The Long Overdue Vacation: Day 8 – How Paris Ruined Alan’s Christmas
Bonne Fetes! This day could not have been more awesomely lame, and I mean that in the best possible way, to me. For Alan and Ezeibe…not so much.
I should add that we got back to our apartment from the Eiffel Tower the night before (see Day 7) exactly at the stroke of midnight Christmas Day. It was cool to me, at least. Then we all slept, for a really long time. This day I’m about to describe started around 1PM’ish.
I’m going to flip the script a bit on this post. Today is what I refer to as “Alan’s Day.” Alan had a few things he wanted to get out of Paris, and today was his day to do it. It’s not like Ezeibe or I were opposed to any of his suggestions. In fact, we were equally enthused or at least indifferent enough to not tell him otherwise. Unfortunately, Alan maybe reached a little bit in his expectations of Paris. We’ll go through it event by event.
A visit to Sacre-Couer
- Alan’s expectations: See the beautiful cathedral on a bright sunny day and call his love from a phonebooth at the base of the hill that Sacre-Couer sits on.
- Alan’s shattered reality: There were no phone booths in front of Sacre Couer, just a LOT of aggressive street peddlers. And it was pretty cloudy and cool on Christmas Day. And it being a church, the only types of buildings open on Christmas Day, the visiting tourists were essentially mobbing this area. I still found the cityscape view from the top of Montmartre pretty inspired. The sun peaked out a few of its rays onto the skyline which was pretty cool to look at. Also, there was this awesome French street musician who had amassed quite a crowd. He was really good, and sang fun singalong classics like “Stand by Me.” Alan and Ezeibe were too fed up to let me sit on the steps and listen to the dude play his guitar and sing all day though.
How do you tell a hundred people that they're in the way of my shot?
The heavens shining down on Paris on Christmas Day
Alan’s traveling buddies
Alan’s expectations: That he traveled with two sane and sensible co-workers who wouldn’t fall for the tourist pitfalls.
Alan’s shattered reality: Are you kidding me? Ezeibe and I totally fall for the tourist pitfalls. I bought a santa hat with flashing lights that read 2009. 2€. I still justify this as a reasonable expense. Alan hated this hat and hated that I embraced it, wore it, and rocked it so adoringly. Ezeibe and I wanted crepes, so rather than walk a few blocks to the local street stands and restaurants, we settled for crepes at the Haagen-Daaz in front of Sacre-Couer. To be fair, we were hungry. And secondly, even though it was a chain and overpriced, they were damn good crepes. Alan just wandered around in disgust while Ezeibe and I (now in a flashing santa hat) waited a good half an hour to order our crepes. There was only a woman in front of us, but she apparently had like 20 kids to feed, because homegirl ordered a bunch of crepes and waffles. One her kids sneezed onto the ordering window and left quite a messy booger trail. Ezeibe, the germaphobe, freaked out. This would prove to be horrific foreshadowing.
Alan's worst nightmare.
Onto Pere-Lachaise Cemetary
- Alan’s expectations: Visit the famous cemetery and pay his respects to Jim Morrison, who is buried there.
- Alan’s shattered reality: Ok, yes, we spent Christmas Day in a cemetery. It’s not like we had a lot of options on Christmas Day in terms of open attractions. And as far as cemeteries go, this one is a big deal. It was actually quite peaceful and quiet. And the cold, dreary day just made this cemetery the perfect place to be at. The three of us started off walking together, until Ezeibe’s fast metabolism kicked in and he wanted to find a bathroom. Alan, ever the beacon of patience, popped a blood vessel and decided we should split up and meet back at the entrance at the specified time. A few hours later, the poor guy never found Jim Morrison’s grave. This was a big-ass cemetery people. You could probably walk about a mile and a half in any one direction and still not be at the edge. Of the famous people buried here, Ezeibe and I found Balzac’s tomb and Gericault’s tomb (painter of Raft of Medusa! Talk about full circle). There were a few other famous French people I’m sure we passed and saw, but none that were famous to me.
Ezeibe does his best zombie expression.
Raft of Medusa! The Tomb!
Christmas Evening
Alan’s expectations: A nice home-cooked dinner with friends in a cozy, warm atmosphere.
Alan’s shattered reality: Three dudes in a tiny apartment playing Scrabble and figuring out how to heat up our store-bought, pre-cooked pork. I should back up a bit to explain how we got to this point. When we got back from our day at the cemetery, it was starting to get dark. Most of the local markets and street vendors at this point were long closed (if ever open at all). All we had was the big supermarket up the street. Now sure, a supermarket has everything, and we probably could have made a nice fancy 4 course Christmas dinner, but…1) We were cheap. 2) No one trusted each other to cook such a meal. 3) No one was sure what we had back in our kitchen. 4) We didn’t have a real oven, we had this weird oven/microwave combination machine that slightly concerned us. 5) When everything is in French, you tend to doubt your ability to identify what you’re buying. It’s best to stick with the basics.
So, we went with pre-cooked lasagna, delicious salty chips (the kind you know wasn’t made with the healthy corn oil shit they’re using nowadays in the States), a package of frozen carrots, and, as a Fuck You to to those who said we weren’t adventurous, we bought this weird stuffed pork log. A giant log of pork is the only way I can describe it. All of which were ready-to-go or only required a microwave/toaster oven heating.
Ghetto Christmas dinner, just like home.
Don't worry moms, we ate our carrots.
The Scrabble Incident
Alan’s Expectations: Alan found a Scrabble board game in our apartment in one of the drawers. He expects no one else to find it. And even if one of us did, who would want to play Scrabble while we’re in Paris?
Alan’s shattered reality: “NO WAAAAYYYY!!!!!! Our apartment has fuckin’ Scrabble!!” I yelled. The dining room table was cleared in one fell swoop, and gameplay immediately began before either of the two realized what was about to happen. Three grown men were about to sit down on Christmas evening and play…wait for it…Scrabble. If that’s not a Christmas miracle, I don’t know what is. This would soon become a sensitive subject for me though because I felt robbed of a victory. Cava is a legit word, people. Unfortunately, we defined legit words as landmarks we visited thus far or words found in The Official Scrabble Word Guide, written in 1957. And for the record, Ezeibe does not know how to play Scrabble properly…at all. Anywho, Alan ended up winning, his one redeeming moment of the day. Otherwise, Paris really raped Alan this day.