Can you believe that I have lived in England my whole (nearly) 42 years of life and have not once visited our neighbours in Paris.
Well okay… once…. But I was a small child and I only remember the pink castle and the rodent problem.
The idea was spurred from an ad for cheap Eurostar tickets. £39 each way for selected times within the next couple of months. Well, ‘now’ seemed good, so that wasn’t a problem. And having never experienced the Eurostar itself before either, I was powerless against the double-whammy of new experiences and limited time savings. So off I went.
Saturday 25th January 2025
In my younger days I felt certain that the earliest possible arrival time was undoubtedly of most benefit. Arrive in a new location, and make the most of the day before checking into the hotel.
These days after travel I am grumpy, tired and disheveled and there is no guarantee that I will be remotely willing to use the time after arrival for anything other than decompressing in the hotel room, so if the flight/train tickets are notably cheaper later in the day, that is when I will invariably go.
They were. I did.
I completed the usual part-time Saturday hours at work before grabbing the train at 15:45 from Dartford train station straight to Kings Cross St Pancras. Once there, the Eurostar was helpfully signposted and very easy to spot upon arrival. The security and passport checking process was not remotely dissimilar to airports. 10 minutes of waiting uselessly in a queue before hitting the conveyor belt and suddenly having to shed layers, bags and separate electronics into relevant crates all before the person behind you gives you the stink eye.
I have yet to win this game.
Once through, fully clothed (hair looking like I have fallen out of a tree - mid layer jacket potentially inside out) I find that the difference between Eurostar and an airport is that there is now nowhere else to go to kill the time, barring one shop selling overpriced sandwiches and magazines. I take a seat in the lounge area and with utmost Englishness attempt to evade all eye contact.
It is dull.
It is not as dull as the train ride itself.
The wi-if on the Eurostar doesn’t deserve to advertise itself as wi-fi. I had maybe 9 seconds of connection each time before my series buffered. It physically hurt. I resigned myself to my downloaded music and occasional small talk with the woman next to me with whom I was already annoyed for having usurped my pre-booked window seat. I didn’t say anything. Again, English. Plus - the aisle had its benefits. The cafe cart was the next cart down, and it had wine in it. So very shortly into the journey, so did I.
Got along better with my Parisian seat-usurper after that. I don’t think she even realised. She had a couple of small bottles of wine herself after seeing that they were available for purchase, and was clearly borderline traumatised by some errand that she needed to complete for work in Paris.
So what the hell. Let her have a prime viewing platform by the window, so that she can visually enjoy her doom and inevitable failure hurtling towards her at a rate of 180 miles an hour.
That’s what she gets for stealing my pre-allocated window seat. The bitch.
I mostly left her to it. a little bit of small talk here and there, but I had my ear phones in and was in my own little bubble mostly.
See - I was told by a number of people before I went that Parisians are cold, rude and aloof.
They didn’t have a patch on me!
All I wanted was to be left alone - They all wanted to chat. In my time there I encountered nothing resembling rudeness and certainly no aloofness. By my standards (grins somewhat awkwardly)
After my Vienna travel ticket confusion I am prepared this time. I have an online ticket, purchased daily from the Bonjour RATP app for 12 euros. It’s on my phone. Saved to my Apple Wallet. I hold the phone to the laser checker on the gate and the gate opens! Et voila!! I’m in Paris and my daily train ticket actually works.
It is closing in on 20:30. I catch the magenta RER line directly to my hotel in the 8th arrondissement - Hotel Charing Cross - and am settled (*collapsed on bed, huffing at ceiling) within 30 minutes.
I do not leave the hotel room for the rest of the night.
Before I move on to tomorrow - I heartily recommend this hotel. I methodically research my itinerary before I travel and when it comes to sourcing hotels I take into account cost and locality/travel connections over all other commodities. This hotel cost me 368 euros (around £307 GBP) for 3 nights on the trip.com app. Admittedly nothing of interest was on its doorstep barring the Saint-Lazare train station - which serves as a central point for most - if not all - of the local train lines. From this station across the road from my hotel I had a short single-journey train ride to pretty much everywhere in Paris. I could not have chosen better for my needs as an efficient economy-conscious traveller with a focus on experiencing as much as possible in a very limited amount of time.
