Chasing the Parade

Today I decide to go running on a different route - from my apartment to the eiffel tower. It's a nice run, because it takes me through the Parc Monceau, past the Champs Elysees, along the Seine and finally to the Champs de Mars in front of the Tour. I plan to end my run at the Grand Palais and ride the metro home from the stop there. As I'm approaching the Invalides and Pont Alexandre III, I notice a crowd of people and a bunch of barriers. I also see gendarmes, or really intense policemen with body armor and lots of scary looking guns. I stop in front of the Invalides, trying to figure out what the commotion is all about. As I look, I see horses, and i don't just mean a few - I mean maybe a hundred or so of these animals - lined up in perfect formation. Riding them are men dressed in uniform. As they approach, I hear that they are playing some kind of song. I notice some unfamiliar looking flags next to french flags around them as well. What is going on? I am too shy with my french to ask anyone around me. But everyone has their camera out and is snapping photos, so it must be important. Suddenly three helicopters fly overhead and a series of important looking black cars roll past. One of the cars has the window down, and an older man is staring out at me and crowd. I at least figure out that some kind of political figure has just arrived, and this is his parade. But what country? I've never seen that flag before. I forget about the rest of my run (I was nearly done anyway) and decide to follow the parade. I hope I will get to see Sarcozy. I power walk behind the massive group of horses but due to street-crossing difficulties, I soon fall behind. I must look quite ridiculous, I think, speeding through Paris in my running clothes. I make it to the Place de Concorde and see the horses going towards the Asemblee Nationale. Or maybe it was another building. I'm not sure. But anyway, if you've ever been to the place de concorde, you'd know that with all the traffic it takes at least an hour to cross it. Unwillfully, I give in and jog back to the Grand Palais. But I'm going crazy for the rest of the day - what country was this? After an unnecessary amount of research, and by unnecessary I mean looking at every country's flag in this world, I find the answer. The flag I saw belongs to Iraq. Wow. I soon discover that the Iraqi president arrived in Paris today for a four day meeting with Sarcozy. I wonder if that old man that I saw was the president. I feel like I've just witnessed something important. Makes me feel kind of insignificant, too, though, for some reason, to see something like that happen in front of me. This is world politics that I'm talking about!

But honestly, all those horses! And so well trained, too! The funniest part about the parade were the little green cars that drove behind the horses so they could clean up the shit. And believe me, there was a lot of it.

Fontainebleau

Foret de Fontainebleau is an enormous mass of woods about 40 minutes by train from Paris. Wanting a break from the hustle and bustle of Paris, my friend Lindsay and I are eager to hike here, so we decide to venture out to the tiny town of Fontainebleau. Due to minor metro complications and other delays, we don't make it until 2 PM. The train dumps us into a random part of the town and we have no idea where we are. The maps are confusing so we stand like idiots in our ridiculously "I am American" get-up - spandex leggings, sweatshirts, running shoes and backpacks. Nothing is more dorky-tourist than the backpack. It's sunny out but a few ominous clouds are rolling in. I ask someone "Ou est le bois?" (Where are the woods?) She points and says, "c'est la, c'est partout." (it's there, it's everywhere). Not helpful. Eventually we decide to visit the tourism office, which we have to take a bus to. We ask the woman at the tourism office where the closest bouldering area is (bouldering is essentially rock climbing without a harness on little rocks). She says 6 km, which is a bit far. I'm nervous we wont' make it there and back before dark, so I ask her, "is it dangerous to hike in the dark?" She responds, "No, not at all! The trails are well-marked. It's fine." 

We finally begin our hike through the Fontainebleau. The sky is still overcast, and the temperature has dropped significantly. The forest is beautiful - the fall leaves scattered across the ground make for quite the picturesque scene. We walk along at a good pace, chatting about life and whatever else comes to mind. We make it about 2 miles maybe, when it starts to rain. We think this is a good time to turn back. 

There is a fork in the trail. I choose the path on the left because it seems right. But actually I have no idea. So we go that way, walking quickly because of the rain. Suddenly we emerge from the forest onto a major highway. I panic. I have no idea where this is. We don't remember coming this way. Where are we??

It's pouring rain, the map is soaked through nor does it really make any sense, so we decide to ask someone in their car where the hell we are. Lindsay speaks in French to one guy. A minute later she looks at me and says, "He wants us to get inside his car, he says he's a cop and can take us back to the train station." Absolutely not. I shake my head and we walk away. I'm quite scared at this point. I think maybe we will die. I try to think of ways to spend the night in the woods. I panic because it's raining and I don't think it's possible to make a fire in the rain. Lindsay is so calm and I don't know how she stays so calm. We backtrack and make it back to the fork in the paths. We take the one we didn't go down before. Soon we realize that this trail is marked with the correct trail markings. If we had just checked the other trail, we wouldn't have gotten so lost. I feel stupid for misleading her. 

We power-walk at an insane speed, trying to get out of the damn forest. Finally, as our asses are on fire, we make it out right as night falls. We're cold, wet and shivering. It's still pouring, too. I can no longer feel my fingers or feet. After grabbing a coffee to warm us up, we make it back to the train station and jump on the next train back to Paris. On the train, Lindsay and I reflect on our experience and try to decide if we're lucky or not.