Versaille, France
I took the Metro to the train station. Here let me briefly describe the Paris Metro system. There are two networks, the numbers and the letters. The alphabet lines are more expensive, and run inter-city. The numeric lines are cheaper, and run intra-city. For some reason, the train station, like the airport, is not “in” city proper, so it took me one of each ticket to get there. (At least it was still in France, seeing how the Cincinnati, OH airport is actually in Kentucky.)
Each Metro stop is not only clearly marked, but also cleverly themed. The stop for the Louvre actually has art in glass cases in the Metro stop. (That would be stolen or spraypainted in about 5 seconds flat in the U.S.)
So, I get to the train station, wander around a bit, and come across the reservations room, where I go to buy my upcoming tickets. I wait in line for the International counter, and when I get there, what do you know–she doesn’t speak a word of English, so I had to explain everything in my pitiful French. She was very patient with me and everything worked out fine until I mentioned Budapest. “Where’s that?” she asks. “Um, Hungary?” I answer cleverly. (I had no idea how to say Hungary in French.) Nope, never heard of it, she says again, and hunts it up in her book. There it is–Budapest, “Hongrie”. “There it is!” I point, excitedly. She shrugs. “I don’t know where Hongrie is. You’ll have to buy that ticket somewhere else.”
Now. First of all, she’s a freaking travel agent for international sales. Secondly, it’s only two countries away, on the same continent. It’s not like I said Mozambique or anything. And lastly, who cares if you can find the place on the map! If it’s in the book, why can’t I get a freaking ticket?!?!
(Unfortunately, my remedial French prevented me from saying a single word of this snappy diatribe, so I smiled, said thanks anyway, and left.)
I hopped on the Metro for Line Yellow C (alphabet=out of city, remember?) and headed for Versaille. It was pretty easy to get there, but the doors to the train opened way before the train actually stopped. I cowered back in horror as people jumped out the doorway anyway, having to hit the ground in a stumble/run so as not to fall face-first to the ground. I was the last person off the train since I (very uncool-ly) waited for it to stop before disembarking. (Years of themeparking has brainwashed me. I cannot exit until the train has come to a full and complete stop.)
Versaille was beautiful, but very expensive. Each room in the palace cost 8-12 Euros to enter, and although there was a day pass I could have purchased, I didn’t, and contented myself with wandering around the outside. The gardens were pay-to-enter, too, although you can walk along the perimeter without a ticket.
The bathrooms, though, were the last straw because they were *also* pay-per-use!
When I left the palace grounds, McDonald’s was a welcome sight for the first time since outgrowing happy meals. No matter where I am in the world, the golden arches only mean one thing to me–public restrooms.
Also, this was the first time I tried to use my cell phone outside of Spain… And calls didn’t go through. I tried Florida, I tried Brussels… nothing.
At this point, it’s safe to say I was less than pleased. The store swore to me it would work in any European country. And sure, it does… if by “work” you mean that the power button turns the screen on.
To save you the suspense, I was only able to use the phone in one other country–Belgium. And that was only for in-country calls to Brussels from Brussels. No, I don’t get it either.