Paris - Day 5
Thursday 2010-04-29
Contemplating carrying the bazooka (70-200 f/2.8) today. The pounds add up over the course of the day. I might as well. Aches and pains are temporary.
Temporary they may be, but oy my shoulders and calves hurt. We went to the Arc de Triomphe, walked up and down the Champs d’Elysée, and rode the Métro a fair bit (to see the Catacombs).
Both attractions had non-trivial spiral staircases (the Arc easily double the Catacombs’ in height), so it is understandable that it is not even 16:00 yet and we’re back at the hostel. I took a shower, and a nap sounds inviting.
The Arc de Triomphe is certainly impressive, with very good views of the old city. Too bad we didn’t go yesterday, it was hazier and more obviously smoggy today. The Champs d’Elysée is what you’d expect of open-air haute couture, though I did mischievously punctuate it with a Royale Bacon at McDonald’s (they were out of Royales with Cheese, oddly enough).
We walked down almost all the way to Place de la Concorde, then doubled back through side streets after gawking at the Petit & (inside the) Grand Palais (structures left over from a world’s fair over 100 years ago). The rates at the Four Seasons are predictably insane (Herb was shopping for a place to stay a few weeks later, on the return leg of his travels).
The catacombs were chilly and damp, which was a nice change from the stuffy Métro and hot sun. Piles and piles of bones, neatly arranged in stacks and facades with designs (mostly crosses). It’s a little spooky when you consider that the bones of 6 million Parisiens lie there, deep below the subways and sewers.
No flash is allowed, with frequent signage to this effect, but that did not stop a particularly arresting blonde immediately ahead of us. At one point I even took her picture (with her camera, this time), but shamefully I could not discern how to turn her flash off. I was not exactly in a mood to complain about her rule-breaking, if you catch my drift.
I almost asked her for directions after we exited, in an unsubtle attempt to keep talking to her, but I demurred. Score one for the scaredy-cats.
