The ride was easy - reminiscing about the wines and the towns and the people (and the amazing amateur historian). We found a gas station when we had a little less than a quarter of gas left, which was much less thrilling than our last top up with the light coming on. The pump I had pulled up to wasn't dispensing diesel, though, and it took us five minutes to figure out that it wasn't user error. So I spun the car around and tried the next one, which worked, while everyone except sleepy Chris stretched their legs.
I figured we would have had to stop another time for a top up, since we had to rent the car with a full tank. But I drove for half an hour to get into Paris, and it still said full. I drove for another ten minutes through a bout of traffic, and it still said full. I got off on the exit for the airport - still full.
At this point, Mark and I were glancing at the digital fuel gauge every few seconds, anxious to see if it would go down. I stayed at or under the speed limit, so I wouldn't use too much gas. The kicker was when we had to drive up the ramp to get in the garage, and then missed the turn for Enterprise, so had to do a whole extra lap. Our metaphoric nails were down to their nubs - but we parked and it was still signaling full! First success of the day!
We were, at that point, already late to the hotel. And Chris was the tour captain, so was supposed to be there at noon to tell everyone the rules... Like not to be late.
There were a few boxes of wine that Mark and I shoved in his gigantic suitcase, my suitcase, my backpack, and one just we carried. Definitely souvenirs of a good few days of tastings.
We walked the couple of lengths through the airport to find the cabs, might have cut off another large group to jump into the van, then sat knee-to-knee on our way to Montmartre.
On a hill overlooking Paris, Montmartre was not one of the neighborhoods I visited when I was in Paris in 2011. Thus, I was excited for our walking tour of it when we reached the hotel.
First, though, we had an all-hands meeting. Thankfully, the tour bus was just a few minutes later than us, so we got off the hook for getting there at 12:30 instead of noon. Chris, JT, and Whitney said their pieces, including to read our tour books, with all the bios and the schedule for the weekend. Oh, and the rules. Emily was the treasurer for fines if you drank with your dominant hand, if you said the word "point" or pointed at something, or if you called your girlfriend back home to tell then you were ok. The fines went to a final tab at the end of the tour, so it was more amusement to see all the guys "indicating" with their elbows. (Also, a week later, I'm still scarred and scared to point with my finger.)
The bags (and wine) were put into luggage storage as our hosts showed up to take us on a walk around Montmartre. I was thinking it was a tour, but it was more of a stroll past the Moulin Rouge, then a climb up the steps to the base of the Sacre Coeur.
Between when we started climbing up the three-story hillside to the cathedral to when we actually got to the church, the sky started opening up and a heavy drizzle started.
I was super excited to get to the roof of the church, so convinced a few others to leave the (not very informative or tour-like) tour to buy tickets to climb yet more steps. It was something like 300 feet to get to the top. I have a habit of finding the tallest thing on a trip and trying to climb it, so my adrenaline was egging me on. Some of the others didn't quite share my passion for steps, and, granted, flew in the night before, so they were a few steps behind.
We were rewarded, after navigating some slick marble patches, with a corridor around the tower of the Sacre Coeur and a 360 degree view of Paris. There was the Notre Dame! The modern Pompidou! And, of course, the Eiffel Tower, where we were going to be tonight!
We posed for pictures, took some of Liz and JMac (who, we found out, was having a birthday), and listening to Julia and Emily and Meg compare the view with the grueling amount of steps they just had to climb. I would hope that the view won. It definitely did for Zach and Carolyn.
We had seen what we thought was the rest of the Washington Irish Rugby Team continuing back to the hotel with the guides, so it was a surprise when we got to the bottom right as another group was crossing back through the square. They had apparently found an Irish pub and that was as far as their tour went. We waiting for a few people, then continued on to the Place du Teatre - a square harkening back to Montmartre's Bohemian roots. Well, except that all of the artists wanted to do your portrait for a little extra $$.
We wandered aimlessly amongst the easels, with everything from screen-printed dime-a-dozen pieces to unique and experienced pieces worth more than an expensive meal. Mark and Dan and Julia picked up something; I just hung up the last of my artwork from last trip and am short on wall space, so I provided the critical eye.
