Paris: Part Four, Bastille Night

We found Courtney recumbent on the grass watching the Eiffel Tower’s lights dance. Yuan was seated a little bit away from her, anxiously awaiting our return. When we did return, he dashed off in search of a bathroom. I let myself fall onto the grass next to Courtney and used my bag as a pillow. My pony-tail was crushed under my head and I could just feel my hair becoming a mess but I didn’t care. The night was too beautiful to really care about anything. Mike lied next to me, very close and comforting. We just lied there watching the Eiffel Tower and thinking about everything that had happened.

Finally, Courtney reminded us of our provisions and we three started to unpack. We had gotten a cork screw from the concierge at the Hotel Tamaris but it was not easy to work. We passed it between the three of us until both Courtney and I had given up and Mike had made it his night’s goal to open the bottle of wine. As Yuan reappeared a little ways away, Mike finally prevailed at the cork sprung out of the bottle. He poured us each a cup and Yuan sat down across from me, taking his plastic cup full of red wine. Once everyone had a cup, we looked at each other expectantly. A toast was definitely in order.

“To the 6 train.” “To the woman who spoke English…but didn’t know the word ‘straight.’” “To the magical bus.” “To the random ferry ride.” “To Corey’s brilliant idea of coming here in the first place.” “To us.” “To Bastille Day.” “To the friendly couple at Marco Polo’s.” Things just poured out of us, equal parts silly and meaningful. We toasted a hundred things and then finally drank. We dove into the brie and crackers and gorged ourselves on grapes to remain hydrated. After we finished the wine and the cheese and had eaten all the chocolate we could bear, we all fell back into the grass and once again indulged in staring up at the Eiffel Tower. We were all slightly drunk, both from the wine and the exhilaration of simply being in Paris. We laughed and sang and joked about everything under the sun.

Yuan was the first to get antsy. I think the rest of us could have just lied there all night. I know we discussed it. I was the first to get marginally practical and Mike was the first to act on this practicality. It occurred to me that perhaps the Metro stopped running at some point. It was almost one in the morning now and we had no idea if and when the Metro stopped running. Grudgingly, we got all got up and packed our things up. Mike got the empty wine bottle, I bequeathed the wooden brie box to Courtney and we all reluctantly left the Eiffel Tower.

Judging from the events of the day and our general poor luck, it wasn’t really that surprising to arrive at the Metro stop to see the gates chained shut. The police were there, letting people get out but not get in. Turns out the Metro in Paris does shut down at night. In fact, it shuts down in between midnight and 12:30. Good to know.

So we wandered over to the street and attempted to hail a cab. There were no cabs. The only cabs there were already had people in them. Smug people who had somehow managed to attract a cab. Yuan once again stopped someone off the street who informed him that there was a taxi waiting point up the road back at the Eiffel Tower. We walked back the way we had come and waited at the taxi waiting point for a while. While Yuan remained confident that a taxi would come, Mike and I grew increasingly doubtful of the whole situation. There was a long line of people who needed a cab and no one ever asks to be dropped off at a taxi waiting point. Cabs weren’t coming here. Finally, we decided that it might be best to just start walking in the general direction of our hotel and keep a sharp eye out for a cab. We walked back into the Eiffel Tower and the park surrounding it. We came to another street and found ourselves at another taxi waiting point. Rather tired and hopeful that a cab would come (there were fewer people at this point), we got in line.

Courtney and Yuan crossed the street to see if the Russian café would let them use the bathroom and I wandered over to where Mike had sat down on the curb. The rest of the line had wandered off in an attempt to better their chances to find a cab so it was just us and the night. We sat quietly, talking occasionally, both exhausted. Courtney and Yuan came back eventually, both quite pleased with the friendly Russians and their amazingly cleanly toilet. Yuan had calculated that it would take us “only” two hours to walk back to the hotel from where we were. Not exactly reassuring. Mike and I stood up and then, miraculously, we spotted a cab. It was coming down the street from the opposite direction and a group of people who had previously been in our line where already rushing towards it shouting, “Cab! Cab!”

Undeterred, Courtney and I raised our hands in the air and waved them around spastically, hoping the cab driver would honor the fact that we were at the taxi waiting point. He stopped at the light at the far end of the intersection. We dashed across the street and continued waving our arms desperately. The group had mobbed the cab now and were engaged in conversation with the cabbie. We kept waving our arms in hopes of attracting his attention. Mike and Yuan looked on, obviously not believing the cab driver would put off so many pleas for a ride.

The light turned green. The cab didn’t move. He was still talking to the group. We didn’t stop waving our arms. Then, incredibly, he slowly pulled away, being careful not to hit anyone in the group and drove towards us. We screamed in joy and wildly gestured for Yuan and Mike to join us on the other side of the street. “Place de la Nation?!” I asked him happily. He nodded his assent. Another screech of joy and we all piled in. I was scrunched in the middle between Mike and Courtney. It was unbelievably relieving to be in the cab. It was warm and safe and we were racing along directly along the Seine towards the Hotel Tamaris.

My eyelids kept dropping and I resisted the urge to let my head fall onto Mike’s shoulder and just doze. We sped along and shortly we were at the Place de la Nation. We all tumbled out of the cab, thanked the cab driver profusely (he got at least twenty “merci beaucoups” from us) and started to walk back towards our hotel. We got there, trudged to our room and collapsed onto the beds. Courtney and Yuan were asleep in minutes without changing their clothes and just barely getting their shoes off before succumbing to sleep. Mike decided to shower and I changed into my pajamas before getting into bed and trying to sleep. Both Yuan and Courtney were snoring but I was too tired to let it keep me up. I heard the shower go on and then off before I drifted off. Mike told me the next morning that when he came out of the bathroom we were all snoring in unison and that he could have conducted us if he liked. The image of Mike standing at the foot of the bed conducting our sleeping noises amused me.

It was about three in the morning and we were finally all safe and sound in our beds. I slept the deep, dreamless sleep of pure exhaustion with the knowledge that I would have to get up early the next morning to shower before heading out to the Louvre. But, of course, that plan didn’t exactly work out perfectly, either.