I got up early enough on Sunday to check out the eastern side of the area that I’ve been staying in. It’s not particularly interesting.
After a few hours of plodding around, I skipped into Cafe Oz to watch Australia vs England in the rugby. I made my €6,50 pint of Fosters last about two-and-a-half hours and ended up sitting next to some old farts and some local rugby players. Local as in Kiwis and Aussies (including chubby-face himself, Matt Dunning) who played for French clubs that turned up to watch.
I didn’t wait for long after the full time whistle to leave and walk all the way back to the Eiffel tower. My feet were already sore by the time I got to the ticket queues but it wasn’t long until I was feeling giddy and nervous due to my fear of heights. The view is genuinely astounding but that’s all it is – a view. A view from a tall, brown hunk of nicely-patterned metal. I circled around a few times taking photos but it wasn’t too long until I got bored and descended. I walked back to the hotel once more and nearly had my feet fall off.
Supermarkets and clothes shops aren’t open on Sundays and the supermarkets close at 8 or 9pm every other night. I had no food or drink so I bought some more beer and snacks from a convenience store and lounged around my room (yet again) in my underwear watching the football (or soccer, if you like). I had to slightly shut my bedroom window as a man opposite could see directly in and admire my pasty, sweaty physique. It failed to perturb me too much, as I eventually drifted off into sleep.