The city of lights; an icon of romance, and the center of cuisine at it’s finest, has fascinated me for as long as I remember. There is a magic about her that is undefinable, undebatable, and unrivalled… a charm that can be found in every fromage-filled baguette, in the two-minute stillness between metro services, in the late-night aperitifs of the Marais, and the luxurious boutiques selling designer books, designer ballet shoes, or designer incense. Even in the way the Parisians love their dogs, and the way they smoke cigarettes without a care for tomorrow. From the lawns beneath the Eiffel tower, to the pyramids of the Louvre, and all the tourist traps inbetween – I love the very essence of Paris. I can still hear the buskers singing tribute to Edith on the street-corners, still feel the rain on my face as we zipped around Paris one midnight on the back of a scooter, still feel my heart jump out of my chest as we stepped off that train at Paris, Gare du Nord, September 7th 2012.
Our journey begins on board the Thalys train service, as decadent as they come for day-time rail travel. Not quite the Orient Express, it comes in close second with its plush, red velvet seats, so wide I could fit two of me comfortably in them. The winged headrest is perfect for an afternoon nap after the complimentary “in-flight” style lunch tray of smoked salmon, vegetarian pastry, salad, fresh fruit, dessert, and merlot. I doze and dream of adventures to come while he checks email over the train’s free wireless network.
We check into our apartment on Rue du Bourg Tiboug in the Marais district (we booked through Wimdu – a great site for finding affordable accommodation in the heart of the city, as well as hundreds of other worldwide destinations).
Our balconette overlooks a courtyard lined in restaurants, bars, cafes and patisseries – a hub of activity around the clock (which later turns out to be massively convenient after long days of walking the city streets).
But tonight, we have other plans. One of our wedding gifts was an all-expenses-paid “Service Premier” dinner at 58 Tour Eiffel, on the first floor of the epic tower.
We have just enough time to unpack, shower, and change. Hailing a taxi proves more difficult than expected, but once we grab one, we sit back and delight in the artful weaving through traffic, gazing in wonder at the streets lined with beauty, each building a monument in it’s own right.
Stuck in peak hour on a Friday night, the driver swerves to the left and makes for a side-street – what seems to be a shortcut. I flash back five years and recall a memory… “Hey, what’s that over there?”, I ask coyly, pointing to the archway we’re driving towards. My husband looks over with wide eyes as we pass under the stone wall and into the center courtyard. Glass pyramids rise up before us and I watch him smile the smile of everyone who realises they’ve just come home to Paris.
“It’s the Louvre!” he shouts with glee.
A moment of sheer happiness, and a sudden dose of reality. I am in Paris. On my honeymoon. With my husband.
It’s not long til we finally arrive at our destination. I peer out the window to be greeted with the glittering stems of the tower. There she is, in all her glory. I had forgotten how pretty she is.
The concierge escorts us to the lift; another shows us to our our table, right next to the window, with all of sparkling Paris laid out beneath us.
A perfect evening already, and we’ve only just begun…
The “Service Premier” menu is technically a four course feast, but we are served a succession of plates which leave us reeling in a french food coma; we start with champagne and a tomato-based amuse bouche, followed by tiger prawns with avocado and a soy-sesame salad;
Seared scallops with cardarmom marmalade and white butter sauce; roasted duckling fillet with porcini mushrooms and foie gras sauce;
A “chocolate story” with vanilla whipped cream and raspberries; and finally coffee and petit fours.
Pretty good for our first night in Paris, no?
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what an amazing and incredibly prolific style of writing your memoirs.This needs to be published as a book of memoirs ,along with the rest of your trip memoirs.It is the stuff of which literary books are made.I’d title them;
“Romancing Europe”. Brilliant!
Thank you! That is a wonderful name for a book – and I’m certainly trying my best to get something in the works. 🙂