Friday October 24th, 2008
Autumn has settled in, and as the leaves change colour and begin to moult from the trees, I take a little journey into the heart of France. I have made my escape from London by Eurostar - a rough morning journey, departing at 5:25 am. The short train ride is gruelling, as I haven’t slept. Arguably, it is much better than travelling to and from airports, waiting in lounges and paying for overpriced coffees to keep me awake. My adventure is for ten days, with three passing by in pure bliss, as a first-timer in Paris.
Once in Paris my mood lifts and I free myself from my suitcase, leaving it in a locker at Gare du Nord station before stepping out onto the wide Parisian streets. The instant impact of my surroundings hits me intensely, as I discover this city is everything I romanticised it to be. Paris exudes an air of sophistication and grandeur; it is set apart immediately from any other city I have visited. It is remarkably and overwhelmingly Paris - not even France - just Paris. And as it has been said a million times before; it has a certain 'je ne sais quoi'... 
Walking south towards the city centre and the Seine I find cute market streets lined with fromageries, boulangeries and charcutteries (a literal mouthful!). Every turn finds settings filled with quaint Parisian scenes, as 'fairytale' in real life as in a book. Gorgeous houses with pretty gardens hold mysterious courtyards visible from beyond oversized doorways and the occasional person rides past on a bicycle with a baguette bouncing along in the basket just as it should be. By lunch time I make my way past 'Les Opera' and the Lafayette shopping centre. My girly side takes over, and I lose control finding myself spending a few hours “spending”...We aren't going to talk figures (sizes or pounds, or pounds and pounds), but when in Paris... .
A Boutique owner I have been chatting with is on a lunch break. With good luck on my side I am offered a ride to Le Champs Elysee. No problems! Soon we are driving around the classic L'Arc DeTriumphe roundabout, glorious with its flags sailing through the arches. It is an exciting moment for me, as I remember back to those wasted French classes in high school - knowing back then that one day I would see these places for myself.
After wandering up and down the boulevard, gazing at expensive stores like Dior, Cartier and Louis Vuitton (a whole building respectfully dedicated), and stopping for coffee and sandwiches in a French cafe, I decide I cannot wait a moment longer, I must take a peek at the Eiffel Tower. I search out the top of Le Tour and follow the general direction, walking eagerly along avenues lined with trees and magnificent buildings rich in detail. I admire typical French families strolling with their prams, relaxed and happy in their big city, and I feel the characteristic atmosphere of Paris with its sidewalk cafes and brasseries stretching down onto the pavement with their long canopies. 
Arriving at The Eiffel Tower from the opposite bank of the Seine, I cut through a small park that brings me to the bridge. Crossing over, I stop to inspect the different angles and perspectives of this massive, impending structure. Next to the Tour d’Eiffel are some lovely gardens with a bench by the pond where I catch my breath.
As the afternoon wanes and relaxes into evening I catch a train back to Gare Du Nord railway station to pick up my roller case, before heading to my friend’s apartment where we meet for dinner.
Yael chooses the popular Bastille area and we find an Indian restaurant. The food and dining is non-descript, but the restaurant hosts a great Shisha cafe at the front. The wait-staff has held a small table for us and we join plenty of students and young folk relaxing, puffing gently from the giant pipes and observing nightlife on the bustling Bastille pavements. We choose a pomme (apple) flavoured herbal variety. I strike up a conversation with three Greek boys and am amazed to find we share a friend in common, whom I am soon to visit in Belgium. Here is where I plug the colloquial line “the world really is a small place”. My first day in Paris, and I’m hooked!
Saturday October 25th, 2008
A Day in the Life of Paris.
No, it isn’t Ms. Hilton this time. It’s a sleepy Saturday morning and I am contentedly wrapped up in soft blankets in a Parisian apartment in Chatelet... And I’m not dreaming.
Yael wakes me early with croissants and jasmine tea – sign of a fabulous hostess! We eat hurriedly in her cosy little lounge-cum- bedroom in the first arrondissement (administrative district) of Paris. We catch the bus to the Eiffel Tower, passing the Louvre - which can wait on this day - because we are going to climb the famous tower, and meet later with friend and tour guide Sophie, in Montmartre.
The queue is very long for tickets to venture up the Tower, we must queue again to use the lifts, and queue to use the next set of lifts, and then queue twice more to get down. We walk from the first floor to the second - a dizzying up-hill battle - but conquering the Eiffel Tower gives us the determination. It is not the best day for the operation. From ground level we could scarcely see the top of the tower from a dense fog shrouding the view, and at the top Paris is gloomy and dismal, the weather not giving justice to the panorama.
