Paris Trip Day 25

European cities at night via NASA satellite. It is an easy "day trip" (or night) to London from Paris.

European cities at night via satellite. It is an easy “day trip” (or night!) to London from Paris.

Friday. I woke up feeling fairly rested though my eyes were bloodshot: there’s probably mold in the hotel.

I showered, shampooed and got dressed. Then I set out for my free breakfast in the hotel. There were at least 20 people in the dining room, though few looked like they had taken a shower already. The place felt rather seedy, especially when I saw lecherous eyes look my way. I sat down at a table that wobbled, so I moved to another. One of the women working in the kitchen came into the dining room and basically asked me if I was crazy for sitting at a table for three when I was alone: “Sit somewhere else,” she told me, eyes blazing. Nothing like making paying customers want to come back! Breakfast consisted of white bread toast, butter and jam, weak coffee or tea, cheap cornflakes. It wasn’t very satisfying or particularly nutritious, but it was something to eat until I could get a piece of fruit. I tried to enjoy my breakfast at the wobbly table as I thought about the day ahead.

I went back to my room and wrote out two placards (which I had packed, rolled up, in my new French suitcase) to take with me to Buckingham Palace. After finishing them, I finished packing and did a sweep of the room to make sure I didn’t forget anything; then I walked down the 8 flights of stairs. I asked the manager if I could leave my luggage in the lobby while I was out. He said no problem, which was nice of him. I felt like my bags would be safe. Of course, having locks on my important stuff helped with my piece of mind.

I did a little sightseeing on my way to Buckingham Palace…..

The London Underground, also known as The Tube.
London still has their iconic telephone booths.
The Union Jack, a familiar sight in London.
London during the holidays.

Then I held my breath and showed up at the Palace. I held up one of my signs, which essentially told Queen Elizabeth II to leave me and my family alone. Some young woman (from Ireland?) came over and asked if she could take a picture of me and my sign: “Of course,” was my response. I had been there for about 30 minutes or so when a Palace police officer came over and started asking me questions. I told him that in the States, protesting is a right, and besides, I’ve seen other people protesting at the Palace. He basically told me that if the Queen doesn’t want people protesting right outside her residence, she was within her rights to shoo them away. Then he told me I was free to protest outside the gold and black gate, yet he also continued to try to ask me questions, like where was I staying. I said, “You just said I’m free to leave and that I can protest outside the gate, am I right?” He said that was correct. “Good, I’m leaving now,” I said, and walked away without looking back. I wasn’t trying to cause an international incident: I just wanted to stand up for my family name.

Buckingham Palace in London.
Buckingham Palace with The Queen Victoria Memorial in front.
The Palace police in the background kept a close eye on me while I was demonstrating.

I stood at the corner he directed me to for about an hour. After I felt I had made my point, I left. It was drizzling. I went to St. James’s Park and took some pictures. Then I went to Inn the Park restaurant and warmed up, having some coffee and a dessert. It felt like a modern-day log cabin with cool lighting (and stiff seats). After I left, I threw out my placards in the trash bin near the restaurant. I felt like I had made my point. After seeing Palace police mill about as soon as I showed up, I couldn’t wait to get back to France, where I belong.

A regal fellow in St. James’s Park.
A lake in St. James’s Park.
A view of Big Ben from St. James’s Park.
A man in St. James’s Park who literally has birds eating from his hands.

I went back to the hotel to retrieve my luggage, and thanked the management of The Continental Hotel for their service. Their hotel may not be the best, but they treated me okay, so all in all it wasn’t a horrible experience to stay at their hotel. I hope they….how shall I say?….do a little redecorating.

Victoria Coach Station was dark and cold, with almost no place to sit or stand.

Victoria Coach Station was dark and cold, with almost no place to sit or stand.

I made my way to the bus station with a light rain falling. It was absolutely freezing in the bus station. People who worked there told me they had to leave the doors open (to the buses), even though no one was boarding. I went to wait in another part of the station. I struck up a conversation with an English woman who seemed nice enough, but she started asking me questions that were none of her business, like whether I owned the house I was living in, how could I afford to take this trip, and do I have money to get home. I wanted to tell her to bugger off. I wondered who was more tactless: the Englishman who was determined to get on The Tube sooner than me, and basically pushed me out of the way, or this woman, who wouldn’t know what boundaries are if they bit her on the nose? Ahh, travelling. You meet so many kinds.

