on the road less travelled in Ireland and france

Fran and Conal enjoy strolling along the Canal St Martin and enjoy the ambiance of Paris at night.

By Conal Healy

Friday, October 20, 2023: By 9.30pm, Fran and I had finished at L’Atmosphere and decided on a late night stroll along the Canal St Martin, we stopped at a late night convenience store to buy breakfast provisions (Normandy butter, jam and honey) at a convenience store called Franprix. (They wouldn’t sell us wine and beer, as it was too late.)

The Canal Saint-Martin is a 4.6 km long canal in Paris, connecting the Canal de l’Ourcq to the river Seine.

Nearly half its length, between the Rue du Faubourg du Temple and the Place de la Bastille, was covered in the mid-19th century to create wide boulevards and public spaces on the surface.

The tree-lined Canal Saint-Martin is the focal point of one of the most romantic and hip areas of Paris. Watch boats travel along the canal while lovers and friends take in the atmosphere from the banks or the bridges. Evenings see people fill the embankments to drink wine and enjoy good company.

The charm and romanticism of the Canal, with its one-hundred-year-old chestnuts trees, its locks, its entirely subterranean section, its swinging bridges, its footbridges and its lively banks makes it a very popular place to stroll as soon as the first days of sun are there.

(In 2019, Fran and I had joined, with beers in hand, the many Parisians enjoying a spring evening on the banks of the canal.)

On a Friday night in autumn 2023, we walked by the canal enjoying the cool evening and marveling at our return to Paris. Ahead of us were blue and red flashing lights on a bridge over the canal, it was close to bars and restaurants.

As we drew closer we saw a group of French police officers standing around a knot of young people.

I am not sure what the police officers wanted, but I noted all the young men were standing around with their arms in the air. We walked on. (In France it is illegal to take photos of the police or members of the defence forces.)

The night was still young, the bars were still full in this part of Paris and diners were still eating at the outside tables outside most cafés.

It was not for us, our day had started on a rainy day in Dublin and our beds in Rue Faubourg were calling us.

As we rode the small lift to the apartment there was a small handwritten note stuck to the wall. One of the residents was having a party to celebrate an anniversary, it was an invitation to join the party (and to apologize, in advance for any noise in the apartment block). Fran and I heard the party a few floor above us, decided we’d had a long day  and fell asleep.

As I drifted off to sleep, Fran remarked: “Dublin is like a comfy old jumper. Paris is like a challenging pair of stilettos”.

Good night France.