PARIS

---

For the first time in four months we awoke to the fact that we did not have a car. I have no idea what happened to our 308 after we left it at Orly Airport but can only guess that it has gone to join a paddock full of second-hand Peugeots. I am sure that in the next few weeks it will be on a car lot somewhere in France with a good price on the window and a salesman explaining that it has had one careful Kiwi driver. You would have to say that Peugeot needs the non-EU business as its credibility as a viable company has taken a pounding in the past few years. Peugeots stock is down 77% since July 2011 and recently they made the announcement to slash 8000 jobs in France to save the company €1.5 billion each year till 2015. In the last few days the company has faced fresh humiliation by its removal from the French CAC40 – as a founder member in 1987 this has been met with derision and much disdain. That aside I must say that they make the best motorcars. Our 308 was brilliant, it easily fitted all our luggage and boxes of wine and cruised along on the French roads with the utmost of ease – we even managed five adults in the car with little problem; our back seat was practically virginal when we dropped it backed. Anyone thinking of an extended stay in and around Europe should log on to http://www.eurolease.co.nzto check out their latest range and prices; it worked out at approx. NZ$50 a day for the 118 lease days, which for a brand new car with full insurance and roadside assist is very hard to beat. Anyway, much more of that and people will think I am on the take. Rest assured I am not.



We promised ourselves a walking tour of Paris on the first day and that is precisely what we got. It was self-guided from our hotel with the assistance of Ros’ Metro Tickets, which she had kindly given us. Basically we walked all day starting from beneath the Eiffel Tower ending up back at the hotel late in the afternoon. It is such a wonderful city to wander and even the unplanned scenario of getting lost should not be overlooked – you always seem to be near a Metro station or even better a café to rejig your bearings and set off again. I read an article the other day in that bastion of news the Daily Mail that labelled the most hated cities in the world. I am not sure I can agree with the fact that Paris is in the top five or that Sydney and Melbourne squeak in too. According to the article the common tourist complaint in regards Paris is that it is overhyped and underwhelming. I never once got this feeling. Yes there are the age old complaints that there’s too much dog doo, the food is not all gourmet and haute cuisine (good), and the waiters have an air of arrogance but Paris is what it is. A lively metropolis that is easy to get around, easy to eat cheaply (and expensively if you so desire), and it has all the sounds and smells that big cities have – there is nothing to compare to the Paris ‘sewer smell’ that catches your nasal senses every so often. Maybe Athens could compete? Without wanting to completely slice my positives in two I need to add that we were very nearly scammed by a gypsy lady who thought we would be ‘green’ enough to fall for the old ‘have you just dropped your gold wedding band’ gag. We said “no” and pointed out that I was wearing mine but she wanted to give it to us – as a token of friendship from the people of Paris. What a lovely sentiment. We held firm on “no”, as if you say “thanks, I’ll have that” you are hounded by her (and her many friends who appear) up and down the street for money. We watched one man become very frustrated and finally give over some cash to get rid of her. Those arguments aside while wandering the streets I got the same emotions as I did in New York. It is a beautiful city and there can be no better place to lose time than in a Paris park on a summers day, vivid blue sky with vapour trails above, locals and tourists mingling on the grass, eating a brie and jambon baguette – pure bliss.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2197668/Crime-scams-rude-waiters-Meet-worlds-hated-cities-Sydney-Melbourne-doing-there.html



We had both been up the Eiffel Tower on previous visits so we did not join the thousands queued below waiting their chance to either walk or take the lift to the top. To me the Tower always conjures up the Clark Griswold “inspiring” speech in which he sheds a tear looking out over the Paris skyline and then asks where the Men’s Room is – I will explain an even better Griswold moment later. The Eiffel Tower is an amazing landmark of Paris and it is truly remarkable how many times you come across it each day. We wandered back along the river late in the afternoon and it was forever towering over the buildings until it slipped from view. It has not done a bad job as a draw card for the city considering it was originally built with only a twenty year permit after which city officials planned to tear it down. What a massive error of judgement that would have been. In a little way Sky Tower has similarly become part of the Auckland over the last 15 years, La Tour Eiffel has had over a century to cement its position and from the throngs of people that were willing to wait for the lift (long queue) or for the stairs (short queue) it’s popularity and status is not diminishing. My two favourite views would be as you walk onto the Trocadéro and look out and over the gardens and across the Seine, and as you walk back along the Seine to the point where the small Statue of Liberty stands aloft the waters with the tower looming above – at one point you can line the two of them up. It is a nice marriage of landmarks.



