The Da Vinci Trail...

Today I was to receive my own personal tour of some of the quieter areas of Paris, with my personal tour guide, Charles whom I was to meet at 2:00 pm. So first I had to amuse myself. I had a rough plan of some of the other sights I wanted to see and first up was the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Élysées. The view from the top was pretty cool, you can see how well laid out the city is with the the roads leading out from the roundabout. That was crazy, no wonder you can't get insurance to drive on it, I think I counted 12 or so roads all leading on to it!

From here I headed down to Le Jardin de Luxembourg in which Charles had suggested I read an interesting high brow book in the hopes of being talked to by a nice French girl from the university. Lacking a suitable book I gave it a go anyway (but also because it is a really nice place to relax, sort of the equivalent of Hyde Park). I wasn't hit on but I did successfully order lunch, une baguette du saussicon s'il vous plaît, and discovered that the French Do Not Walk On The Grass. They sit around it.

It was then time to take the tour with Charles and first up was Notre Dame which had looked small until I got up close enough to see it was huge. It is one of only a few cathedrals to have flying buttresses which won't interest you very much but I have been looking into how such magnificent buildings were constructed, its all quite fun an mathematical and I'll move on now. The tour took us through some quieter parts of the city and then we ended up on the Da Vinci trail again at St Sulpice were the nun was murdered and also the site of the Obelisk.

Shortly afterwards I said goodbye to Charles and headed back to get a drink before picking up my bags. I then met the original rude waiter who was very unhelpful and thoroughly rude and quite clearly didn't want to serve me, a dirty tourist. This of course did not help my French speaking and I certainly couldn't make out a word of the questions he was barking at me! Well I got an appropriate beer in the end and was much more successful getting food from a bakery for dinner (including pistachio biscuits) and getting stamps. The man at the post office said he could understand me very well, but he may have been exaggerating as there was a slight pause while he worked out what I was saying.

So far I had been late to every train on the trip, and after taking in the great atmosphere of a sunset over the top of Paris from Sacré Coeur, it should come as no surprise that I realised I would have to run very hard to make it to the station and once again raise the suspicion of the border patrol by looking a first time drug smuggler. It was on the train I lost my phone. Or rather left my phone, not stupid in the same way as dropping it in a toilet or glass of wine. No I tucked it in the pocket of the seat in front of me. As I was doing so I thought, don't do it you'll forget it, but for some reason I still put it there. Needless to say I did in fact leave it behind but having lowered my expectations about my memory, I wasn't too upset, just a little annoyed. It certainly wasn't enough to take the shine of a great holiday.