Finally, now we could buy our blasted souvenirs and be done with it. It was growing late in the afternoon, and we wanted plenty of time to rest in our room before our planned romantic dinner at the Eiffel Tower. We crossed the Seine, heading towards Notre dame, pausing to observe the incongruous sight of a sweat drenched Scot in full kilted regalia blowing valiantly away at his bagpipes. We recalled seeing plenty of gift shops earlier that week in this neighborhood and felt confident we could be in and out in a breeze and get back to our room. In and out of tacky shop after shop we trudged, finding nothing appealing. Perhaps if we hadn't been so hot, sweaty and irritated from our Metro misadventure, we wouldn't have been so hard to please. As it was though, I grew more cross by the minute, staring at displays of gaudy T shirts and scarves, ugly caps, key chains, lighters, shot glasses and other vastly overpriced accoutrements all of course oddly emblazoned with "Souvenier du! Paris".
This day would be ruined, I reflected, if we kept this up much longer. My husband's lips were pressed tightly together; a sure sign of annoyance, and I found myself having unkind thoughts about the French, other tourists, and even my unknowing family back home, innocently awaiting their charming, unique and considerately selected gifts. I'd had enough. We agreed to forgo the shopping for now; after all there were still 2 countries on our itinerary, and head back to our room across the city.
This, we were soon to discover, was more easily said than done. Yet again we entered the Metro and sank wearily onto an iron bench to await the next car. When it pulled screeching into the station, I gave it a look of utter dismay. Just the thought of attempting to squeeze my body into the impossibly over-crowded car made my chest hurt. I could not breather at the mere idea. I dropped my head into my hands as tears forced their way past my clenched eyelids. "I can't do it. I can't get on that train," I uttered miserably to my husband. A sudden claustrophobia squeezed my lungs so that I was gasping for breath, lightheaded. Justly frustrated by my reluctance - no, my refusal to take the quickest and easiest mode of transport back to our hotel, my husband nonetheless patted my back encouragingly and waited for my panicked tears to subside. "It's OK," he said soothingly as though to a two year old. "We'll figure something else out." I nodded and rose from the bench, wiping my ru! nning nose on my arm, feeling quite like a two year old at this point.
A bus seemed to be the next best way to go. Yes, it may be crowded, but it would at least be above ground and open air. Our first day in Paris we had attempted unsuccessfully to navigate the bus system to do some sightseeing, but surely by now, we reasoned, after five days in this city we could figure it out. Besides, our one week Metro Pass was valid on busses, so it wouldn't cost us any of our carefully budgeted francs.
Our second bus attempt proved to be as futile as our first - worse, actually. We not only boarded the wrong bus, but it was several blocks before we realized we were going in the wrong direction. At the next stop we hastily left the bus, consulted our map, and began walking. Lugging our daypacks, camera, extra film, camcorder and my haul from Tati on painfully aching feet, we soon realized that the 4 or so miles was much too far to walk. We'd been on our feet since breakfast, on legs already sore and feet already blistered from the preceding two weeks of hard travel. After a brief discussion of finances, we agreed to go ahead and take a cab. We shambled a few more blocks waiting for one to appear. When it did, Brian's lackadaisical attempt at signaling it evidently wasn't enough to catch the driver's attention, for he continued down the street. After several more such attempts and upon spying a taxi stand, it occurred to us that perhaps they could only stop at designated locations. Satisfied that this was the case, we waited at the stand as cab after cab drove by, by now, we were convinced, resolutely ignoring us. We remained there for some time before I stomped off in total frustration, much to the detriment of my throbbing ankles.
