I made it to Paris! Not that I've really seen anything that most people would think of as Paris yet, other than a far off glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, but I am here and ready to get started in the morning.
The bus ride was long, and exhausting, and long, but we expected that. And really, for the dirt cheap price I paid it's all that can be expected. The bus trip was split in to two legs: Edinburgh to London, and London to Paris. I'd intended to sleep as much of the first leg as I could seeing as it left at 11:00PM, but even with a window seat at the front of the bus just in front of the staircase so I could recline without bothering anyone, that didn't work out so well. I got a few naps in, but the driver was a bit erratic, and it certainly wasn't a restful journey.
I had a two hour layover in London which I used for breakfast and a bathroom break. I got another window seat near the front in the second bus, and was apparently so tired that I didn't need to recline because I kept nodding off while trying to learn French. At any rate, half sleeping and half studying meant I didn't succeed much at either. I did, however, succeed in a nice long think about bus travel.
It's a strange feeling travelling internationally by bus as opposed to plane. Planes always give me this sense of a sort of out of world experience. The plane is, by definition, international territory, so flying is in a sense putting yourself in limbo until you touch down and then BAM. You're in another country; maybe not legally because airports are considered international territory too, but you know what I mean. There is something resonant about borders and crossing them, and while airports may have border control, those borders are metaphors more than anything.
The bus gave me a sense of wending my way ever closer to France, but then an introductory period as well after we'd crossed the border and were continuing on to Paris. Due to the nature of airports, they're usually built in common final destinations; hubs, if you will. You touch down and you're there, versus my leisurely viewing of the French countryside went on for a good five hours before that happened. I even got a decent look at Boulogne when the bus called there along the way. It was a lovely little seaside town, full of children on fair rides and teenagers playing in the ocean.
There were only to real downsides to the bus trip. The first was that we took the tunnel, and not the ferry. I was under the impression that the bus would be loaded onto a ferry at Dover to cross the English Channel to Calais, but instead it was loaded on to a train and sent through the tunnel under the Channel instead. I was very disappointed not to get my water fix for the day, but I do imagine the process was much faster.
The second disappointment was that there was little to no border control. Now, don't mistake me for minding not having to be grilled by border agents about why I'm in France and how I'm paying for it and what's going to happen if there's an emergency and I'm not going to turn to a life of crime am I? Note: I don't know if France does that, but the UK certainly did. The sad part was that I didn't get a passport stamp. We went through a series of booths labeled "Passport Control," but we only stopped for a moment and then the bus continued on like we needn't any passports at all. Now, our passports had been checked by bus company staff at the station before we boarded, but still... They're not state employees! And I really wanted my stamp.
Anyway, disappointment aside I am proud to report that I managed to navigate the Paris Metro without a hitch and am now nestled away safe and sound in one of the nicer hostels in which I've ever stayed. It's a twelve bed dormitory, but there's still enough room for a table and chairs and a bunch of floor space for organizing bags. There's also a laundry room, which I will be taking full advantage of at some point, and a room full of computers for guests if necessary. The best part I think though is the view. We're right on a canal, and while I didn't have the forethought to take a picture out my window before the sun went down, you can get an idea from this.
See, I told you guys you would get more updates when I started traveling alone again!
The bus ride was long, and exhausting, and long, but we expected that. And really, for the dirt cheap price I paid it's all that can be expected. The bus trip was split in to two legs: Edinburgh to London, and London to Paris. I'd intended to sleep as much of the first leg as I could seeing as it left at 11:00PM, but even with a window seat at the front of the bus just in front of the staircase so I could recline without bothering anyone, that didn't work out so well. I got a few naps in, but the driver was a bit erratic, and it certainly wasn't a restful journey.
I had a two hour layover in London which I used for breakfast and a bathroom break. I got another window seat near the front in the second bus, and was apparently so tired that I didn't need to recline because I kept nodding off while trying to learn French. At any rate, half sleeping and half studying meant I didn't succeed much at either. I did, however, succeed in a nice long think about bus travel.
It's a strange feeling travelling internationally by bus as opposed to plane. Planes always give me this sense of a sort of out of world experience. The plane is, by definition, international territory, so flying is in a sense putting yourself in limbo until you touch down and then BAM. You're in another country; maybe not legally because airports are considered international territory too, but you know what I mean. There is something resonant about borders and crossing them, and while airports may have border control, those borders are metaphors more than anything.
The bus gave me a sense of wending my way ever closer to France, but then an introductory period as well after we'd crossed the border and were continuing on to Paris. Due to the nature of airports, they're usually built in common final destinations; hubs, if you will. You touch down and you're there, versus my leisurely viewing of the French countryside went on for a good five hours before that happened. I even got a decent look at Boulogne when the bus called there along the way. It was a lovely little seaside town, full of children on fair rides and teenagers playing in the ocean.
There were only to real downsides to the bus trip. The first was that we took the tunnel, and not the ferry. I was under the impression that the bus would be loaded onto a ferry at Dover to cross the English Channel to Calais, but instead it was loaded on to a train and sent through the tunnel under the Channel instead. I was very disappointed not to get my water fix for the day, but I do imagine the process was much faster.
The second disappointment was that there was little to no border control. Now, don't mistake me for minding not having to be grilled by border agents about why I'm in France and how I'm paying for it and what's going to happen if there's an emergency and I'm not going to turn to a life of crime am I? Note: I don't know if France does that, but the UK certainly did. The sad part was that I didn't get a passport stamp. We went through a series of booths labeled "Passport Control," but we only stopped for a moment and then the bus continued on like we needn't any passports at all. Now, our passports had been checked by bus company staff at the station before we boarded, but still... They're not state employees! And I really wanted my stamp.
Anyway, disappointment aside I am proud to report that I managed to navigate the Paris Metro without a hitch and am now nestled away safe and sound in one of the nicer hostels in which I've ever stayed. It's a twelve bed dormitory, but there's still enough room for a table and chairs and a bunch of floor space for organizing bags. There's also a laundry room, which I will be taking full advantage of at some point, and a room full of computers for guests if necessary. The best part I think though is the view. We're right on a canal, and while I didn't have the forethought to take a picture out my window before the sun went down, you can get an idea from this.
My hostel is the building on the left, and my room is on the top floor facing the camera, so we have a perfect view all the way down the canal. It's quite breathtaking, much like you might imagine Paris to be. I took the first opportunity I could to stroll down it and get a feel for the neighborhood, because I needed to get Euros out of an ATM and figure out how I'm going to feed myself for the next week, but also just for the atmosphere. Apparently my whole dress to fit in strategy is working out as well. I was stopped by a guy asking for... I think it was a cigarette? Or maybe the time. At any rate, I didn't speak enough French to catch it, but at least he thought I did!
See, I told you guys you would get more updates when I started traveling alone again!
No comments:
Post a Comment