I had to be up at 5:15 am.
And I was. This time, I had no luggage. After a Tube issue (one line wasn't running) I almost missed my train. As it was, I made the 7:31 am chunnel train to Paris, France. Not to be confused with Paris, Arkansas.
The train was a marvel. Once it was underway, it went 266 km/hr (165 mph.) The scenery flew by. My initial seat had no window, but there was an empty window seat a row up, so I moved to it.
Two hours and twenty minutes later, the train pulled into Gare du Nord, a main Paris train station. I had eight hours in France. I REALLY had to use the Ladies room, but the only public toilet in the station charged 0.70 euros for use. It was a job finding an ATM, and it only dispensed 50 euro bills. I went to a small shop, where I bought a coke. He was VERY angry at me for using such a large bill, but it was all I had. He cursed me out in French. I gave him the two finger English salute. Then I waited in line for the Ladies room after paying the fee.
There were some things I wanted to do in Paris. First on that list was to see the Eiffel Tower. On the Metro to the Eiffel Tower, there were 2 women from US. "Look at that man in a dress. Who does he think he foolin'?" I replied "This WOMAN is from America, and understood every word you said." They replied "ummmmm uhhhh" and looked away.
Trivia: the steel for the Eiffel Tower (as well as the Golden Gate Bridge) was made in Phoenixville, PA, where I now live, by Phoenix Steel. In any case, the line for the Tower was three hours long. As I was short of time, I decided not to go. The Tower itself was fenced off due to construction, so I couldn't even get close to it. As I walked around the Tower getting pictures, an Indian woman stopped me asking for donations for orphan children. She identified me as American before I said a word, and spoke perfect, unaccented English. She wanted 50 euros. I gave her one. She glared at me, and said "thank you SIR."
After taking a couple of pictures, I walked to the Chez Ribe, where I sat at an outdoor table and ordered wine. The waitress was a beautiful young woman who spoke very good English. I did my best to order in French, but she soon stopped me, and spoke English to me. So there I was, drinking wine in Paris, writing in my notebook like Hemingway and so many others before me. Oh, and the waitress misgendered me.
After a few minutes, I ordered some lunch- a toasted ham and cheese with fried egg. An older American couple sat at the table next to me. They were from Long Island, NY, but had a home in Paris as well. They told me that the Parisians won't respect an American who isn't as rude to them as they are to us. I said "I'm from Philly. No one is ruder than us!" They laughed, and we talked about which city was ruder- Philly or NYC.
The waitress misgendered me twice more, despite my polite corrections. At that point, I was rather irritated. I said "I guess you don't see many transgender women, given the way you treat me." She smiled and leaned in to say "Not so. I am a lesbian, and I see many trannys at the clubs I frequent." I asked her for directions to the best club, and handed her my writing book. I didn't intend to go, but I felt it would be fun to watch her puzzle over it.
After she gave me the check, I gave her my American Express card. She asked if I wanted to leave a tip (tipping is not a custom in France) and handed me a little handheld credit card device. I leaned in toward her and said "Here's your tip- if you want a transgender woman to leave a gratuity, you shouldn't f**king misgender her three times. Savvy?" She nodded, and I left the cafe.
From there, I took the Metro to the Paris Catacombs. As I've mentioned several times in this blog, I'm a taphophile- a person who loves cemeteries. The Catacombs was one of two things I NEEDED to see in Paris. I exited the Metro and...
The Catacomb workers were on strike. So, I donated five euros to the cause, told one of them "Vive Solidarity"which got me a smile, and went back to the tube to my next Must See.
My next stop was Cimetière du Père Lachaise- one of the world's first cemeteries, and the most visited cemetery in the world (3.5 million people each year.) I wanted to see this Necropolis, but specifically one of it's famous inhabitants. So many famous people are buried here: Oscar Wilde, Bizet, Chopin, Proust, Moliere, Edith Piaf... and Jim Morrison.
I wanted to visit Jim. So I did. His grave has been fenced off due to vandalism over the years.
I took 52 pictures in Pere Lachaise, but I'll only post a few. I don't want to bore you, dear reader, any more than I have.
