Mr Brightside (Paris - Doha - Sydney)

Yes, dear reader, I'm back home but there are still a couple of days in Paris to review as well as the journey back to Sydney. I should have completed this post last week, but jet lag and life got in the way. Our last few days in Paris coincided with the conclusion of the school holidays. The crowds thinned dramatically. Monday began in sunshine and we decided we would spend the day shopping. 

Monday

We strolled the few minutes down to the Jardin des Plantes. The popularity of the garden area was boosted by school children who were running throughout the area in groups. Apparently being supervised by their PDHPE teacher. It's tough work being a PE teacher, standing in the morning sun, issuing instructions to your students. Run here, run there, scrolling on your mobile, having a discreet cigarette. Any wonder it requires a university degree. Such intense lesson planning.

Pretty. No I don't know it's name. Maybe Andrea.

There was also a group of older people doing Tai Chi. Here the group leader was actually participating in the activity. Unlike the PE teacher. While they didn't draw a crowd, there were a number of people who were so bemused or amused by the activity that they paused to photograph the group as they pretended to be giant kelp plants being moved by the currents.

Further along, a woman strayed from the path onto the grass to photograph a plant. Her movement was meet with a shrill whistle. The garden police were watching. No-one is allowed on the grass. The woman stepped back onto safe ground and bowed in the direction of the grass protector. Fortunately my transgressions over the past few days went undetected. It's been a long time since anyone whistled at me.

Tulips.

Across the Seine we went onto the Rue Rivoli searching for two things: a place to have coffee and Coton Doux, my favourite French shirt store. The coffee proved elusive. The shirt did not. Coton Doux have an excellent range of colourful shirts but the range hasn't altered a lot over the years and some of my previous purchases are still available. The new shirt is basically white with road bikes as the pattern.

Shirt bagged, we went in search of coffee. Not so easy, as it turned out. It was nearing lunch time and the menu offerings had switched from petit déjeuner to déjeuner. We discovered Westfields. I know, right. There was one in Hamburg and now in Paris. Frank Lowy has a lot to answer to for.

Not at Westfields.

Like the man from ironbark, we wandered here, we wandered there and finally found a café that offered coffee and toasted sandwiches. Bonus. However, there was no room at the inn. On we went and eventually found a café that offered coffee and had seats in the sunshine protected from icy the northerly wind.

As we crossed the Seine back to the left bank, the rain was beginning again. As has been the pattern, it wasn't particularly heavy, but it was enough to keep us indoors for the remainder of the day. Luckily I keep a supply of essentials on hand while travelling. You know, wine, cheese and nibbles.

Tuesday

Another day of wandering and soaking up the Paris vibe commenced. Yesterday we began at the Jardin des Plantes, today was Tuileries. It doesn't have as many garden beds but it does have a huge fountain that is surrounded by seats. The northerly was still keeping temperatures down and ensuring that one side of the fountain was almost deserted. No-one wants to get sprayed by the fountain.

Be careful of the wind direction.

We headed out of the garden and towards Opera because our destination was Galeries Lafayette on  Haussmann. One of the most beautiful shopping centres in the world. It also has a viewing terrace that overlooks parts of Paris. While we had shopped here before we had not been to the terrace.

A Crab Apple in Tuileries.

Into the store that is reminiscent of David Jones in Elizabeth Street in Sydney and also NK in Stockholm. The latter because of the central space with the cafés overlooking the ground floor. Lafayette's dome is far more spectacular.

The Pantheon in the foreground.

From one escalator to another until the final ascent is made via stairs and out onto the rooftop terrace. It was surprisingly crowded. Jayne was asked by an American family to take their photo and did an excellent job ensuring her thumb adorned the photo. Take two. We enjoyed the view and sunshine and then exited on the other side where the escalators go all the way to the roof. No stairs. 

L'Opéra.

There were a number of cafés, perched on the edge of the atrium, that were enticing and calling us to stay a while. But this is Paris, a café would not do. Winegate was the place to stop and admire the stained glass. Not with a coffee but with champagne. Perfect. Expensive but perfect. We watched the groups of people who had paid for the privilege of walking onto the glass viewing platform. I entertained the thought briefly, but we would be required to queue and that wasn't happening.

Lafayette is worth a visit for the view alone.

This was our last full day in Paris and I had still not purchased any macarons. On leaving Winegate, we saw a Pierre Hermé counter. Possibly the most expensive macarons in the world, but hey, you only live once. They were delicious. And at $5 AUD each, they needed to be.

The most beautiful store.

We had lunch in a café by the Seine and people watched for a while before crossing the river one more time and walking home. The afternoon was reserved for packing and champagne.

The journey home begins

After many transit days of dragging bags across cobblestones, I decided the final transit would be in comfort and I ordered a taxi to drive us directly to the airport. Our plane was scheduled to depart at 9:05am which meant a 6am arrival at Charles de Gaulle. Dragging our bags down streets of cobblestones at 5am would not have been appreciated by anyone.

Our driver, booked for 5:30am, was 10 minutes early and despite the early hour, the traffic to the airport was surprisingly heavy. Still, we made CDG in good time and passed through the required checkpoint to be one of two guests for breakfast in the Qatar Lounge. 

