I love Paris in the fall!
You know what I don't love about Paris? Chatelet.
Picture this - Beth, resplendent in pagne and flushed with dairy and good looks, arrives in Paris at Gare de Lyon at midnight. As a strong and independent woman, she declines the offer of help to carry her 50+ lbs of care package, prison bag and giant backpack.
Putting a brave face on things, she conquers her irrational distaste of escalators (caused by a terrifying story told by a cousin of a fictitious woman whose face was ripped off by one) and manages to get herself and her many bags on the escalator. Some beer-perfumed teenagers offer to help with the first flight of stairs; exercise be damned! She accepted.
Now that was just Gare de Lyon. It's a classy establishment, so there are escalators galore and very few short flights of stairs (maybe 2 or 3). I manage to get down the 14 train towards St. Lazare, which is equally classy and even wheelchair accessible (where was that elevator, when I was imagining tumbling down the escalator, wine bottles smashing on my head and having no face?!).
That's when it hits me. Chatelet is where I have to change to get the 4. For those of you who don't know Paris public transit well, Chatelet is a maze where five lines cross. When I remembered, I actually thought about going back up the many escalators to exit and maybe find a taxi and risking the metro fare I'd already paid. Lucky for me, I am particularly stubborn, when I know I haven't chosen the best option available.
The two lines that I used in Chatelet are possibly the furthest apart of all of them. I think that I took 10 flights of stairs. That was stairs, not escalators. I have the beginnings of blisters and my whole body is sore.
Do you know what Cameroon has that I am looking forward to? Almost no stairs! Also, less cold.
