Paris. Apparently the one pic with my brothers is not sufficing for my voracious readers. I went to Paris for a quick jaunt (I like to call it a jaunt as it sounds more European) and found it to be a city that grew on me. I remember being in a pissy mood the first night due to the rude Parisians, jet-lag, shitty room, rain and the fact that I hadn't had a croissant yet. By the end, I wanted to stay longer.
The room. You may recall a few posts ago I joked about the kind of room I was expecting. Turns out, it wasn't a joke. This hotel kept boasting 4 stars and a great location. Yes, to the location, but these stars must mean something else in Paris. Number of celebrity stars who would never deign to stay there even if their rooms were comped? Number of stars you will be able to see from your window view - approximate number based on 2'x2' sky portion actually visible? Number of stars you will see when you hit your head on the stupid low shower rod?
What was simply depressing for one person became downright miserable when my two brothers crashed, complete with backpacks bigger than me. One pillow was definitely made from plastic bags, paint was peeling off the walls, there was no hair dryer, iron or any comforts of home. The room was taller than it was wide. I'm sure this is just what Europe is like, but harumph!
- the huge windows that opened up with no screen - it felt like birds would come and greet me in the morning. You know, if they were able to get past the air shaft.
- shower pressure - it was intense. WAY better than at my house - it sorta felt like this:
- the grand red staircase to my second floor hovel - made me feel like Scarlett O'Hara or you know, Rouge O'Ihavenowaytodrymyhair-a.