I spent a few hours in the necropolis, then took the Metro back toward central Paris. I wanted to see the Cathedral. And I did. I also heard the bells. And smelled the Seine. I didn't get near Notre Dame, as there were HUGE crowds.
I decided to find something to eat. As I searched, I passed a bookstore... that had a line to get in. No event or signing, just... very popular. Warms the heart. :)
I passed a cafe and watched people argue. I decided to eat closer to the Gare du Nord, so went in search of a Metro stop on a line that would take me there. (I really wanted to go to McDonalds and order a Royale with Cheese. Seriously!) I searched for half an hour. Eventually, I found it. It was an unmarked elevator. Next to it, I saw written on the wall, in English "Trans is beautiful." After all the misgendering, that felt good.
I went as many stops closer to Gare du Nord as I could, but all lines to the station were under construction. And time was wasting- if I didn't get there fast, I'd miss my train. I hailed a cab, and asked the driver if he spoke English. He did, but not well. I asked him how long would it take to get to Gare Du Nord. Twenty minutes- rush hour. The train was LEAVING in twenty minutes. I told him if he could get me there in ten, I'd give him a 50 euro tip.
VROOM! The man tapped into his inner James Bond. Dude was FLYING! He wove in and out of traffic, went the wrong way down a one way street, drove up on a sidewalk- probably broke most of the Napoleonic code. We arrived at Gare du Nord in 9 minutes 53 seconds. I gave him his 50 euro tip, ran into the station, breezed through customs (no one was in line!) and boarded the train back to London.
I was seated next to very pleasant Brit who reminded me of Don Cheadle if he had dreadlocks. We chatted for a bit, then I fell asleep when we reached the Chunnel. I woke up in England. My fellow traveller was also asleep.
From the train station, I took the Tube (with several lines still out,) and, eventually, arrived back at the hotel. I changed, showered, and went to Goodman's Pub again, as it was the only place still serving food. It was a hard walk, as I was very tired, having walked over ten miles that day, and (TMI time) I had a nasty sweat rash. The streets were loud, as people were still celebrating the wedding, and (apparently) there was a big football match that night as well. I saw a group of CDs waling toward me at one point. I gave them a polite smile, which they returned- a silent acknowledgement of Sisterhood. I packed a little, and went to bed.
The next morning, I awoke, showered, shaved, troweled on my face, dressed and hustled to the Tube to London Paddington train station. On the way to the Tue, I saw many remnants from the night's revelry. There were puddles of vomit, some torn shirts, and a small line of English flag (cross of St. George) pennants on the ground.
From Paddington, a train to Heathrow. My bag was even heavier leaving than it was when I flew over! I had to pay an overweight bag fee. Up, down, around, up, down again, then I was near the gate. I picked up a Lego London Bus for my daughter, and eventually boarded the plane for home.
After we landed, etc, I drove home. On the way, I picked up a cheesesteak. I'd been craving one all week, and getting it meant I was home.
It's been five months since that trip. That's plenty of time to reflect and consider the Meaning of it. Selah. The night before I flew home, I wrote in my notebook about how, if 45 makes it necessary to flee, I could go to the UK- but where? London? Glasgow? Edinburgh? I concluded that while Scotland stirred my soul, London would be the best bet to find a job. I should start contingency planning, I wrote. And I have.
Seeing London on my own (for the most part) was wonderful, and it was made better by Paula with her deep knowledge and pleasant conversation. Stratford Upon Avon was magical- a dream come true- as was meeting Amanda. Scotland! Seeing Scotland as an adult; meeting family I'd never seen; making new friends (Hi Giovanna, Gianluca, and Joel!); seeing my Uncle John- I can't begin to describe how the emotions I felt then have aged and cured inside my head. Edinburgh with Emma- walking paths I'd trod as a child and laughing with such a classy woman- was unforgettable. Lighting candles for Lisa. Westminster Abbey. The only part that was slightly disappointing was Paris. It's a beautiful city, and I'm glad I went, but in the end- I hated it.