Heading for the gate rekindled memories of the ill-fated 2012 trip when a wheelchair bound Jayne was wheeled on the roller coaster walkway to the security point. The walkway was functioning today and Jayne was under her own steam. Security caught me on that trip too. Today our carry on set off the alarms. Why? Hand warmers that we had purchased in Australia and didn't use in the Arctic Circle. They passed through Australia and Austria without problem, but not Paris.

That sorted, we eventually made the plane and our Q-suites. The business class seats on the 777 have their own sliding door providing more privacy. Excellent. We sat, champagne-less, on the tarmac for a while as a passenger was assessed and deemed too unwell to fly. Apparently alcohol can not be served on planes in France if they are grounded. We departed a little behind schedule but made the time up in the air and arrived in Doha on time.

Doha airport has just been awarded the gong for being the best airport in the world. Whatever that means. I subscribe to the Paul Kelly theory on this. He might think all cities are the same, I feel the same way about airports. Yes, it is beautiful but you could be anywhere in the world, shopping for designer brand products.

Looking down from the lounge.

And it is large. The train to transport you from one arm of the airport to another is inside the terminal. There is duplication of shopping opportunities and lounges. Being the home of Qatar airlines meant the lounge was next level. There were of course several lounges, as we found out when we couldn't get into the first one we came to.

The lounge we were redirected to was about a 15 minute walk away. It was worth it. The business lounge had two sides. One was for families and those who wanted peace and quiet opted for the other side. There were more staff than customers in the quiet side. Should you wish to use the toilet, you did so knowing that the attendant waited outside the door as you went about your business. Well, it was the business lounge. As you vacated the facility, the attendant went inside to clean up after you. It's important to stay tidy.

The 'quiet' business lounge.

The last leg was on an A380, my favourite plane. The flight was uneventful, we both got a little sleep and landed on time in Sydney.

The Transit curse

As you would be aware, dear reader, most of our transit days on this trip had some measure of drama. This one was no different. Jayne's e-ticket at the customs barrier was rejected three times and she had to go through the manual line.

We stood at the baggage carousel for quite some time with no result. Checking the app on my phone to see where the air tags were was not comforting. Our bags were, according to the app, 12,369 km away. Hmm, that's Doha. There was, of course, no-one to ask. Bags kept arriving, our tags kept reporting our bags were in Doha. I said to Jayne I would go looking for someone to report our luggage missing when another traveller said his bags were yet to arrive and he was also in business class.

Finally our bags, resplendent with their orange priority tags slid down the chute. The line at customs had significantly diminished while we waited so that was a positive. Or so we thought.

We reached the front of the 'nothing to declare' line and reported that Jayne's e-ticket was kept by the officer on the other side of the customs barrier. "No worries," came the reply. "Just join that line over there." He pointed to the much longer queue for passengers with something to declare.

Once again we reach the front of the line. "What do you have to declare?" Nothing the e-ticket was kept blah, blah. Same comment, "No worries, just join that line over there." We were heading for the x-ray and had the same conversation for the third time. Excellent. 

Bags x-rayed, we finally made it through to the taxi rank. No queue. Into the taxi and home.

As I finalise this post, we have been home for a week. Jet lag is still "killing me and taking control." A line from Mr Brightside by The Killers. It won't stop me travelling, but it hurts for a couple of weeks.

Until next time.

I Love Paris (Paris, part 1)

Ah, Paris, the city of lights. It is one of my favourite cities, dear reader, but you know that already. Today's song title is of no surprise, I Love Paris by Lady Ella. Enjoy a classic from 1956. It is good to be back and to have some time to wind down after the occasionally frenetic pace we carved from the tip of Norway to the capital of France.

It may be spring and there are flowers, but the weather is under the influence of intermittent sunshine with a northerly wind so the maximum temperature is not expected to exceed 13°. The thermals have yet to be broken out, but it's probably not far away. For Jayne at least.

Without breakfast provisions, we made our way to Rue Mouffetard, a well known restaurant strip, to discover breakfast wasn't really their thing. Early mornings really aren't a thing in Paris, unless you are on your way home. Eventually we came across a café and went inside. Only smokers eat outdoors at this time of the year. We were welcomed in but the proprietor was quick to point out there was only 1 croissant left. Breakfast was shared, a croissant and baguette with jam and coffee.

A spring daffodil.

Body and soul restored, we headed towards the river via the Jardin des Plantes. I spent time here in 2012, by myself. No need to go over old ground, but previous posts cover that time in France, if you're interested in history.

A classic Japanese Maple.

We emerged on the left bank of the Seine and walked towards Notre Dame, a phoenix, rising from the ashes of the 2019 fire and now with the scaffolding that surrounds the reconstruction/restoration.

On we went past the famous 'lock bridge' or Pont des Arts and crossed the Seine on the Pont du Carrousel. You might think we were just wandering like random tourists ticking boxes for the famous sights of Paris. However, you would be wrong. We were remembering Paris. And also moving ever closer towards the Pandora store. 

