PARIS

What we did in Paris...
- EIFFEL TOWER at sunset and at night, while eating crepes. You cannot beat that.
- Toured the OPERA HOUSE, then ate croques at a bistro Aunt Barb recommended on Auber. It was fabulous.
- Saw Mona Lisa at THE LOUVRE. She's tiny.
- NOTRE DAME. The stained glass is beautiful.
- SEINE RIVER CRUISE. Total tourist trap, but I believe it is the best way to see the city.
-Walked through LA MADELINE, a gorgeous church. Surprisingly, it did not have a single stained glass window.
- Walked to the ARC DE TRIOMPHE.
- Saw the most incredible Monets at LA ORANGERIE MUSEUM.
- Walked through the JARDIN DES TUILERIES and observed a lot of PDA. Welcome to Paris!
- Walked Rue St. HONORE and saw a lot of expensive clothes that I cannot afford.
- Visited the LOUIS VUITTON store and left after 2 minutes feeling nauseated.
- Learned the CHAMPS-ELYSEES like the back of my hand we walked it so much. Oh and visited a McDonald's. A McFlurry never tasted so good.
- Watched Rugby with the locals and saw more kegs than you can even believe.
- Went to 3 different Starbucks. I know, I am a sucker. But every time I thought about how much I paid for my cup of coffee, I thought about a 2000 euro handbag at Louis Vuitton and stopped feeling like I was the consumer ripped off.
- Saw JORDAN GREENE!!! and spent some quality time with her.
- Wandered through vendors selling art on the streets.
- Got the name and number of a French man. Don't worry, Dad, it is just Ahmad, the taxi driver.
- Started planning my next trip to Paris, any takers?!?

Friday...
Alayna and I made it to the train station on Friday at 2:45, leaving us 1 hour 15 minutes to purchase trips on the metro and check into the hostel before meeting Jordan, Whitney, and Kim at Pont Neuf. We don't have a printer so neither one of us printed off the hostel confirmation (mistake #1 of the day). Thursday night I googled the hostel and wrote down the address and phone number so we could find it on Friday. After waiting in line for about 15 minutes at the information stand in Gare du Nord, we approached the lady asking her for metro jumps and the name of the stop closest to our hostel (because I was unable to find it the night before on the map). Well, this woman did not even try to listen to our question, she just kept saying, "I don't understand, I don't understand." I mean, really, her job is to provide information. Perhaps she is under qualified for her position since she could not open her eyes and read the map in front of her. Thankfully, a man came out of no where (really no where), translating our questions to French and insisting that she help us.

So, we made it to the hostel metro stop and started wandering, map in hand. We walked a few blocks and decided to turn around because we did not see Rue Crimee (my call and it turned out to be a bad one). Poor Alayna had this oversized Vera Bradley bag that weighed 600lbs and bulged at the seams. The 80 degree weather made the search for the hostel even more enjoyable. We made this huge circle and finally hit Rue Crimee at #14 and we needed to make it to #219. Thankfully the walk was downhill. When we walked past the street that I made us turn around on at #200 I could sense Alayna's frustration. She admitted later that she wanted to kill me at the moment. So, we finally made it to Hotel Balladins only to find a metro stop right in front of the entrance (that sucks, huh?). As we walked up I thought to myself, 30 euro a night can really get you a nice place in Paris...right. Hot, tired, and irritable, we stumble into the hostel and gave the concierge our name. He frantically searches through binders to find the reservation. After a couple minutes he turned to us and said, "I'm sorry, I don't have a confirmation for you." Wish I printed that confirmation... Thankfully Alayna brought her laptop and the lobby had WI-FI. Too bad that we could not get on. By now it was well past 4 and I started to stress. Then the man says, "Are you sure it is this Hotel Balladins? There are 4 in the city." Why on earth are there 4 hotels with the same name in the same city?! He said we could have a room for 90 euro a night at Balladins. What was he, crazy?!

We left Hotel Balladins at 4:45, hauled all our stuff to the Metro pissed and unable to call the girls to tell them that we were late because they don't have phones. At that moment we decided it would be better to go and meet the girls then figure out the hostel thing. Alayna texted David and Austin and asked them to look for the correct hostel address on the email confirmation. We made it to Pont Neuf at 5 and thankfully, the girls we still sitting there waiting on us. Moments later Austin texted us the address and phone number of the hostel and for the first time that afternoon I felt relieved. We were now with friends, French speaking ones, and even had the correct address of our hostel. Our next move was catching a cab to the hostel to drop off our stuff. It took a while to find an empty cab and when we did, the driver said Hotel Balladins is 45 minutes away by cab (and 30 euro) or over 1 hour by metro and bus. It was already after 5 and we just decided to save time and just make the trip later that night on the metro. BUT, blast, we did had our luggage. Yep, we wandered through Paris for the next 5 hours with suitcases and big Vera. I need to learn to pack less...

The rest of the evening was so fun hanging out with Jordan, Whitney and Kim. We shopped and ate and played and lugged bags around Paris. It does not get any better than that! At 10:30 we parted ways and Alayna and I set out in search of Hotel Balladins. We followed the cab driver's instructions but could not find the bus at the metro stop he sent us to. I turned to Alayna, asked her for the address, but she deleted the message by accident. Well, crap. We are standing on a dark street where nothing is open with huge bags, crappy directions, and one cell phone that had already run out of minutes. I texted Austin and David, sending a frantic "HELP US" message. Fifteen minutes later and without a response, we crossed the street to ask some bystanders (men, of course. only men were on this street) where we could find a cab. It took a while to get an answer... finally they told us to go back one metro stop. We followed instruction and saw 4 taxis parked along the road. Unfortunately none of them knew of Hotel Balladins or could understand how we have no address, phone number, nothing for this place that we want to go. Two drivers were really kind to us, really kind. Business must have been a little slow because they stopped other drivers, called French 411, even asked the Police if they knew of this Hotel. Sure enough, no one in the freaking city knew of this Hotel. What one earth?! After 30 minutes of standing around with the cab drivers, Ahmad and friend, still text message-less I pulled out the address of the first Hotel Balladins and asked Ahmad to take us there, remembering that the concierge said there were vacancies. 90 euro hotel room, here we come!

Now, Ahmad was a dear. He thought we were crazy. I hated when he asked if we were from America because I know he thought we were the stupidest people to walk the earth. Ahmad took us back to Balladins and walked us up to the reception desk, refusing to leave us until we had a room. Well, in 6 hours, Balladins booked up all their rooms. So, we went to another hotel up the street. Again, Ahmad walked up to the desk, spoke in French again and refused to leave us. What a saint! We finally got a room. Ahmad left. Moments later, I got a text from Austin and a phone call from David with hotel info. Of course!

I'm telling you, Friday night is the story of God's grace. It was a series of some of the most unfortunate and ridiculous events and yet there was always someone to help us. There were numerous times that I wanted to go back to Nord and catch a train home, but I kept reminding myself that in an hour I would laugh and that I was with Alayna, the most patient person alive. Now it is hilarious. How and why on earth do we always have the worst travel experiences? There is talk of publishing this stories because they are so unbelievable. Oh and if you need a cab driver in Paris, call Ahmad, he is a saint.