Tuesday the 29th of July – Paris is hot.

Woke up and went down to the complimentary breakfast. Pleasantly surprised by the continental ´buffet´ available and took advantage of all of it, ie. bowl of cornflakes, baguette with butter and two cups of coffee. We planned out the rest of our day, starting with taking the metro to Basilique de Sacre Cur. Which we then did, took photos, etc. etc. Discovered how fantastic ´jumping´ tourist shots really are. Decided that we would use them heavily from then on.

We were lining up to get tickets to climb up the tower and there was this group that consisted of 2 small children chaperoned by 3 old French ladies AND FOR THE LIFE OF THEM THEY COULD NOT WORK OUT THE TICKET MACHINE and we were all waiting there for a good 10 minutes and the line was building up. Eventually one of them jumped over the ticket gate – I kid you not. Old French granny yoofs they were. We made our ticket machine transaction in a flat-out 30 seconds, after which Josh beamed at the line behind us and led an impromptu applause.

As I climbed up the tower, I filmed the whole 9 and a half minute ordeal with the time-lapse function on my camera (which Josh just showed me existed -note that I will be obsessed with this for the near future).

We climbed down, etc etc.

We went to Montmartre, bypassing the Moulin Rouge and promptly declaring it to be too expensive. Then we sat in a café named after ‘Le Chat Noir' where the waiter wouldn’t serve us - so we promptly got up and left – heading straight into its neighbour: the Musée de l'Erotisme!

I would say that I´ve never seen so many penises, hoochies or boobies in the one place in my entire life but that would be a lie – not to forget that I inadvertently caught the London naked bike ride going down Oxford St last year. It was alright, except the main travelling exhibition was about contemporary Japanese art. It consisted of 80% art that contained some pretty graphic themes about violence against women – something I felt extremely torn about. My inner feminist was reeling. We finished touring the museum and left.

It was definitely worth it, if for nothing else than for our Gran ringing Emma’s mobile while we were watching a porno from the silent film era, and her explaining that we were in “er, a museum right now, can’t really talk, oh yes it’s very interesting...”

For lunch we picked up three different vege quiches (or tarts) from a patisserie and ate them on the steps of a church.

We walked to the Centre Pompidou but – alas! - it is closed on Tuesdays. The bastards.

Instead, we got some amazing gelato and walked to the Dorsay. Amazing gelato is as good as, if not better than, modern art. Actually, they were pieces of modern art in themselves: one flavour enclosing another to form a delicious, icy rose.

Then when we got to the Musée d'Orsay, there was an epic line. THE BASTARDS.
It was so humid too.
We then walked a million and one kilometres along the Champs-Élysées up to the some arch (for the record, the Arc de Triomphe). We were dehydrated and dire. Tensions were rising. We didn´t even talk to each other along the way. We were melting. The rubber melted off my sandals as I dodged tourists up that long road, leaving black tar in footprints on the Parisian sidewalk. Then the ground opened up and the metro sucked us in, and we retreated back to the hotel.

Cue shower and refreshment. Cue cider and internet on Ozzy (real name Ozymandias), Emm and Josh’s brilliantly tiny computer. I still find it weird to type on this thing.

Back in our room at the hostel, we realised that the funky smell coming from the bunk below Emma was some smelly cheese left out by some guy who was sleeping there. Some pretty smelly, blue cheese. Oh, it was awful. Our roommate Michelle put it by the window to get some air.

All a little tipsy from just one pint of cider – thanks for those genes, Mum and Dad – we walked at least one hour until we settled on some food at a misc. Asian restaurant. (please note that we stopped in, sat down at, and read the menu of three other restaurants before settling on that one). Travelling with a vegetarian must suck balls. Sorry you guys.

Having already had rose’ aperitifs at one of the attempted eateries, then more complimentary of the same at the Asian, we walked back along the canal feeling quite tipsy. The colourful lights hit back at us from the water. We checked out the hostel’s bar to see if there was anything happening, then settled on a midi of lager each and watching the last ten minutes of Fight Club in the ‘chill out room’ downstairs,

Then sleep.