The hotel room itself was the cheapest I was able to find both in the hotel, and in general with such good transport connections. The room was small, but had everything a tourist would need. A comfortable double bed, power points, kettle, en-suite bathroom. The heating and water, btw, both worked spectacularly well. This is something that I have a special appreciation for, having experienced budget European city breaks in the 90’s.
For a solo traveller I absolutely endorse and recommend this hotel. If I return to Paris, I will return to this hotel.
But for now sleep. Wonderful, wonderful sleep….
Sunday 26th January 2025
….F&^%it, Too much sleep!!
My tour is 30 minutes away and I have woken up 30 minutes ahead of my tour.
Atop of that, the RATP app is now playing up and not allowing me to download today’s ticket. So my run to the train station now incorporates a detour to the help desk where they are kind enough to sell me a physical train card at just 1 euro extra. In my panic I get on the train in the wrong direction and… lets just say I miss the first 45 minutes of the tour and entirely miss out of Sacre Coeur cathedral.
Not the stairs, mind. My group were all at the top of those bloody stairs.
Do you know what I really didn’t need atop of waking up late, not being able to download the essential travel card I needed for the day, getting the train in the wrong direction before circling back and running at as full pelt as was manageable whilst juggling a bottle of water in one hand and google maps in the other?
Stairs! A %^$*-ton of stairs is what I didn’t need!
Nonetheless, I am here. Such a friendly group. They all seem genuinely thrilled that I have finally managed to make it.
Sacre Coeur is beautiful, from what I can see of it through the beads of sweat dripping into my eyes. Possibly the most beautiful thing I see in Paris for my time there. Apparently it is made from Chateau-Landon stone, which produces a liquid that self-cleans the stone whenever it comes into contact with water.
Sounds to me like it’s slowly dissolving in the rain, but I haven’t looked into the science of it yet.
The tour continues onwards for a walk through cobblestones Montmartre, which is a quaint and lovely little neighbourhood built upon the highest point in Paris. Apparently it used to be something of an Artist’s haven, but few can afford to live here anymore since it became ‘fashionable’.
Of course that then leads into a coffee stop for a 20 minute break. The coffee house in question doesn’t look especially ‘Parisian’ in style and I don’t yet require sustenance so I take off across the road to the grocery stall where I purchase my customery breakfast items of bananas and clementines to get me through the next couple of days. I am invited by the store owner to the back of the room to pet a very contented sleepy cat who is lounging on a shelf full of blankets. It’s cute. I don’t know why the cat is there, nor why I am and why I have to pet it, but I appreciate the sentiment of the gentleman trying to spread a little joy. See? Parisians - randomly pleasant. I’M the cold and aloof one. Me. Have you bagged up my bananas yet??
He has. I leave. The tour continues. We are on and off the trains as we take selfies outside of the usual hotspots - The Arc De Triomphe, The Louvre, Moulin Rouge, Notre Dame etc… all culminating of course at the legendary Eiffel Tower.
At the distance we were, the tower was recognisable but unimpressive. When I left the tour group I pootled immediately to get closer.
It’s big.
Apparently it needs to be repainted every 7 years or else it will succumb and decay to rust. That sounds like a lot of work. Not perhaps THE example I would have gone with as a showcase of French industrial ingenuity, as it was originally intended to be, but it’s still…. It’s still pretty big.
Next I pop onto a bus to the Palais Garnier Opera House for a nosy around. It is truly spectacular. Its grand staircase and somewhat unusual angles make it look like that last Bowie scene in Labyrinth. Further punctuated by multiple randomly dotted electrical candelabras it really does appear like a dreamscape. And at the top of those stairs, is the Grand Foyer - built in the reminiscence, so I am told, of the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. Having not yet been to Versailles I am forced to accept that this is so far the most beautiful room I have ever seen.
I am not too proud or shy to appreciate beauty. If I see something of appreciation, I appreciate it. I take
my time. I take it in. I give it the due respect. But this is the first time I have been bought to a standstill and rendered breathless by a ROOM.
It is exquisite. The art, the gilding, the sheer intricacy of every square inch of the place, all set off magically by warm-lighting chandeliers. I possibly walked up and down the room in a stupor no less than a dozen times before forcing myself to leave for the next stop on my itinerary.
