Luckily, punctuality wasn't one of my resolutions...
Our bodies still 90% turkey, 10% booze, Red and I hopped on an evening flight and landed in an illuminated Paris. With half an hours train ride, a couple of Metro stops and lots of wrong turnings, we finally arrived at the apartment, just outside of Montmartre.
Spacious, inviting and stocked with enough green tea to fuel an army of yogis, the apartment was the ultimate retreat from the busy city. It was considerably cheaper than most of the hotels, and much more relaxed. Wimdu is amazing if you fancy a little home from home whilst on your travels.
Plus, it had a pretty staircase.
See how pretty? Very Parisienne.
As we spent the night sampling the local cuisine (getting tiddled and eating a lot), the order of events over the week is blurred. But it went something like this...
Ready for a days exploring
Stocking up on supplies...
and then exploring Montmarte.
Montmarte is a very old part of the city and looks almost Italian with its cobbled hilly streets and locals zipping around on Vespers.
Avid Amelie fans, we thought we'd visit Cafe des deux Moulins and see if she was working.
Other people had the same idea, and the inside was packed with Japanese tourists ordering Creme Brûlées and slowly cracking into them with the back of a spoon.
It was hard to get a seat and the interior looked a lot different from the film, which may have been the only redeeming factor of the cafe, alas.
The bubble bath coffee was pretty naff, but the outside chairs took the edge off...
Pretty!
We continued our hike and soon found the tourist areas.
A veritable cattle market, the area around the Sacre Coeur was packed with souvenir shops and locals trying to sell you light up Eiffel Towers/Notre Dames/croissants. Unsurprisingly it was very busy on a bank holiday, but the view made up for it.
We took a funicular down to the bottom of Montemarte, hopped on the Metro and set about exploring elsewhere.
The metro was a lot cheaper than in London, around 1 Euro 80, to zip from side to side and the same again if you wanted to travel in a different direction. The French are so refreshingly blasé about paying for tickets and hardly ever checked, so it pays if you're aloof. Sadly I'm not and got stuck in the doors on several occasions, the perils of being slow and eating too many macaroons.
Can you blame me?
We headed to see the sights of Notre Dame, which fully lived up to its expectations. Elegant and refined, sitting afloat the Ile de la cite, it really is a beautiful building. There's a dreamy atmosphere around the island and I can see why it evoked the lock bridge phenomenon.
We made our addition and threw the key in the Seine (you can throw up now, I won't judge) before grabbing crepes for sustenance...
As the temperature dropped, we hopped on a river cruise to see the sights by night.
Luckily, it was a sheltered boat...
The pictures don't do it justice, but it was a great way to see the landmarks with minimum effort. The rain prevailed as we headed for yet more food, not a problem for the emergency poncho...
You just can't buy style.
We paid a visit to the Moulin Rouge which is a lot smaller and not as pretty as I expected, but still one to tick off the list. I think Baz Luhrman in general gives me unrealistic expectations on life. 'Gatsby, what Gatsby?' ...Sigh...
'Stop wasting your life in the Moulin Rouge with a can can dancer!'
So, the red light district was interesting. Filled with sex shops, sex museums and prostitutes, which my Grannie once befriended (that's another story), it was a touch surreal and just very French.
A word to the wise.
After a generally surreal day, we headed back to rest up for more exploring...
More walking? Groan.
But cake? Okay...
We headed to the Pompidou, which looked like it had been engineered out of play dough. Don't you think?
We spent the day travelling around, visiting third waves cafes for Red to geek out about, shopping and eating. Simple pleasures.
The Pompidou opens until late, so we paid her a visit another visit in all her glory.
Still busy at night, it felt strange seeing a gallery which was so commercial, in that it seemed like a tourist attraction. Apparently a lot of people go just to hang out and revel in the architecture. Which is fair enough, as it pretty unique.
The glass encased escalators zip you up to the galleries, before showing you the city by night, which was utterly stunning.
How Paris is.
How Paris is in my mind.
The Pompidou even has it's own restaurant which if you wish to pay 40 euros for what is effectively spag bol, you can look out to the city whilst you munch away. Sigh.
Hosting a couple of lengthy exhibitions, we opted for the Surrealism one, which housed over 200 works. Incredibly well curated, we oggled at the works of surrealists over the ages, including those by it's founder, Dali.
Who has been confirmed to be off his tits.
And so is Cindy Sherman, but I do love her so. Crazy lady.
It was a brilliant exhibition which was accessible to arty and non arty types, with lengthy descriptions on the history of Surrealism and its repercussions. It was closing time before we were shooed away back into the night.
A couple more days passed with adventures into the Le Marais district, which was wonderfully un-touristy. Independent stores and cute cafes, it's Paris' Camden or Northern Quarter.
My favourite bits were Palais des Thes and Aesop, where freebies and handouts were liberal.
These were actually on the outside of the shop, win.
Then in contrast we headed to the Tuileries, which is very high brow and fancy pants.
Casual store chandeliers no less.
For New Year's Eve, we headed to Trocadero to see La Tour Eiffel in all her glory. It was rainy and cold, but somehow the emergency poncho had disappeared... quelle horreur.
Bustling with people running from the rain, and venders handing out mini bottles of free champagne, the atmosphere as well as the view was truly memorable. It really is huge up close and especially decadent when lit up. Every hour on the hour, the tower sparkles and shines even brighter for a few minutes. If ever you go, make sure you see it sparkle, it really is something.
Still bustling with Christmas markets, we grabbed a vin chaud (for pneumonia prevention) before exploring up close.
Sigh,
The rest of the night was filled with white truffle pasta, more vin chaud and spilling said vin chaud down my boot. For, er pneumonia prevention?
It was an incredible trip and a strong contender for best birthday present yet. I was so sad to leave and return to a very un French reality. Plus, it was just nice to spend New Year not being sick into a laundry basket.
Sigh, until next time...
Sigh, until next time...
Au revoir! Paris, je t'aime!
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