I've always maintained that travel is as important as college for growing the mind and expanding horizons. Taking this trip alone gave me plenty of time to think about some basic things: Who is Sophie? Was transition worth the Price? Is this Life worth the Pain?
And so I searched for those answers in foreign lands. I searched among museums holding artifacts I'd only read about. I saw sunsets over mountains and lochs, and graves of the famous and obscure alike. I sought answers with family, and with friends.
Would I have liked company? Yes. I would've loved it if Wife and daughter were with me to share these experiences. Or my roomie/bestie Linda, who's never been overseas- hearing her perspectives on it all.
But with company, I wouldn't have had that Time to think.
Who am I? Is it all worth the price and Pain?
I don't think I'll ever have the first answer, as I'm still writing that story. I'm still learning about the Woman I've become, and her role in this world. I'm still experiencing things with feminine eyes instead of Lies. Maybe, in the end, it's not really my story to write. Not alone anyway. After all, I won't be around after the last page turns, so someone will have to write the epilogue for me.
As for the second question, or the third, I'll keep my answers to myself.
Because in the end, travelling alone means that all I saw; all I experienced; my emotions and thoughts... while I can write about them, and share a small fraction- which I have- are mine alone. No one else saw those things from my eyes. No one else smelled the wind coming off the lochs, or heard the screech of the Metro train stopping as I did, just like I can't experience these things from YOUR eyes. Some answers must always remain private. If only because the answers change over time. As I do.
Maybe that's the lesson I've drawn from that week of travel those months ago- that it's OK to take some time for myself. To Heal. To Discover. To Grow.
Because I only get so many sunsets in my life. Then night falls.
Be well.
And I was. This time, I had no luggage. After a Tube issue (one line wasn't running) I almost missed my train. As it was, I made the 7:31 am chunnel train to Paris, France. Not to be confused with Paris, Arkansas.
The train was a marvel. Once it was underway, it went 266 km/hr (165 mph.) The scenery flew by. My initial seat had no window, but there was an empty window seat a row up, so I moved to it.
Inside the Train
Zoom!
Two hours and twenty minutes later, the train pulled into Gare du Nord, a main Paris train station. I had eight hours in France. I REALLY had to use the Ladies room, but the only public toilet in the station charged 0.70 euros for use. It was a job finding an ATM, and it only dispensed 50 euro bills. I went to a small shop, where I bought a coke. He was VERY angry at me for using such a large bill, but it was all I had. He cursed me out in French. I gave him the two finger English salute. Then I waited in line for the Ladies room after paying the fee.
There were some things I wanted to do in Paris. First on that list was to see the Eiffel Tower. On the Metro to the Eiffel Tower, there were 2 women from US. "Look at that man in a dress. Who does he think he foolin'?" I replied "This WOMAN is from America, and understood every word you said." They replied "ummmmm uhhhh" and looked away.
LONG line for the tower.
Trivia: the steel for the Eiffel Tower (as well as the Golden Gate Bridge) was made in Phoenixville, PA, where I now live, by Phoenix Steel. In any case, the line for the Tower was three hours long. As I was short of time, I decided not to go. The Tower itself was fenced off due to construction, so I couldn't even get close to it. As I walked around the Tower getting pictures, an Indian woman stopped me asking for donations for orphan children. She identified me as American before I said a word, and spoke perfect, unaccented English. She wanted 50 euros. I gave her one. She glared at me, and said "thank you SIR."
This may sound weird, but seeing the French flag made it sink in where I was.
After taking a couple of pictures, I walked to the Chez Ribe, where I sat at an outdoor table and ordered wine. The waitress was a beautiful young woman who spoke very good English. I did my best to order in French, but she soon stopped me, and spoke English to me. So there I was, drinking wine in Paris, writing in my notebook like Hemingway and so many others before me. Oh, and the waitress misgendered me.
