On Saturday, May 13 Susan and I strolled over to the Santa Maria Novella train station in Florence, got our ticket for Pisa airport out of one of the self-service machines – we have yet to stand in line for a ticket agent – and boarded our train for Pisa Centrale. After changing trains in Pisa’s main train station we rode the 1 or 2 kms, all of about 3 minutes, to the airport where we arrived with plenty of time to spare so we grabbed a bit of lunch. (photo: the whatchamacalit tower from Montmartre.)
Like other discount airlines, Easyjet opened its check-in counters two hours before flight time and we were there ready and waiting. Since there are no assigned seats the earlier you check in the better you chances are of sitting together. In Ryanair for example, they put everyone in one of two groups which makes for somewhat chaotic and confusing boarding whereas Easyjet places passengers in one of five groups, PB and A-D, and the boarding tends to be a bit more orderly, although it amazes me still how many people act like deer caught in the headlights as they wander around in a daze trying to understand just what is going on. Anyway, we were in group A.
After checking in we headed to security and – hold onto your unassigned seat – there was absolutely not one person in any of the lines! Man was this a first or what, and frankly seemed a good omen about the trip to come. (Indeed it was.) We waltzed through security like a breeze.
Before long it came time to board our flight so we headed out to the tarmac – no jetways in Pisa. But now here’s another nice thing, being able to board either at the front or the rear of the plane. Maybe it’s old fashion but it certainly does expedite things. Again, reduces the tension and general chaos of getting on and off an airplane.
Two more good signs for our trip to Paris: a flawless takeover and, get this, a landing without a bump, without a lurch, nothing, one minute you were up and then, quietly, almost without realizing it, you were, well, down. And even more importantly we were down in Paris. OK so it was Orly airport and not actually Paris but it was pretty close.
Anyway, we landed at Orly airport about 15 kms south of the city. (Being a discount airline Easyjet tends to fly in and out of second tier airports.) it was the first time we had been through this airport and it was pretty impressive. Of course this is also where Charles Lindbergh landed in his tiny Spirit of St. Louis so I felt we were already experiencing a bit of history without even leaving the airport. This must surely be another good sign of things to come. (I mean the Etruscans were known throughout the Mediterranean world for their ability to “read signs”, to read entrails, that sort of thing. And we had just left one of the city-states of ancient Etruria, no not Florence or Pisa, but Fiesole, which is outside of Florence and sort of counts. Anyway, I stop short of anything remotely connected with entrails.)
After we retrieved our bag we headed for the Orlybus to get us into the city.
The Orlywhat?
There are several ways to get from Orly airport into Paris proper. One is to take a taxi (€35 and up), or you can take the Orylval which is part of the rail link to the metro, or you can do what we did and take the Orlybus, which is a direct non-stop bus from the airport to the Metro stop at Place Denfert Rochereau. So we bought our tickets for the bus and after an easy drive of about 25 minutes were at Denfert Rochereau (the entrance to the Paris catacombs is nearby). We grabbed our bag and headed inside the metro station where purchased our metro tickets from one of the self-service machines and took the no. 6 line (light green) for the Pasteur stop where we switched to the no. 12 (dark green line) to the Vaugirard stop. (By the way, the Pasteur stop on the Metro is named for Louis Pasteur of course but also because it is the stop closed to the Pasteur Research Institute.)
Before we go any further I want to say a word about the Paris transportation system. It is outstanding, clean, cool, easy to use, inexpensive (we used it probably 15 times for a total cost of maybe €30) and pretty much goes everywhere. The metro tickets cover not just belowground transportation but buses as well. They have handy maps which you can carry with you, even a mini map size which easily fits just about anywhere, and of course maps are posted clearly at every bus stop and outside and inside of every metro station. And purchasing tickets couldn’t be easier: use the ubiquitous self-service machines (rather like playing a video game) or buy at the ticket agent. In any case, you can save even more money by buying a book of ten tickets and of course there are various multi-day cards you can purchase as well which will give you unlimited transportation in the central zones of Paris as well ad discounts on some admissions fees to museums, etc. Check your favorite guidebook for details.
And while I’m talking about how user-friendly Paris is, they have plenty of free public toilets (“toilettes”) scattered throughout the city. They are very easy to use, although they may not live up to your expectations of the perfectly clean bathroom; they nevertheless serve a vital purpose. In any case, don’t look a gift commode in the bowl.
Now back to our story.
So using the Metro, even for clueless folks like us, was pretty easy – the only hassle was schlepping the bag up and down the numerous steps, escalators and lifts being rare indeed. So we got off at the rue Vaugirard metro stop – we weren’t sure exactly where on rue Vaugirard our hotel was located but we knew it wasn’t too far from Le Cordon Bleu, which was located between the Vaugirard and Convention stops. So we climbed up and out of metro on Vaugirard and by checking street numbers saw that we had gone a bit far so we headed up the street and in a few minutes were at the Hotel Yllen Eiffel(after passing it once I might add).
We checked in and dropped our bags off in the small, oddly furnished room – but what a great bathroom, which was nearly the same size as the sleeping area. (The furniture looked rather like the stuff you might see sitting alongside a residential street somewhere with a sign that says “Free”, you know the type, usable but really used. The desk was rather like a child’s furniture kit that had been put together using different types of wood which had been laying around and didn’t quite match but yet somehow worked together in a strange way.)
After we left the room we inquired at the desk about nearby restaurants (a nagging fear was that we wouldn’t be able to find any decent food in Paris) and since we had indicated an interest in something exotic (which would be just about anything) the clerk suggested we walk a few doors up the street was a Lebanese restaurant, Al Wady. So that’s what we did.
Although it was nearing 9 pm we were the only ones in the restaurant. (Parisians we were informed that evening eat fashionably late.) A lovely young woman asked us if we preferred smoking or non-smoking – and naturally we opted for the latter in hopes it might really make a difference, this being Paris, home of the Perennial Smoker’s Cough. (Curiously, many people still smoke here – although our dining experiences were rarely interrupted by smoke – in fact a number of places were indeed smoke free as we would soon find out.)
We commenced to have an outstanding meal: our hostess, who also did all the serving, making the drinks, the coffee, etc., suggested we try the menu of the day which was a collection of tasty Lebanese dishes, many of which involved pureed chickpeas or yogurt, and all of which were delicious. She also suggested a lively Lebanese red wine to accompany our collection of little dishes (sort of like Spanish tapas).
By the time we finished the place had filled a bit, although most of the other diners were at the rear of the restaurant, around the corner from our booth, where presumably was the smoking area. Anyway, a couple had been sitting next to us for much of the meal. And at the end of their meal the woman leaned over and asked in heavily accented but very sweet English if we would mind if she smoked one cigarette. We said no of course we wouldn’t mind. Now I don’t know about you but I can’t remember the last time anyone, anywhere asked if they could smoke. It was so, oh what’s the word, courteous. That’s it. Courteous and respectful. This could only be yet another good sign.
A perfect ending to a perfect day we thought. It was definitely time for bed.
Wish you were here (or there),
Steve
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