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| Driving to Paris |
Today was the kind of day that reminds you that travel can be hard work. Our goal was to get to Paris and pick up the key for the apartment we had rented by 5 pm (the rental company closed at 5:30). So we hit the road by 10:15 am (15 minutes later than planned, but that’s on time for us) for the 4-4 ½ hour drive from Lyon to Paris. Our (mostly) trusty GPS got us right to the airport and we turned in the rental car without incident. Luckily they didn’t seem to notice the scratches on the plastic portion under the passenger-side door, the one casualty of that crazy parking deck in Fussen….as we were driving out the first day, Jim cut the wheel just a little too much not realizing that there was a ledge we ended up scraping. (Shhh….don’t ell Avis).
Then we headed into the airport to catch a train into Paris. There was a rather long line for tickets and some ticket machines that seemed to take coins only, so we wasted some precious time figuring all that out. I stood in the ticket line just in case, while Jim went in search of a change machine. Meanwhile McIntyre was wandering around the airport in and out of my sight, but as I moved up in the ticket line, I couldn’t really see him every second anymore. Luckily, I had Maddie to help keep track of him, but he wouldn’t seem to stay with her and would come visit me in line, then wander back over to Maddie. But I never knew if he was going to actually go back to her. A little nerve racking in a busy airport in a foreign country.
On top of trying to keep track of McIntyre, I needed to call the rental company to let them know that we would likely not reach their office by 5:30. This was not a problem, per se, because they had already sent us instructions for how to retrieve the apartment key from their lock box. But while on the phone with them I also had to get information on which metro station their office was closest to, and which one we should use to get to the apartment. This was not a short conversation. I had to ask the rental agent to spell the names of the metro stops, because when a native French speaker says the name of a metro stop in French, I really have no idea how to spell it or match it up with the actual name of the stop.
So I’m standing in line, talking on the phone, writing down French words and simultaneously trying to keep an eye on Mac. After finally finishing my conversation with the rental company, I had moved up in line to a point where I totally could not see the kids, so in desperation I finally asked the lady in line behind me if she would save my place in line so I could go check on my children. Luckily, she spoke English and very kindly agreed. I reached McIntyre and Maddie at about the same time as Jim, who had somehow managed to get train tickets, including one ticket that a traveler leaving Paris sold to him at a reduced rate. He had no way of knowing if it was bogus or not, but he took it. I went back to thank the lady holding my place in line and tell her that we no longer needed tickets, and off we went .
The train ride into Paris was fine and only took about 45-50 minutes, but that’s when the real fun began.
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| After 4.5 hours of driving, we are finally on the Metro going into Paris |
The stop where we got off to go to the rental office was a changeover station where about 8 metro lines intersect. So it was busy. Very busy. Keeping up with children in the subway is never easy. But add in too much luggage, not enough people to carry it, long subway corridors, even longer (or at least it felt that way) flights of stairs, a tired, grumpy 5-year-old (with tired grumpy parents and sister) who has kind of had it after almost three weeks of travel, then pile on a chaotic metro station at rush hour, and you’ve got a recipe for travel hell.
Hauling four suitcases, four backpacks, a stroller, a booster seat, three extra bags of souvenirs and food, and one unwilling and unhappy 5-year-old through the Paris metro, on and off trains and up and down stairs, we finally emerged on Rue Rivoli, which was about as calm and peaceful as Times Square in New York. After going a few blocks trying to find the rental office, we finally decided to park ¾ of us and our luggage, while Jim used the GPS to find the rental office. After what seemed like forever, he finally returned with the apartment keys in hand. He needed to use a code to get into the office and then another code to get the keys out of the lockbox, so I was a little concerned something could go wrong in that process, but it all want okay.
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| Dad returns with the keys to the apartment |
Next, back down into the same busy metro station with both kids and all our luggage. Many more stairs, much more chaos, and more jangled nerves later, we finally emerged from the subway in tact and near our apartment on Ile Saint Louis. Using the GPS (that little slice of technology has been indispensable), we found the apartment. Following the directions on the letter enclosed with the keys, Jim entered the code to open the apartment building’s main door. It opened like a charm. But the heavy metal gate beyond, which was supposed to open along with it (according to the letter) did not.
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Big door to our aparment building
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Okay, so here we were stuck between a centuries old huge wooden door and a (probably) centuries old metal gate after about nine hours of travel. Excellent! Jim tried the apartment key on the metal gate, to no avail, and after several minutes debating what to do (the rental company was closed, so there was no one to call) we were rescued. A man who lived on the ground floor of the building came out of his apartment and let us in. He was an American living in Paris temporarily, and kindly offered to have us knock on his window, which was right by the main exterior door, if we needed help getting in again.
We thanked him for his kindness and told him we would need to take him up on his offer, since we still needed to go out and get some dinner. Five flights of spiral stairs later, we reached the apartment, which was lovely and spacious, although a bit stuffy (no AC and the windows were closed). We opened the windows to air out the apartment and got a wonderful, refreshing cross breeze, and lovely views of the building’s inner courtyard and the streets surrounding.
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| 5 flights of stairs |
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| Paris aparment |
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| View from apartment |
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| View from apartment |
We walked to a restaurant recommended in the Rick Steves Paris book (a nice perk that came with the apartment). We sat down at some outdoor tables and when the waiter came by, we gave him our drink orders, thinking he would bring the menus shortly. He brought our drinks and disappeared, presumably to get the menus. After a while he finally returned, not with menus, but with our check. We didn’t even notice initially that he had left the check, so we had a double surprise. One beer, one glass of white wine, one Sprite and one glass of milk: $21 Euros. And, they only served drinks on that side of the restaurant. For food you had to sit on the other side. How we were supposed to know this, I’m not sure.
So after a short wait, we got a table on the other side, and had a decent, but very expensive meal. Cheese omelet with fries: 15 euros. Cassoulet: 22 euros.
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| Finally some food or that is what we thought. |
Lessons learned: Check the prices before ordering anything. Order tap water rather than sodas or booze. Ile Saint Louis is an expensive place to eat.