The map located Pandora at the Arc de Triomphe Carrousel. We arrived to find the area swathed in scaffold and protective fencing. Disappointed, we sat and rested and watched the huge crowd in the square lining up for entrance to the Louvre. I estimate I have spent close to two full days in the Louvre and have still not seen everything. Today it was definitely a 'no go zone'.

"The crowds upon the pavement were like fields of harvest wheat."

While we were enjoying fleeting moments of sun, an American couple came to join us on our marble slab, mistakenly thinking we were waiting for the same Louvre guided tour as them. We chatted about Paris and things to see.

After they were called away to head into the maelstrom of bodies that was the Louvre, we departed through the archway that wasn't river side. There was police van after van, lined up on the street for no apparent reason. Dodging the continual incoming tide of people and school groups (no, they are not people) we stumbled across the entrance to the Carrousel du Louvre shopping precinct. Underground.

Police operation or lunch?

That is why my map showed us sitting on top of the Pandora store. Tricky. Down the escalator into more crowds of school groups. Seriously. Is there even one child in Europe in a classroom? Are teachers paid to be tour guides? After bravely shouldering through several groups, we found eldorado. Well, Pandora.

Shopping in tourist areas in Paris is like unarmed combat. Once the marauding tribes of paired school children had left the store - after the girls had shown the boys what they should purchase, we had to battle the entitled generation. They moved in pairs and crowded either side of us as we looked at the charms. When we didn't move, they started a conversation across us by leaning over the cabinet and obscuring our view.

La Tour Eiffel across the love lock bridge.

Enough. We moved. And in doing so were served. Win. And Jayne found a charm for her bracelet. This was a watershed. It was bigger than November 11, 1975, bigger than March 5, 1983, bigger than ... you get the picture. In a never seen before event, Jayne selected a charm that would dangle from her bracelet!

On our way back to reality, we passed a tourist information booth and acquired a map of Paris, albeit a Japanese one. As an old bushwalker, I still prefer a paper map.

Pont des Arts.

The Pont des Arts is probably better known as the Lock Bridge. It was the bridge where people demonstrated their undying love to each other by putting their names on a padlock, locking it onto the bridge and throwing the key into the Seine. We did it 2013 and we're still together so clearly it works. As the weight of the locks was thought to be compromising the integrity of the bridge, the locks have since been removed, more than once by the authorities.

The panels where a lock could be placed have since gone and sheets of perspex now exist. Some decorated. Not to be deterred, the lovers in Paris now attach locks to whatever they can. On any bridge or structure. On the Pont des Arts, they have placed bicycle locks around lamp posts and placed their love locks there. Others now adorn the metal garden fences in the courtyard out the front of Notre Dame. Paris is civil disobedience. Love it.

Love will triumph.

We paused to rest on one of the marble blocks on Pont Neuf as we began our walk home. We'd not been there long when some grumpy old man muttered things in French to Jayne I couldn't understand and gesticulated for us to move. And so we did, a few marble blocks away and we watched as he set up his 'art works' and easel. He was one of those 'artists' whose talents were yet to be recognised and so painted garishly coloured pictures of the surrounds. A latter day Monet. Bahahahaha. Angry old man.

While we watched, he berated several passers-by for stepping too close to his 'artworks'. Given he doesn't pay the government to occupy this spot, I thought his behaviour beyond the pale. The best bit was when he was so involved in one of his fading watercolours that he failed to notice a passerby stepping on one of his precious paintings. It left an excellent 'watermark' of a size 9 shoe right across the bottom corner of Notre Dame. A precious moment to be savoured for a while yet. My only regret was not being there when he discovered the footprint. And no, it was not me, dear reader, I am a size 7.

The Tree of a Thousand Voices on the Carousel Bridge.

Our return walk took us again through the gardens and then home for a well-earned champagne to celebrate being back in Paris. After that it was time to seek out a dinner venue from among the multiple options close by.  While at first glance, we were spoilt for choice, it was not as simple as we thought. Most restaurants had extremely similar menus and, if you liked tartare or burgers, you were in foodie heaven. Neither is really high on our list of dining-out must-haves. So, the quest morphed into finding a place that offered appealing alternatives.

I expected better.

Eventually, we selected a small and well-patronised place that had both steak and lamb (cooked) on a fixed price menu that offered a main with either an entrée or a dessert. Our meals were ok but not great - nowhere to hide with a steak and a lamb chop. The steak was a cheaper cut and the lamb was not very succulent. We have high expectations of food in France and this was not in keeping with our standards, based on previous experiences.

As we were enjoying the last of our wine, a school group emerged from the other end of the restaurant. Reminiscent of the a scene from Mary Poppins as she continually extracted items from her carpet bag, the students kept coming through the restaurant, to gather on the street outside our window view. Our fellow diners all stopped to watch the passing parade. Finally, all present, two teachers formed what I would refer to as a wedding arch and the students went through the arch and continued down the street. Hopefully never to be seen again. Just like in the Pied Piper fairy tale.

The evening's entertainment over, we returned to our dessert. The crowd in the restaurant thinned and the street quietened. Cultured people like to dine early and we'll be home before the rabble rousers emerge. At least tonight.

À demain.