Wildest expectations surpassed. I've never seen a better side of Paris. The secret is to blindly follow friends who've lived there. And have a long-awaited reunion. And try very hard not to eat the entire contents of a patisserie...
Maddie and I planned our weekend in Paris with one thing in mind: Polly. On my part, I felt I'd well and truly touristed Paris during previous visits. But from the moment we sprung from the Métro into the Marais, my old visions of the city disintegrated. The Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysées, the Louvre, Montmartre - all of these are wonderful, but a world apart from the stretch of Paris I discovered this time around.
We found our apartment - donated by Maddie's insanely generous friend - on a street lined with boulangeries, brasseries and national archives. We hoisted our suitcases up the stairs and opened the door to find an apartment with the kind of view you dreamed of back in Year 10 French. We were a little bit elated. We took our newfound energy to the brasserie opposite our doorstep and toasted our benefactor with a Lyonnais-style kir.
Saturday was very-nearly-almost one million percent as perfect a day as could be. My determination to eat my way through Paris did not waiver when confronted by an escargot chocolat pistache, a pain au chocolat et orange, and a croissant aumande aux framboises. I'm no doctor, but the ensuing stomach cramps and nausea were possibly not wholly unrelated to the unaccustomed richness of this petit déj. Victory...!
Polly arrived around 10:30am.
When we'd stopped with the run-hugging and general shrieking, the three of us latched together and made our way slowly down the street. Which led to the Notre Dame. Just a five-minute walk to the Notre Dame. Apartment of dreams!!
Happy 850th birthday, Notre Dame. Having only read Victor Hugo's Hunchback in February, I took a moment to relive Quasimodo's movements and Frollo's fall before following Maddie and Polly through the adjacent garden. These two lovely tour guides led the way on a ramble through the Marais, the Latin Quarter, the ridiculously good-looking tertiary zone (the Monash law building has never looked worse), the Luxembourg gardens and a thousand other places completely new to me.
I finally understand why people fall head over heels for this city. There were gourmet biscuit shops, crazy-popular falafel places (ask Maddie or Maddy for more info) and cheap vintage ('frip') stores partout. We found an open-air market brimming with seasonal produce, bread and cheese. Polly pointed out endives (popular in Lille), I made eyes at plump juicy kikis, and Maddie bought chèvre (anyone surprised? Anyone?)
After my triumphantly upset stomach enforced a brief break - taken by Polly and me in the Place St Sulpice and by Maddie in her fantasy theology bookshop - we made our cobbled way towards lunch. Polly found us a hidden alleyway cafe that I'll almost certainly never find again. We then crossed back over the river.
The Seine! Oh, the Seine. The 'make the Thames look extra brown, why don't you, and let's not even mention the Yarra' Seine. I eventually geared myself up for a baguette, to which I devoted myself on the way to the first square of Paris, Place des Vosges. Think the French version of Russell Square. It has a statue of Louis 'I'm on a horse' XIII and, more importantly, Victor Hugo's house tucked neatly in a corner.
The Hugo house was done up to look as it would have back in le temps des cathédrales, the highlight being the author's actual writing desk. Apparently he was chucked out of France for 19 years for making 'insensitive' comments on the social system of the time. I suppose Les Misérables isn't the most subtle of titles.
We next stopped at a tea house that Maddie remembered from her Marais days, and then to a brasserie on Polly's recommendation. Best guides ever. There was wine. There was cheese. There was even some good old philosophy/theology discussion. We were basically Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face, but with slightly less interpretive dancing. Most of my favourite moments of our Paris adventure took place with some sort of drink in my hand, listening to two very intelligent and passionate friends nut out the important things in life. Like the apparent absence of hot guys in Paris. And international humanitarian crises.
We found dinner around 10pm at a brasserie that served 90% quiche and 10% croque monsieur, hence catering for all tastes. It was with intense, lasting sadness that we finally parted from Polly, but only after securing promises of letters and Skype chats and come to Melbourne please/thank you.
Jogging along the Seine at 8:30am on Sunday convinced me that there is no other way to jog. Hardly anyone was out and about. The river was a cloudy blue-green, the air was a crisp 4 degrees, and the tourists were sparse. Miki, I listened to Les Cloches while running around the Notre Dame - surreal! And Zoe, I may not have collected creepy hand kisses for you in London, but I got you a wolf whistle and a 'hola' from some garbage men instead. Good enough, or should I try a little harder in Japan?
And then Maddie (beautiful, beneficent Maddie) ushered me through the Métro to the Gare du Nord, and onto the train to the Charles de Gaulle airport for my flight to Beijing. It's continent hopping time!
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