I decided to que up in line since it was nearing boarding time (finally!). A guy behind me spoke to me, and he came to understand I had only been in London for 24 hours. He asked me which country I liked better: I told him, hands down, nothing beats France. I was hoping to sit next to him just to know I would be sitting next to someone friendly, but we boarded too late to be seated next to one another. I ended up sitting behind a couple who seemed to enjoy the idea they were giving me and others a show with their French kissing. They did it so much I felt like a voyeur. I completely get that many people aren’t hung up on showing a little Public Display of Affection, but it can get to a point where you want to say, “Get a room, already!” Some people behind me where shaking their heads and smiling: they knew what I was thinking.

We arrived at the ferry and were told to remember where we had parked. (I had to laugh: they made it sound like we were parked in a mall.) The inside of the ferry was nicely appointed, with leather and other types of seating, and places to buy something to eat and drink, though I was much too tired to do either. The young people (hehhehhehheh) were all so excited, many of them drank and ate and whooped it up. No thanks. Like many others, I curled up on a sofa for the trip, which was over before I knew it. I couldn’t believe how trashed the ferry as we were exiting: it was worse than any New Year’s Eve party I had ever been to. I felt groggy when I first got up but then adrenaline kicked in: I couldn’t find my bus. Someone seemed to know which one I was looking for and helped me find my way to it.

I was much relieved when I started to see signs in French again while on the bus back to Paris from London.

I was much relieved when I started to see signs in French again while on the bus back to Paris.

As the bus drove into Paris I and I saw signs in French again, I was so relieved. Nothing beats France. I felt like I had been in enemy territory in London (though I have no beef with British people in general, only with the Queen), and now I’m back “home.” The bus let us off at a bus station that was a bit of a walk to a metro station, but I couldn’t care a less. I was SO GLAD to be back in Paris. I got back to the hostel in no time. I ate my delicious French breakfast and went to bed, happy that I had made my point.

 

Salut !

 

Images of European cities at night and bus back to Paris by Can Stock Photo. Image of Victoria Coach Station by xjy, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl

Paris Trip Day 24

Eurostar trains look similar to this. It was very, very cold inside the train.

Eurostar trains look similar to this. It was very, very cold inside the train.

Thursday. My travel day to London. I woke up with severe pain in my chest: it was so bad, it felt like a 2-ton cannon was on top of me. It was hard to move and even breathe. I felt like I was 90. I know full well that it isn’t a coincidence that the day I leave for London to protest at Buckingham Palace I wake up with severe pain that I have never experienced before.

I made 2 vegetable salad sandwiches for my trip, put my luggage in my new room (I have to move AGAIN!), and set off for Gare du Nord, the train station. I’m glad I got there a lot earlier than the woman at the station told me when I went to find out what to do: she said to be at the station 15 minutes before departure; had I done that, I never would have made it to my train in time. Although I had time to sit down, it took a while to go through U.K. Border Control and Security. I was given a hard time because I didn’t know where I would be staying in London. I actually thought they weren’t going to let me go. I asked the Border Patrol Officer, “Don’t people backpack through Europe all the time without knowing where they will be staying?” He told me they can always give an address where they’ll be staying in London. I find that hard to believe. Good thing I had brought my ticket (electronic) for my flight back to the States: they wanted to know when I would be leaving Europe. That information seemed to satisfy them that I wasn’t going to London for some nefarious purpose. (And no, I don’t think peacefully protesting is in any way nefarious.)

U.K. Customs nearly didn't let me proceed to London from Paris because I didn't know where I would be staying in London.

U.K. Border Control nearly didn’t let me proceed to London from Paris because I didn’t know where I would be staying in London. I was relieved when they finally stamped my passport.

I found my train car without too much trouble. I had a chat with a British woman sitting next to me, and Indian-Americans sitting across from me (from New Jersey). It wasn’t a bad trip on Eurostar – 2 ¼ hours. But the car was freezing! And I mean, really, really cold. I was so glad I wore as many layers as I did. I don’t get cold that easy, but my hands were so cold I couldn’t easily hold my phone. I will say the trip was tiring. People mostly drifted off to sleep. I’m surprised a few didn’t die of hypothermia! When I worked at night, management kept the work floor very cold in an attempt to keep employees awake; maybe the same principle was being applied here, only to an extreme.

