Paris 01

Ah, the sounds of Paris: lilting accents, police sirens, accordion music, and the plaintive voice of a little English boy whose parents had clearly been to one too many patisseries for his liking. Perhaps he will be persuaded in the future of the merits of the macaron.

I left Dorridge on the train, bound for London and the Eurostar. My departure was accompanied by Chris running alongside the train waving, clearly devastated by my impending absence. When I made my way to my seat one of my fellow passengers remarked how sweet it was, and looked suitably shocked when I explained he was my cousin!

Having deposited my suitcase at Euston in preparation for our upcoming journey on the Caledonian Sleeper, I made my way to St Pancras and the Eurostar. It still boggles my mind that I can get on a train in London that will take me under the English Channel. It’s a very comfortable journey once you’re on the train, having made your way through the seething mass of humanity negotiating their way through the queues for various destinations, security, and immigration for both England and France. Having effectively entered France while still in London means that it’s simply a matter stepping off the train at Gare du Nord and walking along the platform to find yourself in the heart of Paris. Arrival is made all the lovelier when a dear friend is waiting on the concourse.

Claire is a friend from my choir days in Melbourne, and my weekly crossword buddy on a Saturday morning. Finding ourselves in the Northern Hemisphere at the same time definitely warranted a jaunt to Paris for me, even if it meant just one full day. We were booked into Hotel Flanelles, conveniently located directly across from the station. We caught up over a glass of wine in the bar, only to be disturbed by loud yelling coming from the street and the hotel staff rushing to lock the doors. Thousands of pro-Palestinian protestors made their way along the street at 10:30 pm, and then the relative quiet was restored. We made arrangements to meet the next morning at 9, and retired to our rooms.

Claire had been in Paris a while already and had asked what I wanted to do while I was there. I decided on a visit to the loveliness that is an Antoine et Lili boutique (thanks Barbara) and a cruise on Canal Saint Martin. Cruise booked for the afternoon, we headed off in search of the closest A et L. On our way we passed what must surely be the largest collection of wedding hire vendors anywhere. Headless mannequins jostled for position outside shops crammed with suits of every hue and style. Want to look like Elvis as you say I do? Here’s a gold trimmed white suit with frills for days.

Unfortunately for us while our destination existed on Google Maps, there was no sign of anything resembling its colour and movement. It had also started to rain. Ha, it’s Paris. It rains, and there is dog poo on the streets. But it’s Paris. Who cares? We shrugged our shoulders and called an Uber to take us to the Quai de Valmy from whence our cruise would depart. Dropped off with a short stroll to come, what should be visible in the distance but a brightly coloured building which just happened to be another branch of Antoine et Lili! With plenty of time before boarding we browsed among the beauty, indulging in the French equivalent of window shopping, “lécher les vitrines” (licking the windows!)

Looking for a spot of sustenance before our cruise we happened upon Buddy Buddy, the world’s first nut butter coffee shop, and what a treat it was. A haven of serenity, or at least it would have been were it not for the noisy plumbing work going on. Noise over, we settled back with our cups of tea and then took the short stroll to embark on our cruise.

How fascinating it was to hear the history of the canal and particularly to traverse the double locks and the tunnel. We heard stories of the barges being pulled by men, women, and children as the towpaths in the tunnel were too small for animals to negotiate. I never fail to be excited as a boat descends and ascends as the locks are opened and closed. Having reached the end of the canal we entered the Seine and learned that the more arches a bridge has, the older it is - improvements in engineering making greater spans possible. We saw some familiar sights and the unfamiliar - portable seating atop bridges in preparation for the Olympics.

We headed to Montmarte to meet Claire’s sister Bernice and her husband Nigel and made our way to their local wine and cheese bar for dinner. Yes, Rod and Vic, I had goat’s cheese, with what just may be the nicest bottle of wine I’ve tasted. After a lovely meal with great company we made our way back to Hotel Flanelles for a cup of tea in the bar before bidding each other farewell. I was so very glad to be able to spend the day with Claire, especially as we competed to see who could take the most unflattering photo of each other. I claimed the title with my photo of us both in the tiniest of tiny lifts, which I have dubbed “The Serial Killer and her Sidekick”. Nope, it’s not getting an airing here, folks.

I was up early the next morning for my train to London. All was going well until I was getting ready to enter passport control. The attendant ushering people into different queues noticed my passport and said “Ah, you’re Australian. Do you have any spiders or frogs in your bag?”. “No, just snakes”, I replied. It was all fun and games until my passport then wouldn’t work in the machine so it was off to another queue. Accepted for departure and subsequent arrival, it was onto the train and the next part of the adventure!Read more