I seem to like Italy.
Jun. 21st, 2007 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xiphiasI last blogged from London, on June 18. So let me pick it up more-or-less from where I left off.
June 19, aka Tuesday, we got breakfast at the pub across the street from the hotel, and discovered that THEIR breakfast was about half the price of the breakfast at the hotel. The hotel's breakfast was all-you-can eat, though. Still, as the breakfast we got at the pub WAS as much as we can eat, I think it was a better deal. (But, they weren't open for breakfast on weekends, anyway, so the only time it would have made a difference was Monday. Big whoop. We did well enough.) We then went to Waterloo station, uneventfully if I remember correctly, and got on the London-to-Paris train. We got our passports stamped on the way in.
It was a train. We got to see really nice bits of English countryside, then we got to see the inside of a dark tunnel which was going under the English Channel, then we got to see really nice bits of the French countryside. Quite cool. We got into Paris as expected, and we had a couple hours to kill. We had a good plan for what to do, and it almost worked.
The plan was, go from the Nord train station, where the Chunnel train arrived, to the Bercy train station, where the Italy train would leave, put our bags in a locker at Bercy, and then wander the city for a few hours, see some sights, and get an actual Parisian meal somewhere.
'Cept Bercy didn't HAVE luggage lockers.
The closest luggage lockers were at Gare de Leyon (all French spellings approximate). Which wasn't at all far, however, only a couple blocks. So we brought our luggage there, and looked for the luggage lockers.
It took us FOREVER to find them, and we were quite snappish at each other by the time we did. We also needed cash to rent a locker, and we couldn't find an ATM, so we actually USED one of those Cash Exchange places, and spent $40 to get €20. (That is extremely NOT the exchange rate. Still, we needed a couple euros, and we needed them NOW. Oh, well.)
We eventually got out, still snapping at each other some. You know that thing where you're snapping at someone just because you're cranky and you KNOW it's not that person's fault, and you KNOW that you're not being fair, and you're really TRYING not to snap at someone but you CAN'T always avoid it?
Yeah, that.
I'd suggested, before we dragged the luggage the several blocks, that I could just wait with the luggage in the train station for a couple hours, and read my book. Lis suggested that I was being a fucking MORON since the POINT was for the TWO of us to spend a few hours in Paris TOGETHER and it was going to be kind of DIFFICULT to spend a few hours TOGETHER if we weren't.
In hindsight, Lis's argument actually makes sense. But she did agree that, since we WERE running short on time, she could pare back her "Parisian meal" to being just a pastry or croissant and a coffee eaten at a Parisian cafe while people-watching. Not quite what she wanted, but still quite nice.
Anyway, we took the subway (Metro, is it, in Paris? Now I forget -- three train systems in one day might do that to one) to the center of the city, and found Notre Dame. It's actually not that difficult to find. You kind of get to within a mile and look up. And there it is.
We had a bit of a walking tour that we'd printed out to follow, and we followed it as much as we wanted to. Which means that we went to Notre Dame, looked at the really cool building, noted that it was, like, five minutes before the hour, and spent five minutes just looking at the building from afar before we listened to the bells, then walked closer to examine the statues and gargoyles and everything, and then followed the walking tour around the side of Notre Dame to head toward the next cool thing, until I pointed out to Lis that we were walking right past some kind of totally nondescript back alley that looked exactly like every other totally nondescript back alley. And I pointed out that I kind of like totally random back alleys in cities I've never been in, and Lis noted that she, too, rather likes wandering down totally random back alleys in cities that she knows nothing about (although, being female, smaller than I am, and only intermittently armed, she only does it in pairs or groups).
So we ditched the walking tour and randomly walked down a maze of twisty little alleyways, all different and cool.
As we turned a corner, I said, "Hey, look! A Parisian wine shop!" and began wandering in that direction, for no particular reason except that it looked neat. Then Lis said, "All those little chalkboards hanging from that wall are food menus." And we looked at each other, and we threw out the bit where we'd thrown out the bit about getting a Parisian meal, walked in, ordered a glass of Medoc, a bottle of water, foie gras and thinly-sliced green apples on grilled fresh bread, and a salad with extremely thin slices of extremely rare duck, and melted, toasted goat cheese.