While the parcel of us were wandering, I had taken Mark's phone with his free data and found a Fodor's walking tour of Montmartre. We were just two blocks from the Bateau Lavoir, so we stopped by the front of an apartment building which was where the birth of cubism happened. Picasso, Max Jacob, and others that I didn't recognize (my art history is apparently lacking) worked and lived in this spot - though not the building we saw, since shortly after it was proclaimed a historic site, it burnt to the ground. Clearly, it was rebuilt and now still houses artists.
We continued downhill to an old abbey and the gardens that they tended. On the way back to the hotel, we heard about Dan and Julia's multi-country, multi-day, pre-tour adventure. Belgium, Germany, and Amsterdam, if I'm not mistaken. Mark's and my few days of driving now seemed like a walk in the park.
(Unnecessary details - the most adorable pair of pitbull puppies passed us, and a schoolboy stuck his finger in Julia's face and taunted her. Maybe it was the hat?)
The hotel was quiet when we got back, but Mark and I texted our respective groups and a few people came to help us drink the wine I had bought from across the street. It was funny: the men had created a WhatsApp group they were all a part of to stay in touch. The WAGS (wives and girlfriends) had made a GroupMe with us. So information had to be communicated between the partners. Or, as I did, just take your partner's phone every so often and catch up with the other conversation.
Where the all-hands meeting had been not hours earlier was now a photo shoot for the hotel, so we sat back and observed the cameraman and the employees (posing as guests) as they went through a few courses of a meal. We ended up with a beer that had been a prop by the end of it, so they must not have been annoyed by our conversations too much.
Our next instruction was to meet at the bus at 9, and I wanted to make sure we had some time for dinner (since lunch was just kabobs next door). I found a seafood place on TripAdvisor that was a few blocks away, got some responses from the group, and walked over to make a reservation. It was probably good they had warning, but we showed up half an hour later with a dozen people instead of the eight I had originally told them. They happily gave us our own section to be nice and loud in.
It was six couples, including JMac and Liz, since we were celebrating his birthday, along with the happiness of the next part of our vacation starting. It was going to be people, deadlines, and "hurry up and wait" for the next few days, but I was excited to kick it off.
The oysters were so fresh, they cringed at the lemon juice. The white wine was perfectly crisp and delicious. And the escargot got dug out of their little shells and enjoyed with all the carbs we deny ourselves at home.
A few desserts were passed around, then it was time to catch the bus to the Eiffel Tower. Everyone on the bus was in some stage of clouded - either from lack of sleep or alcohol or both. Mark took a power nap, but he was ready to go the second the bus parked.
The entire group had tickets to the lower observation level of the Eiffel Tower, so we all waded through security together to get in the elevator. There were a few hold-ups - a corkscrew and some alcohol were removed from bags, which meant that it was only a dozen men that were on the first elevator, got out, and immediately took their shirts off. A classic rugby group picture.
Mark and I did a quick 360, but quickly realized we were not at the top (and could not get to the top with our tickets). We were up the Eiffel Tower, but what's the point unless you are at the very top?
The 10pm lights had finished their sparkling, but the ticket window was still open to upgrade our tickets to get all the way up. We plopped down the money, then took a vertigo-inducing elevator ride to a much smaller level. As we'd seen a few places, there was a couple making out in the middle of it all, but we circled the enclosed hall until we found the indicator pointing toward DC - only 6175 kilometers away! The couple that took our picture was also from the DC area, but there was too much of Paris to gawk at to chat long.
We took the elevator back down the the floor where the rest of the team was. Most had left - we had about 20 minutes to get back to the bus. I found the quickest exit - or at least the one with no lines. And that's why we took the stairs down the Eiffel Tower.
It was dizzying, but we got a chance to see the first platform that had shopping and an ice skating rink (exactly what you'd expect when up the Eiffel Tower, right?)
We made it down with a few minutes to get to the bus. We took a few selfies with Thorpe, then got on the bus while a few others wandered off to water the shrubs around the Eiffel Tower before bed.
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