Giddy in Paris!

Giddy! I felt giddy in Paris and it was not caused by the flute of champagne I drank the top of the Eiffel Tower. My giddiness came over me simply because I was in Paris!!

From Geneva to Paris, the train trip takes a short three hours. One of my friends at the office commutes each Monday and Friday between the two cities. Others go there often to visit family. So Paris to them is no big deal. For me - Patty from Pennsylvania, a weekend in Paris is a big deal.

Rick Steves’ book Pocket Paris says the Eiffel Tower is “crowed and expensive.” It is true! And, he says that making the trip “gives you membership in the exclusive society of a quarter billon other humans who have made the Eiffel Tower the most visited monument in the modern world.” I gladly accept membership.

Without an advance reservation for an entry time, I stood in an orderly line that snaked around to the entrance. Occasionally, a street vendor pestered me to buy a little Eiffel Tower model. I resisted and kept them away with a shake of my head. I welcomed the vendor selling cold water. “Thank you very much, Monsieur. Combien?” Price did not matter, I was thirsty and in line.

Time passed quickly in line because I found that the view of this global icon can be appreciated from the ground looking up through the iron lattice work. Of course, this did not match the view of Paris from the top observation platform. I celebrated my assent to the top splurging with a 10€ plastic flute of Champagne.

Athens At Last

Did I run out of money? Or, did I run out of time? I really do not remember. I just know that I postponed my hope in 1977 to travel to Greece. What I had not expected was that it would be postponed until March 2011. It took 34 years, but at long last I finally found myself in Athens, Greece. This time I would have money and time. I put Euros in my Coach purse and extended a work-related trip two extra days to explore the city and the Acropolis.

My first impression of Athens came while riding from the airport in a taxi. The view had an industrial and commercial look. Graffiti spoiled the buildings. Were the messages important? I could not read the words.

On a break from the UNICEF Fundraising Forum, I hired a cab to run me into the city. Again, I saw more graffiti on the buildings. How could someone reach that high? Could the graffiti writer have used a ladder to reach almost to the second floor? Why is graffiti everywhere? The cab driver excused the graffiti with a shrug of his shoulders saying that youth needed a means of expression in these tough times. He dropped me at the McDonalds where he said I could ride a shuttle back to the Crown Plaza if I did not want to hire a cab for my return.

I avoided the department stores and deliberately went to the avenue lined with tourist shops. A stray dog blocked my way into one of the shops. The shopkeeper introduced the dog, “That’s Rocky. He’s lost a few fights. Come inside, the dog will not hurt you.” I observed that there were many Rockys sprawled on the sidewalks throughout Athens.

I bought two hand-painted bowls from Rocky’s friend. In other shops, I filled my canvas sack with drink coasters decorated with photos of the Acropolis, a silver good luck charm for my door, linen placemats with wreaths of olives stitched into the design, two small Greek vases, and traditionally costumed dolls to add to my international collection. I paid very little for all of these treasures.

My shopping trip wound me back to the main avenue where I was surprised to discover an archeological dig. I almost mistook the spot for a bus stop because of the design of the shelter over the artifacts. I peered into the cavity where walls of ancient buildings and urns remained on display. I would have lingered but I sensed trouble. Several police buses parked along the avenue. Young police officers stepped out wearing what looked to me like riot gear. I hired a cab to take me back to the hotel. Later I learned that tourists were advised to avoid that area. A police officer had been killed the day before in the line of duty. In reaction, the police staged a demonstration of force.

My responsibilities kept me at the hotel for four days. Finally, Saturday morning, I was free to tour the Acropolis,The Parthenon, the Erechtheion, and the Temple of Athena Nike. I recognized these ancient buildings with awe. They were real, not just photos in a history book any longer.

The Acropolis was the gem among the graffiti, the stray dogs, and police. No graffiti there, just scaffolding to preserve the architecture. These ruins of the Greek civilization survived thousands of years. What was 34 years to these artifacts? - A mere fragment of time. At last I had arrived in Greece.

Three Meals in London and Overnight in a Delightful Hotel

Whizzing by on the train, I saw the flash of the Tower Bridge in the quick breaking view between graffiti scrawled buildings. Two year ago on a rainy November day, I stood on that distinctly distinguishing London landmark bridge under an umbrella as another tourist returned the favor of snapping a photo, a solo travelers’ courtesy. There would be no idle walk across the bridge or tour of Westminster Abbey this time in London. I would be in the city for only 23 hours, time only for three meals and an overnight at the Zetter Townhouse.

