Tuesday, June 7, 2022
Since we had not yet seen any museums in Normandy, Tuesday was dedicated to that. We first drove to the Normandy American Cemetery’s visitor center. The visitors center has a terrific museum that, when done in full, takes 2-3 hours to complete. The museum is packed full of statistics and real-life stories of soldiers who fought on D-Day.
Once we had completed that museum, we drove half a mile down the road to the “Overlord Museum,” but not before we had lunch at Domaine de l’Hostréière, a restaurant across the street. At this restaurant, I ate the best crêpe of my life, though, to be fair, I had only eaten one crêpe before, and it was the night prior.
The Overlord Museum didn’t have the statistics and stories that the Normandy American Cemetery’s visitor center had, but it did have thousands of artifacts, including tanks, planes, boats, guns, and many other relics used during WW2.
After the Overlord Museum, we made one final stop before driving to the capital: The Pointe du Hoc. The Pointe du Hoc was a vital position the Germans held until D-Day. The peninsula, which rests on a steep, rocky precipice, gave the Germans a crystal clear view of both Omaha and Utah Beach, with three heavy machine guns pointed at each respective beach. Additionally, it was thought impossible for the Americans to overtake because it rested on the top of a cliff. The Germans, however, didn’t know about the US Army Rangers, who grappled over the rocky cliffs and seized possession of The Pointe du Hoc, thus eliminating the devastating machine-gun fire on the landing beaches.
Finally, we made our way to Paris, where we would drop off our rental car. By this time, our tire was in dire shape, and I was legitimately concerned that she’d blow and we’d be stranded in the middle of the French countryside. To be extra cautious, we stopped every 45 minutes to fill the tire with more air and apply more guerrilla glue to the puncture.
We made it to Paris in three hours. We drove down the most famous street in the world, the Champs-Élysées, and around the Arc de Triomphe, a twelve-lane roundabout. We, of course, drove by the Eiffel Tower, which, by this time, was lit up, bright as can be. When we saw what we wanted, dad and I dropped the girls off at our homestay, drove to Orly Airport, and returned the car.
Wednesday, June 8, 2022
For those who are unaware, my grandma, Patty Meihack, was sent home to heaven while we were in Amsterdam. Ironically, we were at the Luther Museum when we heard the news. Because of this, we repurchased plane tickets home for Saturday, June 11, twelve days earlier than anticipated so that we can make it back in time for the funeral on the 20th.
Since we had returned our rental car, we needed some transportation. I decided to buy us a one-week Metro Pass. The Metro Pass gives us access to the subway, bus, tram, and trains in Paris. The pass cost 20 Euros each and is reloadable, so if I were to return to Paris, which I’d prefer not to, I could simply add money to my card and be on my merry way.
When Brooke and I went to Paris in 2020, we had some of the most remarkable pizzas of our lives. It just so happened that we stumbled upon the same restaurant where we discovered this wonderful delicatessen, Pizza Fiorentina. We even ordered the exact same pizza (pizza paysanne) AND had the same waiter as we did over two years ago.
I would like nothing more than to tell you that our time in Paris was this magical all the time. I’m afraid, however, that this would be a blatant lie. In fact, I would go as far as saying that I may never return to Paris, the pathetic excuse of a city; and if I do, it will only be because of a doggy-eyed daughter wanting to see the Eiffel Tower in person with her daddy.
The horrendously disgusting city has a thick odor of urine you can’t escape. The city is overrun by illegal African immigrants trying to sell you stupid tchotchkes at every turn you make, no matter how often you (politely) tell them no. You know they’re illegal because, at the faintest sound of a police siren, they sling the sack of tchotchkes over their shoulder and run for the hills. The well-known tourist sites like the Eiffel Tower have illegal immigrants from Eastern Europe scamming innocent tourists with their three-card monte scheme. I, myself, fell victim to this scheme while in London in 2019, losing $150. If you’re unfamiliar with three-card monte, I’ll help you: DON’T EVER DO IT. You will see a circle of people gathered around one man moving three cups with one ball underneath, just like on the jumbotron at Miller Park, or so you think. What you don’t realize is that half of the people in the crowd are in cahoots with each other. They throw down a ridiculous amount of money, which is actually from their cumulative pot of previous tourists they’ve scammed, choose the correct cup, and “win” large sums of cash, making it seem easy-peasy. Those in cahoots even hoot and holler whenever one of their colleagues “wins,” giving the scheme an exciting atmosphere. Once you finally build up the courage to throw down money of your own, the man with the cups uses his deception tricks, and you lose. Every. Single. Time.
The scheme is entirely illegal and those performing it know this full well. As soon as you try to take a picture or video of the game in action, the man with the cups says, “Please, no photos.” Most people kindly oblige and do not take photos. Do you think I obliged? Good guess. I ticked off four or five of these three-card monte teams by refusing to stop taking videos. I even had one Romanian shove me backward. Whenever they asked me to stop taking photos, I asked very simply, “Why?” To which, of course, they could not give me a straight answer. Several times, I even said, “Go tell the police to have me stop taking photos.” When I refused to stop recording, some shouted at me, and some left out of fear of getting caught by the police.