We catch the metro to meet Sophie. While waiting in Pigalle I am amused by a man cooking corn-on-the-cob out of a shopping trolley, and trying to sell it to pedestrians – the ingenuity of the French! It doesn’t seem very hygienic and I do wonder who will actually pay money to eat this food. 
Sophie leads us straight on to the Moulin Rouge, passing the infamous sex shops of Pigalle. The Moulin Rouge isn't as impressive a structure as I had imagined it to be (thank you Hollywood, for all the delusions), but Yael and I happily play tourists. She is French, but new to Paris. Sophie has been in Paris for a few years and studies Art, some of her classes being held in a building at the Louvre. She is a fantastic tour guide, knowing the city extensively, and gives us information we would otherwise never know. Who ever really reads a guide book?
At the base of Montmartre(the artists headquarters, back in the day) we are welcomed into a fanfare of festival and fun, with hundreds of tourists bustling about, entertained by street musicians. A classical old carousel (that looks like it could be made out of candy) is immersed in all this excitement, and although it stands still it appears to move along with all the joy and life around it, wrapped up in pretty dreams and french music. Suddenly, the clouds part dramatically, the heavens split wide open and beams of sunlight shine down to present us with Le Sacre-Coeur! It stands before us demanding worship and attention with the byzantine-like roof. It seems to float on top of the green hill. Built on the highest point in Paris, steep steps lead us to the foot of the basilica. The afternoon has become warm and radiant, and I take my coat off to feel the sun pressing gently against my skin and enjoy the ambience. 
Inside the 19th century cathedral Sophie explains that most of the mosaics and stained-glass windows have been replaced after bombs fell during the war, and the artwork has been redone by modern artists. Le Sacre-Coeur is also known to house the dead bodies of many famous people, and I am sure that as we walk through the quiet basilica I can hear the faint sound of a heart thumping.
Leaving the cathedral we meander through peaceful streets emerging in a friendly, busy spot in Montmartre - Place du Tertre. Filled with stalls and street artists, cafes, restaurants and piano bars, the small cobbled roads are nothing like the rest of Paris, but the architecture and vibe resembles something more like a small French village. We walk further down into less-chaotic streets. Reaching a square, Sophie points out an odd statue of a man that can walk through walls - he is halfway through the brick wall, arms reaching out. This figure is in honour of French writer Marcel Amye; the statue is a character from his short-story "Le Passe-Muraille", and in English translates: "The Walker-Through-Walls".
Montmartre is a charming area, and it is easy to see why many great artists chose to live and work here. It is worth the visit as there is much to see and do. However, my time is short in Paris. We head back towards the centre on the metro. Yael wants to take me to Laduree, for the highly recommended macaroons and pastries, and I just plain-well need coffee! We stop at St. Michaels to see the cathedral and head in the wrong direction from Laduree, instead taking a fortunate detour through Jardin du Luxembourg - a spacious public park, sharing the grounds of the Luxembourg Palace.
Gorgeous statues and fountains stand in front of the palace and chairs are placed around for the public to sit and relax. As the sun takes its bow a fiery glow spreads through the park casting pretty reflections over the ponds. I could imagine spending a whole summer day here, with a French picnic, and possibly a French cutie too. He would roll the sleeves up on his sailor shirt – the one that only he can pull-off with fashionable finesse - explain to me quite seriously how my eyes are like the ponds shining with sunlight, and proceed to speak to me only in French. Which I clearly cannot understand, but instead swoon under the spell of his charms, good looks and hypnotising accent. Now, where was I?
We are on the way to Laduree, but we stop to watch an impressive modern dance street performance, you can see how hard these entertainers work to refine their skill. After salivating over the chocolate displays in Laduree we wait to be seated. The walls are painted with a mural depicting paradise, and the tea room is fancy and elegant in decor. Yael orders a chocolate macaroon and tea, while I opt for a delicious pastry-cake layered with jam and vanilla custard, accompanied by a rich cream-filled cappuccino. When in Paris one must have a fine-dining experience - at least for coffee and cakes!