I knew how long it would likely take to get back from where we were to where our baggage was, and from there to where we would catch out train. And it was going to be tight, because the food was good enough that, even though we had to catch a train, it was ALSO important to finish the meal.
One of us came up with the bright idea that we could probably WALK from where we were to Gare de Lyon as easily as we could take the subway. I don't remember who came up with this notion. I hope it was Lis, but I have a sneaking suspicion it was my idea.
Time got REAL tight. The train was due to leave at 7:06, and it was 6:50 or so by the time we got our luggage out. And we'd SEEN the line for taxis as we came into the station, and there was NO way we could make it through that line in fifteen minutes. And it WAS possible, we hoped, to walk from one station to the other, with luggage, in under fifteen minutes.
However, as we walked briskly out the OTHER end of the station, we found ourselves faced with a row of empty taxis at the BACK of the station, with NOBODY in line. It only took five minutes by taxi to get from one to the other.
We weren't racing quite as fast, since we had SOME time before our train was to leave, and we got onto the platform, and discovered absolutely no train. There WAS at least one train-load worth of potential passengers milling about with luggage and so forth, and we found out that the train was delayed a half an hour.
Lis txted to her blog (she's been blogging by sending text messages, effectively, to a program which acts a gateway which ends up with her txts turning into blog entries) saying "France/Italy train delayed. Somehow not surprised."
Much less stressed. Everything was fine.
It showed up eventually, and we got on board quite reasonably. Now, of course, everything would go beautifully, as we were in the care of the Italian railway service. What could possibly go wrong?
Okay, I'm getting really sleepy, so I'll just finish off Tuesday by mentioning that sleeper cars are WONDERFUL. I'm pretty sure I slept BETTER on the train than I did at home. There's a little sink in your cabin, although it's for washing only -- they give you bottles of water for drinking and brushing your teeth, and the rocking of the train is like rocking you to sleep.
My sister says that she sleeps best on trains and in boats, and for exactly the same reason.
That seems like a reasonable place to knock of the story, so I'll just end it here, on a Trenitalia train from Paris to Florence, only half an hour late, which is fine, since we have, local literally, HOURS of margin bult in from when we get off the overnight train to when we switch trains in Florence. TONS of margin bult in. What could go wrong?
June 19, aka Tuesday, we got breakfast at the pub across the street from the hotel, and discovered that THEIR breakfast was about half the price of the breakfast at the hotel. The hotel's breakfast was all-you-can eat, though. Still, as the breakfast we got at the pub WAS as much as we can eat, I think it was a better deal. (But, they weren't open for breakfast on weekends, anyway, so the only time it would have made a difference was Monday. Big whoop. We did well enough.) We then went to Waterloo station, uneventfully if I remember correctly, and got on the London-to-Paris train. We got our passports stamped on the way in.
It was a train. We got to see really nice bits of English countryside, then we got to see the inside of a dark tunnel which was going under the English Channel, then we got to see really nice bits of the French countryside. Quite cool. We got into Paris as expected, and we had a couple hours to kill. We had a good plan for what to do, and it almost worked.
The plan was, go from the Nord train station, where the Chunnel train arrived, to the Bercy train station, where the Italy train would leave, put our bags in a locker at Bercy, and then wander the city for a few hours, see some sights, and get an actual Parisian meal somewhere.
'Cept Bercy didn't HAVE luggage lockers.
The closest luggage lockers were at Gare de Leyon (all French spellings approximate). Which wasn't at all far, however, only a couple blocks. So we brought our luggage there, and looked for the luggage lockers.
It took us FOREVER to find them, and we were quite snappish at each other by the time we did. We also needed cash to rent a locker, and we couldn't find an ATM, so we actually USED one of those Cash Exchange places, and spent $40 to get €20. (That is extremely NOT the exchange rate. Still, we needed a couple euros, and we needed them NOW. Oh, well.)
We eventually got out, still snapping at each other some. You know that thing where you're snapping at someone just because you're cranky and you KNOW it's not that person's fault, and you KNOW that you're not being fair, and you're really TRYING not to snap at someone but you CAN'T always avoid it?
Yeah, that.
I'd suggested, before we dragged the luggage the several blocks, that I could just wait with the luggage in the train station for a couple hours, and read my book. Lis suggested that I was being a fucking MORON since the POINT was for the TWO of us to spend a few hours in Paris TOGETHER and it was going to be kind of DIFFICULT to spend a few hours TOGETHER if we weren't.
