Photo flashback

Another backpacking story. . .

For a backpacker, Paris can be a blast if you’re not afraid to rough it. By virtue of the fact you’re backpacking, you probably don’t have a lot of cash, at least I didn’t. On my second go round Europe, I finally made it to Paris, where I decided I was able to afford a hotel room – albeit, a really, really cheap one.
I had arrived from Vienna in the morning via train and figured seeing how I was in Paris I’d splurge and find a cheap hotel rather then some hostel where I’d have to share a room with a whack of other people. Sides, I had been staggering around Europe for three weeks up that point, staying in crappy hostels from Soho to Heidelberg. A private room and shower was exactly what I needed.
Of course, I don’t speak French and what little I could think up from my grade school years served only to get dirty looks. Fortunately I came across a woman working the front desk of this little hotel who could speak better English than I could French. She had a baby cradled in one arm, a large old-fashioned telephone in the other and a lit cigarette burning in an ashtray within in reach.
After putting the phone down, I asked whether there was room at the inn. “Non,” was all she said, before flipping open a telephone book. She started calling around without actually discussing things first. After a few short conversations, she put the phone down, picked up a tourist map, pointed to some street whose name escaped me then as it did two minutes after I left her lobby. Luckily she circled it.
This woman had a practiced eye; she could tell I wasn’t “well to do,” essentially in no position to pick and choose. A place was what I needed, and a place I would get – cheap, easy to find and ready to occupy. I should point out, I hadn’t had a shower for a few days including that very long train trip I had just completed – which could be the reason why she moved the ashtray and cigarette so it sat directly between us. Looking as rough as I did, must have been why she figured I wasn’t looking for a five-star. Plus, I was in her less than stellar establishment.
On the way – I had to only ask twice where my destination lay (actually, despite not wanting to admit it, I can get lost in an empty parking lot). Finally, I found the place. It wasn’t far and it was as I had expected it to be – a dump. Either way, the water in the rusted out shower worked – I figured I’d be due for a tetanus shot after I got home. The bed was relatively soft – though I didn’t bother rolling down the sheets. I’m funny that way. The important thing was it was cheap, centrally located (or so I thought) and I wasn’t sharing it with a bunch of drunks looking to score or start a fight. That would eventually happen when I continued on with my trip and landed in Amsterdam.
Of course, it wasn’t as quiet as I had hoped it would be; after midnight it was a place that saw a lot of hooker action. Being a little innocent, I thought, “It’s pretty noisy for a Tuesday night.” Fortunately there were plenty of bars around and I was hammered the few nights I stayed there, something that helped me sleep through the, ah, shall I say, noises of bought sex. Holy crap, the walls were thin. I’ll describe the sounds sometime – though I’m sure you can imagine them. Just think of a barn yard. . .
Now to the picture – the same day I arrived, I did what I wanted to – I went up the Eiffel Tower. I only got lost trying to find it half a dozen times. That was okay, cause while taking the public transit – subway included, I got a chance to see a number of things I probably wouldn’t have had I taken a cab (something I couldn’t afford anyway).
After wondering around there for hours, taking pictures like the one shown here, I went and had a few beers and filled out some postcards. It was a great autumn day, the sun was spectacular, and the temperature was perfect for walking.
When I arrived this past Fall back in New Brunswick after having been away for many years, my mother showed the postcard of the “Arc de Triomphe" that I had sent her that day. It was a good memory. Picture taken in October of 1992.