Green, path to Tower. Little X where Indian woman was. Yellow, path to Cafe from Tower. Google maps
Tourist at Cafe
After a few minutes, I ordered some lunch- a toasted ham and cheese with fried egg. An older American couple sat at the table next to me. They were from Long Island, NY, but had a home in Paris as well. They told me that the Parisians won't respect an American who isn't as rude to them as they are to us. I said "I'm from Philly. No one is ruder than us!" They laughed, and we talked about which city was ruder- Philly or NYC.
The waitress misgendered me twice more, despite my polite corrections. At that point, I was rather irritated. I said "I guess you don't see many transgender women, given the way you treat me." She smiled and leaned in to say "Not so. I am a lesbian, and I see many trannys at the clubs I frequent." I asked her for directions to the best club, and handed her my writing book. I didn't intend to go, but I felt it would be fun to watch her puzzle over it.
The directions she wrote in my notebook
After she gave me the check, I gave her my American Express card. She asked if I wanted to leave a tip (tipping is not a custom in France) and handed me a little handheld credit card device. I leaned in toward her and said "Here's your tip- if you want a transgender woman to leave a gratuity, you shouldn't f**king misgender her three times. Savvy?" She nodded, and I left the cafe.
From there, I took the Metro to the Paris Catacombs. As I've mentioned several times in this blog, I'm a taphophile- a person who loves cemeteries. The Catacombs was one of two things I NEEDED to see in Paris. I exited the Metro and...
On Strike
The Catacomb workers were on strike. So, I donated five euros to the cause, told one of them "Vive Solidarity"which got me a smile, and went back to the tube to my next Must See.
Google maps
My next stop was Cimetière du Père Lachaise- one of the world's first cemeteries, and the most visited cemetery in the world (3.5 million people each year.) I wanted to see this Necropolis, but specifically one of it's famous inhabitants. So many famous people are buried here: Oscar Wilde, Bizet, Chopin, Proust, Moliere, Edith Piaf... and Jim Morrison.
I wanted to visit Jim. So I did. His grave has been fenced off due to vandalism over the years.
Jim Morrison's Grave, one of Paris' leading tourist attractions
I took 52 pictures in Pere Lachaise, but I'll only post a few. I don't want to bore you, dear reader, any more than I have.
Someone REALLY liked photography
Did I mention it's on a hill? A STEEP hill?
The dead walk...
Monument to those who fought in the French Resistance
A small avenue
Moliere in the air
I spent a few hours in the necropolis, then took the Metro back toward central Paris. I wanted to see the Cathedral. And I did. I also heard the bells. And smelled the Seine. I didn't get near Notre Dame, as there were HUGE crowds.
Notre Dame Cathedral
"I suddenly remembered my Charlemagne"
In-Seine in the Membrane!
I decided to find something to eat. As I searched, I passed a bookstore... that had a line to get in. No event or signing, just... very popular. Warms the heart. :)
Whatever they were discussing, they were passionate about it
I passed a cafe and watched people argue. I decided to eat closer to the Gare du Nord, so went in search of a Metro stop on a line that would take me there. (I really wanted to go to McDonalds and order a Royale with Cheese. Seriously!) I searched for half an hour. Eventually, I found it. It was an unmarked elevator. Next to it, I saw written on the wall, in English "Trans is beautiful." After all the misgendering, that felt good.
Do YOU see a Metro stop? Neither did I. But it's there
Trans is Beautiful
I went as many stops closer to Gare du Nord as I could, but all lines to the station were under construction. And time was wasting- if I didn't get there fast, I'd miss my train. I hailed a cab, and asked the driver if he spoke English. He did, but not well. I asked him how long would it take to get to Gare Du Nord. Twenty minutes- rush hour. The train was LEAVING in twenty minutes. I told him if he could get me there in ten, I'd give him a 50 euro tip.
Google maps. Markings by me
We don't need... roads.
VROOM! The man tapped into his inner James Bond. Dude was FLYING! He wove in and out of traffic, went the wrong way down a one way street, drove up on a sidewalk- probably broke most of the Napoleonic code. We arrived at Gare du Nord in 9 minutes 53 seconds. I gave him his 50 euro tip, ran into the station, breezed through customs (no one was in line!) and boarded the train back to London.
All aboard!