Had I never lost my $150 in London on the Westminster Bridge, I probably couldn’t care less about this scheme, but I did, and I do. Seeing these immoral illegals con innocent people out of lots of cash resonates with me and infuriates me just thinking about it.
Both the illegal Africans selling their stupid tchotchkes and the Eastern Europeans with their three-card monte are severely detrimental to the culture of Paris and two significant drawbacks of Paris, the worst city in Europe and quite possibly, the world.
Nevertheless, we still managed to have some fun. We purchased the Paris Museum Pass, which included, once again, a “Hop On Hop Off Bus Tour.” We made the loop around Paris once and then used our passes to climb to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. Before our descent, we learned that there was an elevator. Brooke showed the attendant her pregnant belly, and voila, we had a one-way ticket down the Arc in an elevator!
As the sun began to set, we again used our passes on the Le Seine Boat Cruise. We disembarked from the Eiffel Tower and went as Far East as Notre-Dame Cathedral, before returning to the Tower. After our boat cruise, we completed the night by taking the Metro over to the Champs-Élysées for some late-night desserts. I had a crêpe and crème brûlée, Brooke and Mom had chocolate cake, and Dad had ice cream.
I wish that were how our night ended. You see, it isn’t just the illegal immigrants in Paris that make the city dreadful; it’s the Parisians themselves. A large contingency of them seems to believe that they are exempt from paying for public transportation. They see tourists who have rightfully purchased expensive passes and prey on them. They stalk you to the turnstile, having watched you figure out your route, and as soon as you touch your Metro Pass to the sensor that allows you to pass through, they stay right on your tail, not allowing the turnstile to reset, and therefore not having to pay themselves.
I caught onto this quite quickly and was determined not to allow it to happen to me. While we were heading to our homestay, I took notice of one of these pompous Parisians in the Metro station, who was nonchalantly scrolling on his phone as we figured out our route. As we went through the turnstile, he attempted to follow directly behind Brooke. I stopped the door from opening and pointed up the stairs to the cashier, hinting that he would not be stealing from us today and to get his own Metro Pass. He scoffed at me and began shouting at me in French. I rubbed my fingers together, motioning that he needed to pay money, just like the rest of us. The four of us got through the turnstile and saw the Parisian scale the turnstile and head directly towards me.
“You stupid American!” He screamed. “You are just a stupid tourist! I am from Paris; this is my city!” He boasted. I put my hand up to his face, signaling him to stop, and simply said, “Au revoir.” As he finally turned to leave, I’d be remiss if I said I wasn’t shaking with fear.
Thursday, June 9, 2022
One of the things I didn’t want to miss while in Paris was visiting Château de Versailles, the home of the French Monarchy during the 17th through 19th centuries. My good friend, Jacob Borgwardt, and I visited Versailles in 2019, but we had no idea about the village Marie Antoinette had constructed on the Château’s property, and that was something I was keen on seeing with my own eyes. While Brooke and I were in Paris in 2020, we fell short on time and could not make it to Versailles, so it was new to her too.
The Château itself is obnoxiously large and yet another testament to the French people’s pride and arrogance. I will admit, it is a beautiful palace, no doubt, but one can hardly blame the French peasants of the 19th century for chopping off the heads of their most wealthy and aristocratic. After all, they quite literally paid for Versailles with their taxes, while the Kings and their wives lived lavishly without a care in the world.
We first visited inside the Château and saw the rooms, chapels, and even an opera house. The Hall of Mirrors is the most recognizable room and Versaille’s main attraction.
Once we had seen the inside of the Château, it was time to see the outside, or “The Gardens.” Not before we ate some food, though. By the time we’d finished looking through the giant Palace, it was 2:30 PM, and everyone was getting a little hangry. Since food inside the Château’s grounds was around $50 per person, I made the executive decision of running across the small town of Versailles and buying the four of us McDonald’s and running back and eating near the entrance of the Palace. As I returned from McDonald’s and went through security, I saw a man trying to bring a large suitcase into the Palace gates. A security guard told him that the bag was too large to bring in and that he could leave it there for the time being until he completed his tour and picked it up on his way out. I sojourned on, not thinking much of it until I found Brooke and my parents. We quickly gobbled down our food and headed toward the gardens. Since the property is so immense and Brooke is 28 weeks pregnant, we rented a golf cart so that we didn’t have to walk five miles extra.
We drove to Marie Antoinette’s village, The Hameau de la Reine, where we saw several German-style homes where Marie would come to feel more at home. We also saw a dozen different types of animals, which Brooke thoroughly enjoyed petting.
