More Paris Pictures

Place de Voges:

…and again:

… one more:

The Museee D’Orsay:

I liked l’elephante:

Le Metro (so clean and bright!):

Homeward Bound

I’m on the Eurostar, heading back to London. It’s been a great few days but I’ll be glad to get home!

So, I don’t know what all my worrying about - it seems that the whole trip has passed without incident. The metro proved simple to use and I found my way back to the Gare de Nord with no problems and plenty of time for a final cafe creme and a very decadent tarte au fruits. Rhubarb cake to you and I.The carriage is relatively empty, though I am slightly intrigued by the two guys sitting just in front of me. They are American, and they are gay. I know they are American because of their accents. I know they are gay because of their magazines. Actually, that’s not strictly true - I’d guessed they were gay before I spotted the magazines, because they are immaculately dressed, and the American accents are just a tiny bit camp.

I am thinking that perhaps I should strike up conversation with them, since I have long been in search of a Gay Best Friend (GBF) in a Will and Grace kind of way, and they seem like excellent candidates. I know this, because one of them helped a woman lift her case up on to the baggage rack, and he was very gracious about it. They are married - I know this because of their wedding rings. OK, I’m making a bit of an assumption that they are married to each other, but imagine if they aren’t? Imagine if they are both leading normal lives with wives and families and have engineered a trip to Europe together. OR, imagine if they didn’t know each other before Paris. Imagine if it all started in Paris, This is unlikely, I know, since they are so obviously gay and so obviously a couple (I don’t know how I know this, they just ‘fit’ together… make up your own jokes if you must) but one can’t help coming up with these little scenarios. I’m a writer, don’t you know.

Excited About Salad - Hello?!

I’m sitting in one of the many brasseries that overlook the Place de Voges. I hadn’t planned on coming back here today - my last in Paris - but the pull of the calm, serene setting proved irresistible, particularly as I spent a hectic morning in the heart of the city. For my last night, I’d booked a swanky 4 star hotel in the Opera district - Hotel Mathurins. The hotel is tres magnifique (bathroom to die for) but it’s located in a really busy place and my every thought was drowned by noise and stroppy people.

Anyway, my lunch takes the form of the most perfect salad nicoise ever (otherwise known as salad knickersee, by my friend who only learned the correct pronunciation very recently, when she ordered it on a first date and the guy killed himself laughing). I can’t put my finger on why the salad is so perfect but I was moved to take a picture:

Maybe it’s the freshness of everything, or the mustard dressing, or the fresh anchovies… maybe it’s just that everything tastes better on holiday. Whatever it is, even the pompous waiter can’t dampen my spirits as I watch sparrows hop beneath chairs, finding lunch of their own:

People Watching

When visiting Paris for the first time - or any country I should imagine - the best tactic is to stand back and watch when you’re not sure about something. This proved to be an invaluable strategy on the Metro, where everything was confusing for the first time. For example, in London you have to validate your ticket when you enter and when you leave stations; in Paris, you only validate on the way in. When you leave, you’re faced with tall metal doors and I had no clue what the deal was with getting through them. All I could do was stand back and watch what everyone else did, and of course it was simple - the doors are automatic and you just walk through.

Unfortunately, my strategy didn’t work quite so well tonight. So far, all the Metro trains that I’ve used have been of the sparkly new variety, but when I got one to the Seine, it was an old train with manual handles - like the old slam-door trains we used to have in the UK. I was fine getting on, I just made sure that I stood by someone else on the platform and tried to watch how they opened the doors. Alas, I obviously picked an expert illusionist because I didn’t see a thing. I only had to travel two stops and all the while I was appraising the door, trying to figure out how the horribly complex-looking latch is released. When my stop came, nobody else in the carriage moved to get off; maybe they were all foreign tourists, trying to work out how the bloody doors worked. I couldn’t bring myself to be the idiot who tried, so I continued to the next stop… and STILL nobody got off. I was travelling further and further into the city and further away from the Seine. Finally, I had no choice but to pluck up the courage and, having gone five stops further than I wanted, I took a deep breath and tried the latch - and it opened! For anyone who’s curious, errrr, just pull the handle up.

When I did make it to the Seine, I was disappointed; I obviously found the only bit that hasn’t been prettied up! However, I did stumble upon a little restaurant that proved a great success. The waiter was lovely (something of a rarity) and, while I was determined to speak French, he was determined to speak English. There were only a handful of people in the restaurant and I’m guessing that one was the owner as all the waiters were buzzing about him, and he ordered a bottle of champagne to drink on his own. How decadent.

Tonight I have eaten very, very well for about £15, including wine. Unfortunately, I can’t remember the name of the place, just that it was very near the Musee D’Orsay.

Place de Voges

Now I know what Eric Maisel was getting at. Place de Voges is one of the most magical places I’ve visited - in Paris or anywhere else.

To get there, I took the metro to St. Pauls. Walk out of the station and you face a large main road - cross the road and walk down - you’re walking into the Marais district. To me, it had a whole different feel to other parts of Paris… it might sound strange, but I felt a distinct San Francisco vibe about the place. This probably isn’t surprising, as I later learned that this is very much a gay district; it also has a large Jewish population. It feels more open and less stuffy than other places; tiny little streets house the most wonderful shops, cafes and galleries, all of them totally different and inviting. I didn’t feel out of place here. I don’t think anyone can feel out of place here. When I go again, I’ll find a hotel in this area, and I’d advise anyone else to do the same.

