Paris: Day 1

The Sacre-Coeur, Paris
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It was an early start this morning. Very early! I was ready and waiting for my taxi at 5:30am. Unfortunately the taxi didn’t appear. A quick text message and I discovered that my friend Y had just had a rant at the taxi company who didn’t seem to grasp the importance of arriving on time and slightly more importantly depositing us at our office in time the catch the coach.

Eventually, with just ten minutes to spare, they both arrived. Y was panicking but our driver seemed completely impervious to her sniping. I just hoped he wouldn’t get fed up and chuck us out early! Considering his low opinion of Paris and the French, I’m sure he thought it would be a great relief for us to miss the coach. Luckily we made it with just a few minutes in hand.

As we stepped out of the lift we were confronted by a wonderful view across the city to Montmartre, topped by the shining white Sacré Coeur

The Sacre-Coeur at night, Paris
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The coach driver packed in our suitcases and we clambered on board with a huge sense of relief. Just a few weeks ago we had been on a different coach trip with the same group, this time going to see Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat in London. Y was due to catch the coach at a different stop to me but didn’t get on. When the coach pulled off without her it took me a minute to get to the driver and stop the coach. We had to do a U-turn whilst I tried desperately to contact her on her mobile. In the end it turned out she had been there at the time she had been told to arrive, but sadly that was wrong! She really was not happy that we came so close to a repeat performance.

And so began our long journey through the South of England to Dover. Travelling along the motorways of Britain, or France, doesn’t make for the most exciting reading. Particularly not this early in the morning when all we wanted to do was catch up on the sleep we’d missed. Although I normally love travel, even I find this kind of journey boring. Personally I’d rather be going by Eurostar. But that would mean missing out on the one highlight of the trip – the ferry.

The weather looked pretty wild this weekend, so I had already taken my travel sick tablets. After all the most important part of the ferry crossing has to be the mad rush, up goodness knows how many flights of steps, to the restaurant. Even if you’re not hungry, you know you have to be in the front of the queue. We actually set a record this time and soon found ourselves tucking into a full English breakfast. Of course some people have other priorities. Amazingly we found some members of our group stocking up on duty free booze. Of course that could be to replenish the Buck Fizz we caught them drinking on the coach earlier!

After another long drive, this time across France, we finally arrived on the outskirts of Paris. We passed the Stade de France and then skirted around the Gare de Nord to our hotel. It was really central, just a short walk from the Opera House and one of the major shopping centres. However the driver soon brought us back down to earth by warning us to watch our suitcases. Apparently it’s quite common for them to be snatched by passers by. Luckily we all successfully collect our stuff and then headed into our hotel which we accessed through a rather beautiful 19^th century shopping arcade. A queue quickly formed for the lift as Reception was on the first floor. As usual I couldn’t be bothered to wait and headed straight for the stairs.

Y and I collected our key and headed up to our room on the fourth floor. She was not so keen to walk it, but decided she had better keep up with me. Well we had been sat on a coach all day, so a bit of exercise could only do us good. As we stepped out of the lift we were confronted by a wonderful view across the city to Montmartre, topped by the shining white Sacré Coeur. The view didn’t quite reach as far as our room, but it was okay and sat directly above the glass ceiling of the shopping arcade.

After a bit of rest and freshen up, my mobile started to ring. It turned out to be our friends who had got fed up waiting for us and were about to head off to the bar. We agreed to meet up with them and go for dinner. Eventually we wandered down to the bar where we found a whole group of people from our trip. Unfortunately the barman seemed to have disappeared so we settled down for a while to chat with everyone.

There was much debate as to where we should go for dinner. J had found a nearby restaurant in her guide book and suggested we gave it a try. A few people recognised the name and one couple, who had visited Paris as students, had actually been there. They had visited it because it had a reputation for good quality, inexpensive food. A quick look in my very old Eyewitness guide book produced the address of the famous Chartiers (7 rue Faubourg Montmartre). Now all we had to do was find it.

Well even we couldn’t miss it in the end. It was quite literally round the corner from our hotel, set back from the road. It was everything we had hoped for, a typical French restaurant, bustling with both tourists and locals arranged around tightly packed tables. Each table had a rack suspended above it, rather like the ones you find in old fashioned railway carriages. Buzzing about between the busy tables were the well starched waiters, dressed in typical black and white.

The waiters didn’t waste time on frivolities; we were quickly ushered to a free table and given a menu before our waiter vanished back into the melee. It was all pretty basic food and frankly you didn’t really need to look at the menu to see what you wanted. We just checked out our neighbours to see what took our fancy. Inevitably my choice was steak and chips. When the waiter returned he took our order and wrote it on the paper table cloth. He also suggested we might like an aperitif, so we agreed to his suggestion of a Kir (sparkling white wine with a dash of Cassis).

All was going so well and we sat soaking up the atmosphere whilst acknowledging what a good idea it had been. However we wanted a phrase book to help out with the menu, so I tried to retrieve my handbag from the overhead rack. Unfortunately I caught my glass, tipping my almost full glass of Kir all over the table cloth and onto the floor. What a waste! The waiters mopped up the mess whilst I mumbled apologies, but I don’t think they forgave us. In fact anything that disrupted the efficient running of the restaurant was regarded with distinct distain.

The meal was really wonderful and I thoroughly enjoyed it. As I’ve said before, the French really know how to cook a brilliant steak. Add to that a really entertaining venue and you can’t help but have a fantastic time. However this restaurant is definitely not a secret. Whilst we had no trouble getting a table at 7pm, by the time we left there was a queue, well out the door and round the corner.

We weren’t quite ready to turn in, so we decided to go for a bit of a wander. Across the road from our hotel was another old fashioned shopping arcade. We took a little look around and found a strange collection of shops. There were at least three or four shops that specialised in stamps, coins and prints. It was a lovely little place, a bit shabby but rather sweet.

Afterwards we took a stroll round the block. Along the way we found a rather grand columned building. At the time I thought it might be the Madeline Church, but it didn’t look quite right. In the end we realised it was the Stock Exchange. Just across the road we found another restaurant that Y had seen mentioned in her guide book. It looked wonderful, so we made a mental note to come back here tomorrow night.

Although today’s weather had been pretty good, it finally started to rain. This cut short our exploration and we dashed back towards the hotel, taking a few minutes to take a look at the shops within the arcade. The general theme here seemed to be children’s toys, but there was also a rather strange window with thick heavy velvet curtains. A rather unpleasant face leered through them at us. We eventually worked out that we shared our building the local waxworks museum.

Finally we made our way back to our room, stopping to admire the breathtaking view of the Sacre-Coeur. It sat illuminated high above Paris. I tried to take a photo of it through the landing window, but couldn’t find an appropriate surface to balance my camera on.