So Paris was lovely – if very tiring. I was last there back in 2003, when my work permit application was denied and I was ill-advised by someone in the Home Office to leave the country and re-enter as a tourist – advice which lead to me being summarily escorted through Heathrow Airport and put onto a plane bound for the States a few days later. Not fun, and didn’t leave me with the best memories of an otherwise beautiful city. So when our friends Kerryn and Tracey invited us for an impromptu road trip to the City of Lights, I just *had* to go. And so midnight Friday (or Saturday, really) we all piled into the petite Vauxhall for a journey through the night. We pulled into Paris around 7 am, found our hotel and jumped on the Metro headed for the Champs Elysee in search of breakfast.

We wandered somewhat aimlessly in the direction of the Arc de Triumph, keeping an eye out for food, and ended up popping into a delightful bakery for some sandwiches. And what did I spy winking at me from behind the glass? Macarons, french macaroons, the delights of which I’d only heretofore read about via Anglofille. I *had* to try one, even at that highly indecorous hour for sweets (though when has that ever stopped me before?) I tried a pistachio flavoured one, and after the first bite I was sold. Both light and dense, the sweetness of the macaron is balanced out by the delicate cream in the middle. Yumm-o.

Sated, we walked up to the Arc, (via a detour into the Peugot concept store – after all, we *were* with two boys), goggled at that for a bit, then took the roundabout route back over the river to the catacombs, where the remains of 6 million people were interred. Walls and walls of bones and skulls stretching endlessly in the dank dark tunnels of subterranean Paris – truly creepy.

After a big (and very late) lunch and coffees, we headed towards the Tour Eiffel, and commenced to queue for the lift to the top. We’d wanted to get there for dusk to see the lights of the city at night, but it seems we were not alone in that idea. We waited more than 2 hours in the cold and dark with feet tender and achy after a long day’s walking. When we finally made it up, though, the view was absolutely spectacular. Like a glittering web the city spread out below. And just as after we got down, the tower lit up like a giant fizzing sparkler, bouncing light into the trees and clouds and river.

We headed back to check into the hotel, and, energy sorely flagging after 12 hours en foot, only just barely managed to drag ourselves back out to the street for a dinner of Chinese food which satisfied the two primary criteria of being tasty and near to the hotel.

The next day, even more tired than we thought possible, we headed out early again. It was a beautiful crisp sunny day, and after making the obigatory stop for a picture of Moulin Rouge, we climbed up to Montmartre, navigating the crooked streets strewn with artists, quaint boutique shops, whitewashed houses and cobblestones. At the very peak of the city, looking out over the haze, stood Sacre Coeur – a blindingly white cathedral full of turrets and minarets with a distinctly Mediterranean flair reminiscent of a mosque.

Then it was back on the Metro to Ile de la Cite, to see that *other* famous church, Notre Dame. I’ve seen it before, but the splendor and grandeur of it still takes the breath away. Awe inspiring.

And what else is left, then, but to stroll along the Seine in the sunshine and spend the waning afternoon hours surrounded by the masterpieces of the Louvre? The scale of the Louvre is both daunting and mind boggling. Where any respectable museum would give its proverbial eyeteeth to have just *one* truly great work of art, the Louvre is stuffed chock-a-block with them, crammed into every nook. Botticellis line the passageways, da Vincis hide in a dark corner. We just had enough time to race around like mad to all the “big” works, then explore the quiet African art corridors and the Napoleon Apartments.

And then, after stocking up on more macaroons, it was time to get back on the road. Kerryn, being the trooper he is, drove all the way home, and after an extra long delay waiting on the ferry, we finally made it to our beds at 2:30 am, visions of Paris dancing in our heads.

And I’ve not stopped thinking about it since. I love that it’s just so pretty. I love that it’s so unapologetically European, in a way that London is not. I love the layout of the city, and the Metro system – god, I love the Metro system. J and I could not stop marvelling at how it’s cheap and easy and it just *works* (which would not be such a novelty if we didn’t spend hours every week suffering through the Tube tunnels). I love that the French aren’t afraid of indulgence and luxury and sophistication. That’s it, really – Paris is just so sophisticated. And that sophistication is very alluring. I can picture myself on the balcony of a little garret apartment, drinking a cappucino and smoking a Galuoise.

Can’t you?

Many many more photos here

Like this post

Unlike

paris