Paris

Arriving in Paris is a bit of a shock. We are ready to feel cold in comparison with the heat of Morocco but it seems that Paris is already having a winter and Parisian locals are already fully rugged up in their winter gear.

Roger and Stella have been to Paris (separately) before. Stella came here when she was nine, with my mother who at that stage already had Alzheimer’s and made for a chaotic travelling partner, hiding tickets and passports, giving large amounts of money to Parisian scammers and falling over. Stella is keen to recreate some Paris memories.

The next two and a half weeks in Paris, the UK and New York is going to drain our bank account and we have rented an apartment with a kitchen in the hope of lessening the cost a bit.

Our apartment is in Saint Eustache and while it has just one small room and a mezzanine, the original floor to ceiling windows look out on the street below and makes it seem much bigger than it is. No apartment is big enough at this point in the trip, however. Even if we took an apartment each at Versailles we would probably still end up in the same room fighting.

Having travelled through the heat for the past eight months and thinking we were cold in Portugal, it quickly becomes apparent that we are under-dressed for Paris. Particularly Roger who has lost his warm jacket along the way and puts together a strange collection of holey thermals and Stella’s homespun jersey from Riverton which looks a lot better on her than it does on him. He finishes off his look with a strange woollen hat that he bought in Morocco and his day pack which quite some time ago started looking like a street persons carry all.

No sooner are we out on the street, do people start doing double takes of our motley band of travellers. Gradually, I notice that Stella has lagged behind with me, to appear to be unassociated with Roger and his outfit.  We watch in interest as Roger tries to ask people directions and they shake their heads at him and move away as if he is a ‘gypsy street scammer’ (of which apparently there are quite a few). We feel a bit sorry for him but we stay a few metres behind as it’s obvious that clothes maketh  the man in Paris and Roger needs some new ones.

The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays but we walk that way anyway, partly to visit the Egyptian Obelisk which has become our thing in every major city that has acquired an Obelisk, and make our way up the Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe.

 

As we make our way up the Champs Des Eleele she, Stella says “no offence mum” ; (note at this point I’m expecting to be offended) “but my dream of Paris would be more like coming with the Holland Bennetts”.

Ok, so first of all, I am offended, mostly because I was pre prepared, secondly, because I’m very tired and feeling quite unwell and also have a dream about Paris that is not following five metres behind someone in a homespun jersey and thirdly, because I know our friends Jane and Michael would make Paris terribly memorable and romantic. There would be cheese and great food and tiny cafés with accordions.

We have no real plan, except the boys want to spend all their time in the Lego shop at the Les Halle Mall and Roger needs some new clothes.

There is no cheese and no accordions.

Wandering up the Champs Des Eleeses is not particularly romantic either. Having not really been through any major cities for several months, the worship of the major design stores is all very strange. I almost make the family pose outside Paris Disney and Louis Vuitton, just to make fun of consumerism but remember that we’ve recently done a financially motivated Haka in a carpet shop and shouldn’t really judge.

Before returning home, we visit Notre Dame (except Louie who has deliberately lost himself). We figure he’s out there somewhere and decide that we may as well look at something while we wait for him to cool off.

There are lots of people inside but oh how beautiful. We get a bit distracted for the first fifteen minutes, following around a mother and her teenage boy who is playing Pokemon Go. She is pulling him by the ear and berating him and he just can’t put the phone away.

I would have thought there would be a ban on Pokemons inside Notre Dame but apparently not. Their struggle goes on for quite some time and being one of those parents who has lost control of my own kids behaviour, I delight in watching other children behaving badly. So do Jasper and Stella! We shadow them for quite some time because frankly, Pokemon Go is ridiculous, especially inside a Gothic cathedral.

We find Louie who has been down the road looking at music boxes, and take him in. It is so amazing and dark and huge inside and when the organ starts up, perhaps in practice for a concert that night, it is almost too much for my bursting heart.

The next morning, we head straight to the menswear shop to make Roger into a Parisian man. Without being one of those women who tells their partner what to wear, I strive to prevent Roger from looking like he’s just stepped out of Hobbiton.

