Paris is Always a Good Idea, Except For This One Time (600 Words)

I'm pretty late to the Paris party. Many friends have traveled here before me and most can't stop gushing about the place. In the words of Audrey Hepburn "Paris is always a good idea." 

...Except for this one time

Except when it was my idea. My timing turned out to be te-rri-ble. 

It all started when I went to reserve my seat on a train from Rotterdam to Paris. The ticket agent refused to book the seat since they couldn't guarantee the train would arrive due to a railway workers strike in France. So I just had to show up at the platform later that day and hope that the train did too. 

Thankfully I boarded said train and eventually met my sister and a friend at Paris Nord. We had a decent dinner. Not the Fall-Out-Of-Your-Chair flavor that everyone raves about but palatable. I like rose wine and cider so I ordered a rosé cidré hybrid but it tasted awful like partially composted flowers and apples. 

Despite it being the beginning of June and supposedly summer, the weather was cold and slightly wet with temperatures hovering around 14°C. 

The river Seine was too high for the boats to pass under the bridges.

The three of us did a free walking tour of Paris the next morning. We assumed the media-hyped strike would paralyze all the metros until our guide told us that "No, of course the metros are working. The city cannot just shut down." 

Except the city did partially shut down later that evening. My friend and I arrived at the Musé d'Orsay to find a note taped to the ticket office window announcing an early closure. 

So we headed back to Marais to do some thrift shopping, for all of 30 minutes, because all the shops apparently close at 19:30. 

At least we got to see the outside

The next day we were scheduled to visit the Louvre at 13:00 with our pre-purchased tickets. However the top story on my BBC news app announced that the worlds most famous museum would be closed all day while employees moved art & artifacts above ground since the river Seine was on the rise after heavy, unseasonal rains. 

We decided instead to take the metro/train west to the Palais of Versailles. When we went to change trains at Invalides, the entrance to the C-line was blocked with a notice that the line was closed; another precaution due to flood fears since the main line to Versailles ran along the river. 

Everything makes you feel small in Versailles

We figured out a detour and took at least an extra hour but eventually we arrived at our royal destination. After about four hours wandering the palace and gardens, we walked back to the station to discover there was only one train per hour heading back to Paris due to some combination of striking and floods.

Again it took extra time and effort but we finally got back to the city and climbed the steps of the Eiffel Tower. It was like the final challenge in an obstacle course and we reached the pinnacle of it victoriously despite so many struggles along the way. 

It all seemed a bit surreal because if you went by the media coverage alone, you'd think the streets of Paris were filled with soggy, angry chaos but not once did I see a protest or floods or even moderate rain. 

The transport strikes have been a pain for many people but I know the taxi and uber drivers at least are benefitting from it because I had to pay €81 to get from the city to Charles de Gaulle airport early on my last morning. 

Guess I'm just gonna have to go back to Paris at some point. ;)

A Gift From a Monk in Myanmar (450 words)

I made many wrong decisions during my first visit to Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon, Myanmar. I walked over 4 km from my hotel and arrived during the peak heat of the day while the temp was well over 100°F/38°C.

I had considered wearing my Longyi that morning but opted instead for shorts. This means I had to rent a communal Longyi at the Pagoda entrance to cover my knees. As is typical for temples, no one is allowed to wear shoes so I was walking - or rather running - around with bare feet. 

The sun was scorching throughout the cloudless sky which caused the floor tiles to heat up like hot coals. Everyone was running from one patch of shade to the next, trying to relieve their suffering soles. 

As I was navigating a maze of smaller stupas, I came upon an old monk who waved me over. He offered me a drink of water even though I had my own supply. He made some small talk and told me his name is Tegyi and he is 83 years old and he takes the bus to Shwedagon every day. I had a feeling he was going to ask for money, but technically monks have to. By definition they beg for everything, even food during daily alms rounds. 

 

I respect the Sangha so I gave him a 5,000 kyat note. It was obviously much more than he was expecting. In return he offered me all three sets of his mala beads and his water and even his English-Burmese dictionary. I accepted the small, black wooden beads which I could tell were worn and had been used often; not just bought at a market that morning.

This seemed like a small win after my series of sweaty mistakes. 

I thought I was pretty special until I saw a photo of the same monk with a German guy from my hostel on Facebook. (Although I'm certain he did not receive the same gift.) 

I'm curious, do you think this monk was legit or was he just trying to profit off of tourists? If you've been to Shwedagon, have you met him as well?

Much Love,

My Fortune Telling Fail in Myanmar (225 Words)

Today I decided to sweep around the stupas because stepping on small rocks and sticks significantly detracts from the benefit of walking meditation. It was barely 8:00 but beads of sweat were already dripping off my nose and forehead like a leaky faucet. 

I was approached by an old Burmese man who invited me to come sit in the shade for a bit. He had very limited, broken English and there was hardly any comprehension happening on either side of our conversation so I tried to thank him and shake his hand so I could get back to work. Instead he grabbed my hand and flipped it over to study my palm. 

I was excited and fully expected an insightful, prophetic, Eat, Pray, Love or Holy Cow type of experience. Instead, the only words I could comprehend as he pointed to different parts of my palm were water, small sister and sleep. So I have no idea what my supposed fortune means other than perhaps my younger sister is planning to purchase a waterbed?

Also I'm pretty sure he was drunk for three reasons. It wasn't a familiar scent but I think his breath faintly smelled of foreign liquor, he very clearly said the word "alcohol" during our nonsense conversation and he said repeatedly "I love you more than words can say."

So, yeah. 

Anyone else had funny fails while traveling? Let me know in the comments so I can LOL.

Much Love,