This is about how I felt coming out of the London Underground: grey and out of focus.

This is about how I felt coming out of the London Underground: grey and out of focus.

At the train station in London I bought a couple of books on London and used those as my starting point to find a place to stay. I went to get on the London Underground when I saw an Underground employee milling about to help travelers; he told me the Underground is transitioning to having all travelers use an Oyster Card (similar to our SmarTrip Card in Washington, D.C.). Talk about expensive! When I mentioned this, he told me most travelers stay for a week, at least, so it doesn’t seem so much. I got on the Underground shaking my head in disbelief.

I had to walk up 8 flights of stairs similar to this with my luggage to get to my room in the Continental Hotel.

I had to walk up 8 flights of stairs similar to this with my luggage to get to my room at the Continental Hotel.

The first thing I saw when I emerged out of the Underground was that it was raining (naturally). I asked a smiling bobby how to get to the hotel I had picked out. He advised me not to go there because it was in a “rough area.” He pointed me in the general direction of better places to stay. He was nice, very helpful, and had beautiful blue eyes. I wished I could have talked to him longer, but I waved good-bye. I asked a guy with a pedicab (like a rickshaw) if he knew of a place to stay, and he told me about the Continental Hotel. I climbed into his pedicab and and we set off to find it. It took a while. He was generous with his time in helping me, and I was sorry I couldn’t give him more money (he told me I could pay him what I had on me). I felt like I was being watched over, but in a good way this time. The Continental Hotel is close to Paddington Station and looks nice from the outside, but is pretty ratty inside (first impression: the carpet needed to be replaced), but all I wanted was a roof over my head at a cheap price. I was horrified to find dead bugs on the bed, underneath the bedspread. I turned the mattress over and didn’t find any sign of bugs, so I just cleaned off the bed and let that be that. The bathroom containing the shower was clean enough, which I had noticed during a moment of rest on my way up about 8 flights of stairs to my room. (They don’t have a lift!) My bathroom in my room containing a toilet and sink was spotless, at least. I tried to read the faded notices on the back of my room’s door, and I gathered they used to be a hostel and are still transitioning to be a hotel. In my opinion, they still have a ways to go.

Victoria Station, London. There is a marked path on the floor of Victoria Station to lead you to the bus station, though it isn't visible here.

Victoria Station, London. There is a marked path on the floor of Victoria Station to lead you to the bus station, though it isn’t visible here.

After putting down my luggage in my room, I went to find the bus station, so I got back on the Underground to Victoria Station. When I emerged, it was dark and raining, and I thanked my good sense for not bringing my luggage with me. The traveler I had met at Plug-Inn told me the bus station was “right in” Victoria train station. Um, she exaggerated. I had A LOT more walking to do than I could have imagined. I asked an official how to get there, and he told me to follow the marked path on the floor of Victoria Station. (Inwardly I laughed: all I could think of was, “Follow the yellow brick road!”) I was led outside and followed signs there; the bus station was many blocks away on the other side of the street. I bought my ticket for my bus ride back to Paris — which was a lot more than I was told (the traveler I had met probably bought her ticket a month in advance, which I didn’t consider) — and I sighed a huge sigh of relief: one less hassle to worry about. It pays to be pro-active and get travel arrangements out of the way ahead of time. (Note: I have a specific reason for not completely planning my excursion to London ahead of time, which I’ll keep to myself.)

Americans blast McDonald's at home for its nutritional value, but while in Europe, the Golden Arches is often a welcome sight. Besides, European McDonald's are so classy, inside and out.

Americans blast McDonald’s at home for its nutritional value, but while in Europe, the Golden Arches is often a welcome sight. Besides, European McDonald’s are so classy, inside and out. This picture was taken in Milan, Italy.

I then made my way back to the hotel but decided to go to McDonald’s first and get a sandwich. They were just as busy as the McDonald’s restaurants in the States. (No surprise there.) By the time I got back to my room, I was exhausted, and my feet were killing me. I watched a few episodes of Big Bang Theory – I’ve never seen it at home – and turned out the light at about 9:30 P.M., my usual time. I’m nervous about tomorrow, so I’ll write my placards when I’m fresh in the morning.

 

Salut !

