Paris & The Expectations of an Eight Year Old

…And we’re off and in Paris! Hell to the yeah in so many ways! The past forty-eight hours have been simultaneously the best and the worst days of my life. A famous story goes in the Dorahy household that I was asked for my eighth birthday where I would like to go for my birthday. Ask an eight year old a stupid question, expect an awesome answer. Paris. After much negotiation, we went to Sydney instead. Big whoop (to my parents’ credit, I did quite enjoy this birthday, but let’s face it, Paris would have been better). As such, most of my family have expected Paris to be the part of the trip in which I exploded from Mondieuiminparisitis. Serious disease. Look it up. Now many of you may have already seen this photo of me, taken at Sydney Airport. Please note the not only the happiness, but also the refreshed and clean look I’m sporting.

Oh what twenty-four hours on flying and shoddy accommodation in Paris makes.  In order to save space for Photos! Jenna if I hear one more word out of you about my lack of photos I will change banks faster than you can say record seven billion dollar profit I shall condense my travels over the past forty-eight hours to short sentences, starting from Flight 1 to Singapore:

Get on plane. Not much to report except I got kicked in the head by a baby. Land in Singapore at Late O’Clock. Plane to Paris leaves at Later O’Clock. Decide to text parents that I am alive. Discover phone is not working in terms of international roaming. Laptop throwing fit in airport. Pop a couple of migraine tablets.  Board next flight to Paris. Can’t sleep as every time I pass out, my head drops, invoking alertness. Have inflight breakfast. Get strawberry yoghurt in eye. Really looking forward to a shower and bed now. Land in Paris. Clear customs. Picked up by transfer and dropped at accommodation at 9 am. Am told I’m not in a hotel but instead a serviced apartment. Cannot get into reception as door needs code and reception does not open till 9. Drag all 30 kgs of luggage to café next door. Try to order coffee. Forget past five years of French and stare blankly at barista. Finally get coffee. Try reception again at 9:30. Door still locked. Drag luggage back to café. Ask to use their telephone in French. Responded to in English with look of ‘Please stop  butchering our language.’ Informed there is a pay phone up the road. Take luggage up the road. Telephone does not accept cash or any of my credit cards. Realise I am in Paris without anywhere to stay and no way of contacting anyone thus writing a suicide note after I throw myself in the Seine would be pointless as no one could read it. Try reception AGAIN. Finally let in by receptionist; a man in a New York Yankees Tee and silver chain. Informed my room will not be ready till 2. Leave all luggage, including personal documents and passport with man and walk into Paris, armed only with a receptionless iPhone and wallet. Meander around lanes. Find Notre Dame. Take a billion photos. Meander around. Find the Palais de Justice and Sainte-Chapelle. Take a billion photos. Meander. Have breakfast at small café near Notre Dame. Waiter gives look of ‘Please stop butchering our language.’ Spill half of hot chocolate into plate. Meander. Realise it’s really hot and I need to find somewhere to sit and rest. Meander. Meander. Meander. Find park! Park has playground. Remember connotation of childless men sitting in playgrounds. Meander. Meander. Find another park! Park connected to pretty building and gardens. Lie in gardens. Contemplate life for an hour. Finally realise I’m actually lying in the grounds of the National Museum of the Middle Ages. Actually enter museum. Take a billion photos. Realise that I’m extremely light headed from lack of sleep. Try to get back in. Still don’t have code to door. Reception is unmanned again. Get attention of Spanish cleaner. Cleaner informs me I’m not his responsibility. Go back to museum gardens. Try not to pass out. Head back to reception at 2. Reception is manned! Informed by receptionist that it is THIRTY-TWO DEGREES CELCIUS OUTSIDE. Get into room. Have shower. Pass out on bed at 3 pm. Don’t get up till next day. So while I may not have exactly had a day of croissants, star-crossed lovers under the Eiffel Tower and haute couture, I still enjoyed my day. Now for photos!

 The last photo I took in Sydney before I left.

 And here's my first photo in Paris! See, those crazy French have planes and cars too!

 One of the alleyways near my 'hotel'.

Another church just near where I'm staying.

 The Fountain of Saint Michael

 The Seine.

 Notre Dame.

You will find this commonly throughout my photos; I just love the architecture here.

 And the following photos are all from Notre Dame.

The Palais de Justice

Sainte-Chapelle

The 'Park' I found that was actually the National Museum of the Middle Ages 

I took these photos while lying in the garden. I found it so perplexing that something so small from the ground could have brought me here.

 There are china cabinets, and there are china cabinets.

Who doesn't love a Medieval Unicorn Tapestry?

Some people in the Middle Ages seriously had too much money.

Swords, chain mail and shields, oh my!

Look! It's me in a photo! One of the few in Paris you'll actually see!

It's me again!

My 'hotel'. It's the one with the blue awning.

Are we happy Jenna?