Which was the Musée de Cluny - home of The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries I have had a fondness for since seeing The Last Unicorn as a child (not the same tapestries. They are in the Cloisters USA. But of a similar likeness.
I pick up a fabulous snow globe on my way out. But by now I am limping. So I limp into the nearest establishment with Steak Frites on the menu and refortify with food and wine. Hey, It’s France!
As evening falls I stroll down the bank of the river Seine and enjoy the illuminations until I reach the pinnacle of them - The Eiffel Tower - Which not only is now lit up but actually ‘sparkles’ for the first 5 minutes of every hour. It actually does glitter. Sometimes when you see things on video - particularly in this age of AI - one doubts its authenticity. But the Eiffel Tower truly does sparkle. You can’t see the lights. It just sparkles. It’s captivating.
So much so that I am late for my river cruise - which also looks to be leaving late. And heaving with drunken excitable tourists. It does not look pleasant. I bail. The only thing I wanted to see that I have not seen already is the Pont Alexandre III bridge. Which I take myself to by train.
I’m there. Meh. It’s a bridge. Though in fairness I have now walked nearly 13 miles today and the pain in my feet may admittedly be dulling my appreciation. Not so much that I don’t take some joy in witnessing a number of 20-somethings dancing - actual traditional, 30’s twirling, lala Land ‘dancing’ - on the bank beneath the bridge outside of a bar that I would like to be remembering playing some kind of suitably themic Parisian jazz but was in fact Aqua’s “I’m a Barbie Girl”.
Meh, I’ll just ensure to remember it differently. So long as I don’t write it down anywhere….!
Virtually crawl back to my hotel. It’s 10:00pm and I am done.
Monday 27th January 2025
I wake up in pain but in less pain. I’ll take it! Bananas and Clementines along with my home-bought Graze flapjack for breakfast then I’m ready to go!
I have a pre-booked ticket for the Louvre museum at 09:30. That allows me to join what they promise to be the shorter/quicker line via the carousel entrance as opposed to the Line-of-Doom already congregating outside of the main pyramid entrance.
The line is still vast. But, to be fair, does move along quickly. Even with airport like security at the front of it, I traverse from the end of the line to the museum foyer in around 30 minutes.
And I am immediately perplexed and underwhelmed.
I concur that The Louvre is pretty damn huge.
However I can’t help but note that this is largely on account of the use of space being entirely inadequate.
There is a huge open mall-esque platform occupied by a number of staircases and escalators leading to further staircases and escalators leading to a further empty platform.
It IS huge.
I have yet to ascertain if it actually contains any art 🤔
Oh wait, Chinese dude! Follow the Chinese dude!
Found people. Not dead. Just lost. Wow, statues are not popular!
I pootle down the stairs and across the mall-esque lobby to the opposite set of stairs where all the people in Paris appear to have been congregating this whole time at the feet of a headless winged statue - The Winged Victory of Samothrace. It appears to be a big deal. I frankly don’t see how it suitably rivals the best of the ignored statues across the lobby from here, plus doesn’t have a head, but what do I know of art? I’m mostly just here for the selfies.
That in mind - I find the Mona Lisa. I take a photo. I leave.
Again, noted, that painting took skill that I don’t have, and I respect it. I just don’t see why it is considered better than some of the downright glorious wall-sized murals right outside the room that everyone has walked right on past to get there.
I peruse a little. But now that I’m not lost on some negative space I do concur that the Louvre is too big to get through in the morning, and I have places to be.
So I leave after a couple of hours to board the ‘Bustronome’ tour of Paris from a bus that also serves lunch. And wine. Glorious wine. 2 glasses at a not TERRIBLE 8 euros per glass levels me out over the duration of the tour.
The first course is Salmon Gravlax with honey vinaigrette and goats cheese and is delightful! It leaves me very hopeful for the following courses. Which is a shame.
They weren’t awful. They just weren’t as exceptional as that first course. Cod in tomato risotto, followed by a blanquette-style veal stew and rounded off with a chocolate profiterole. Which I did enjoy. But no more than if I had bought one from Greggs.
I did, however, get to take the weight of my feet and sip wine while cruising lazily through the streets of Paris for a couple of hours, and I very much enjoyed it. For £55 I did not feel that it had overreached its value.
