NEWS CHANNEL
Published: 05/09/2010 09:00 -
Updated: 16/02/2011 14:01
It’s hard to avoid the lure of Paris even when the natives are moving quicker than rats up a drainpipe to escape the summer heat.
I have lost count of the number of times I have visited the French capital, too many probably when I hate going anywhere twice.
But Paris has its charm, its culture and its romance.
It also has its unique hotel rooms, some of which I have discovered over the years, leave much to be desired.
It takes around 140 minutes to replace London St Pancras with the Gare du Nord.
From there we strolled 400 yards close to the nearby Gare de l’Est, in the shadow of which stood our accommodation on this whirlwind visit.
Not the swishest, but having an evening return journey it made sense to stay near the station so we would not be involved in a trek to collect luggage at the end of another pulsating day.
Such is our energy we planned to see little of our hotel, and if we needed any encouragement to follow that advice it was on the wall in our fifth floor bedroom.
The fire warning tells us not to use the stairs or lift (only one person at a time could get into that) in the event of a blaze. Instead we were to put towels at the bottom of the door and head for our twee balcony and scream for help.
At least we were warned.
This was an alternative visit to the most irresistible of destinations, the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Plas de la Concorde, Napoleon’s Tomb, cruise on the Seine, Louvre, Sacre Coeur, Montmartre, Montparnasse - all done to death.
But we couldn’t quite escape them all, it’s impossible when you realise, with a bit of foot slogging, Paris is quite compact.
Within 45 minutes of leaving our potential fire-trap we are strolling down the Rue de Rivoli and soon enjoying a small beer in the beautiful Tuileries Gardens, occupied by hoardes of sun-loving Parisians.
Then we joined a queue of more than 100 in burning sunshine and 90ºF heat to enter Musee de l’Orangerie.
This gem escaped our agendas over 20 years but today I finally got to cast my eyes on Monet’s famous water lilies.
Rather good, too, they were.
There’s a huge vibrancy about Paris for a Sunday and we head across the river to the Pantheon, in the lively Latin Quarter, which is surprisingly quite tourist free. We think we have been here before and are easily distracted by the Bombardier pub, tucked into a nearby corner plot.
One of Bedford brewer Charles Wells’ boozers, it is heaving and selling beer at prices that would make you blush if you were a Bedfordshire landlord.
I’d like to say we had a drink but we gave up in the end and left the richer.
We circled the Pantheon and then headed down the famous Boulevard Saint-Michel towards the river and to the most electric part of the city.
Restaurants and bars abound and the first thing you spot is that a three course meal is cheaper than your average pint of lager.
But we do what Parisians do, dine outside and watch the world go by without a care in the world.
We walk off our meal by strolling up towards Notre Dame Cathedral where the doors have just been closed, but there is still an almighty throng enjoying the pleasant evening warmth. At the rear is a park where we find sanctuary and consider what our next move might be to our escape route we call the balcony.
The next day is frantic. We are left agog at the prices in the legendary Galeries Lafayette store, do the tour of one of the more modern day attractions, the Paris aquarium, stand in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower and queue for the one-hour sail up the river. Yes I know, but we were fit to drop.
We even summoned up the energy to walk from the Tower to the Arc de Triomphe, where we sat on a bench and marvelled at how many vehicles could go around it at any one time and not produce a single collision.
The too-ing and fro-ing of illegal trinket and water vendors, engaged in their cat and mouse game with authorities, by-passes us, and we manage a wry smile as a smartly dressed Parisian tries to pull me in with the old ‘gold wedding ring’ trick.
If you are honest you won’t get caught. And as cruel as it seems, we give the ‘ladies’ asking for money the deaf short shrift. If you do hand over cash beware the follow up hug which could leave you even poorer.
So Paris is as wonderful as ever, and again it will probably be a case of au revoir rather than farewell, but next time the room we book may well be on the ground floor.
I have lost count of the number of times I have visited the French capital, too many probably when I hate going anywhere twice.
But Paris has its charm, its culture and its romance.
It also has its unique hotel rooms, some of which I have discovered over the years, leave much to be desired.
It takes around 140 minutes to replace London St Pancras with the Gare du Nord.
From there we strolled 400 yards close to the nearby Gare de l’Est, in the shadow of which stood our accommodation on this whirlwind visit.
Not the swishest, but having an evening return journey it made sense to stay near the station so we would not be involved in a trek to collect luggage at the end of another pulsating day.
Such is our energy we planned to see little of our hotel, and if we needed any encouragement to follow that advice it was on the wall in our fifth floor bedroom.
The fire warning tells us not to use the stairs or lift (only one person at a time could get into that) in the event of a blaze. Instead we were to put towels at the bottom of the door and head for our twee balcony and scream for help.
At least we were warned.
This was an alternative visit to the most irresistible of destinations, the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Plas de la Concorde, Napoleon’s Tomb, cruise on the Seine, Louvre, Sacre Coeur, Montmartre, Montparnasse - all done to death.
But we couldn’t quite escape them all, it’s impossible when you realise, with a bit of foot slogging, Paris is quite compact.
Within 45 minutes of leaving our potential fire-trap we are strolling down the Rue de Rivoli and soon enjoying a small beer in the beautiful Tuileries Gardens, occupied by hoardes of sun-loving Parisians.
Then we joined a queue of more than 100 in burning sunshine and 90ºF heat to enter Musee de l’Orangerie.
This gem escaped our agendas over 20 years but today I finally got to cast my eyes on Monet’s famous water lilies.
Rather good, too, they were.
There’s a huge vibrancy about Paris for a Sunday and we head across the river to the Pantheon, in the lively Latin Quarter, which is surprisingly quite tourist free. We think we have been here before and are easily distracted by the Bombardier pub, tucked into a nearby corner plot.
One of Bedford brewer Charles Wells’ boozers, it is heaving and selling beer at prices that would make you blush if you were a Bedfordshire landlord.
I’d like to say we had a drink but we gave up in the end and left the richer.
We circled the Pantheon and then headed down the famous Boulevard Saint-Michel towards the river and to the most electric part of the city.
Restaurants and bars abound and the first thing you spot is that a three course meal is cheaper than your average pint of lager.
But we do what Parisians do, dine outside and watch the world go by without a care in the world.
We walk off our meal by strolling up towards Notre Dame Cathedral where the doors have just been closed, but there is still an almighty throng enjoying the pleasant evening warmth. At the rear is a park where we find sanctuary and consider what our next move might be to our escape route we call the balcony.
The next day is frantic. We are left agog at the prices in the legendary Galeries Lafayette store, do the tour of one of the more modern day attractions, the Paris aquarium, stand in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower and queue for the one-hour sail up the river. Yes I know, but we were fit to drop.
We even summoned up the energy to walk from the Tower to the Arc de Triomphe, where we sat on a bench and marvelled at how many vehicles could go around it at any one time and not produce a single collision.
The too-ing and fro-ing of illegal trinket and water vendors, engaged in their cat and mouse game with authorities, by-passes us, and we manage a wry smile as a smartly dressed Parisian tries to pull me in with the old ‘gold wedding ring’ trick.
If you are honest you won’t get caught. And as cruel as it seems, we give the ‘ladies’ asking for money the deaf short shrift. If you do hand over cash beware the follow up hug which could leave you even poorer.
So Paris is as wonderful as ever, and again it will probably be a case of au revoir rather than farewell, but next time the room we book may well be on the ground floor.