I was seated next to very pleasant Brit who reminded me of Don Cheadle if he had dreadlocks. We chatted for a bit, then I fell asleep when we reached the Chunnel. I woke up in England. My fellow traveller was also asleep.
From the train station, I took the Tube (with several lines still out,) and, eventually, arrived back at the hotel. I changed, showered, and went to Goodman's Pub again, as it was the only place still serving food. It was a hard walk, as I was very tired, having walked over ten miles that day, and (TMI time) I had a nasty sweat rash. The streets were loud, as people were still celebrating the wedding, and (apparently) there was a big football match that night as well. I saw a group of CDs waling toward me at one point. I gave them a polite smile, which they returned- a silent acknowledgement of Sisterhood. I packed a little, and went to bed.
Must've been one heck of a party!
From Paddington, a train to Heathrow. My bag was even heavier leaving than it was when I flew over! I had to pay an overweight bag fee. Up, down, around, up, down again, then I was near the gate. I picked up a Lego London Bus for my daughter, and eventually boarded the plane for home.
Train to Heathrow
Dancing with the Clouds
Best pretzels ever! (hee hee)
After we landed, etc, I drove home. On the way, I picked up a cheesesteak. I'd been craving one all week, and getting it meant I was home.
Pizza Steak from Sal's Pizza Box, Phoenixville.
It's been five months since that trip. That's plenty of time to reflect and consider the Meaning of it. Selah. The night before I flew home, I wrote in my notebook about how, if 45 makes it necessary to flee, I could go to the UK- but where? London? Glasgow? Edinburgh? I concluded that while Scotland stirred my soul, London would be the best bet to find a job. I should start contingency planning, I wrote. And I have.
Seeing London on my own (for the most part) was wonderful, and it was made better by Paula with her deep knowledge and pleasant conversation. Stratford Upon Avon was magical- a dream come true- as was meeting Amanda. Scotland! Seeing Scotland as an adult; meeting family I'd never seen; making new friends (Hi Giovanna, Gianluca, and Joel!); seeing my Uncle John- I can't begin to describe how the emotions I felt then have aged and cured inside my head. Edinburgh with Emma- walking paths I'd trod as a child and laughing with such a classy woman- was unforgettable. Lighting candles for Lisa. Westminster Abbey. The only part that was slightly disappointing was Paris. It's a beautiful city, and I'm glad I went, but in the end- I hated it.
I've always maintained that travel is as important as college for growing the mind and expanding horizons. Taking this trip alone gave me plenty of time to think about some basic things: Who is Sophie? Was transition worth the Price? Is this Life worth the Pain?
And so I searched for those answers in foreign lands. I searched among museums holding artifacts I'd only read about. I saw sunsets over mountains and lochs, and graves of the famous and obscure alike. I sought answers with family, and with friends.
Would I have liked company? Yes. I would've loved it if Wife and daughter were with me to share these experiences. Or my roomie/bestie Linda, who's never been overseas- hearing her perspectives on it all.
But with company, I wouldn't have had that Time to think.
Who am I? Is it all worth the price and Pain?
I don't think I'll ever have the first answer, as I'm still writing that story. I'm still learning about the Woman I've become, and her role in this world. I'm still experiencing things with feminine eyes instead of Lies. Maybe, in the end, it's not really my story to write. Not alone anyway. After all, I won't be around after the last page turns, so someone will have to write the epilogue for me.
As for the second question, or the third, I'll keep my answers to myself.
Because in the end, travelling alone means that all I saw; all I experienced; my emotions and thoughts... while I can write about them, and share a small fraction- which I have- are mine alone. No one else saw those things from my eyes. No one else smelled the wind coming off the lochs, or heard the screech of the Metro train stopping as I did, just like I can't experience these things from YOUR eyes. Some answers must always remain private. If only because the answers change over time. As I do.
Maybe that's the lesson I've drawn from that week of travel those months ago- that it's OK to take some time for myself. To Heal. To Discover. To Grow.
Because I only get so many sunsets in my life. Then night falls.
Be well.
Sunset, Greenock Scotland