 

 

Image of Eurostar train by Can Stock Photo. “Isabel Ingram’s 1927 passport,” by Ken Mayer, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Image of double decker bus by Elsa L. Fridl. “Stairs,” by martingreffe, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Image of McDonald’s, “Restaurant Golden Arch,” by Birger Hoppe, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. “London, Victoria Station,” by fkwiatkowski, Flickr, CCBY 2.0.

Paris Trip Day 23

Walking around Plug-Inn Hostel with wild hair, I tried to achieve at least this much sophistication...

Walking around Plug-Inn Hostel with wild hair, I tried to achieve at least this much sophistication…

Wednesday. I walked around the hostel all day with wild hair. I think I scared the guy at the desk when I walked out of my room looking like Phyllis Diller (think: Miley Cyrus on steroids.) He recovered, however.

I spent all day writing a resume and typing it. It’s tough to do from memory. Naturally, my Hotmail account is still frozen or I could easily print a resume from my Sent folder. Talk about circumstances conspiring to keep me from applying for positions in Paris.

...when I probably only achieved this much.

…when I probably only achieved this much.

Someone also stole my dinner from the fridge, drank my lemon drink (and was considerate enough to leave the empty bottle in the trash so I would see it), and stole my water bottle. I don’t blame anyone on Plug-Inn staff or any of the real guests, but rather one of the people who always seem to be around me, texting away, while I am in a common area in the hostel. The staff is way too nice to do anything like this, and I don’t believe world travelers in general do this – especially since the person’s actions seem aimed at me. Since they left the lemon drink bottle in the trash for me to see, how can I not take it personally? Most thieves don’t want to leave a trace of what they’ve done: this one did.

I drank a few cappuccinos, talked with staff and travelers, and later read for a bit. I’m bummed because I can’t remember all of the details that make my resume worth reading.

 

Salut !

 

Images by Can Stock Photo.

Paris Trip Day 22

Tuesday. I spent the day in the hostel because of bad weather, which is okay by me, since I love it here and Paris in general. I wanted to print my resume at the hostel, but they only print .pdfs. The hostel management told me the location of an internet place where I can print it, near Abbesses metro. I told them I have already been walking around there and I don’t remember seeing it. They further explained its location. They are so patient with me. They really try to help travelers in every way they can. I wonder if I’ve told them enough how much I appreciate their information and their patience.

I walked around and had to double back; the view of the internet place was obstructed by Christmas kiosks; I had to peer around the kiosks to find it.

You might have to look a little harder for shops and the like during Christmas time. Not that there's anything wrong with that!

You might have to look a little harder for shops and the like during Christmas time. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!

It was a very small place, and people from all age groups were there using computers. The guy in charge told me which computer to use, since most of them were in French. I brought up my resume from my USB stick – I was a little amazed the Fancy Boy Idiots hadn’t erased it – but then the screen froze when I tried to save it after making a small change before I printed it. The guy in charge came over and tried to help me; as soon as he cleared the screen freeze, my resume was gone. He looked for it on my USB stick, in the computer’s trash, on the hard drive….it simply disappeared. If I’m not mistaken, it is possible to infect a document with a virus or a worm (I’m not exactly sure what a worm is) that makes the document disappear upon opening it or trying to save it.

I opened the file containing my resume and-BAM!--it disappeared.

I opened the file containing my resume and–BAM!–it disappeared.

I started to curse under my breath about how much I hate the FBI, and to my utter amazement, people around me smiled and laughed in solidarity: one French woman spoke for all of them, “We don’t have a high opinion of the FBI.” I was stunned, yet I couldn’t help smiling. The French people don’t like the FBI, either: I never would have guessed. One woman gave me her name and phone number and told me I could call her if I thought she could help me. Still, I don’t know that I’ll be able to post resume on leboncoin.fr. to apply for English teaching jobs. Just what the Fancy Boy Idiots wanted.

The hostel's cappuccino may not be as frothy as this, but as a traveler, I've learned to be thankful for what is available.

The hostel’s cappuccino may not be as frothy as this, but as a traveler, I’ve learned to be thankful for what is available.

