Misadventures in France, Part Deux

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The chateau at Chantilly. (All photos by Amanda Duckworth)
It is amazing the difference a day can make. On Thursday morning, our work obligations got canceled at the last minute so we set out to explore a now fog-free Chantilly.
Mother Nature has a way of keeping you humble. It is disconcerting to stand in one spot one day and then come back the next and have a totally different experience. On Wednesday we saw nothing, on Thursday the glorious chateau demanded stares and compliments with just as much insistence as a Hollywood starlet.
CHANTILLY - THE RACECOURSE

At noon, it was time to catch the train to Paris. Courtesy of other trips to the region, I feel fairly confident using France’s transit system even with my woeful mastery (or lack thereof) of its language.
However, the ability to read timetables means nothing when the station is under heavy construction and there is no way to tell what platform you need.
PARIS BOUND

Running from platform to platform is not really an option when you have luggage. It really is not an option when one of you is a professional photographer complete with all the trappings of said profession.
Happily, it very much is a small world after all. Mathea Kelley, said photographer, watched our bags while I dashed from place to place trying to find information. Then, out of the blue, a girl flagged me down by saying, “You aren’t from Kentucky are you? Are you here for the big races?”
ARC SIGNS ABOUND

The specific-ness of the question, combined with her American accent, stopped me in my tracks. I was incredibly confused until she pointed to a tiny stitching that read Keeneland on my jacket.
It turns out she is from Louisville and is teaching English in Chantilly. Although not involved in the industry, she loves going to the races and was equally stunned to see me as I was to hear her question.
Even better, she knew that the trains to Paris always leave from Platform A. We safely arrived in Paris, and I got to teach Mathea a valuable lesson about a city she was experiencing for the first time: there are a lot of bad cabs. Seriously, always make sure you get an official Parisian taxi.
On the way to the proper taxi stand, we were flagged down by an “unofficial” taxi driver. He quoted 55 euros to our destination. She had no way of knowing that at most it was a 10-euro cab ride.
Thankfully, I usually stay in the same area of Paris and know better, so I quite enjoyed laughing in the man’s face. I may look like a 12-year-old tourist, but I am smarter than I look. Sometimes.
From past experiences, I have fallen in love with staying in an apartment instead of a hotel. Mathea game-fully agreed to trust me on this and moreover to trust airbnb.
Happily, our apartment is lovely. It is situated near Notre Dame, making even a walk to the grocery pleasant.
HOME SWEET HOME

NOTRE DAME

Upon learning we were both coming over for the Arc, we agreed we didn't want to overbook ourselves. We decided we would each pick one thing we wanted to do that screamed, “I am not from here,” and try to enjoy Paris simply for itself the rest of the time.
Touristy things are great, but if that is all you do, you miss out on the heart and soul of a city. So for instance, instead of touring Notre Dame, we found a nearby cafe and people watched.
CREPES ARE A MUST

Paris is great for many things — wine, cheese, art, architecture — but it is unparalleled when it comes to people watching. Fashion dos and fashion don’ts abound, and every type of clothing imaginable on both men and women can be spotted with little effort.
We sipped wine and watched a bike tour of Paris zoom by.
TOUR GROUP AT NOTRE DAME

Languages of every variety are heard and the blend of tourist and local keep the city pulsing with an undeniable heartbeat.
CITY SCENE

Of course, you have to be a little touristy, so we went to the top of the Eiffel Tower that night. Gazing out on Paris, there is no question it earns its nickname of “The City of Light”.
HORSE STATUE! OH, AND THE EIFFEL TOWER

VIEW FROM TOP OF EIFFEL TOWER

On Friday, we got up and headed to one of the most historic parts of Paris: the catacombs. The Catacombes de Paris are underground ossuaries. Located south of the former city gate, the ossuaries hold the remains of about 6-million people.
There is nothing quite like going underground and being surrounded by the dead to make you think about your own life.
THE CATACOMBS

Or in the words of the German man behind us, who hadn’t spoken a lick of English in the hour we waited in line together, but couldn’t contain himself upon seeing the bones: “This is freaky as sh…” Well, you get the idea.
THE CATACOMBS

The great thing about the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe, besides the quality of the field and the international nature of the event, is the very fact it takes place in Paris. You go for a horse race but get to experience one of the greatest cities in the world. Plus, it is fun to see posters for the race on café doors and on the sides of buses as they chug on by.
Every time I go to France, I get asked the same thing: “aren’t they really rude?”
The short answer is no. The longer answer is this: They are just different. No one is going to go out of their way to help you here, but a smile and an attempt at their language will win over most people should you need local help.
Respect the space you are in, and it will respect you.