In a moment that can only be labelled coincidence we were talking about our disbelief that it was fifteen years since that fateful night when Diana, Princess of Wales and Dodi Al Fayed were killed. I said to Narelle as we crossed the Pont de l'Alma that we should go to the underpass where the infamous black Mercedes hit (ironically) pillar number thirteen. I knew that a memorial of sorts sat above the underpass – mainly flowers and messages that have been added to over the years. With the 15^th year commemoration passing just last week more messages, posters, and floral tributes had appeared and that is what we practically fell on as we exited the bridge. There it was. A small, grey, two lane, insignificant looking underpass that now has as much infamy as the underpass we visited in Dealey Plaza. It was here that Henri Paul showed how drugs and alcohol do not mix well before driving, or if you believe Mohammed Al Fayed it is where Prince Philip and the Secret Service bumped off the Queen of Hearts. It was interesting to visit and see all the messages scrawled on the concrete – many are faded due to time and weather or are lost due to the layers of letters that overlap. Our only other link to the whole episode was years later when the surviving bodyguard stepped out in front of our car in Oswestry – poor Trevor Rees-Jones could have survived the crash, undergone all sorts of rehab, and then been the victim of me cleaning him out on a Shropshire crossing. I may have struggled to blame that one on Prince Philip!



If there is a funnier father and son conversation than this one from European Vacation I have not heard it:

Rusty Griswold: Dad he's grabbing her tits right there at the table!

Clark Griswold: Just eat your breakfast, Russ.

Rusty Griswold: ... Dad, I think he's gonna pork her.

Clark Griswold: He's not gonna pork her, Russ.

Rusty Griswold: I think he's gonna.

Clark Griswold: He may pork her, finish your breakfast.



In Paris we had more Rusty moments than you usually have on average days out. Our picnic under the Eiffel Tower was accompanied by a display of amorous behaviour that would see you do thirty years jail in the UAE. A young couple felt the need to let off a bit of steam in the shadows of the Tower with approximately 500 people gathered near them. To them this was either an empty park or they had somehow come to the belief that they had Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak over them. I have never witnessed so many people run with their cameras, set up their picnics nearby, hide children, leap on buses, and fall over hedgerows – this was, as Donald Rumsfield would say “shock and awe”. By sheer chance we took up our position on a nearby park bench and ate our baguettes with slack jaws and watched the drama unfold. Mothers placed children in the recovery position; Dad’s slapped sons on the back and pointed. However, the award for ‘Best Supporting Voyeur’ was the Asian man who left his family and went to lean up against a tree, and then he reclined with a cigarette while taking in the moment. He ended up on the park bench by us and I am sure if he could have he would have asked for popcorn, a beer and an ottoman to rest his feet. He was in his element and had no intention of leaving even when his wife came over to tell him it was time to leave. The bit that got everyone laughing was when nearing a finish the guys ‘phone rang, and to top it all off he answered it. At that point we left leaving Wang to have the bench to himself and the couple to share their private afternoon with seventeen coachloads of tourists. I wish Clark and Rusty could have seen it – they would have loved it. Narelle said: “yes Matt, he may pork her, just try to get some of the baguette in your mouth”.



