The journey itself was fairly standard, the Chunnel a long, dark tunnel. I"m not sure what I expected, lights, fanfare, a flashing "You are Now in France" sign? We did make two observations: that northern French countryside is quite similar to English countryside, thou I still maintain that French grass is a darker green;
and while Bree never got to view English sheep, he did get some cows and horses along the way.
Paris, itself, is stunning - buildings are old, intricately decorated. We are staying in the Latin Quarter, a maze of tiny, cobblestoned streets with cafes every fifty feet.
As soon as we settled in (i.e., threw our luggage on our hotel room floor), we took off to walk the Seine and see Notre Dame. Both are truly breathtaking.
We even managed to get a tour of the towers of Notre Dame, the last of the day. Sadly, the Hunchback had a day off, but we got photos of some incredible gargoyles.
We had our first pastis, and a waiter who kidded with us, despite the language barrier...
At dinnertime, we settled in to a quaint restaurant. The meal was spectacular, the ambiance great. All was going well until Bree decided to use the restroom. He should have known. Peter Mayle has devoted pages to this contraption that passes for a toilet in France. You are basicly given a spot to stand, and a hole to aim for. But, my friends, that is far from the "traumatizing" part. You see, the flushing mechanism simply floods the entire area with water. Hope you're a high stepper or quick jumper-out-of-the-way...
Image by grünes Fiet
Beyond sights, beyond language, it was the fantasticly shocking way we knew we weren't in Kansas any more!
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