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Everyone knows Paris. We have either been there ourselves, or have learnt from a young age that this is the city of the Eiffel Tower, the Mona Lisa, cute cafes, lights and love. Our time in this iconic metropolis consisted so much of what's been said and done before (visits to the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Montmartre and Sacre Couer, Notre Dame and the Palace of Versailles) that instead of writing about the familiar, I've decided to share some of the little moments that made the story ours.
Our hostel was situated on the St Martin Canal. Every morning Sjane would head off for her morning run along the canal and watch the area come to life around her. The stall holders at the Sunday morning farmer's market were just rolling in for setup as Sjane jogged past. Or so I'm told. I was sleeping in. We would meet in the lobby at some point for breakfast: we'd take our overfilled plates and bowls (free breakfasts must be taken advantage of) and sit at a table outside. I'd ask how well she slept, and she'd offer tidbits of gossip about our current roommates (the borderline racist Ukranian, grumpy Spaniards, the EuroTripping Aussie and Moroccan architect). We'd discuss what's happening with our families back home, and share thoughts on the day's itinerary. These are the moments I savoured, and in my mind was the best way to start each day's adventure.
Standing atop the Eiffel Tower, I couldn't help but enjoy spotting famous landmarks in the distance. Deciding to play a game with Sjane, I challenged her and her notoriously bad sense of direction to identify a couple of points (our hostel, and South respectively). Having struck out on both (despite the pillar nearby being labelled "North" and the setting sun throwing a long shadow from the tower to the East - both dead giveaways in my opinion!), she was determined to not concede defeat just yet, and was able to redeem herself somewhat by then correctly identifying SE as the direction to Rome. Third time's a charm! Then (in classic Sjane form) she overextended herself by trying to get one back on me. Bruges (our next destination) she assured me, was NW. Google Maps and I both disagreed: it was NNE. I had to simply laugh and shake my head at the perpetual entertainment she provides. At least she doesnt let it dampen her spirits, but it does make me wonder how on earth she has survived her previous travels.
We were strolling around inside the cathedral of Notre Dame and taking in the breathtaking stained glass windows, when all of a sudden the air was full of the unmistakable notes of a grand organ. Mass had begun. Bishops and priests filed in, two poured oils on a mantle and smoke began to waft gently up into the arches. Angelic tones of two voices singing joined the organ; and although the words were in a language I didn't speak, they still conveyed despair, hope and joy all at once. The hum of congregants joined in for verses, and I was transported by the experience. My mind's eye wandered up to the light of the stained glass rosette playing behind the smoke, and I wondered about the lives of so many faithful who had come here before me (literally since the 3rd or 4th century AD). Christenings, weddings, coronations, funerals and every aspect of life in between had been played out and witnessed in these halls. A poignant, powerful and moving experience. I felt both a part of, and apart from it.
Lounging about in the Luxembourg Gardens, I was shaken out of my reverie when Sjane pointed at the old man who had just pulled up a seat beside us. He had broken off part of his muffin and was feeding some small sparrows out of his hand. We watched avidly as the small birds would alight on his finger and nibble on the food before taking off again. Sjane asked in her broken (read: non-existent) French if she could take a photo, and the man (presumably misunderstanding her intention) broke her off a piece of muffin for her to feed the birds with. Sjane excitedly extended the muffin in her hand and even mimicked the man's soothing clicking noises that had seemed to put the birds at ease; while I was relegated to photographer duties. Alas, it seemed the sparrows had lost interest. After a few minutes of this, Sjane seemed a little disheartened. The birds were resolutely apathetic to her offerings. I asked if I could have a go (thinking more about eating the piece of muffin when I too had failed), and mere moments after extending my hand, a sparrow skipped straight up onto my palm and ate the whole piece I had offered. I burst out laughing at the irony while Sjane looked both outraged and indignant. I hadn't even held the piece out right, let alone made the clicking noises! The old man chuckled and strolled off as we laughed at the fickle nature of French sparrows.
Having decided to take advantage of the quality and value-for-money of French wines while we were here, we found ourselves grabbing a bottle of wine from the local supermarket and setting up camp for the evening beside the canal. Realising we didn't have our bottle opener with us, or the requisite motivation to climb 6 flights of hostel stairs to collect it; Sjane decided on another approach. Once again in true Sjane style, she took the BYO bottle into a bar and asked the bartender to open it for her (reason given: because she couldn't be bothered) and was also able to talk him into giving her a glass as well ("How else am I going to drink it?!"). After making promises about the safe return of his glass, she strutted proudly back out of the bar like the cat who got the mouse. I'm not sure how she gets away with things like that, but she seems to do it quite often.
Our final words from Paris must go to the people who funded the assorted Suitcase Of Dreams activities for while we were here. Thank you to: Martin, Kym and the girls for the tickets up the Eiffel Tower, the Belah St Timmins' for the romantic dinner, as well as Matthew, Debbie and kids for the romantic brunch. It goes without saying that our time in Paris wouldn't have been what it was without your generosity. Thanks and apologies must go to Matt and April as well; who bequeathed unto us a dinner of snails during our time in the city of love. We had every intention to fulfil this activity on our last night there, but we accidentally got drunk and had Vietnamese instead. Whoops.
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