This is my review of the trip to Paris. As always, we’re going to have some commentary / description of events that took place, as well as pictures that I took there.
Because this is obviously an alternative travel guide to Paris, I will not talk about the Eiffel Tower and the Seine and the Mona Lisa, but I will talk about the following topics:
- An analysis of the bodies / fitness levels of the statues in the Louvre Museum and how they compare to modern gym obsessed queens i.e. me
- Posters in the French Metro. What do they tell us about French culture and celebrity?
- Working out in a Parisian gym. What’s hot, what’s not
So anyway, this is Tuesday.
The trip doesn’t start well because the first thing I write is this:
Tuesday 1112am. I’m on the Eurostar to Paris. There are no fucking bins on this train. The toilets are locked. There is a guy sat next to me reading The Sun. The Sun. I gave myself a haircut last night and it’s too short and I don’t like it. There is a Greek couple sitting behind us and the woman is wearing a black bodysuit. I hate this holiday.
Not too long after that we get to Paris and decide to get on the tube to go to our hotel. The tube in Paris is called the Metro, but now that I’m a Brit abroad, I will call it what I like and also I will talk to everyone in English and not even attempt to say “Merci” or “Bonjour” to people and if they don’t understand English I will shout a bit louder and hope that this will do the trick. Also I will comment about people on the tube loudly, because in this context I make the assumption that English is a completely offbeat language that nobody understands so I can say what I want.
So yes, the tube in Paris is much better than London, because a) it never seems to go underground and you always have signal on your mobile, b) the stops are about 10 seconds away from one another, c) a single ticket within zone 1 costs about 40p instead of £4.
My favourite thing about the Paris tube though is this poster.
This is an advert for a French film called Big City, which is out at cinemas on the 12th of December, if you’re interested. Now, I don’t know much about this, but here’s what I can gather.
This is a French children’s film. It’s a modern take on a western, it’s a wonderful story set in a small town in the far west featuring cowboys, Indians, guns and ho’s, horses and a brave sheriff, possibly the hunt for gold. It may be a children’s film starring 11-year-olds, but it still features universal, timeless characters, such as the token Fat Jolly Guy, the Pretty Uptight Girl and the Brave Loner Straight Guy.
I don’t know why I love this poster and the three kids appearing on it so much, but I do.
Fat Jollly Guy on the left: He’s well made up for getting this part and he’s happy to play along to the overweight jolly cliché – for the time being. But like all fat people, he’s bitter and alone and will find a tragic death on his 34th birthday, a virgin and still known as “the fat kid from Big City”, now weighing 24 and a half stone, having mixed up a lethal cocktail of cocaine, ketamine and slimming pills into his bedtime double cheeseburger.
Pretty Uptight Girl: Talentless an unemployed, she carves a short-term career for herself out of appearing in European tabloids attending local film premieres and showbiz parties wearing Marc Jacobs prêt-a-porter summer dresses that her publicist blags for her, like a French Mischa Barton. She disappears from the public eye by the time she’s 18 and spends the next few years living alone in a tiny central Paris flat, obsessing over press cuttings her Mother saved before she passed away (lung cancer – they all chain smoke). The letter she finally sends to Fat Jolly Guy willing to give him a chance (still a compromise for her, but all she has left) arrives the morning after he has taken his own life. She hears the news a week later, shrugs it off and mixes a Bloody.
Brave Loner Straight Guy: Remains popular in two more children’s films, until he hits 15. At that point, his ugly ginger-lesbian looks really kick in and he faces the harsh reality that nobody’s going to cast a more feminine version of Miranda from Sex And The City with pointy ears as their leading man. He becomes alcoholic and dies at 59, with a circulation of 73% cider / 23% blood.
So yeah, anyway, we get to the hotel which is pretty crap and the TV only shows dubbed versions of everything in French (seriously – can you imagine watching the Simpsons without Homer’s original voice?) plus CNN, so we get changed and go out.
We head to Champs Elysees (which is a big street with lots of shops but no WH Smiths or Boots, so who gives a shit) and pay a fiver to get up on the Arc de Triomphe (imagine the Marble Arch on steroids), where I have the opportunity to take the following pictures:
Me and the French Marble Arch
Me trapped at the top of the French Marble Arch
Me giving the French Marble Arch a look that shows it what I think of it
Me exploring hidden avenues of the French Marble Arch
And this was day one. More tomorrow, including: “Greek statues and body issues in ancient Greece: an anthropological review by London Preppy” and “self-medicating at the top of the Eiffel Tower”.
Oh yeah, here’s something else to look forward to. The most condescending, patronizing, ridiculous comment I’ve received on this blog so far and what I think about it.