on the road less travelled in Ireland and france

It should have been a high point of the Paris trip, but Notre Dame had gone up in a blaze a few weeks earlier.

Wednesday, May 1, 2019.

Cold and grey start to the day (Temps: 7-18 degrees)

We had about four hour sleep on our last night in Paris. The previous day, Fran and I had done an 18-hour tourist hike which culminated in a evening, guided stroll through night Paris that meant it was after midnight when we got to bed.

Up early, it is a public holiday for May Day, and it felt like a Sunday. There was little traffic as we walked the back streets to the metro. The local park was shut, too early.

We stepped over streams of piss, or drying piss, left by last night’s drinkers. (Men in Paris seem to have no problem with pissing in public – usually against a historical monument, or any vertical surface).

A light mist, fog maybe, was sitting over Paris – there is a chill of winter in the air.

We rode the metro to Cite from Gare De L’Est and tried to get to Notre Dame which was ablaze a few weeks before. We had caught a glimpse of the cathedral the night before on your nighttime stroll in Paris.

In the misty morning we spotted Gendarmes with a sub-machines guns guarding every road leading to the once popular tourist site. 

We had to see the cathedral as we are to be interviewed by ABC local radio on our return to Australia. Back in the 1980s, I had been inside the building before, climbed the narrow stairs and stood beside the gargoyles which stare across Paris.

Fran and I approached a barricade and caught a glimpse of the twin towers at the front of the cathedral.

We were expecting a sharp rebuke from the sub-machine gun armed policeman, the French constabulary have a fierce reputation – this is a country where you are guilty until proven innocent.

But on this opaque morning policemen was friendly and directed us to the other side of the Seine where we can get a good view of the remains.

We walked along the banks of the Seine, the street were deserted, we had beaten the hordes of tourists that day.

There were a few professional-looking photographers taking photos of the cathedral as dawn slowly broke over the French capital.

We were back in four layers of clothes. We saw the fire damage to the cathedral and tried to get closer. We felt the gaze of the bored gendarme on us as he guarded the bridge, then we saw a cyclist go past behind him and realised he wasn’t stopping people .. so we walked across and get as far as the cathedral grounds.

We took photos. Take selfies. In the early morning stillness it is easy to find a quiet moment to take in the damage and to wonder what the inside looks like?

Maybe the next time we go back to Paris we will be able to walk down the nave of the Cathedral and admire the stain glass. 

Fran and I walked away. We see an café owner delivering coffee to the police officers who seemed to have been in duty all night.

Joggers pass beside us, the traffic is starting to increase. Sirens sound in the distance. Paris is beginning to wake up. Walked back to explore Left Bank.

We found a boulangerie that wass open and Fran buys coffee, hot chocolate, croissants and pain au chocolate … in French. We sat outside enjoying the quietness and our breakfasts.

Street trader were selling Lily of the Valley as a fundraiser for May Day. Later that day there were be riots in Montparnasse but by that stage we will be bound for London.

We rode the metro back to Canal St Martin. We tidied up the apartment and were gone by 10am. Taking our final ride in the lift we called The Coffin.

We lugged our luggage through the park, found the correct bus stop to Garde de Nord armed with a spring of Lily of the Valley – to support the workers.

Got to the Garden Du Nord bus station Fran rides the lift, I take the stairs. The station lift is packed, repeatedly – and we had luggage that would take up most of the tiny lift.

We found the Eurostar check in, Fran borrows a pen from a friendly security guard to fill in immigration forms.

With the forms filled out, we approached Security, our luggage in tow. The security guards ask if we are carrying explosives etc etc, we say Non and go to move on. Then the first security guard asks – politely – for his pen back. 

It takes a second for the sentence to sink in. We fumbled through our back packs, or hand luggage, looking for the pen. In vain. I offer to pay for the pen, by now the guards are enjoying the show and our embarrassment.

And insist on getting the pen back.

Eventually we find the pen and give it back there are smiles all round.

Fran was hungry, I go and buy food. Again I had to clear Security, they question me. “Mon amour, a faim” (“My love, is hungry”). They let me through, and back with mid-morning snacks: A ham and cheese baguette for me and a bowl of fresh salad for Fran.

She complains bitterly about the salad …but devours it and then remarks how good it was. 

We waited for our 1pm departure. Then we have to leave French soil (Immigration and Police) and go through English border controls … A journey of about 20 metres.

The English police inspected Fran’s passport closely, she has an Australian one. And was finally cleared. I step up, show my Irish/EU passport, tell the officer “It is nice to be back” and explain I lived in London in 1987.

My paperwork is quickly checked and I get into a conversation with the customs officer. His mother was Irish, from Dublin and he is just back from tracing his Irish roots. 

Fran is waiting for me, wondering what is taking so long? Wondering if I will be allowed into the UK.

(The previous week the Brexit deadline had passed, and extended. There had been suggestions a hard exit would cause trouble at the borders … Especially in Paris.)

I finished my chat, collected my passport. And moved on to English soil. We wait in the departure lounge, we are tried, bored and wanted to be on the train to London. The lounge slowly fills up, we “people watch” and wondered about their stories.

 We board the Eurostar and are soon zipping across northern France at about 280kms per hour. We read magazines, glance at a book or watch the scenery fly by.

We stop once, south of London, then cruise on to St Pancras. There is no customs or immigration checks in London. We take our luggage and walk down to Kings Cross station.

Welcome to London.

Paris temps

Monday: 3-16. Tuesday: 7-16. Wednesday: 7-18.

Quote for the day

Fran: “After our time in Paris, we ate so much and walked so far we risk becoming Tellytubbies with skinny ankles” (We walked over 240kms in Paris in three days)

Quote for the day

“They whole time I have been in Paris I have been coming down, or high”: Young English tourist to hungover mates on an early morning metro, on the morning we came back from seeing the burnt remains of Notre Dame.