The City of Love

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

It's official. I am in love; head-over-heels, knee-bending, "I've-never-felt-like-this-before" kind of love. Everything I could have hoped for and more...sophistication, wealth, attraction, intelligence, culture, energy and utterly unpredictable. I have had a whirlwind romance with a city. Her name is Paris. We had such a special connection, I wanted to bring her back to London with me but unfortunately there really is nothing for her here and I want her to be happy and stay as lovely as she is.

Paris is officially my favourite city, albeit I have not seen many others. Hard to believe but it even surpasses Port Elizabeth in my ratings of beauty and excitement. The people are shoddy, however, a very important aspect and one that PE certainly has no lack of. I can’t explain how architecturally brilliant every building is. I took a million and one photos of buildings. They simply don’t do the architecture justice, partly because of my underaverage photography skills and partly because photographs are a poor second to the real thing when the light, compostition, etc is not just right and you don’t have three hours to take the perfect shot. Excuses, excuses… Make no mistake, it’s not beautiful in the way South Africa is; wide open spaces, beaches, mountains, wildlife, greenery, colour, everything you’d want really. But then South Africa is not a city. We could compare Paris with 'fume and gloom' of JHB for instance, but that would be a fruitless exercise, wouldn't it? (No offence to Joburg-ites).

Paris is remarkably aesthetically pleasing for a city. It is beautiful in some similar ways to SA, however; it’s tradition, proud history. And then, its unbelievable architecture, the tourist friendly attractions; there is so much you can do for absolutely free, and the culture. French is undeniably my favourite language when heard spoken properly and "couramment" (fluently). There is nothing quite like it. I had to lift my jaw off the ground on several occasions after being caught staring at handsome French men chatting at little corner “brasseries”, the steam from piping hot espressos mixing with the smoke from their cigarettes, sitting legs crossed on colourful cane chairs, hands waving about, completely comfortable in their metrosexual ways. All the little coffee plekkies have the same cane chairs, slightly different design and perhaps a different colour but always cane. And never a shortage of ashtrays.

As for the waiters (les garçons) at these street cafés, you’d be impressed. Most wear dress pants with waistcoats and starched white shirts and ties. They make you feel utterly inferior while being very polite and overly patient with your average attempts at speaking their language. I can’t say I was offended in the least; maybe a little humiliated but not offended. Most of the American tourists (note I said most, not all) are so arrogant (or ignorant should I say), they don’t notice the sarcastic undertones. I had a good few chuckles while sipping on a “café au lait” at a little restaurant a street down from the Eiffel Tower. The coffee was well worth the five euros a cup. I wished I was a smoker in those moments. I will never forget my grandmother telling me how she started smoking in the good ol’ days because it was the thing to do; it showed sophistication. The French still pull that sophistication off. What a trendy society, I felt like a real tourist when walking the streets with backpack and camera on my shoulders. The wind blows but all the women's hair is perfect. Their scarves sit well even though they simply fling them around their necks. They walk for miles and miles in high heels and they don't feel a thing. I got so excited about my love for Paris that I started in the middle instead of at the beginning. I'll rewind a little bit.

09/09/09 (momentous!) I thought I was relatively organised for once. I looked up the underground times well in advance: 5:13am to Edgware Road leaving from Wimbledon. Whatever! That train never arrived did it? We eventually arrived at Kings Cross/St Pancras and made it to the International Departures on time. My travelling partner was still half asleep thank goodness and the half rush didn't worry her too much. Passport control couldn't have been a more effortless process. We stood in the queue for five minutes at the most, had our passports stamped and carried on through. Our Eurostar tickets were computer-printed and one simply had to place the barcode onto the sensor at the gate to be let through. Just like that.

St Pancras Int looks like an airport; wide open spaces, customs, boarding gates to the platforms and officials checking your tickets. The Eurostar itself was not hugely impressive, except the toilets had pedals so you didn't actually have to touch anything. I'm not sure what exactly I was expecting for my ticket exactly, perhaps more colourful carriages and beverage services? The scenery was spectacular though (okay, maybe that's taking it too far). It was nice to be on an overground train (passed through Calais and Autumn had just hit the fields and farms). We saw the Opera Nationale (gallery of music), stunning building, gold statues etc; Le Louvre (Mona Lisa and all the eighteenth century paintings, also African and South American tribal art - could have spent all day and night here); Tuileries gardens (people sit in green chairs all over the place in the gardens, around the pond, awesome!); Notre Dame (Wow!). Went to a little restaurant near Le Louvre called Le Cafe des Inities. A photo wouldn't have done it justice. The waiter, Benedicte, tried to get me to speak in French and I threw in a few words here and there. He was very nice. We had a little bottle of Cote du Rhone red and some great food while people chattered around us and smoked boxes of cigarettes and laughed. Best part of the day! Then hit the Hotel 'Armstrong' to bed. Interesting, very average hotel but clean sheets and a pillow to rest the head.

10/09/09 After a hearty breakfast of croissants and coffee, we hit the Champs-Elysees: what an amazing street. Shops, shops, restaurants, and the Arc de Triomphe thrown in. Loved it. Took about two hundred photos. Couldn't get close enough to the Arc de Triomphe as I would have liked though. Time was not on our side. Then the Eiffel Tower was next. I also got some great photos. We didn't climb it unfortunately but I hope to do it one day. I am sure the views must be unbelievable from up top. The Eiffel Tower at night is like a huge Christmas tree, you must be able to see it from anywhere in Paris, delightful. Took photos and bought postcards (actually captured it properly). Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur was my favourite part of the trip. We spent the whole afternoon of the second day there (chocolate crepes, frites, cafe au lait), an amazing village, Picasso's first studio, markets of momentos to take back to your part of the world, the cathedral was painstakingly beautiful.

We were fortunate that my travelling partner's housemate works on Eurostar and she gave us tickets for the business lounge which we used on our way back to England. We arrived looking like Tweedledum and Tweedledee with bags over our shoulders, takkies on and windswept hair. After a glass of crisp white, I was well on my way to feeling better. I then thought I 'd have a beer just to be safe. Fantastic. Grabbed a complimentary Economist and hopped on the Eurostar home.

All in all, an amazing, world-view-changing experience. Walked a lot, didn't speak enough French and caught the travel bug in a bad way.

Fra