Bewildered…that’s how I felt stepping into the Zetter Townhouse. New felt very old. In the dark parlor like entrance, the happy hour crowd lounged in Grandma’s mohair-type couches and swaddling arm chairs. Fragile looking wooden chairs were staggered about small tables that I wondered if a sweating drink would mark the wood. A taxidermist’s work preserved cat which someone dressed in a blue vintage dress and added a lacy parasol. Kitty held the place of honor on the fireplace mantel next to crystal candelabra.

“How did you find us?” asked a young man as he confirmed my reservation. There was no check in desk, just a narrow table along the wall amid the floor to ceiling bookcases. I handed him my credit card, distracted by the volumes of books. “Excuse me,” I said looking now at the life-size stuffed kangaroos in the dining room beyond the bookcases.

The Zetter Townhouse had only been opened for two months as an addition to the Zetter Hotel just across the cobblestone street. I found it using a Google map function to locate businesses near the UNICEF UK office. The map pinpointed several choices for hotels and restaurants. I individually searched each location for price, customer comments and proximity to my 9 AM business meeting. I discovered that my first choice, a Holiday Inn Express, was being remodeled – memories of fresh carpet glue and plaster dust on the windows nixed that one. A comment about another possible lodging warned guests to rise early to enjoy a hot shower, late risers would have cold water…no thanks! One more had no vacancy. Another one was too expensive! The Zetter Townhouse offered a reasonable price, still high – walking distance to the office, but no comments to persuade me. I hit the button – Make a Reservation.

The young man escorted me to the elevator disguised by striped wallpaper. How delightful! Down the narrow corridor to my room, I paused to glance at the black & white snapshots tucked behind and encircling framed pictures. Someone’s 1960’s trip to Paris? More photos encircled the pictures decorating the walls of my guest room. How delightful! A rotary dial phone set on the antique desk. I found a red hot water bottle in a crocheted sleeve on the shelf of the antique wardrobe. Above it to my relief was a hair dryer. Gold velvet curtains hug at the headboard of the bed framed by colorful painted borders. There was no window behind the curtain, just a wall. Light poured through the dormer style windows which looked over a cobblestoned street. I giggled. This room was delightful!

In contrast to the vintage style room, the bathroom gleamed with a modern glass enclosed shower, chrome towel racks, heated towel racks I must add, thick white towels, and a bulky robe. Only the mirror had an antiqued shadowed look.

My rotary phone rang. It was my travel buddy. “You did good!” she exclaimed. She had trusted me and reserved a room at the Zetter Townhouse too. “Meet me for dinner,” she chimed.

We agreed on a Pub where the crowd on its second floor seemed quieter that the revelers at the first level bar. No one came to take our order, them my memory of my last London trip reminded me. This would be one of those pubs where you order at the counter, pay and then the food is brought to you. My fish and chips came with Heinz ketchup, my Pittsburgh home brand. The beer tasted refreshing and I would have had a second if a table staff had offered. I didn’t feel like elbowing into the counter crowd to order any more. The name of the Pub? Who knows! I paid with my British pounds and lost the receipt. Note: I would have parted with more of my British pounds had table service been available.

Breakfast at the Zetter offered several choices…room service, continental in the Townhouse parlor, or full English breakfast at the Zetter Hotel across the cobblestone street. Scrambled egg, bacon, and coffee tasted great. I could not eat the sausages. I nibbled on the tan colored one, but I passed on the black one after hearing the declaration it was probably traditional blood sausage. No thanks, that was not suiting my US breed tastes.

For lunch, I found a small restaurant with options for take-out or table service. I took a table near the kitchen where I could smell the daily special…pork, cabbage, and potatoes. The endorsement of the waitress’ smile assured me I made a good choice. I washed the plateful of food down with a cold cola. Satisfied with the service and the meal, I left knowing I had again “did good” with this choice of another nameless place where I paid cash.

Three meals and a good sleep later, I was back to the train platform. “Is this where I catch the train to Gatwick Airport,” I asked a man who shirt identified him as an employee of the rail system.

“Stand right here, Love,” he said pointing to a white rectangle painted on the platform. I stepped in the center playing along. When the train rolled into the station, he escorted me as if he were a coachman helping the Queen. Delightful! I was again on the train catching a glimpse of the London Tower Bridge. Simply delightful!

The Zetter Hotel & Townhouse, 86 – 88 Clerkenwell Road, London, EC1M 5RJ, UK

www.thezetter.com