I went back to Plug-Inn, had a cappuccino (or three!), and worked on recreating my resume. (My Hotmail account is conveniently frozen, or I would be able to print a resume from it.) When I exclaimed how much I love the cappuccino from the machine, the manager told me she wouldn’t drink it, and proceeded to show me a picture of the type of cappuccino she is used to (in Italy, I believe). I smiled in understanding. Then I told her that I’ve learned to enjoy what I have at that moment: Like, if I go camping and have instant coffee, I don’t usually have instant coffee at home, but while camping, outside in the great outdoors, it’s all I have, and I can appreciate that. After our discussion on the fine points of caffeinated drinks, the manager told me she would help me with the application process on leboncoin.fr to apply for English teaching jobs once I get my resume squared away. She is so sweet. She is very business-minded, and I understand why she wants to keep the boundaries very clear between guests and management. Still….her heart, like that of everyone else who works at Plug-Inn Hostel, shows.

 

Salut !

 

Image of rainy day in Paris by Can Stock Photo. Image of woman angry with computer by Can Stock Photo. Image of Paris metro at Christmas by David Sifry, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Image of Vancouver cappuccino by Gord McKenna, Flickr, CCBY 2.0.

Paris Trip Day 21

Monday. I have already started to worry about protesting in London and dread going back to the States. I am worried about how British people who see me protesting outside Buckingham Palace will react. Prior to my situation, I had always loved the U.K. My mother was part Irish. My father talked about him being an Anglophile. I’ve always loved the British people and their way of life, and as a city girl, I’ve always loved London, though Paris has always been my all-time favorite. Princess Diana was my favorite person on earth, and she helped me find myself. I even wrote a letter to The Washington Post after Richard Cohen wrote a disparaging column on Diana after her death. [Here is a link to that letter, but The Washington Post has it jumbled with other letters to the editor above it. It starts with “I AM 36, THE SAME AGE DIANA WAS…]

I just can’t help wondering: If the British people knew how Queen Elizabeth II has sacrificed my branch of her family tree for her financial and other gain, would the British people want justice for my mother, father, his family and me, or would they side with the Queen, just because she is their monarch?

Salut !

 

Image of international sign by Can Stock Photo.

Paris Trip Day 20

The western facade of Notre Dame de Paris.

The western facade of Notre Dame de Paris.

Sunday. I got up early, ate breakfast, and left for Mass at Notre Dame. The line to get in was so long! Like a rock concert! It was a beautiful Mass, but the schedule I have says it was supposed to be in English; it wasn’t. It felt good to be in God’s House. There were a lot of people there from all over the world. People were turning around as if they wanted to watch the organ playing. I sat as close to the front as I could. Just before the service started, someone came and told me to pick up my bag so it wouldn’t be in the way. (I wanted to ask, In the way of what?) I took some pictures outside of Notre Dame and milled about for a while. It was so peaceful I hated to leave. At the back of Notre Dame there were a couple of machines to buy souvenir coins of the church. I believe I know two people who might like one so I bought a couple.

A statue of King Charlemagne outside Notre Dame de Paris. King Charlemagne, also known as Charles the Great and the “Father of Western Europe,” united most of Western Europe for the first time since the Roman Empire.
An interior view of the north transept rose.

I then went to the Latin Quarter where there was a lot of activity. Especially on a Sunday, many people had the same idea. There are so many interesting shops and restaurants and bistros and bakeries….you can’t see them all during one trip. A few restaurateurs beckoned me to try their restaurant as I walked by. I just smiled and said, “Bonjour!” After walking a lot, I went to Shakespeare and Company……what a place!  It was so cozy; one could read for hours there, there are so many nooks and crannies and old chairs to sit in. I found a pocket book on French for English speakers. I chatted with the cashier who said she was originally from England. I told her how much I love Paris and would like to stay. She said that since she lives in the EU it is easier to get a Visa to stay in Paris.

The Latin Quarter in Paris.
Shakespeare and Company, near the Latin Quarter.

It was very cold today – too cold to wear just a cape. (I forgot to pick up my coat at the dry cleaner’s.) I hurriedly went to a café and had French Onion soup and 2 espressos; the French Onion soup was the best I’ve ever had (she says, nonchalantly). There, I met an American ex-pat who was having lunch with a friend; she told me she would probably never return to the States, she loves being in Paris that much. We talked about current political situations in France and the States. She said she doesn’t miss all of the drama of the U.S. press, which we both agreed loves to rehash a story over and over and over again, which France decidedly does not do, much to our delight.canstockphoto16374112

Since it was so cold and I didn’t have my heavy coat, I decided to go back to the hostel. I found out I could move back to my favorite room (!), so I did. I reorganized yet again. I read more of Elvis: My Best Man. I’m so glad I decided to read it, because I’m learning the truth of what Elvis was really like. In addition, it has been brought home to me even more how the press can ruin a person’s character, which I believe now often happens because it makes for a good story. How horrible. I worked out for a short while. I’ll read for a few more minutes and call it a night.