I had a guide book and a map but I didn’t need it; there are plenty of signposts to the Place de Voges and there’s no mistaking the breathtaking square when you find it. It was a weekday and so not that busy, a few tourists milling about but I almost had the park to myself. There are an abundance of benches and I just sat and drank it all in for half an hour or so. To be honest, I was a bit overwhelmed by it, partly because it looked so amazing, and partly because everything felt so calm and I realised how uptight I’ve been at home with work in recent months. I wish I could have caught hold of those moments and stuffed them into a box to bring out later.

I had my laptop but I didn’t write. I thought a lot, and then I explored the winding streets around the square. I walked past a large synagogue where a group of men were gathered, all dressed in black, two of them with huge, professional looking video cameras on their shoulders. Seconds later, the street filled with tooting horns and a wedding car approached, at which point, lots of other people emerged from the synagogue. All of the men wore black and so did a lot of the women, but a few wore a neapolitan mix of colours and shimmering taffeta. The car drew up and stopped and an old man climbed out, absolutely beaming with pride as he greeted the guests on the pavement who cheered like they were at a football game. There was something very natural and honest about the whole thing - in some ways, it reminded me of weddings that I’ve seen in Eastern Europe. Yes, everyone was wearing their best clothes, but it had none of the vanity that abounds at most modern weddings. The outfits looked a bit dated, but charming nevertheless, and yes, the bride did look a bit like a giant candy floss - but there was genuine delight and real feeling as she was greeted by her friends and disappeared inside. This picture doesn’t really do it justice, I snapped it on my ‘phone from across the street:

Give me a wedding like that any day.

I made it!

Well, here I am - and if I’m honest, I’m ever so slightly amazed that it’s all gone so smoothly.

The bit I was dreading - arriving at Gare de Nord, was fine, in fact it was little different to arriving at Waterloo. I found the exit where the taxi rank is, queued for ten minutes, showed the taxi driver the address of my hotel on the booking form and that was that! A fairly long taxi ride across the city cost the equivalent of about £10, so I wasn’t fleeced.

The hotel is lovely - I will post some pictures when I get home. This morning I got up and didn’t really have much of a plan what to do. I have to keep reminding myself that the emphasis on these few days is to write, not to be run around like a demented tourist - but it’s hard! I needed to aim for SOMEWHERE. I wanted to go to the Musee D’Orsay, as mentioned often in Eric Maisel’s book, but it’s closed on Mondays. So instead, I braved the metro (I’d bought an advance five day pass from Railbookers which saved a lot of worry) and here I am at the Louvre. How exciting!! It’s a huge complex and so my first stop was a cafe to have breakfast - then I will look around the Louvre and come back to writing. Breakfast is a large coffee and croissants. What else?! I fired up my laptop, planning to write my journal offline, but there is free wi-fi here so I’m taking the opportunity to blog ‘live’.

Hmmm. Time for a second cup of coffee and a look at chapter 2 of my novel perhaps?

A Writer’s Paris

So, I am off to Paris for a few days. This in itself is not a particularly big deal - but for me is is an adventure. This is the first time that I’ve ever ventured outside of the UK on my own and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a little bit scared. I worry about everything, especially the details - and have been worrying all week in the build up to my departure.

I wanted to go somewhere that was ‘easy’ - and I figured you can’t get much easier than hopping on the Eurostar, so I shopped around and got a very good deal from Railbookers (who, incidentally, were extremely helpful and nice to deal with). I will only be there three nights - but I’m treating it like an experiment; if I like it, and it proves as straightforward as I hope, I’ll go back. My plan is not to be a tourist - my plan is to unwind and to write. I’ve been reading a book by Eric Maisel, called A Writers Paris, which is utterly inspiring. It’s on Amazon - click the image below for details:

The book inspired me to go to Paris, but more importantly, it inspires me to write. even if you have no intention of going to Paris, it’s still a great read.To date, I have not been very good at cafe writing - I feel self conscious if I open my laptop in a public place - as if everyone thinks I’m showing off - so the next few days will be a real change of writing practice. I think I have to decide NOW to leave the worrying me at home. I have to decide that I don’t care what other people think of me, and I don’t care if the odd thing goes wrong, or if I look stupid because I can’t speak French - the next few days is about me being selfish, and about me writing. If I can go home with another chapter of my novel complete, it will have been a great success.

So here I am, Sunday 13th May, on board Eurostar, bound for Paris. Before leaving, I worried about the details of this trip - I had no idea what happens when you check in for the Eurostar, or what happens when I get to Gare de Nord, or how I get from there to my hotel, or how the Metro works…I am completely oblivious to everything. So, I thought I’d write exactly what happens, just in case someone stumbles across this page and is in a similar position.

Eurostar say that you should arrive at least thirty minutes before check in, but being the sort of paranoid person I am, I left home very early (having had a good talk to the cats first and reassured them that Auntie Lizzie will be popping by to feed them) and arrived at London Waterloo just after 3pm. My train to France was due to leave at ten past five, so I checked in early and found a coffee shop to hide in.

The check in process at Waterloo was straightforward. You’re supposed to put your ticket in barrier machines, very much like the tube. Of course, mine didn’t work so a member of staff sent me through to a booth where my ticket was checked and then it was straight through to baggage checking. This set up was just as intimidating as airport security - all bags go through an x-ray machine and then you get your passport/ID checked.

After that, it’s just like being at an airport, with a few shops and cafes. I made a latte last an hour or so and then that was it - the train boarded! And here I am (just leaving Ashford) and so far, I’m very impressed. I upgraded my ticket to 1st class, and it was definitely worth it. You get a meal which really wasn’t bad and any wine that you want - and the seats come complete with UK power points, so I can use my laptop which is splendid.

The good news is that I left London in pouring rain and we’re now heading into glorious sunshine.

Words written on novel on Eurostar: 291