Paris: The First Night!

Now, this is where I was really nervous! 

Not being able to speak or read the language, and having to immediately acquaint myself with Paris’ metro system had caused me no small amount of trepidation in the days leading up to the trip. But, I have to say, it was much easier than I expected (thanks to the directions sent to me by the owner of the hostel where I stayed). In fact, I’d almost be willing to say that Paris’ metro system is somewhat easier to get around on simply because it’s so comprehensive—it never took me more than twenty minutes to get somewhere, even all the way across the city. 

 

 Of course, that being said, it is certainly no where near as aesthetically or clean-ally pleasing as, say, DC’s or Chicago’s metro. (In fact, I might even go so far as to say that New York’s subway is prettier and cleaner than Paris’.) As I explained to Nic upon my return: graffiti tags—and not the interesting kind—were on every possible surface, everything seemed coated in a charcoal-grayish film, and one had to travel down these long, creepy (and often deserted) tunnels to get between one train line and another. Oh, and the tunnels often featured multiple copies of the following movie poster:

Except the writing was in French, making it even scarier!

Do you have any idea how freaky it is to walk down a long tunnel—when you’re already feeling like any manner of goblin or ghoul or rapist could strike you at any moment—and suddenly you find yourself flanked on all sides by multiple images of a nun with milky eyes? It’s friggin’ TERRIFYING!

But, enough about the Paris metro and creepy nuns. The important part is that I mastered that beast, and with the exception of one early-morning occasion I navigated it successfully multiple times during my holiday.

 

So, eventually I made it to Giovanni’s Room, the hostel where I stayed all three nights. Now, let me preface all this by saying that Nic is the one who found this particular gem of a location, not me! 

At any rate, Giovanni’s Room—named after James Baldwin’s controversial 1956 novel—is a hostel accessible only to gay men under the age of 35. It consists of one bathroom, one kitchen, and four beds (one of which is used by Gio, the over-35 proprietor.) Without going into too many details about this—I’ll let your imagination do the work for you—the owner tried (and failed) to encourage a certain stereotypical, 1970s-era gay atmosphere. This included the sale of poppers for €10.

But, the hypersexed atmosphere aside, I won’t complain. 

In all honesty, Giovanni’s Room was clean, it was safe, and everyone was very (platonically) friendly. Oh, and perhaps most importantly, it was within my budget, unlike most other Paris hostels. Also, it was nice to meet other travelers—one young man from China and another from Columbia—with something in common, even if it was simply the gender and sex we’re attracted to. (It was also quite amusing trying to communicate amongst ourselves, with what little bit of Spanish I retain and what little bit of English the other guests possessed.) And, finally, the owner really was an excellent ambassador for the city itself—his full-time job is as a tour guide, and so he was able to tell us the best ways to get to each of the places we wanted to go, and how to avoid scammers and crowds and whatnot.

By the time I checked into Giovanni’s Room, it was about 6:30 PM. But, I was excited to get a taste of Paris, and so I asked the owner where I should start, with the caveat that I didn’t want to go to any of the places already scheduled for the upcoming days. His recommendation (no surprise) was Le Marais, Paris’ answer to Boystown. 

So, I hopped onto the metro and made my way to Rambuteau station. However, once I was the in the area, I chickened out—insecurities and a general distaste for bar-culture have often kept me away from such experiences. But that’s okay, because there was plenty more to do!

Almost immediately upon stepping out of the metro at Rambuteau one finds him- or herself confronted with the towering Centre Pompidou! This was a quite a pleasant and unexpected surprise for me! 

To be clear, the type of art one finds at the Pompidou is not really my cup of tea, so that’s not why I was excited. Rather, it was because of the Pompidou’s connection to The Young & the Restless (one of Victor Newman's wives, Sabrina, was scripted as a curator at the Pompidou).

If only I still had my mustache, I could have done my Victor Newman impression: 'I will crush you!'

 Nonetheless, I went inside as far as I could without a ticket, and was able to tour the bookstore and gift shop, as well as make it up to the first floor before I was finally confronted with a ticket checkpoint. (At that point I beat a hasty retreat.) I have to say, though, that I legitimately loved what I saw, and want to go back one day with Nic! 

After leaving the Pompidou, I started walking in the general direction of the Seine…or so I thought—turns out I was actually walking east instead of south. But this bit of misdirected walking also contained an unexpected surprise: the dazzling (and I mean that in the truest sense of the word) Hôtel de Ville. 

This magnificent building is festooned with an array of flashing, sparkling lights that photos simply cannot do justice to. It also happens to be whence Paris’ mayor conducts business. (By the way, Paris’ mayor since 2001 is Bertrand Delanoë, an openly gay socialist!)

Sadly, at about this point, it started raining pretty heavily. So, I settled in to a nearby restaurant—the Café la Comète—and enjoyed the ever-fancy and sophisticated plate of Croque Monsieur (don’t worry, my eating became much more adventurous the next night).

Unfortunately, the rain had actually gotten worse by the time I was done. Regardless (and after a quick consultation with my map), I bundled up and dashed down the road to the Seine (finally), and caught my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower at night. Sadly, those photos didn’t turn out—but here’s one a couple that I snagged the next night (but still had to doctor a bit) from the same spot, so you get the gist:

 

The Pont au Change

The Eiffel Tower as seen from the Pont au Change.

 

Well, that concludes the exciting(?) tale of my first night in Paris. Pretty uneventful, eh? But give me a break—I’d spent over eight hours on a friggin’ bus, and been up since 4:30 AM. The next couple of days were a bit more exciting…

But you’ll have to wait a little longer for those stories…