After lunch I find the Natural History Museum - as is my custom when exploring any new city - largely for the dinosaur section. Alas - No dinosaurs! The info desk advise me that the dinosaurs are kept in the Paléontologie museum across the garden from here. And I will need to purchase a separate ticket. Sonofa….
Still, we are here and we experience Paris’s approach to a Natural History Museum in its own right. And this is exactly what I enjoy about museums. Particularly a specific theme of museum such as Natural History. No matter our language, heritage, culture or traditions, the human race as a collective are largely in agreement regarding ‘what an elephant is and does’ which sets up a controlled environment to now see just how differently each national museum conveys said elephant.Will they depict it as a magnificent bull elephant towering powerfully over the heads of its kin? Or a baby elephant, playing and running? Will it be a taxidermy elephant? Or a painting? Or a photo? Will it be built out of Lego? It’s genuinely interesting to see how different cultures convey the same information.
So. Museums! And here I am in the Natural History Museum of Paris.
It is the most unique of all the Natural History Museums I have visited to date. In my opinion - for all of Paris’s many charms - its NHM is comparatively underwhelming.
It’s not unpleasant! At time of walking in I walked into the underwater section. There is muted blue lighting in accordance with this. There are gigantic whale skeletons and taxidermy sharks and some of the less known deep sea fishes that I couldn’t unfortunately read about because everything is in French. When you cast your eyes up to where the ceiling should be you note that there is no ceiling - at least not for the floor - but there is a red/yellow light indicating the sun and the land to be found on the next level.
And that’s clever. I do like that. The museum is sectioned into floors, so you have the underwater world at the bottom, the birds and sky at the top and a range in between. And the mood lighting matched each floor. I liked all of that.
And because the museum is open plan, once you get to the top you have a pretty awesome view of everything on every lower level.
But it is pretty small given the vastness of the theme, it doesn’t have dinosaurs and for me it’s just far too modern. Natural History Museums tend to be given a reverence - a traditional house of office passed on through the ages from a time when each block was of significance directed by a passionate and educated architect and forged by a master craftsman. This place is glass.
Sigh. Let’s find and pay for that palaeontology museum then.
Oh good. A huge room of death.
I mean I guess… Palaeontology and bones n’all… I just didn’t expect a vast parade of animal skeletons taking up the entirety of the room.
It’s definitely unique. And I do find my dinosaurs, but there are only a couple of them. I leave to find food. Then I shamefully have to bail on my last 2 booked events for the day - the Ghost Tour and the singles pub social because I just can’t walk anymore. I google the nearest recommended Steak Frites which takes me to the Bistro Des Victoires. Very fatty steak but very flavourful. Their creme brûlée was bliss-inducing. The ambiance - crowded but - though I don’t have enough experience of Paris to say ‘Parisian’ I definitely would have known that I was not in England. That’s always a welcome treat when travelling.
Would I go back? I prefer a leaner steak myself, but their reviews were sound and well deserved.
Hotel. Paracetamol. Sleeeeeeeep.
Tuesday 28th January 2025
I conclude my trip with a visit to the Paris Catacombs. I splurged around £85 on a guided tour as the reviews all seemed to insist upon it. I watched people walking past with £20 audio guides and regretted my choice.
I do like a tour guide. Ours was great. Plus we had access to a couple of gated off sections that others didn’t have, including on section containing an alter which - given the fact it was surrounded by a roomful of unidentifiable skulls and bones and none-too-many witnesses - I found vaguely unsettling. But what you gain in having someone to tell you stories and answer your questions, you lose from having your own pace to enjoy a completely unique environment that you have never visited nor may never visit again. For this, I would have chosen an audio guide and a leisurely pace.
The activity itself feels downright sacrilegious and disrespectful. Each one of those many thousands of skulls was an actual person who lived as full a life with meaning, opinions, love, family, values, faith and adventure as you or I, now reduced to wallpaper. It didn’t lack in profundity - which is another reason I somewhat regret the timed tour guide experience. If one were to go there at all, the occasion deserved more reverence.
That said, it did remind me to enjoy what we have while we have it, because what we have is of the briefest value and only really to us.
Spend it wisely.
I personally spent it on Steak Frites at the Italian restaurant I enjoyed so much on Sunday. Off home now. See you at the next one guys.
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