Gay Paris!
I think the best way to write a reflection on Paris, is to give everyone one paragraph.
So here goes;
Wendy:
Paris is a beautiful city. I had heard that it is, but like everything, until you’ve seen it for yourself, you can’t really know.
I love the Seine and the gorgeous bridges that cross over it so frequently.
I love the sound of the French language- so smooth and poetic sounding. I know no French swear words, and although I’m sure I’m hearing them daily, I don’t comprehend anything but a sweet, soft melody. Such a contrast to everyday Aussie ear assaults. I know I know, it’d be different if I spoke that language. But I don’t!
Mr Jordan, (my high school French teacher), I’m sorry I didn’t pay more attention!
I love greeting people with “bonjour” or “bonsoir”! So cultured and friendly!
I love the food- oh do I love the food! Such a sensible race of people to start the day with chocolate croissant! I have been advocating such practices since I was in my teens.
There is history everywhere you look. It gives you a great sense of perspective….
Your young place in an very old world.
Harley: Food. Cuisine, to be exact! You can keep your Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triumphe, Louvre and River Seine. Just give me baguettes, croissants, creme caramels, tartar fish (poisson!!) and a thousand and one ways of cooking meat! It was a gastronomical extravaganza that I will definitely be returning for!
Aaron: ahh Paris, (read in a typical French accent. If you think that you sound ridiculous, your doing it just right) the city of love. A city loved by its’ people. A city loved, of course, by everyone. The best in the world. For it is French, and French is best! French food, French wine, French architecture, French history, French power, French VICTORY, French dogs, French women, French love, French kiss, French fries!
See, France is best!
(You can now return back to reading in whatever accent you feel most comfortable)
My first impression of France was filthy. Gare de lyon train station-underground with its’ urine tainted walls, staircases, floors and I swear the ceiling was covered with it as well! Ammonia was in the air. Not ‘love’ as I first imagined there to be in Paris.
Sitting in the right hand side of the vehicle where the driver is ‘supposed’ to be as we travel on the wrong side of the road at a little over 130km/h had me trippin’ out!
The French language, I find, is quite irritable. Just personal preference I suppose as my mother enjoys its sweet, poetic melodies.
The food is, well, I’m not sure if I can describe it and do it any justice, so I won’t bother. All I will do, is use the most simple of English adjectives to express the most complex of French cuisine: good. Very good.
The architecture is unnecessary I believe. Just an observation. Incredible and magnificent it is, don’t get me wrong. Sculpted, painted and designed to perfection all just because they had the money, the time, the skill, the power and authority to do so.
“Ah what the heck! Lets build a freaking huge arch celebrating all our victories, in the middle of the most hectic round-a-bout in the world! I shall call it: Le Arc d’Triumphe” -Napoleon Bonaparte (paraphrased by Aaron Wells)
The people of France are beautiful. Not so much the men, they’re a bit funny looking and have big noses, but the women. French women are beautiful when they are young but deteriorate rapidly with the coming of age. In and around their early twenties they are nice to look at but their attractiveness quickly diminishes when they whip out a cigarette and light up as if they are wishing away their beauty!
Paris is magical? Yes, I would say magical. Magically beautiful, magically delicious, magically romantic, magically confusing.
Nathan:
I’ve never wanted to go to Paris. In fact, I used to boast about the fact that visiting France or its capital never interested me. The whole idea of it being the “city of love” and the Mecca of fashion design simply didn’t appeal to me. So when I found out that this particular city was part of our family travel itinerary, I can’t say I was excited.
Early Thursday morning we arose bleary-eyed and barely conscious to make our way to the French town of Amiens to then catch a bus to Villers Brettoneux for the ANZAC day dawn service. The air was nastily cold and as we arrived at the memorial, we ascended out of the fog-laden countryside onto a hill with a great stone tower. The chairs put out the previous day for the service were now coated in dew, and we whipped out our trusty travel Sorbents to wipe them down before taking our place with the rest of our fellow pilgrims.
The service was inspiring yet sobering as we heard of the stories where brave diggers sacrificed what they had to offer in order to fight for freedom. Everything in and around me was cold, and as the service progressed, the sun appeared from behind the hill to defrost us all.
When all was done in terms of formalities, we walked up to the massive memorial wall in search of two of Dad’s great uncles’ names. Both of which we found and paid our respects. The previous day we had visited the grave of Mum’s great uncle and done the same.
We then had to head back to the meeting point to catch our bus back to Amiens. However, all the drivers had gone on strike and it took several hours for us to eventually board our coach. It also turns out that the French have the organisational skills of a camel with its feet tied behind its back. So eventually, we made it back to our hotel to check out. It was time, therefore, to drive to Paris.
Let me take you back approximately 48hrs before this point.
We rocked up at Europcar after catching the TGV and a filthy Parisian train to find our hire car. It was much warmer in Paris than Zürich, and by this stage Dad was sweating like a pig. After a few vain attempts to dry his shirt, he walked up to the counter and begins with “Bonjour” in a thick, Harley-Australian accent…
We found our European Ford “S-Max”, chucked our gear in the boot and we were off! Almost. It was the first time that this car had been hired and the French mechanics had gone on strike just before we arrived. So there was a little SD card that had our sat-nav info on it, the had not been inserted. “No dramas!” we thought. “There will be a little slot somewhere” we thought. “It must be here somewhere” we thought. No. Nowhere. No anything. We even pulled panels out of the back of that thing looking for a place to insert this oh so important computer chip!
Forty-five minutes later we were away. With not satellite navigation. Just some instructions from a Frenchman with overly gelled hair and beige trousers.
I don’t know if you’ve ever driven on the wrong side of the road. Dad certainly never had. I have heard it said that there is nothing more frightening than finding yourself in front of a raging bull in the Spanish bull-run, but darting through traffic on a French road with an Australian driver must come close. Speeding down the freeways at 130, passing trucks doing 40k’s slower is not the most settling thing in the world either. At one point I nearly cried when Dad was negotiating an underground carpark. However, 3 days and several changes of undergarments later, we survived with only one minor mirror-mirror collision which thankfully did no damage.
We arrived back in Paris to return our trusty “S-max” and caught a shuttle to our hotel, which had views of the Eiffel Tower.
Paris is a friendly city (contrary to my previous preconceptions about it) where in the afternoon some people lay together on the lawn and drink wine; children and adults play football (soccer) in the street where anyone is welcome to join (even if they don’t want to); and where friends and family ride bikes to their favourite place to relax. There is one problem: it is filthy. Many people just take their dogs everywhere with them and they have a wonderful habit of crapping on the walkways. So it’s a bit of a shame that your eyes are down on the ground to watch where you step, instead of admiring the wonderful scenery.
The other thing about Paris that just isn’t too great is the underground trains. They are 5 times filthier than the Midland line and smell like the urine of a thousand bovines.
Apart from that, and the small risk of being pick-pocketed, Paris is quite magnificent. The architecture is amazing and there are gold-covered statues smattered throughout the city. We did not eat one bad meal there, as the cuisine there is exquisite. The waiters there are also legends- not seedy Frenchmen as I had originally suspected. Eating out is just great.
And last, but certainly not least is the women there. I have never seen such a high concentration of beautiful girls in one place in all my life! It was nice to go out walking on the street if not only because of this.
In conclusion, Paris gave me a pleasant surprise, and I would hope that if you were ever to visit, the same could be said for you.
Chateau Versailles
First of 3 amazing statues…
….impressive….
….magnifique!!
So much artwork at the Louvre we got sore necks!
European Adventures 