I’m flying to Paris so have had to leave my travelling companion behind. She’s safely ensconced at our sea change home with my ever so helpful brother Harold. I have had pangs of conscience about leaving her. When I wake during the night and she is curled up in a black furry ball on my bed and I reach out my hand to give her a scratch, I have thought about whether she has the capacity to miss me. It is as much a guilt trip as leaving a child and, just like leaving a child, she puts on her ‘how could you leave me? face. But, according to Harold, she’s had her walk and her play and seems happy enough. And I have to get into the mindset of ‘it is what it is’ and focus on the moment.
So here I am, thousands of kilometres from home and everyone I love, heading off to visit my friend Harriet. First stop Paris after a few hours stopover in Singapore. So long since I’ve done a long haul flight, at least 9 years I think. I’m 69, a year younger than my lovely old mum was when she embarked on her first overseas trip ever, on her own with only very loose plans of what she would do and ended up staying away for several months. My dad had been overseas in the Middle East during the war and once he was safely back on Australian soil, wild horses would not have been able to force him to leave again.
I almost didn’t make it to France. At the stopover in Singapore I had checked what time the next flight left, but, a cautionary tale, don’t assume 22.35 means 11.35. I had read 22.35 several times and each time my brain computed it to be 11.35. Which of course it wasn’t, which finally got through to my brain when I looked at it again at 10.20. So a mad dash to the gate and at Singapore there are long distances between gates. They had sent someone to look for me who grabbed my bags and raced ahead and we got to the door just as they were about to close it. Almost heart attack material.
Harriet had given me instructions for how to get to the 6th arondissement where she is and I managed to navigate the metro system and walked out of St Placide to find her sitting having coffee waiting for me. Then, despite the rain, we walked, to her place, to my hotel, across the Seine past the Louvre and to Rue St Honore. On the way we stopped at Churches, first St Sulpice, domes with blue skies and stars, detailed paintings on poles leading up to the domes, then later St Roch, looked small and unassuming from outside but inside just stunning. Half restored with detailed paintings on the vaulted ceilings, a nave dedicated to St Vincent de Paul, yay for Vinnies!
J
Lots of stops for coffee, lunch and wine, at one of which I tried escargots, tricky little buggers I found. Gave up trying to get them out of their shell elegantly and went for the toothpick method, but found them quite yummy. Rue St Honore is the shopping area for the wealthy, Dior, Balenciaga, etc, we went there in search of a perfume for Harriet, a little perfumerie that makes only one perfume and only sellers it from one store. It was wet and cold, and I was still wearing what I’d worn on the plane and looked a little like a drowned rat bag woman, so it was quite fun to go into some of the shops.
Finally checked into hotel, showered then we were off again with Harriets friends, first for drinks in their charming and airy apartment, then to a restaurant in the 12th Arondissement where there was a singer Harriet likes, performing. It was a lovely little place, full of locals who sang along with great gusto to many of the songs. The food was cold meat followed by hot meat, followed by cheese, so was meated out by the end of the night. But it was a pretty memorable experience to be part of such a good night, with such a strong sense of community, good music, wine and company.
