Musings on the Metro, Richard Lenoir, and the Hostel we called "Home"

Here we are
At the Metro with Richard Lenoir:
No matter where in Paree we roam
Richard and the Metro got us home.

Richard Lenoir was the name of the station that was, to quote Rich Stevens, "50 meters ahead and turn left at the light" from the front door of our humble abode: a hostel we called home. The Metro is like any other subway: underground, dirty, noisy, smelly, and absolutely a God-send for getting around in the city. (photo by Anna Thoreson) (personal portfolio) ( photo by Anna Thoreson)
The Metro is unlike any other subway: mosaics and reproductions of the masters on the walls sandwiched between grafitti and lewd billboards that would pass for porn in the States, and live music of every kind of genre from calypso to classical - even music from Schindler's list...but that is another blog entry. During rush hour it is a sardine can on roller skates. A week's pass
(16 Euros - under $20) assures seven days of mobility in the city with endless entertainment opportunities like free stare down contests with the commuters, and front row stadium seating at student demonstrations. (That too is another blog entry yet to come.) The Metro courses through the underground of Paris and skirts with the RER to service the outlining suburbs. It keeps Paris light on its feet...and boy, were we on our feet for blocks, and blocks, miles! (photo courtesy of Charlotte Chan)
The Metro is stage to the would be performer, podium to the impassioned demonstrator, and home to the unfortuneate. (\

Home for almost a week was a youth hostel known as Saint Sebastian. Now most people of my age would flinch at the thought of attempting a nights sleep after a long day of touristing in a hotel accomodation bouyed by the rantings and brawling of men and women in the prime of their youth. And I would sympathize with them, heartily. However, it was invigerating to hear the patter of Nikes stomping on the stairs, the chirpy yips and giggles of high girlish voices playing pranks on their macho counterparts...at 11 PM. midnight, 1:00 AM, till dawn. For several days and nights the youth hostel was flooded with youth who would, unbeknowns to us at the time, later that week become hostile. But that too is for another blog entry. Suffice it to say, we were comfortable in our dorm like quarters; a room roughly 10 x 12 ft. that once had been two smaller rooms, furnished with three cot-like beds, warm blankets, and a bath so private, only one person could be in it at a time!
(Photo by Charlotte Chan)
But after a full day of touring what more did we need than a place to shower, munch on fresh bread and quiche, then crash?
In a clean neighborhood, it was a great place to hang out.



Besides, this room came with added amenities of open

air refridgeration for our fresh fruit and bottled water!


And every morning there was the complementery petite dejuner..very petite dejuner of coffee, hot chocolate, or tea, chocolate bread and french bread with strawberry jam. And so, that is how we passed the nights and early mornings in Paris...well, most nights, but that is another blog entry!Bon Nuit mes amis chers!