I desperately wanted to.  But I just didn’t love Paris.
Tuesday, August 2nd was mostly a travel day from London to Paris.  Getting luggage from the hotel, on the Tube, to St. Pancras, then on the Eurostar, through Gare du Nord, then on the Metro in Paris, then to the hotel was a bit taxing.  Actually, the worst part was St. Pancras.  Once we “officially” left London to board the Eurostar, it was chaos.  No announcements, signs, or labeling — in any language.  Just mobs of people staring at a non-updated departure board.  Ridiculous.
The train from London to Paris itself was perfectly pleasant and I didn’t notice we were in the Chunnel until we came out of it.  But Gare du Nord was a nightmare.  In such stark contract to the well-mannered city we were in just a couple of hours before.  Scammers were everywhere.  Signage was incomplete.  There were no staff members to help.  It rather summed up the entire population as we experienced it: Every man for himself. Any chance someone had to get just a little bit ahead, despite what it might cause their fellow human, they took it. 
We finally arrived at our hotel, which was quite lovely and on a quiet street.  And determined to get the bad taste out of our mouths, we immediately set out on foot to the Champs Elysees and the Arc du Triomphe.  

Tired and hungry (we hadn’t eaten all day, really), we set off to find a small cafe or bistro in a less touristy area.  

Despite our wanderings, the best we could find was a $27 hamburger.  Yes.  You read that right.  And this was not a fancy place be any means. Exhausted and rather disenchanted, we made it an early night and vowed to do better the next day. 

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