Eleven years ago, I arrived in Paris by train with only a backpack and a guidebook. This time, I arrived by rail with a backpack and a guidebook. And, of course, my beautiful wife. Last time was a week, this time it was a weekend.
As with so many other vacations I have been on, this one required getting up at stupid o’clock. Once we arrived at London’s Waterloo station the stress decreased, though. Travelling by train is much more civilized than air travel. Arriving at the station twenty minutes before travelling is all that is required. A quick check of passport and ticket sees you aboard the train. None of the scrum, line-ups, polyethylene hand luggage and invasive searches of flying. I did see a drug-sniffing dog, but it was an old Sheppard with bad hips.
The Eurostar train takes under three hours to get to Paris in smooth comfort. There is a 1930’s feel to the train. The bar car even has a great Art Deco look. For all the cheap flights that are available, the train still wins for short trips. Our first stop was the Louvre. It is possible to arrive on the Metro and enter from the concourse without venturing outside. To do so would rob you of the experience of seeing I.M Pei’s pyramid in the main courtyard. The great glass pyramid is like Marmite – you either love it or hate it. There is no middle ground.
It is hard to know where to start in the Louvre’s collection. It covers a span from ancient Egyptian burial to 19th century statuary and the apartments of Napoleon III. We started in the gallery of statues from the 1800’s and wandered through the Italian paintings section. We did go in and see the Mona Lisa. It was small, kind of dim and, as with so many things like this, less spectacular than it’s hype.
There is a tiny gallery off one of the rooms called the Tactile Gallery. Famous statues from around the Louvre have been replicated so that blind and vision-impaired people can experience the statues by feel. Descriptions of the pieces in the gallery are in Braille books.
The apartments of Napoleon III were added to the former palace in the mid 1800’s and are, to say the least, lavish. There is a salon with thick carpet, velvet sofas, heavy curtains and lavish decoration. There is also a large formal dining room. Jo commented at how many people it would take to fill it. As she said that, I was counting the chairs. There were 18 on each side and two on each end. I had to point out that if the whole family attended Thanksgiving at my mother-in-law’s, every chair would be filled.
Leaving the Louvre, and walking out the “front door” pointed us up the Champs Elysee. This takes the pedestrian past the obelisk at the Place de la Concorde. The Champs Elysee is a big, broad and busy avenue. In the intervening ten years since I was In Paris, it has been improved. It has had the shops go a bit up market. The ubiquitous blight of the McDonalds has been hidden in a location that is below ground. The car dealers and stores seem to have improved their facades.
We walked through the Jardins de la Tullerie. In contrast to the wild overgrown English style of gardening, the French like their gardens neat, precise, orderly and symmetrical. There is also a different style of street food. In Paris, you can get crepes and powerful coffee from stands on the street.
Turning off of the Champs Elysee and walking down the Avenue George V took us past the nice shops. You know, Louis Vuitton, Givenchy and the likes of Collezion Armani. Nice shops.
It was now about nine o’clock. Continuing along Avenue George V took us across Pont de l’Alma, one of the many bridges across the Seine. The bridge affords a wonderful view of the Eiffel tower. In fact, there are few places in Paris that do not afford a view of the Eiffel Tower. Paris feels like it is truly built on a human scale. Many of the buildings are on the order of six stories high. Seldom do you feel overwhelmed as you might in the vast canyons of somewhere like New York. The Eiffel Tower, although not very tall, is plainly visible at most times.
We arrived at the Eiffel Tower at night, when it is bathed in the orange-gold glow of sodium lighting. At ten o’clock, it is further lit up by strobe lights all over it. It is a wonderful structure with it’s Victorian-Era iron work. For me, part of it’s appeal is the dichotomy. Approaching, it looks light, almost delicate, with more space than structure. Up close it is plain to see the massive iron beams held together with an infinite number of rivets. The Eiffel Tower well deserves the iconic status it enjoys.
By now it had been a long day for us and we headed for our hotel on the Paris Metro. The Paris Metro runs on rubber wheels as opposed to the steel wheels and rails of the London Underground. Paris’ Metro has a smooth comfortable ride, the likes of which could never be found on the juddering, constantly delayed Hammersmith & City line here in London.
This concluded Saturday for us. We arrived back at our tiny hotel room quite ready to call it a day. The room was clean and comfortable, but small enough to make our little flat seem, well, bigger.
I think that I must take a moment to speak to the pervasive rumour that Paris has a dog poo problem. They actually have crews of men in green overalls that go around and Hoover up any turds from the pavement. Contrast that with my neighbourhood where I managed to trod in a landmine outside the world’s tiniest flat on Friday before we left. Final score would be: Paris – 0; London – 1. When it comes to dog leavings, like golf, a lower score is desirable.
Sunday morning brought about another beautiful and sunny day. Just perfect for exploring! We found ourselves another cup of that deliciously strong coffee and a nice pastry for breakfast which set us nicely for the morning. We took the Metro back to the Eiffel Tower to take in the views from the top. We walked from one end of the Champs du Mars towards the Tower. Like all the other tourists we took pictures of the Tower, each other standing in front of the Tower, the park around the Tower. The line up to take the elevator to the top was 2 hours long so we decided that we would just have to return another time to go to the top of the Tower.
We walked along the “rive droit” or right bank of the Seine. There were booths selling pictures and paintings. The one that caught my eye was the one selling plates from Babar the Elephant books. Babar was a favourite of mine as a kid. I could quote the attending text that went with most of the pictures.
We had our lunch at a café alongside the river. Not the least amazing part was that all of the ordering was done in French. Successfully. We didn’t end up with a flaming tennis ball in a shoe.
In most situations, our transactions were completed in French. I don’t think we offended anyone and I am confident in saying that we didn’t fool anyone! Luckily we didn’t have to offer our opinion in French on the Gothic architecture.
We wandered along the Seine all afternoon, passing by the Petit Palais, the Louvre, Musee D’Orsay and St.Germain des Pres. Our wanderings brought us to the Cathedral de Notre-Dame. You could spend a day outside and one inside trying to see all of the detail. The stained glass windows are massive. The arches soar 50 feet in the air!
If you go around behind the Cathedral, there is a lovely little park that allows a different perspective on the fantastic building. It is also not visited by many people so it provides a bit of a relief from the crowds out front. Continuing through the park, there is the Monument de la Deportation. This is a monument to the victims of the Holocaust, especially those who were taken from Paris after the Nazi occupation.
Alas, this brings us the end of our time in Paris. It was time to make our way back to our tiny pied à terre in West Hampstead. The train ride home was as smooth and comfortable as the one there. Just one weekend is nowhere enough. We have been bitten by Paris. We will be back to cover more of this enchanting city.
Eleven years ago, I arrived in 
