Je t'aime (Paris)

For those readers who are Australian and of 'that' age they will remember small screen star Abigail's pouting, panting remake of the original.  It was truly cringeworthy, but it is a suitable blog title, as will become apparent.

Paris

Ah, Paris. I love it. Although getting here proved somewhat of a challenge.  We left Gizeux about 8:45 via Parcay-les-Pins to drop off our rubbish.  There is no collection for holidaying interlopers, only for locals.  The GPS suggested we'd get to Charles de Gaulle at 12:05pm and in the course of the drive I reduced the e.t.a. to 11:35am.  That was until the traffic on the outskirts of Paris and the stationary peripherique. We finally arrived at the airport at 12:30pm. Gridlock, but a relatively polite and non-aggressive one.  The car was returned with an extra 1300 km on clock, but otherwise unscathed.  I win again! I'm almost feeling confident enough to take on Italy.

Looking toward Place de la Rebuplique

Confidence aside, there is a reason I drop the car before I get Paris. The drivers here are beyond the pale. It might be OK if it was my car and insurance policy, but not with a hire car.  The hire car returned we headed for the terminal to catch a taxi when we were adopted by a very large dark Frenchman, think Sam Hanna from NCIS LA, but with a French accent and as much English as I have French.  Lucky I'm such a masculine bloke and was there to protect the girls in case anything bad went down. LOL.  Seriously, I should have known better to get into a 'non' taxi, although with the white slave trade going well, my profit would have been substantial. Until the girls started telling the traders how to run their business. Later that evening when we were discussing the taxi journey into Paris, Jayne mentioned to Cait that she should not do that if she was alone. At which point, Cait shared that as we walked toward the car, (although she thinks they are a little too old for the white slave trade), she texted her boyfriend Luke back in Australia, that if he did not hear from her in an hour, she had been kidnapped "by a big, hulking, black, french dude" and to search for her, "Taken" style. 

And back the other way

There followed an hour long, hair standing on your neck, drive to our apartment.  Speeding through the traffic.  Forcing our way through bouchon (traffic jams) and I mean forcing.  Taking wrong turns and ending up at bollards.  Laugh.  We did later, after our safe arrival.  In the meantime Jayne left both voicemail and SMS messages for Veronique, the owner of our apartment to tell her of our impending arrival.

We arrived at the apartment at the same time as the mother of the owner - Dani.  She also doubles as the cleaner.  We signed the contracts,

dropped our bags and sorted the bond.  This proved interesting - once again, the owners have decided the bond need not be as large as the rental company.  We were supposed to provide a bond of €2036, which they had reduced to €500.  That is a lot of Euro to have in cash. We were then despatched for lunch so the apartment could be cleaned.  No worries, we are literally 20 metres from the Place de la Republique.  On that basis alone we had lunch at Cafe Republique. 

Following that we went for a wander around the old neighbourhood.  We took a stroll past the ill-fated apartment from last year and over to the markets on Richard Lenoir.  Cait suddenly grew a leg and plumbed strength that had been previously flagging.  Up and down and back again, but she bought stuff.

Home to rest. Rest? Non, non, non. Being so close to Place de la Republique can also be a disadvantage.  The live music continued until midnight (maybe) when the drunken hoards began to find their way home.  In the morning there was not a velib in sight.  Picture the drunken youth of Paris weaving their way home into the sunrise.

Late night. Finally internet access. Skype and blogs uploaded. Exhaustion. Sleep.

As has become practice, Jayne and I went in search of sustenance the next morning. Paris with a hangover.  And it doesn't smell very nice.  Our street being so close to party central also became the toilet.  For a city of such beauty and culture there is a sad base side.  The smell of urine was overpowering as we walked to the Place to find the boulangerie; closed. We walked the perimeter, to see the remnants of more partying: vomit.  Back home to collect Cait, today it would be breakfast in a cafe.  Pleasant enough, as it turned out, but inferior (and more expensive) than what we had enjoyed in rural France.

Refreshed by breakfast we set off on an orientation of Paris for Cait.  Souvenir shopping was a side bonus - but we crossed many things off our lists today.

Anyone know this pair?

We reviewed every souvenir shop in the Notre Dame precinct to compare prices and then went back to purchase the product at the cheapest price.  As the crowds swelled, I opted to wait outside one shop. I was carrying the backpack and it was a hindrance in a small space.  While I was waiting a man approached me, here we go, I thought, I always get asked for directions.  He spoke to me in French, but I didn't recognise many words. Anglais? I asked. MISTAKE.  He wanted to discuss the end of the world and the Bible.  I held up my wrist and my rosary from Assisi.  No, he said, not religion, the Bible. Go figure kids.  Where were Cait and Jayne?  After some discussion around my refutation of his interpretation of the Bible, the girls finally arrived and he disappeared to annoy another unsuspecting tourist.

After our lock was attached.

 We crossed the river back and headed for the 'golden' bridge.  The next bridge beyond Pont Neuf glimmers like it is gold because of all the lovers' locks attached to the bridge.  I think I explained this last year, but briefly, you declare your love on a padlock, lock it on the bridge and throw the keys into the Seine.  And so we did. Hence the title of this rather long blog.  Jayne humoured me.  She is such a romantic.

The key being despatched to the Seine.

From there it was to the Tourism office to purchase tickets to Versailles and then a stroll though Le Jardin de Tuilleries, Place de la Concorde and down the Champs Elysee to lunch and the Arc.  And then the long walk home, on which we discovered the 'Australian Bar'.  Truly.  It was hot, we were tired, so we stopped for a refreshing beer.  In we walked to the air conditioned comfort to see taps serving Fosters.  WTF!  Fosters, we exclaimed, no-one drinks that.  The barman laughed and said, you sell it to us.  That's because no-one drinks it Australia we replied.  Jayne and I had a similar discussion in a bottle-shop yesterday when Yellowtail was pointed out to us as premier wine from Australia.

And so, we are home again and have Skyped the night owls in Australia.  It was quite a warm day here and we have walked over 15km so we are all wilting a little.  The Place de la Republique was well populated again this evening, but the main stage was deserted, thankfully.

Jayne and Cait are planning tomorrow's itinerary, which commences with the markets at St Ouen, somewhere we didn't see last year.