Travel Diary

December 31, 2003

The next morning, we packed up and headed out. Our first stop would be the Waterloo Tube Station. Irena wasn't fond of heading over to Paris, but we really didn't have any choice. It was the only place we had reservations for. We boarded the train with the usual few minutes to spare. The seat next to me was empty since it had already been reserved months ago. This turned out to be rather nice. I was able to utilize both seats to fully relax. In short time, I was napping contently as the train rolled along the English countryside. During my nap, the train zipped under the English Channel and entered France. I missed most of the French countryside since I woke up just before Paris.

Ah, Paris. It was great to be back. I was anxious to try out my French. Now, I could be better armed to order things like crepes and café (coffee). But first, we would need to find an ATM. Our pounds were useless there. Despite both England and France being part of the same European Union, they each require different units of currency. Ugh. Can't we all just get along? Can't we just settle on one unit of currency? Can't we have only ONE word for French Fries??? Okay. Pas de probleme (no problem). At least the Euro was closer to the dollar. Though, during my last visit, the dollar was stronger. Now, it's the Euro. C'est la vie. My financial tip: invest in foreign currencies.

Walking the Streets

Once we acquired some cash, we went in search of Alan and Irena's hostel. I had my map and my trusty compass so finding the place didn't prove to be very difficult. We walked a long ways down Rue De Lafayette and finally came upon the Peace and Love Hostel. I waited for Alan and Irena to check in and then we all parted, agreeing to meet at 9pm that evening. I then took a long walk to go and find my own hostel. The day was cold and only getting colder. Sure, I was bundled up, but I wanted to find my place fast. I was also quite hungry.

Finding my hostel would be difficult, as the street it was on wasn't listed on my map. In the future, I'm going to check on things like that before making reservations. However, adjacent streets were noted so eventually I came upon the Gerardo Hostel. The staff was friendly and I was even able to request my reservation in French. The clerk was a little confused since two people had reservations, but I explained that it was only for one. Oh what a feeling that was. It reminded me of the Steve Martin movie where he requested a table for one. The entire place stopped talking and a spotlight was placed on him as he walked to his table with everyone staring. Yeah, room for one, please; hold the pity. The clerk understood the situation and said that the other bed might still be rented out. Fine by me--the more, the merrier. I went upstairs. It was a small room, but did include a TV. Having nothing else to do, I watched a little television and soon dozed off. Hours later, I heard a key at the door and awoke to see two people walking in. it was the clerk and a young lady. I gathered that she was renting the other bed. It was a somewhat awkward situation, but I'd been through akwarder situations (yeah, "awkwarder" isn't officially a real word...yet). I went back to sleep. A few more hours passed and evening had come. The sky was completely dark when I arose around 8:30pm. The other girl, Kimberly, had been napping as well. I got up and headed out the door to meet Alan and Irena.

Our meeting place was Gare de Nord (Northern Train Station). I arrived ten minutes early--or so I thought. Alan was there and wondered why I was so late. Late? Surely, he jests. I was 15 minutes early. Nope. Not quite. It seems that we had passed over a time zone during our train ride into Paris. Oops. I guess I always seem to miss this fact since I always tend to be asleep on the train during that time change. But Alan had guessed this was the case and waited around. Okay. Instead of 8:45, it was 9:45. No big deal. We'd still have two hours to reach the tower. But ‘we' was only Alan and me. It seems that Irena was too sick to attend the festivities. Not wanting to deal with the metro and having time to kill, we began walking to the tower.

To the Tower

At first the crowds weren't too thick. But as we got closer, the crowding got denser. It would seem the whole city of Paris was walking towards the Eiffel Tower like thousands of moths to a giant beacon of light. We used the compass and map for navigation at first, but when we got closer, we simply followed the sight of the tower. During our walk, I observed a group of people throwing firecrackers over a fence. The noise was somewhat annoying, but this would be nothing compared to what was to come. With the Tower only about a half-mile away, we came across some food stands. The vendors were cooking meat and serving hotdog-like sandwiches. Alan bought a beer. I could not withstand the strong aroma of the cooking sausages. Being terribly hungry and cold, I happily paid the five euros and got me a sandwich. To complement it, I paid two euros for a Heineken beer. It was a little pricey, but definitely worth it. The meal was one of my most enjoyable meals on the trip.

