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'To blend in with the Parisians wear layers of clothing, preferably in black, with a scarf, and try to show no emotion on your face'... Interesting guidebook advice! It took us about two and a half hours to make our way by train from romantic Bruges to the city of love. The cost of the train tickets had stung (180 euros), but as we rocketed through the flat Belgian landscape on our high speed train I forgot the spent euros and began to get excited about what lay in store for us - champagne at a Parisian cafe, sunset at the Sacre Coer, kisses under the Eiffel tower, and walking hand in hand along the Seine... But Dale's immune system had other ideas...
From complaining of a sore throat in Bruges, Dale was a raspy throated, snot dripping, sneezing mess by the time we arrived at our hotel on the edge of Montmartre. I dosed him up with some cold and flu meds and took him for a walk through Bohemian Montmartre to the Sacre Coer, but the swarms of tourists and Dale's difficulty breathing meant that the experience wasn't so enjoyable and we decided not to wait for sunset. Instead we walked back downhill to a bistro near our hotel where our charming French waiter (yes, a charming French waiter!) joked in English with us, and we had a lovely cosy dinner with French wine, tasty food and creme caramel for dessert.
Our Eiffel tower experience was also marred by Dale's ill health. Barely could he walk 10 paces without sneezing violently or blowing his nose loudly. Kissing was out of the question. When we saw the enormous queues at the base of the tower, Dale suggested that we skip a trip to the top of the tower and have an early lunch. We found a cafe with busy outdoor tables and two of the most fabulously moustached old waiters brought us menus and water. Dale popped some more pills and then ordered escalope of veal with mushroom sauce and potato gratin. I continued my love affair with goats cheese with goats cheese on toast with salad and walnuts. Again, our experience of Parisian restaurant service was amazingly good (we had braced ourselves for nothing but contempt given our lack of French).
It was a gorgeous sunny Saturday, so we walked on up the Seine and into fashionable St Germaine. It was a beautiful walk, though Dale struggled to appreciate it in between sneezes. Eventually I realised that I was the only one enthusing over the views and that I needed to get Dale home to bed with some orange juice and some more paracetamol! We collected some supplies from an upmarket supermarket we passed - including the most amazing striped cheese with layers of gorgonzola and mascarpone! - and carried it back to our hotel room, where we had our picnic dinner listening to the sound of a saxophonist's music practice wafting in our window.
Dale felt a little better after his early night and said he was up to accompanying me to Versailles. It took us around 45 minutes to train out to Versailles and then a further 10 minute walk from the station to the Palace. It was a gorgeous sunny day, which was just as well since the long snaking queue of tourists waiting to buy tickets meant it would be some time before we would make it into the building. I gallantly offered to wait in the queue and sent my coughing husband to find himself a coffee. After 45 minutes or so of queuing, I found myself at the ticket desk where I purchased two tickets to the palace. What I hadn't realised is that if you wanted to visit the gardens or petit Trianon, you needed to pay extra. Since Dale still wasn't feeling 100% it was probably just as well - although the gardens really did look amazing!
I met up with Dale outside, who had kindly brought me back a bottle of water and a snack from his foraging. We then joined the queue to actually get inside the palace. The number of people visiting Versailles was astonishing, the line for tickets had doubled since I had been in the queue and there were more people pouring in the gates every moment!
The grandeur of Versailles blew Buckingham Palace out of the water - sorry Liz. The rooms have been restored to how they may have looked during the time Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI lived here. The magnificence of the decoration and the stunning views of the gardens out the window were even more impressive than I had imagined. The enormous palace had housed not only the royal family and their servants but also Louis' court. No wonder the king was out of touch with his subjects, everything that surrounded him was frighteningly decadent. Fresco after fresco, chandelier after chandelier, gold leaf decorations, exquisitely crafted furniture, gold cherubs holding lamps, and marble everywhere.
From Versailles we caught the train to the Musee d'Orsay. I love the sculpture collection, most of which is strikingly presented in the bright and airy central atrium. The collection contains not only traditional subject matter - Greek gods or aristocratic busts - but also more intriguing compositions like a child bored with his study and an African slaying a crocodile. Dale was most interested in the collection of impressionist artworks, particularly by Vincent Van Gogh and Paul Signac. Afterwards we found a cafe tucked away down a side street where we could sit with a drink by open bifold doors and watch the Parisians go by. Dale indulged my cheese obsession, allowing me to order fromage with my glass of rose. The slightly surly waitress brought us out a plate with three pieces of cheese (a strong flavoured gooey camembert, a milder soft cheese, and a salty hard cheese like a pecorino) and a basket of sliced baguette. It was a lovely way to finish our busy day of sightseeing.
For our last day in Paris we had a lot to cram in - Saint Chapelle, Notre Dame and the Louvre were top of the list. We lined up at Saint Chapelle for nearly an hour to get in. Immediately behind us were a group of Americans and I have watched enough American movies to recognise the accent of New Yorkers. Their inability to speak quietly meant we were treated to every word of the vacuous conversation. The sign at the gate advising that entry was free to 18 - 25 year olds from the European Union provoked a puzzled question from one of the group who had never heard of the EU. One of the others in the group had to try to explain to the women what the EU was, although it became clear that this second person didn't know much more than her friend ("No, Great Britain's not in the EU, they're not even on the euro"). Another one of their friends piped up at that point : "Until you are an expert in American history you can't be expected to tackle European history and then after that maybe you can graduate to South America and Latin America" - to which his friends all agreed.
Once we made it inside the church we discovered that it is undergoing restoration so a large portion of the stained glass was covered by scaffolding. But from what we could see of the remarkable windows, they were gorgeous.
From Saint Chapelle we walked to Notre Dame. We couldn't be bothered joining another queue to get inside so we admired the cathedral from the outside. As we stood there three gypsy children ran past chased by a furious waiter - we wondered what they had nicked to make him so angry!
The line at the Louvre was as bad as at Versailles and we stood looking at each other, deciding whether or not to spend another hour trying to get inside and then jostle with the other tourists for glimpses of Leonardo Da Vinci's works. Guiltily we decided to give it a miss and find some lunch instead. A bit disappointing - I don't think I had to queue at all the last time I was in Paris - but obviously September is a busy time of year to visit the city!
In the evening we planned to go for dinner and champagne at a French brasserie I had read about. We got off the metro near the Moulin Rouge and walked to the restaurant... Only to find it closed. Not to worry, I had also written down the name of another French bistro nearby... But that too was closed. We now found ourselves in a slightly dodgy part of Paris, but I had one more potential restaurant within walking distance... This one was open, but turned out to be less traditional French Bistro and more modern French steakhouse (bloody tripadvisor leads us wrong again!). It must be said that Dale had not enjoyed being dragged by his wife from one side of Montmartre to the other and he was not his usual cheery self as we sat down at our table for two. I decided not to push my luck by ordering champagne and opted for a more reasonably priced glass of red. Dale then declared that he wasn't particularly hungry, so ignoring starter choices such as frogs legs or snails, he went straight to the list of mains and chose the oven baked fish with vegetables. I ordered duck breast served with blackcurrent sauce and a side dish of fresh egg pasta. As we sat there waiting for our meals, the restaurant filled up and several walk ins were turned away - making us realise how lucky we were to have secured a table!
Our final view of Paris was from our airport shuttle as it wound its way through the busy streets while the Italian women in the back seat chattered away loudly (wish I knew what was so interesting!). We careered around the Arc de Triomphe - a mad free for all where traffic just honks at each other and whoever hoots loudest has right of way - scooted by the Eiffel Tower, and finally pulled in to Paris Orly ready for another tussle with Easyjet!
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