Day 38-41 - Paris

Our arrival in Paris was eventful, to say the least. Not quite as significant as Charles De Galle’s or as graceful as Rudolph Nureyev.


We drove into Paris while continuing to avoid paying to use a road. Eventually we were forced onto the motorway, but at this stage we didn’t have to pay for it. The road threw us off at a place called St Cloud, leaving us a short but tricky trip to the centre of Paris, and our hotel on Rue Tronchet.

This car ride quickly became a disaster. Paris celebrates France’s love of the one way street, meaning the route Rose had carefully planned from the map in her Lonely Planet guide went out the window (metaphorically, we didn’t throw the book out the window) pretty early.

Then my initiative failed me when I decided to take the car through the roundabout around the Arc D’Triomphe. Quite simply, of Paris’ metropolitan population of roughly 11 million people, 5 million of them, at any one time, are in a car going round the Arc D’Triomphe.

Shortly after that my courteousness and gentlemanly manner while driving obviously irritated the priest behind me, who decided to honk me. A first, to be sure.

When we finally got to the hotel I couldn’t really park, so hurried the luggage out of the car and left Rose with it at the hotel while I went to find my drop off point.

To cut a long and boring story short, two car parks, 30 minutes and one more honking from a priest (he had a nun as a passenger this time), I finally managed to drop the car off. I was drained and ready for a rest.

The cafes that fill Paris are very similar in menu and decor, and it is difficult to tell them apart. We had dinner in four of them, but not on the first night when we found a cosy little restaurant.

Next morning we went off, armed with our four day museum passes and two day tourist bus passes. This is really the way to visit Paris, although it took a while to get the audio guide’s voice from the bus out of my head.

The first museum, at my insistence, was the Musee Louvre. I love all the religious paintings as they tell a story I’m somewhat familiar with. It’s a huge place that it is impossible to get around without better ankles and great motivation, but I saw the Mona Lisa (probably the creepiest painting in the world), Madonna on the Rocks, St John the Baptist, and many other paintings, along with sculptures, mosaics and frescos.

After that we got back on the bus to go to Notre Dame Cathedral, described as the world’s worst tourist trap. We firstly looked under the quadrangle in front of the Cathedral, then went in and looked around the magnificent church.

Then we decided to go up to the spire and lookout area. This is when Rose discovered my situational dislike of heights.

The ledge was narrow, about 12 inches wide in parts when walking around, and although one is always quite safe behind wire, looking down was not pleasant. I politely declined an opportunity to go further up. This would not be the first time on the trip.

After finally descending all the way to the bottom and fighting off quadriceps cramp, we partook two of the footpath crepes Paris is famous for. Rose, faithful to her sweet tooth to the last, had her crepe with Nutella and Banana, while I predictably had cheese, ham and mushroom. Both were delicious.

For our final excursion for the day, we headed to the Saint Chappelle, which has what our possibly the most beautiful stained glass windows in the world. The church is being renewed and renovated at the moment, so some of the glass was unavailable due to repair, but the view was breathtaking none the less.

After that we were back on our tourist bus, which one can hop on and hop off at their leisure. It was a long trip, going around the Eiffel Tower a couple of times, before finally getting us back close to home.

Day two’s main museum attraction would be the Musee D’Orsay, which holds the most impressive collection of impressionist paintings in the world. Continuing on from our visit to Monet’s Garden in Giverny, this was a particular treat for Rose, who loves this kind of art. I was honest in my appraisal, liking some stuff and not others, leading Rose to inform me she thought I had an “eclectic taste” in art. This may be one of the nicest things Rose has ever said to me. No kidding.

The D’Orsay, like the Louvre, is very big, housed in an old train station that had fallen into disuse. We probably spent three hours there before moving on to the Arc D’Triomphe.

The Arc is another large monument, under which lies the tomb of the Unknown French Soldier, who died in the Great War, as it is known in France (although in French). While I did know you could ascend to the top of the Arc, what I didn’t know was the top section underneath the roof contained an exhibition, one half dedicated to France’s war successes (which contrary to popular opinion are many), and the other half dedicated to the Arc itself, and other like Arcs of Triumph all over the world. Anne will be pleased to know the only one in Australia is located in her home town of Ballarat.

Standing on top of the Arc is less daunting than standing on the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral, but we had taken our time getting there, and Rose had enjoyed an ice cream break at Haagen Daas, so instead of trying to cram something else in on Day 2, we enjoyed instead a leisurely walk back to our hotel, via a cafe, before heading off later in the evening to watch Liverpool in the Europa League. Unfortunately, the English Pub we were in insisted on showing a frightfully dull Fulham game before Liverpool’s.

Day 3 started with a trip through the Place D’Concord, where Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and Robespierre, among others, were permanently separated from their heads, to the Musee D’Armee, which exhibits the military history of France, a great exhibition containing all manner of medieval armour and weapons, and also Napoleon’s tomb, which despite him being cremated, is a massive construction.

Nearby is the Musee Rodin, which is dedicated to Rodin himself, the great sculptor who made “The Thinker”. He was obviously a busy man; the private house is full of his stuff and he was quite prolific.

After a stop at a cafe for some food, we decided on a romantic night in the hotel.

We had to move to a different hotel on the Saturday before ANZAC Day, as our tour for the day required it. As a big, stupid man, I thought we could make it by availing ourselves of the Paris public transport system, specifically the underground.

Too many stairs, having to change trains, and a longing walk from the final train station finished Rose off, and she firstly suffered a nose bleed, and then duly decided to sleep for a few hours, leaving me with the laundry, which, in fact, I was happy to do.

Rose felt a little better after a sleep, and we went out for some food. Rose was captivated by a girl happily tucking into a dish of Steak Tartare, which is quite simply, raw beef. On this occasion, the beef was minced and served with an egg’s yolk.

We had an early start on ANZAC DAY, beginning at 2:30am, so we tucked in early, ready for our big day on April 25.