When we had seen enough, we returned the golf cart and made our way to the entry/exit of Versailles to head back to Paris. As we approached the exit, however, we were told we could not exit that way. The Versailles employee said to us that the Police were not allowing visitors to exit that way because of a large suitcase that was left at the entryway at the security checkpoint. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I thought. Since our only other option for exiting Versailles was to walk over half a mile on cobblestone, we decided to wait for the Police to be done searching the same bag I had seen just hours earlier as I was passing by with my McDonald’s; just our luck.
Thirty minutes later, the Police had finally completed their search of the bag, and we went to the train station and jumped on board the next train to the Eiffel Tower.
Growing up, my dad would tell me a story about when he went to Paris, he only ever went up to the first floor of the Eiffel Tower, and that his dad told him they’d come back and go up to the top. Since that never happened, we decided to go up to the top. Tickets to the top cost 28 Euros for adults and 14 Euros for those under 24 (using the elevator). We got up to the top precisely 15 minutes before sunset. I secured us spots facing smack dab in the middle of “Place de la Trocadero,” the perfect spot. As the sun set, we saw the lights of Paris fill the horizon. It was almost pretty enough to forget how terrible of a city Paris truly is; almost.
We stayed at the top for about 45 minutes before we made our way down to the bottom. I have now been blessed enough to go up the Eiffel Tower on four separate occasions.
Friday, June 10, 2022
Our Paris Museum Pass granted us access to the Louvre Museum, but not without scheduling a specific time slot due to the number of visitors that frequent it every day. I chose the earliest time slot available, which was 12:30 PM. We had some time to kill beforehand, so we visited the exact same spot where Brooke and I got engaged on March 1, 2020.
After taking some photos at the nostalgic location, we took the subway over to the Louvre Museum. The line just about wrapped around the pyramid; it was so long. Luckily, a security guard noticed Brooke’s pregnant belly and let us skip the entire line and walk directly into the Louvre. I have decided that Brooke and I will try to have a baby four months before every trip we take from now on.
The four of us only had a few pieces of art in mind that we had to see: The Mona Lisa, The Winged Victory of Samothrace, Venus de Milo, The Lacemaker, and the Code de Hammurabi.
Once we had seen what we wanted, we exited the labyrinth that is the Louvre, ate some lunch, and took the subway over to Saint-Chapelle. While on our way, I got a notification from Apple News that said, “Biden to Halt Outbound Covid-19 Tests for Air Travelers to U.S. Effective Sunday at Midnight”. Just. Our. Luck.
Our flight was scheduled to depart Paris at 11:05 AM on Saturday with a 15-hour layover in Istanbul, Turkey, then depart Istanbul at 6:35 AM on Sunday. Furthermore, the United States Covid entry requirements state that the test must be taken no longer than 24 hours before each flight. Since our layover in Istanbul was 15 hours, we had to get tested two separate times for a requirement that would be eliminated shortly after our arrival in the United States. Anyone who says I have the best luck and that the dice always fall in my favor need only read my journal entries to see that I inherit a misfortune of the same magnitude for every stroke of luck that goes my way.
When we arrived at the Island of Île de la Cité, where Notre-Dame Cathedral and Saint-Chapelle stand, we noticed it crawling with Police Officers, I asked several Police Officers why there were so many. Naturally, I couldn’t get a straight answer because none of the Police officers can speak English, or Police the city for that matter, which is why illegal citizens run rampant, and their own citizens steal things left and right.
In order to enter the Island and Saint-Chapelle, we had to go through a strict security checkpoint, which I was a bit surprised at since I didn’t recall doing that even for Notre-Dame in 2019. The Police allowed us to enter the Island only because we had tickets for Sainte-Chapelle. Even the Parisians were unable to go where we went without a ticket.
We looked at Sainte-Chapelle for fifteen minutes and walked outside into the courtyard the church rested on. We saw even more heavily armed Police Officers and camera crews getting ready to report. My dad and I spoke with one of the men holding a TV camera. His English was quite good, and as it turned out, Sainte-Chapelle was attached to the “Palais de Justice de Paris,” where the French tribunal meets and votes and where the final day of a 9-month long trial was concluding in just a few minutes. The guilty man on trial was about to hear his sentence for his role in a 2015 terrorist attack.
When we were finished speaking with the Parisian, we took the subway back to the Champs-Élysées because there were several Covid-19 Testing tents. All four of us took the tests and received our negative results via email.
We spent our final night in Paris talking and eating crêpes from a street vendor and macaroons from McDonald’s along the brightly lit Champs-Élysées and Arc de Triomphe.
We returned to our homestay at 12:30 AM, and I sat down to check the four of us in for our flight to Istanbul the next day. My heart sank as I read that we needed Visas to get into Turkey. I tried applying for the Visas for over an hour but kept getting messages that said I could not apply for the Visa on the same day as my departure. I felt very defeated, knowing I had made such a boneheaded mistake, costing our family thousands of dollars and the potential of not getting on our flight back to the U.S. for grandma’s funeral.
We decided to set our alarms and continue with our plan to see if we could check in at the airport rather than online.