Over the two days in Paris we walked the Tuileries Garden; made our way through Notre Dame Cathedral, which to me was a bit of a disappointment. After all the cathedrals we have visited this one has become a business, crowds are herded through and boxes of candles are stacked up awaiting lighting by the masses. One plinth of candles had a €1000 worth of candles alight. It all seems a bit garish and takes away from the building. After wandering the Champs-Elysées we wisely used the tunnel under the roundabout to go and look at the Arc de Triomphe. How there are not more accidents on this road I do not know. It is bad enough just watching from the middle but driving it seems reckless; I was pleased we did not have to drive the 308 around it. One Frenchman made matters all the worse by deciding to park his car on the inside lane kerb so that he could show his young daughter the Arc – gendarme came from everywhere to tell him to move but he still made time for a photo and looked all a bit aggrieved that his best laid plans were not that well received.



We took my sister’s advice and went to the famous bookstore Shakespeare and Company, where we sat outside and wrote our final French postcards. Many famous authors like Hemmingway have made this bookshop their home and still today upcoming authors live at the shop to gain experience and listen to other authors tell their stories. It is a book lover’s paradise. Hemingway’s legacy also came up as we wandered past the Ritz. Legend has it that he was the first person to liberate the famous bar after the Germans took possession of it during WW2. He apparently commandeered a jeep and sped to his beloved bar and spent the night popping bottles of champagne that had been left. The fact that he never had any money seemed to be no hindrance to his standing at the Ritz. What he would make of the Ritz being closed for an extended period I do not know, but it is. Earlier this summer the owners made the decision to close for two years and complete a major refit. It is amazing that hotels can do this; the Savoy did it recently and the Hotel Crillion is about to do it. At the Ritz they have made a temporary façade to hide the work and a tunnel will be dug underneath to ensure celebrities can come and go without the hassle of the paparazzi. The Ritz’s most expensive room will set you back $17000, but book early as it is often not available. There is the age old notion that if you need to ask at time of booking how much this suite is then perhaps it is not for you – I am happy to accept that notion. The Mercure Apartment we had was just fine for us.



Our final night in Paris was overshadowed by a travel debacle brought on by the demise of Spanair; I wish I could say sudden but it happened in January. We have been incredibly lucky to have escaped any major travel incidents – we have witnessed many, especially on the coach tour where our fellow travellers seemed to leave jackets, phones, and house keys at most of our stops. I guess we nearly avoided the Spanair fiasco by never knowing about it. Certainly it was a step too far for the airline to contact ticketed travellers to let them know their flights were cancelled. We found out through Richard (who we were to stay with in Menorca) when he asked for our flight numbers so they could meet us – imagine their surprise when we said we were arriving on a flight that last flew in late January. Cue semi-mad panic and many emails back and forth and constant checking of flights from Barcelona to Menorca, which at this late stage (and it being Fiesta weekend) were not only at a premium but also as rare as hens’ teeth. Our angel in disguise was Gerald from Harvey World Travel in Howick who we had used for much of our arrangements (not this bit I hasten to add) who not only found us a flight to Menorca on Air Europa but also a direct flight back to London on BA. So after 24 hours of great uncertainty our trip to Menorca was back on and much to the delight of Richard and Ann we will descend on them for the weekend. Richard’s clincher to ensure we travelled was “but Matt the drinks cabinet has been stocked”. We have decided from this episode that if we do another trip like this then Gerald will get the whole gig – the internet is great but when dealing with airlines it is not so great if you have lots of luggage. Airlines these days seem to prefer it if you travel with a towel and a spare pair of undies; suitcases are so unnecessary and if you do want to bring one it will be an extra €35.



Paris was wonderful and a great way to finish our time in France. Dog poop on the pavement aside it is still a magical place to visit and we loved exploring side streets and parks. All we had to do was endure an early morning taxi to trip to CDG Airport. Our taxi driver may have known Henri Paul as I must admit I was a trifle concerned about his mental state. I think we may have got him at the end of a shift as he was nodding off on the motorway, which can be a tad disconcerting when you are travelling 130km and he is doing the head nod. He tried sunglasses, he tried the window open, he tried stretching, and I started whistling and coughing loudly much to Narelle’s bemusement. I did not let on about my concerns but when I started to whistle she knew something was up. Anyway, we made it and I am not sure I have ever been as thankful to reach a destination – I hope he went straight home to bed but I fear he will have done one more trip back into the city. Maybe there’s a chance he picked up the Griswolds.

---