Salut !

The King, Elvis Presley. May he rest in peace.

The King, Elvis Presley. May he rest in peace.

 

Image of Latin Quarter, Shakespeare and Company, and coffee signs by Can Stock Photo. Image of Elvis Presley by Luiz Fernando Reis, courtesy of Flickr, CCBY 2.0. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl.

Paris Trip Day 19

A sandwich similar to my homemade French version.

A sandwich similar to my homemade French version.

Saturday. I went grocery shopping, and I continue to be amazed at much produce I can buy for so few euros. While I was in the kitchenette making my homemade French sandwich, I excused myself when I burped even though I was alone, because that’s what my mother taught me to do: she said someone might be in the next room, and you wouldn’t want them thinking you were unmannerly. It was so funny…a chamber maid heard me excuse myself and came in and looked around mock-suspiciously for another person, as if to say: “Are you crazy? There’s no one else here!” I had someone tell her what my mother taught me. She laughed and smiled a weary smile, as though she were saying to herself, “Vive la difference!” (long live differences).

Spontaneously dancing on the Metro with rappers was the most fun I had on this Paris trip.

Spontaneously dancing on the metro with rappers was the most fun I had on this Paris trip.

I took my sandwich and left to go roller blading. Before I got off the metro on my way there, a few guys got on blaring loud music from a boombox, and they were rapping in French. I could tell from people’s body language that a lot of people disapproved of them. The next thing I knew, they played a song that sounded like a Sly & the Family Stone song from the 1970s, and I got up and danced with them. We were gyrating (a little, in a way my mother would approve) and whooping it up. People on the metro car started to cheer us on. It felt so good to see that many people who looked uncomfortable at first got in the spirit of the moment when I joined the rappers. One handsome bystander in particular smiled at me and gave the guys money. It was the most fun I’ve had during the entire trip. The guys and I all thanked each other. I got off the train saying, “Americans can boogey!”

I looked for the place that rents roller blades but I didn’t find it; honestly, I didn’t look for long, really. I walked along the Seine River, but from where I was, I didn’t see any distinctive photo possibilities. It was a gorgeous day, mild, unlike late-fall weather at home, so I walked all day. I walked aimlessly at first until I came upon signs for St. Sulpice Church. St. Sulpice was featured in The Da Vinci Code. (!) Yes, I enjoy sites of Paris for the sites themselves, but there is an added thrill to see sites featured in movies. (I love the cinema, plays, and opera.) Though a part of me thinks the main story was sacrilegious, certain aspects of it were fact-based, and if I look at it as merely entertainment value, it was a good story. The movie certainly made me want to see St. Sulpice for myself. It was beautiful, and…how else can I describe it? Serene, elegant, classic. I didn’t feel a heaviness I often feel in such churches; instead, I felt light.

The nave of St. Sulpice Church.
An altar in St. Sulpice Church.
A close-up of an altar in St. Sulpice Church.
Signage of Chapelle St. Joseph (St. Joseph’s Chapel) in St. Sulpice Church.
Chapelle St. Joseph (St. Joseph’s Chapel) in St. Sulpice Church.
The famous organ in St. Sulpice Church.

Some of the other pictures I took:

Academie Nationale de Musique (Paris Opera). Under its original name, Academie Royale de Musique, it was established by Louis XIV in 1669.
A street scene in Paris. Note the kiosk on the right side, which seem to be ubiquitous in Europe.
A statue of Edouard VII. As King of the U.K., he was instrumental in the signing of the Entente Cordiale, which defined British and French colonies in North Africa, thus ending the frequent wars between France and the U.K.
Edouard VII Theatre, off the Boulevard des Capuines. The statue of King Edouard VII is in the courtyard in front.

I had wanted to go dancing later at a nearby disco but I got an upset stomach. How (in)convenient. I organized myself into the new room with 2 roommates (sisters from Brazil). They both seem nice and easy-going.

 

Salut !

 

Image of sandwich and dancers by Can Stock Photo. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl.