in Paris
• I spent several hours wandering trying to find a place to stay
• I had chocolate for dinner and didn't see much of the city