Closing down the distance to the Tower, we were on the final approach. At this point, the crowd was probably in the hundreds of thousands. Forcing our way, we headed down to the bridge that was directly in front of the tower. I figured it would be a great place for photos--provided you weren't robbed of your camera. Heh. Yeah. Like THAT would happen. Getting to the bridge wasn't easy, but we were able to make it. Once on the bridge, we simply waited for the countdown. In this time, I noticed all sorts of crazy stuff.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

I would guess that 99% of the people at this event were good people meaning no harm. The remaining 1% wouldn't pose so much of a problem, except 1% times hundreds of thousands of people can add up to a lot of drunk, belligerent persons. With public drinking being perfectly legal, the landscape was essentially a sea of intoxication. Fights were common. Sometimes it was one versus one. Other fights were groups. Some were even a group versus one guy. No, it wasn't fair, but there weren't exactly any referees around to complain to. The police maintained no presence in the thick crowds. And it was probably for the best. Just let the people crazy enough to partake of the event fend for themselves. In a few words, it was anarchy and chaos in the town. Order was home in bed.

Firecrackers were the next big monkey wrench in the machine. Since they sell good old-fashioned-blow-your-fingers-off firecrackers in Paris, people certainly had no trouble acquiring them. Now, the folks that had simply thrown firecrackers over fences seemed tame in comparison. People would light firecrackers and toss them down by the feet of others. This was done throughout the area of the tower. Never mind the fact that many children and babies were present. Another type of sport was lighting a firecracker and just throwing it a great distance into a crowd. Of course this action could have the result of the firecracker exploding directly in someone's face doing all sorts of serious damage, but hey, it's all in good fun right? Screams were constantly heard during this time.

Finally, the moment had arrived. It was seconds away from 12am. But something odd occurred, or did not occur. There was no countdown. The last few seconds remained silent and people simply stared up at the Eiffel Tower. When the hour struck, the Tower did come to life and sparkled with flickering lights of yellow and blue color. It was rather magnificent to see. Cameras went off all around-along with many more firecrackers. Still, for all the trouble, hardly any real fireworks were launched. In fact, the Tower lights didn't appear to be any different than the normal flickering lights that occur every evening hour at the Eiffel Tower. For all it's worth, my pictures could have been easily taken on August 1st and looked the same as January 1st. But live and learn. Trying to hold my camera still, I snapped more photos until I heard the commotion next to me.

Turning to observe the noise, I noticed another small crowd of frenzied activity. Something big was going on. I also looked to see where Alan was. Uh oh. I couldn't spot him. My next thought was: Je crais la pire, which means in French, "I fear the worst." Alan was inside the commotion. I raced over to investigate and help, but it was too late. The small gang had departed at light speed and left Alan dazed and angered. They had knocked him over, pounced on him, and stolen his camera. To top it off, he was hit over the head by a bottle. Fortunately the glass didn't break, so he was bruised but not bleeding. He was holding his camera battery, but not his camera.

Paris Has Police Stations, Right?

Well, that put a huge damper on the festive occasion. What a way to begin the New Year, though it wasn't like the mood had been of great joy and cheer anyway. I snapped a few more photos (very cautiously now). I also made sure to use the wrist strap of the camera as well. In short time, the lights died down and people began dispersing. Alan wanted to find a police station to fill out a report. The idea wasn't that the camera was ever going to be recovered. Surely, no mom of a juvenile delinquent would call the local police and say, "I found a strange camera in my son's dresser this morning! He must have stolen it. I'd like to bring it down." Nope. By morning, mom and son were probably hawking the camera together and splitting a liter of rum between them.

Yet the insurance claim would probably want to see a copy of a police report. Alas, this quest would last us a couple of hours. Finding a police station would not be easy. After a long search, we came across some crowd control officers who pointed out the nearest police station. Oh great. It was back the opposite way. We would now have to go against the crowd to get there. Fighting this sea of drunken persons, we made our way back down a ways and came across the police station. Unfortunately, they spoke little English. It would seem odd that the police would not speak English in such a large tourist city. Well this isn't the case in all Paris police stations, just this one in particular. My knowledge of French did not include the words, "robbery" or "police report." Those just weren't words I figured I would ever need to know. After waiting a while, we were able to speak to someone and they informed us that it would take several hours to get a chance to file this report. I asked if there were any police stations near our living area, and they pointed a couple out on the map. Alright! This was good. We would just head over to this less crowded area and take care of things there.

Joining the wandering mob, we slowly headed back to the area of Gare de Nord. Once there, we began another police station hunt. But all the ones we found were closed for the evening. Maybe crimes just aren't often committed after 9pm. It was now almost 2am. At which point, we gave up the search and returned to our hostels, agreeing to meet at 11am the next morning. Back at my hostel, my roommate was fast asleep. It was nice to have someone else there. Granted, I hadn't spoken even three words to her up to this point, but nevertheless, it was nice to have her there. It's always comforting to have someone else around.

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