I've been waiting for so long (Paris)

to see where I'm going in the sunshine of your love ...  Oh, dear. Jayne didn't recognise the song.  Anyway, today's tale begins:

Paris: L'Arc de Triomphe

The day dawned in Paris, as it does, while I was still asleep.  Thankfully the light is without intensity in the morning and the buildings tall enough to shield our bedroom.  Nonetheless, we required an early start.  The intention was to be at L'Arc de Triomphe as close to its opening time of 9:30 as possible.  Today we intend to bag the most elusive of prey, Le Tour Eiffel bracelet charm.  So far, we had found only key rings in their thousands (5 for €1) or a singular charms at a jewellery store for €165.  Hopefully, today, we find at the Arc what the gift shops at the Tower couldn't produce.

We arrived at the Arc at 9:45am.  There was, of course, a queue.  It was, also of course, not open.  The guide books stated opening at 9:30am, the sign at the office disagreed, 10am, was its time.  None of that mattered anyway because the French 'workers' thought 10:15am was close enough.  Qu'est-ce que c'est?  This is NOT Spain people.  An opening time is an opening time.

The queue wasn't too bad considering, but it went in a different direction to what we had previously experienced.  Pas de problem, queue with the queue.  At 10:15 the queue began moving, much to the excitement of all concerned.  Cait had already identified the Australians nearby and had exchanged pleasantries.  

The next bit is technical, so the visual learners amongst you might want to draw a picture.  We joined the queue when it was about 30 metres in length.  It went down the middle of the tunnel.  The space to the right of us allowed access to the Arc at ground level (no ticket, no upstairs).  The space to the left allowed access back to the Champs Elysees.  Movement in any direction was not an issue.  The queue progresses.  We got to within 10 metres of where it left the tunnel and an officious little French administrator emerged from his office with a rope barricade and tried to cordon off the area and in doing so, insisted that everyone on our side of the queue had to move to other end of the tunnel and reform the queue.  There was still another 15 metres of line behind us.

His request was met with much disbelief.  However we tried  to comply.  The problem was that those from nations who refuse to queue (I'm looking at you China and Korea) saw what was happening and bolted for the other end of the tunnel so that they would be in the line and force all those on front of them to move further back.  So, as we tried to swing the queue around, they were already moving to our left which effectively blocked our ability to move and stopped anyone else from walking through from the other direction.   Patience and tolerance from the mostly Australian crowd disappeared.  The lovely Italian man next to me had a bit to say to the moronic official who thought this was a good idea.

The conversation was limited, but basically he got the idea that WE WOULD NOT BE MOVED and I suggested that if they had opened the bloody gates on time, perhaps the queue would not stretch to the Rhineland.  Any wonder the Germans walked into Paris without resistance, they probably got out of bed an hour before the Parisiennes.  His response was to provide a pole for me to rest my bottom on.  At least, I think that was what he meant.

About the same time, Cait was providing another Asian tourist with a lesson in etiquette and politely, but firmly, told him to stop using his wife as a battering ram and pushing her into Cait, to which he responded, that they had been in the line down to the right that was being relocated. Cait replied, that everyone around him was also in that line, but none of them were pushing. He thought better than to cross Cait and backed off. 

At the ticket booth the Australian lady (read girl if you're my vintage) gave a serve to another Asian tourist who decided waiting for the next ticket seller was a slow option.  Despite the trauma, we made it.  Tickets in hand we walked in the sunshine and into the spiral staircase.  195 stairs later we reached the antechamber, but not quite the top.  Jayne, still gasping for breath, saw the gift shop and drawing on strength I'd not seen her exhibit since child-birth, broke into a run.  No-one would stop her from finding the charms for the bracelets.  Women and children ran screaming, chickens scattered before her ... um, yeah, maybe that's from some movie I saw ... anyway, onto the gift shop.  Target located, purchased, bagged and onward to the top of the Arc to check out the view.

