P. T.: The End

Yeah, so then I went back to my hostel and didn't sleep much because it was noisy and slightly too warm. The next day I read in the Tuilleries for about 2 hours and sunburned strips down my shins (my left shin is now peeling) but got a nice, biscuit-like tan on my shoulders and back because of my strapless dress. Then I went and bought an overpriced, depressing sandwich. I ate that in the (shade) Tuilleries as well. I sat on a nice bench for a few minutes before I was joined by some guy who sat at the other end. I wasn't even close to facing him so the first few times he said "bonjour" I assumed that he was talking to someone else. Then I realized that he was talking to me. I turned slightly to see a middle-aged dude whispering "bonjour" at me. I said it back, and turned so that I was facing as far away from him as I could. Unfortunately, having said bonjour I couldn't take it back and he proceeded to try and have a conversation with me, despite my unresponsive body language and one word/sentence answers. The conversation went something like:

Awkward Man: So, are you Parisian?
Our Hero: Um, no.
AM: Oh, where are you from?
OH: San Francisco.
AM: Oooooohhh, I thought that you were European. I am Egyptian.
OH: What did you say? I can't understand your French very well...
AM: repeats himself
OH: Hmm.
AM: So, you want to get a cup of coffee or a glass of wine with me?
OH: Um, No thanks. SO... I have finished my sandwich and don't really want to talk to you, so I am going to give you a tight-lipped smile and say au revoir. so, um, au revoir. Walks away.

Theeeen I went to the Musee D'orsay, I prefer the Centre Pompidou.
I ambled back to the hostel because I was going to then wander around Montmartre in the evening. I walked into my room and one of the other people staying there beamed at me and said what sounded to me like:

"We all Japanee!"

I shared my room with 3 Japanese ladies, all traveling around France by themselves. One was only staying in Paris, and she was only there for 6 days. She flew 17 hours to get there and then 17 hours back, for a week-long trip to Paris. I am still amazed. The only one who spoke any English coherently was an English teacher from Tokyo, so we didn't talk much. Sigh.
I chickened out of going to Montmartre because the neighborhood is flanked by gnarly ones and I didn't want to deal with that. So I walked down to the Seine and wandered up and down it's banks and ate an ice cream cone that tasted like it was flavored with mint tea, instead of peppermint oil, I was not amused.


Across the Seine from the Louvre.




The Seine, with the Unsatisfactory Ice Cream Cone.

Then I took out my map and a man immediately materialized out of the crowd and asked me slime-ily (and in French) if I were alone. I gave him a cold look and said no. Then I put my map back in my bag, walked 10 feet away and took it out of my bag. ANOTHER man appeared as if from nowhere and asked, in very good English, if I needed any help. I thanked him and declined his offer.
Then I decided that I was sick of being a Single Woman Traveler instead of a random tourist and took myself back to the hostel. I can assume that maybe they just wanted to help, or were innocently concerned that I would get lost or was lonely, but I can just as easily assume they were looking for a single woman tourist who was therefore vulnerable to... whatever. I hate that about traveling by myself, the feeling that isn't always there but pops up more frequently than I like that I am potentially vulnerable, or that because I have no obvious protection that I am easily taken advantage of. It drives me NUTS. Single Woman Tourist seems to be synonymous with "easy prey" in some people's minds and I therefore have to put up with more CRAP than a single man tourist.
Sigh.
The next morning I walked around Montmartre (around Sacre coeur etc.) before I had to leave to catch my bus back to London.


Me and Paris, from Sacre Coeur.


Montmartre bit.


I accidentally found the Moulin Rouge. Look! There it is. It's surprisingly small.

After stumbling upon the Moulin Rouge I caught my bus, and an annoying seatmate. Some Italian guy who talked and talked and talked and would NOT shut up, and was an idiot. It is entirely possible that he didn't understand what I said, but he usually responded appropriately, and I could understand him perfectly. He asked my advice about talking a cab from the bus station to his host family's house in Tooting, which would have been a 50 pound cab ride, and completely ignored me and pretty much told me that I was wrong. He then pulled out a tube map to show me that Victoria Station and Tooting Broadway were very close together and wouldn't listen when I told him that the tube map was in no way a representation of the geography of London (it guides you on using the tube. The lines have been straightened out so that you can read the map, not learn about London). When I told him that there was no such thing as a pass for the tube that would allow him to use it as much as he liked for a flat fee paid in the beginning, he ignored me again and implied that I was not European and therefore did not know how European metro systems worked. I was too polite to deck him and tell him that I had lived closer to London than he ever had and therefore being European did not enter into the equation, and that this was London, not Paris. I also did not point out to him that he was a moron. I am polite and kind and restrained.
Despite my chatty/idiot seatmate the bus trip was fine and they let me into the UK again (phew! they don't sometimes because they're afraid that we will try to work under the table now that we have friends and flats and connections). ALSO, instead of taking the ferry we went in the Chunnel (Channel Tunnel!). The bus drove into a train and the train bolted through the Chunnel in 35 minutes. I was amazed. The train makes sense though, if there's an accident in the Chunnel, it would be out of commission for months, and no one could be rushed to the emergency room in time.

I have now been over (in an airplane), through (in the ferry), and under the channel.

After leaving the bus, ditching Chatty Cathy, and working my way through the web that is the London underground (the line I wanted to take was down, so instead of 5 stops and no changes I had to change and go 11 stops) I had to take the train to Royston and then a bus to Cambridge because THAT line was down as well. Stupid public transportation.
All in all, though, despite the complaining it was a very nice little trip.