In hindsight, Lis's argument actually makes sense. But she did agree that, since we WERE running short on time, she could pare back her "Parisian meal" to being just a pastry or croissant and a coffee eaten at a Parisian cafe while people-watching. Not quite what she wanted, but still quite nice.
Anyway, we took the subway (Metro, is it, in Paris? Now I forget -- three train systems in one day might do that to one) to the center of the city, and found Notre Dame. It's actually not that difficult to find. You kind of get to within a mile and look up. And there it is.
We had a bit of a walking tour that we'd printed out to follow, and we followed it as much as we wanted to. Which means that we went to Notre Dame, looked at the really cool building, noted that it was, like, five minutes before the hour, and spent five minutes just looking at the building from afar before we listened to the bells, then walked closer to examine the statues and gargoyles and everything, and then followed the walking tour around the side of Notre Dame to head toward the next cool thing, until I pointed out to Lis that we were walking right past some kind of totally nondescript back alley that looked exactly like every other totally nondescript back alley. And I pointed out that I kind of like totally random back alleys in cities I've never been in, and Lis noted that she, too, rather likes wandering down totally random back alleys in cities that she knows nothing about (although, being female, smaller than I am, and only intermittently armed, she only does it in pairs or groups).
So we ditched the walking tour and randomly walked down a maze of twisty little alleyways, all different and cool.
As we turned a corner, I said, "Hey, look! A Parisian wine shop!" and began wandering in that direction, for no particular reason except that it looked neat. Then Lis said, "All those little chalkboards hanging from that wall are food menus." And we looked at each other, and we threw out the bit where we'd thrown out the bit about getting a Parisian meal, walked in, ordered a glass of Medoc, a bottle of water, foie gras and thinly-sliced green apples on grilled fresh bread, and a salad with extremely thin slices of extremely rare duck, and melted, toasted goat cheese.
I knew how long it would likely take to get back from where we were to where our baggage was, and from there to where we would catch out train. And it was going to be tight, because the food was good enough that, even though we had to catch a train, it was ALSO important to finish the meal.
One of us came up with the bright idea that we could probably WALK from where we were to Gare de Lyon as easily as we could take the subway. I don't remember who came up with this notion. I hope it was Lis, but I have a sneaking suspicion it was my idea.
Time got REAL tight. The train was due to leave at 7:06, and it was 6:50 or so by the time we got our luggage out. And we'd SEEN the line for taxis as we came into the station, and there was NO way we could make it through that line in fifteen minutes. And it WAS possible, we hoped, to walk from one station to the other, with luggage, in under fifteen minutes.
However, as we walked briskly out the OTHER end of the station, we found ourselves faced with a row of empty taxis at the BACK of the station, with NOBODY in line. It only took five minutes by taxi to get from one to the other.
We weren't racing quite as fast, since we had SOME time before our train was to leave, and we got onto the platform, and discovered absolutely no train. There WAS at least one train-load worth of potential passengers milling about with luggage and so forth, and we found out that the train was delayed a half an hour.
Lis txted to her blog (she's been blogging by sending text messages, effectively, to a program which acts a gateway which ends up with her txts turning into blog entries) saying "France/Italy train delayed. Somehow not surprised."
Much less stressed. Everything was fine.
It showed up eventually, and we got on board quite reasonably. Now, of course, everything would go beautifully, as we were in the care of the Italian railway service. What could possibly go wrong?
Okay, I'm getting really sleepy, so I'll just finish off Tuesday by mentioning that sleeper cars are WONDERFUL. I'm pretty sure I slept BETTER on the train than I did at home. There's a little sink in your cabin, although it's for washing only -- they give you bottles of water for drinking and brushing your teeth, and the rocking of the train is like rocking you to sleep.
My sister says that she sleeps best on trains and in boats, and for exactly the same reason.
That seems like a reasonable place to knock of the story, so I'll just end it here, on a Trenitalia train from Paris to Florence, only half an hour late, which is fine, since we have, local literally, HOURS of margin bult in from when we get off the overnight train to when we switch trains in Florence. TONS of margin bult in. What could go wrong?