And so the view ... whatever, look at the photos.  Although I did spend some time taking a photograph down every road that leads to the Arc.  Last year, on foot, I took a photo of the Arc from every pedestrian crossing.  Synchronicity. 

The view down the Champs Elysees

OK, you guessed, looking at theEiffel  Tower

Another view.

The roof form downstairs 

Pictures taken, view admired, comments made about haze, walked in front of as if I'm invisible, pushed out of the way: yep, I think I ticked all the tourist boxes on the top of the Arc.  Down the 195 spiral stairs.  You make me dizzy miss lizzy and out for a ground floor snaps and for drinks.

No mnascaping here.

Manscaping? Or a child?

(Jayne was asked to continue the day from this point, however, she was unable so to do, and following is her response.  Please do not laugh at her puns.  My editorial comment is included between [ ]. Enjoy)

And now onto a more factual account of the rest of the day....

Brad somehow managed to pen a hyperbolic description of my passage to the gift shop, which I dispute unreservedly, (although I couldn't work out why the shop assistant already knew I was in the  market for charms before I told her what I wanted - she said she was "magic" but maybe I did exclaim in delight when I finally found what I had been looking for.  Anyone who knows me, however, will know that nothing causes me to run anywhere ever). [Pftt. Last call for champagne would do it, every time]

The other notable fact he left out was that the shop assistant informed me that I had not needed to climb the 195 spiralling steps to the shop - I could have taken the lift - a small thing that Brad overlooked but, considering my history with stairs, a clearly vicious act of subterfuge on his part. [The lift is for the disabled and the emphysemic, neither of which qualify Jayne for a ride.]

After the Arc triumph (did you see what I did there?) [kill me now], we decided we had time for a drink and some Champs Elysees shopping.  We dropped into one of the first hotels on the Champs for our refreshments to be handed a menu that priced a coke at €14!!! Brad seemed to think this was reasonable despite Cait and I pointing out that a beer was cheaper and so majority ruled and we moved onto another cafe to restore our flagging energies [where they paid almost €11 for the coke, in far less salubrious surroundings]. We didn't linger too long because we were due back at the Pont Neuf to meet up with Dianne Carr, a former St Mark's colleague, who was in town with her 2 boys for a holiday from where she now lives in Qatar.

[We also saw the new, convertible model of the Toyota 86 in the showroom.  Wasn't available in Australia when I ordered my 86.  Sigh.  Next time.]

We had a arranged a 1 pm rendez-vous and descended to the Metro to travel the 4 stops to the pont.  As we were buying the tickets I saw a sign alerting us to delays on our line due to an unwell passenger at Concorde station.  We discussed this but then the warning disappeared and we went onto the platform.  Can I say, at this point, that in our experience, the Metro is 1000% better than Cityrail in Sydney but on this one occasion, when we actually had to be somewhere at a particular time, the Metro let us down.  No train, flashing warning signs, no signs, police appearing to do crowd control, people pouring onto the platform, an unprecedented 10 minutes [Read it and weep Sydney, 10 minutes!!!!] with no train in sight and no timeline for when another would appear ... so we took the other option and went back up to street level and caught a taxi to the pont instead.

After checking out several cafes in the pont area to find somewhere to accommodate a table for 6 for-not-so-fine dining, we ended up near Chatelet station and whiled away the afternoon catching up on life in the Middle East which allows for frequent European holidays.  Cait and I agreed that the shorter flight times, however, would not compensate for the restrictive lifestyle of Islamic countries - neither of us intend to apply for any positions vacant in the international schools there [nor me].  It was lovely to see Dianne and the boys who are heading to England on Friday to continue their catch up with family and friends and the chase for some cooler weather.

Stupid question of the day: A group of tourists walked into the tunnel while we were waiting for L'Arc to open.  Man: Are all these people waiting?!  Cait: ... No. We all just like standing in lines.  Insert your own nationality of prejudice, or contact us for the real answer.  Hint: northern hemisphere.