chronological order, Berlin should have come before Paris, after
Prague. But, oh wait, I just spent 70 Euro per evening at a 2-star
hotel, and got pocket-picked on the 2
day on the semi-faked crowded train. Paris just grabbed too much
attention, in a sour way. I don’t think I could write Berlin calmly
without unleash my more outrage emotions beforehand. So here we go.

straight to the point, Paris really isn’t my place. It is
absolutely glamorous in the evening, and pretty much crowded. Neither
is my preference. It lives many world famous monuments and tourism
hotspots, and maybe the most arrogant people around. New Yorkers, by
my standard, weren’t nowhere NEAR the attitude the French had.
Really, for those who fancy Paris, what is in their minds?

moment we (with Jason’s family) arrived Paris, I could feel it.
That belittling attitude to the foreigners at the airport, and that
take-it-or-get-out face at the hotel pretty much set the tone. I felt
we had to beg to stay in their 2-star hotel (it was more like a motel
without the parking). If it wasn’t for that 10 Euro cheaper deal,
we would have booked ourselves another hotel somewhere in the suburb.


we went to see the tour Eiffel. It was actually “brownish” out of
my expectation. And it was definitely a drastic contrast to the rest
of the scenery in France; as a matter of fact, I had the same
feelings when I saw those pyramids in the louver. There were the
magnificent palace, another arc de triumph like gate, and they were
surrounding… several metallic futuristic glass pyramids? Maybe this
is the type of contrast that Paris need: "come! visit ville de
Paris! le most beautiful place in the world!….et gettou tof ere!"

be fair, it IS an amazing city, and I really have only touched the
surface of it. History is not "embedded" here, it
"protrudes" everywhere from the ground in buildings,
monuments, and palaces. The nightlights in Paris could defintely rank
up there with the elites in the world, no doubt. And the ladies here?
the beautiness that live in these feminine bodies is at another level
away from the rest of the world. Just simply by looking around, I
could feel that elegance lightly yet unyeildingly swirling around the
women, in the way they dress, the way they walk, and the way they
compose theirselves. It’s a rather pleasant sensation that I’ve never
had anywhere else before. Fashion sounded like a rough word. Try
Vogue. Yet again, as unique and rare these qualities are, none of
those is my thing.

of pleasant memories. The time that I really enjoyed in Paris, was on
the last day, when we were struggling so hard to find that one of a
kind restaurant in Bercy Village with homemade "red wine
champange." We had to go through 3 subway stations on and off
just to find that specific ibis hotel, then the restaurant. But along
the way, I got to explore the suburbs, strolling through the park,
and spoke to a few local french. At the restaurant, I was forced to
crank my lousy French to a few notches up just to order that specific
bottle of wine (Brussel?) and showed my appreciation to the viner.
Yet unnoticed, unscheduled, ununified events like these really were 
the way how I’d like my journey to surf. I was thankful to have that
through the end.

last day, the day to aeroport, I once again experienced French style
service. In order to purchase train tickets for the 3 adults of us
gang, I had to break down my 100 Euro bill 5 times to purchase little
items like "ultra expensive (2 Euro) airwaves" to summon
enough changes for the ticket machine. Tres francis.

and how about the French men? where? I either didn’t see them, or
I’ve forgotten already.

This entry was posted in Travel, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s