Much later in the evening we meet two of Yael and Sophie’s friends, Raphael and Fabien, in Bastille. A small wine bar on the main street is our venue. It is unassuming and grungy with posters covering the walls and ceiling, a high bar, and a piano to 
one side. A man is perched in the far dark corner of the bar with a large balloon glass filled with burgundy placed in front of him, and he is sketching little cartoons and caricatures in his diary. After cramming into a table at the back, Raphael and Fabien select the red wine, and we order cheese, meat and salad platters to share. There are a good range of French cheeses: St Marcellin (a soft, runny cheese with a light skin covering), Cancoillotte (a runny, melted cheese served in a small jar), Crottins de Chavignole (a hard goat cheese), Fromage Basque (the region), Bleu de Brebis (a blue cheese made from goats milk) and Camembert (the only one I had previous experience with). You really can’t beat the French at cheese! Delicious!
We head to Republique to a discotheque, where we dance and drink for awhile. It is late and Sophie and Yael keep me walking - all the way home! I fall asleep and then my head hits the pillow.
Sunday October 26th, 2008
A Touch of Paris.
Sophie is leading me through the unusually quiet streets of Paris, on foot. No wonder she is so thin! She lives and studies in Paris. I trust her despite my sore heels and grumbling stomach. 
We wander past Les Opera, and through Place Vendome – a plaza with expensive designer stores and hotels. In the middle of the square there is a tall, erect pillar - Le Colonne Vendome. A statue of Napoleon stands resolute at the very top and engravings etched into the mast depict the victorious battles. Sophie explains that the monument was built entirely out of recycled cannons from Napoleon’s conquest of Austerlitz - roughly 1200 cannons were used, but this figure is entirely disputable. The column is said to be a tribute to his army and the brass was melted together and constructed into form in 1810. I rather wonder if Napoleon was substituting for some sort of obvious complex?
After a work emergency, our friend Yael meets us in the Musee du Louvre. Over a year has passed since Yael and I lived together in London, but I am glad to reunite in Paris, and share these experiences with someone I know. Immediately, I am stunned by the physical prescence of the estate, with its glass pyramid structure and well-manicured gardens, and grand chateau. The interior itself is furnished exquisitely and features detailed ceiling murals accentuated by natural lighting in each room. We check out the Spanish and Italian paintings on the first floor of the Denon wing, before continuing on to knock out the staples: Mona Lisa, and The Wedding Feast at Cana. Browsing through the French section, we catch a glimpse of art through the Middle-Ages, and then go on to survey Greek antiquities, Egyptian relics and ruins, including a mummified crocodile, and finally take a peek at Napoleon III's boudoir. A very small bed suggests to me that the aforementioned “complex” may run in the family.
A walk over and along the Seine takes us towards the Notre Dame de Paris. Arriving at nightfall (the most atmospheric time to attend), we view the grand, gothic cathedral, protected by its ever-watching gargoyles. They have expressive and cheeky faces, each one individual. I am impressed by the gothic style - the flying buttresses and stained glass. Inside, a massive organ is situated at the back of the cathedral boasting 7800 pipes. We enter into the haunting church promptly before mass. It is 6:30 pm on a Sunday evening, which means that this particular mass held at the main altar is directed specially by the archbishop and broadcasted live on a Catholic television station and on air for Radio Notre Dame. There is a low, spine-chilling music echoing through the passages, capable of raising bodies from their graves. Entranced, I watch as the ceremony commences and we gather to one side as the solemn-faced clergy proceed through the gates, incense swinging. If I were a child attending I think I would be terrified!
The exercise continues as Sophie takes us onwards for another long walk. This trip to Paris was harder than any fitness regime I could ever develop for myself. We explore the islands of the Seine, visit in St Pauls Cathedral and follow through some quiet Parisian streets until we reach the Jewish Quarter. Alive and bustling (the opposite of how Yael and I were feeling - tired and hungry!), the Jewish area is much more colourful, and we have a pit-stop for dinner at the most reputable falafel house in town, L’As du Falafel. Hey, there was even a picture of Lenny Kravitz dining there, on the wall. It had to be good. Trust in Lenny, The Jewish Quarter has some of the best falafel you will experience, whether you are vegetarian or not, made all the better after a hard day’s walk!
Strolling through Paris you will find this city possesses a charm that works its way over you - the very feeling that you have just been to Paris. It makes me want to ride a bike with a baguette bouncing along in the basket, and wear a beret as I window-shop down the Champs-Elysees, and go to church - just to check out the atmosphere! But please, oh please, don't mention the word 'walking' again!
