The train journey on Monday from Angouleme had been smooth and without incident, the gentle rocking of the high speed train almost sending her to sleep. Finding a taxi when they arrived at Gare du Montparnasse, not so. Perhaps exiting from the wrong door, the taxi rank was not immediately obvious, and this coupled with the fear of being in an unknown city and not knowing the language had caused a rare anxiety attack. Eventually they found a taxi, agreeing on an obviously absurd fare and they arrived at their apartment on time to meet their host.
The AirBnB was chosen solely for its view of the Eifell and her first view from the balcony did not disappoint and caused a sharp intake of breath, tears pricking her eyes. She felt so emotional – although being here meant the end of their holiday, it also felt like their adventure was just beginning.
Eager to start their Parisian exploration and get up close and personal to the Iron Lady, they headed off to the Champ du Mars, the walk taking only five minutes. The tower did not disappoint, looming more than 300m above them into the clear blue sky, a perfect view on a perfect day. She knew she could never get tired of this, night or day, so Parisian, so French, she was in love! They wandered around that first afternoon, getting their bearings and planning their next few days – lazing in a corner cafe to indulge in the very Parisian pastime of people watching before heading back to their lodgings for an early night.
The clap of thunder had awoken her in the early hours of the Wednesday morning, the rumble reverberating across the city, followed by the rain belting down and battering against the balcony doors. The lightening had lit up the room so she stumbled out of bed to the balcony to watch a different kind of light show over the Eiffel. Even in the rain it was magnificent and she was still pinching herself that after all these years of dreaming and wishing, she was finally here.
By the end of Thursday, they had walked for miles all over Paris and squeezed in all the major sites in two days. Moulin Rouge, a must of course, given her love of burlesque, and the infamous Marilyn Monroe subway photo, using a Paris metro grate instead, had to be replicated. The views from Sacre Coure had been worth the many stairs – she could not stop smiling, she was here and she loved it so much! The Crazy Horse burlesque show, slick and perfect, unlike anything she had ever seen, mesmerising them both (him perhaps a little too much), the girls’ perfectly matched bodies identical and unrecognisable from each other save the colour of their skin.
The louvre, built as a fortress in the 1100’s, then a palace and now arguably the most famous art museum in all the world, was huge. It had been overwhelming and they didn’t stay long, making a beeline to the Mona Lisa which was so obviously at the top of the list. Sharing the view with a crowd of tourists and their selfie sticks, was both surreal and disappointing, so much smaller then imagined, so close and yet so far, security very obvious and heavy. The old Greek statues – Winged Victory, Fame and Mercury riding Pegasus, oh so many beautiful antiquities, all that she had seen in so many books and documentaries over the years and now just a fingertip away. A thorough and complete inventory of all that was here would have taken many weeks, months even, and she was not sure when she would ever return, or indeed if she ever would.
The wide boulevards lined with trees, the River Seine snaking its way through the city, Notre Dame and St Germaine with its pretty little streets hiding small bargain laden boutiques, the cafes and the food (oh the food! She was sure she was at least 5kg heavier!), it was all so perfect! She didn’t want to leave and she was not ready for the inevitable. The marathon of the homeward flight was looming, and packing their bags for the last time was a chore with of course the added anxiety of the hat getting home in one piece.
All the reviews she had heard of Paris touted surly waiters, pickpockets and dirty streets but this had not been their experience, in fact the opposite. Au Revoir Paris – she was not disappointed and was leaving, perhaps the best way possible, hungry for more.
The She Diaries 
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