Postcard from Paris - the high cost of living
Paris is expensive. I mean really expensive. You know how we admire them because they go to a café or bar and make one coffee or a beer or a glass of wine last all afternoon, it’s because they can’t afford any more than a single cup. We were charged fourteen quid for a sandwich. Fourteen fucking quid! For a chicken sarnie! If it has been a dodo and panda sandwich served on a gold plate and I was eating it sat on the throne of France after being crowned emperor, maybe that sort of money would have made sense. Mind you, there were some crisps served with it.
It certainly explains the café culture, they’re not all talking about art, they’re eeking out a single glass of wine. It also explains the bread – it’s the only thing that Parisians can afford to eat in volume so it had better be good. And you’d better chew slowly.
Final proof of runaway prices? The male toilet at Guar de Nord. 1 Euro to use a urinal, 2 Euro for a proper toilet. One for a pee, two for a poo. Literally, number one and number two. What sort of warped, twisted sod actually prices relief by function? Christ alone knows what they charge for a swift bout of self-love or a homosexualist encounter.
The exception to the high costs and the crap service is the hop-on, hop off river-bus that operates from the Eiffel Tower up past Notre Dame. For twelve euros you get an all day pass and get to see the city from the river and it’s practical too. And there’s that great feeling you get hat travelling on a boat on a river is a little bit special. Okay, not as special as rowing yourself up an English river on a fine summer’s day with a large and well-stocked picnic basket in the rear of the boat and a couple of bottles of something cheeky already over the side chilling, but good all the same.
It certainly explains the café culture, they’re not all talking about art, they’re eeking out a single glass of wine. It also explains the bread – it’s the only thing that Parisians can afford to eat in volume so it had better be good. And you’d better chew slowly.
Final proof of runaway prices? The male toilet at Guar de Nord. 1 Euro to use a urinal, 2 Euro for a proper toilet. One for a pee, two for a poo. Literally, number one and number two. What sort of warped, twisted sod actually prices relief by function? Christ alone knows what they charge for a swift bout of self-love or a homosexualist encounter.
The exception to the high costs and the crap service is the hop-on, hop off river-bus that operates from the Eiffel Tower up past Notre Dame. For twelve euros you get an all day pass and get to see the city from the river and it’s practical too. And there’s that great feeling you get hat travelling on a boat on a river is a little bit special. Okay, not as special as rowing yourself up an English river on a fine summer’s day with a large and well-stocked picnic basket in the rear of the boat and a couple of bottles of something cheeky already over the side chilling, but good all the same.
1 Comments:
oh. my. gosh. I just read this...that's ridiculous. Maybe that's why so many of them urinate on the street. It also explains the lack of deoderant, manners and smiling. I officially have a 3 hour layover there on the way to Africa in a few weeks and a 12-hour layover on the way back.
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