It seems that we are destined to spend a part of every day in the Lego shop. It is certainly the coolest Lego shop I have been in and they have several cool displays, as well as  a ‘create your own three Lego figures’ deal, but even if it is on the way home, do we have to go every day??!!

In usual fashion, by the time we reach our destination, today the Louvre, it’s about 2pm. Despite there being guards with guns checking all bags overtime we go to the Lego store at the Les Halles mall, there is fairly low security here.

We barely have to queue at all and are in within 15 minutes.

The next day’s weather is much clearer and we head to the Eiffel Tower. We purchase tickets for the stairs because the queue is short and the tickets cheap. It seems really cool to go via the stairs, until you’re actually on the stairs.

But very satisfying to reach the top. (Well, not the top, but the budget 2nd level).

We copy all the other people doing silly things with their phones underneath the tower and find that family selfies can actually be fun.

We’re pretty keen to visit the catacombs as there’s nothing like slightly freaking the kids out to promote temporarily more biddable children. Unfortunately, when we finally arrive at 3pm, there’s a queue that goes all the around the corner. In total, we spend two hours waiting, during which time, we all get quite cold and I develop a chest infection.

The kids practice walking from our position, to the front of the queue and do it one hundred times.  I suppose that because a limited number of people are allowed in at one time, the queue moves very slowly.

When we do finally go in, it is very eerie but quite beautiful in a way. Strange to think that people have arranged the skulls into shapes.

Stella practices posing in an austere and respectful way.

Meanwhile, Roger has convinced Jasper to wait with him and jump out from behind a corner. I almost die. Of course I should have been expecting it, but in a crypt with the bones of six million people?

Lets just readdress Roger’s concept that as long as you’re having fun, then it’s ok.

I’m really cross, but not as cross as the guard who then has to reprimand a whole lot of kids who start scaring their own families.

It’s been a big day and we are ready for some warmth and food when we arrive home. 

We had planned to make it to the Palace of Versailles but we’ve run out of steam. Queuing for hours is not fun and we really are starting to witness the last of our borrowed money, draining out of our account.

We decide instead, to visit Saint Chapelle.

Today might be evidence that one’s own mood can influence one’s own perceptions of one’s environment or that,  there are in fact, some real arseholes in Paris.

We set off on our walk to Saint Chapelle and I stop briefly to look at  jersey in a clothes store.

Of course, the three children all follow me in (as they do now when I’m in the toilet) and while I hastily try it on, the boys have a little tussle in the shop.

When I return the jersey to the counter, the shop owner tuts at me and shakes his head.

Jude: “sorry, is there a problem”?

Shop owner: “for me no, but maybe for you”

Cryptic.

I leave in tears.

The next slightly fraught interaction happens in the queue to Saint Chapelle.

We wait for quite a while and the kids go to sit on a nearby seat. Roger is also still to arrive, so I let a number of people in front of me in the queue. When Roger appears, the kids join us in the queue.

But hold on a minute………………..

Angry French Woman: “Excuse me, you have pushed in”.

Jude fresh from a dressing down in a clothes shop: “Oh sorry, no, we have been waiting in the queue too but I let a whole lot of people in front of me”.

Angry French woman: “No I think you pushed in”.

Jude: “Well… in that case, please go in front of us”.

Angry French woman: “No it is not necessary but you should know, you pushed in”.

Jude: “In that case, please go ahead of us”.

AFW: “No”

Jude: “No, please, I insist”.

AFW (pushing past) : “You are reedeeculous”.

By the time we’ve been berated by the ticket woman for trying to go through the wrong door, I am starting to think it is time to leave the city of Love. I am not feeling it. They’ve even taken all the padlocks off the love bridge.

Luckily, Saint Chapelle is worth the stress, although by the time we get inside, Roger needs a little nap.

The Jardin de Luxembourg is the perfect place for us to end our Paris stay, particularly after the weird interactions I’ve had today. I could do with some nature and it is an amazing park, particularly with the autumn leaves.

We wander to a metro to visit the Eiffel Tower at night and stop for some pastries on the way.

Au revoir Paris. I can forgive you your uptight atmosphere, it must be stressful feeling at risk from terrorism and overrun by Syrian refugees but next time, try to smile a bit more and take yourself a little less seriously . Merci beaucoup.