Thursday morning Emily and I got dropped off at the local train station by Mr. Y, and hopped a train into London Waterloo, where a new adventure awaited. We would be taking the Eurostar from London to Paris, point to point in 2 hours 35 minutes. For real.

Waterloo offered a host of picnic goodies that Emily picked up, as well as some more reading materials, and we walked our way through the Eurostar boarding area, security, immigration and headed to our train. Seated in the first car of the train, we had a set of four seats available for our own fun. Stretched out, shoes off and socked feet on the seats, we gorged on pasta, cheesecake, buffalo mozzarella and tomato salad, and a total of 2 bottles of wine.

When in France and all.

Just on the other side of the chunnel was France, a blistering windy grey day, wrapped in countryside that was slightly flatter and slightly browner than we had just left behind. We arrived at Gare du Nord, a train station on the right bank, and took the Metro to our hotel area. After much huffing and puffing, we finally found said hotel, and lemme just say...it was nothing like the pictures. We had pictured some wildly sweet and quirky older hotel, exposed beams and charming sitting areas. What we got was an old hotel. Full stop. Someone else got the cute courtyard.

We didn't really care.

We took off right away for Notre Dam. Gorgeous, Gothic, packed with tourists, Notre Dam was also in the middle of a service. The congregation was tiny, but the service amazing-walking in I heard the song of the blue-robed monk raise up inside of my ears and my eyes. His chant was slow, nearly-wordless, and no great rise in octaves, but it soothed my Tasmanian soul and I quietly lit two candles, the same two candles I always light, as I waved a flame for my grandfather and Kim. And under a statue of Joan of Arc (Jeanne D'Arc, whom, in Notre Dam was found innocent of heresy and witchcraft...24 years after she was burned at the stake. The Catholics get there in time, even if deadlines mean nothing to them.) I lit two more candles, for Egg and Bacon. The first candles I had ever lit for them, although I am sure not the last.

We climbed the towers (nearly 500 steps!) for a breathtaking view of Paris.

Paris

Then we headed back, a bit knackered, and bought wine, champagne, decadent cookies, and orange juice, and went back to the room. On the way we looked for ice to chill the fizzies, but couldn't find any, so we bought the next best thing-a big cheap bag of frozen broccoli. Hey-we're resourceful chicks. We finished off a bottle of wine (when in France and all) and fell right asleep.

The next morning we started off with mimosas (when in France and all), however in the end it was less orange juice and champagne and more champagne. We got up and out of the hotel room, broccoli resting in the sink, and took a boat tour of the Seine, getting out at the Champs Elysees and l'Arc de Triomphe. It was a beautfiul, sparkling, lovely day-warm, sunny, and the sky was crystal blue. We walked up the street, stopping to worship Sephora, which I love, and then ate warm crepes as we kept walking. We hopped the boat again and headed to the Eiffel Tower.

The Eiffel Tower was packed with tourists, and after a meal of pommes frites, we got in the queues. And waited. And waited. We waited to buy tickets, we waited to get to the elevator, we waited to get to the summit, and after the summit we waited to get back down (although were terribly amused by a newlywed Scottish couple, with him talking about "Paris and all that romance bollocks.")

My French was holding up rather ok there, but I noticed a lot of changes in Paris. First off, I noticed that people were so much kinder than they were when I had last been there (which, apart from a one-night business trip that I don't think counts, was 1995.) The French, in general, just seemed sweeter and more helpful, more able to laugh and joke (that, and my French is much worse now than it was in 1995). Secondly, I noticed that there were armed soldiers and policemen everywhere, especially at the Eiffel Tower. And when I say armed, I mean big fuck-off guns. And third...I only thought of Kim a few times, and it wasn't in any kind of deep, painful loss-it was just in passing, remembering a place or two I had been.

I was thinking of Mr. Y the whole time, and with my whole heart.

Emily and I decided to see the lights of the Eiffel Tower at night, and so had two glasses of wine at a local cafe (when in France and all) and discussed which restaurant to eat at. We were talking, when a local boy walked by carrying two take-away pizza boxes. Emily and I sat straight up.

"I'll tackle him, you take the boxes, and we run." I said grimly.
"I so want pizza right now, too!" she giggled.

And so we went and got a take-away pizza and a bottle of wine (which the shopkeeper flirtatiously opened for us on-site. When in France and all.) and we went and sat on the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower, scarfing perfect pizza and drinking straight out of the bottle, with this as our backdrop.

Eiffel Tower

We giggled and went back to the hotel room, where we polished off more wine (when in France and all), passing out. We were briefly inconvenienced by our neighbors-a group of American girls in the room next to ours that insisted on getting ready for a hookers' night out with the door of their room wide open and their Midwestern accents clogging up the hallway. I opened up our bedroom door, startling them.

"Les americaines!" I snarled in my best crap French accent. I slammed the door, but at least they shut theirs, too.

At 3 am we were woken up again by said cows returning back to their room-first we heard them yelling down the road, then they decided to continue partying in their room. I thought Emily was asleep and didn't want to wake her up, so I stuffed kleenex in my ears and dealt with it. Turns out she wasn't, and at 9 am the next morning, when we woke up, we decided revenge was needed on the likely-hungover cows.

Nothing says I love you like CNN blaring loud in the morning.

So we did that. Then Emily walked by the wall, hacking up her lungs to wake them up, managing to slam into the wall quite a few times. No result. So she chucked a coke bottle. I winged a water bottle. The hotel room service menu was airborne. Then she had an inspiration, and picked up her tennis shoes and handed me one. We knew what to do. In synchronized motions, we winged them at the wall.

It worked-they woke up.
Hands across America and all.

We got up and went to the grocery store to buy some goodies for Mr. Y, then met a sweet chickie and fellow blogger for lunch. Then Emily and I hustled to Waterloo, caught our train (along with a half bottle of red wine. When leaving France and all.), and raced back to England and a barbecue with my lovely Mr. Y. I had missed him very much, as much as he missed me (I got the nicest text messages from him, just as Emily was getting the nicest phone calls from her KW), and when he greeted us at the train station he picked me up and kissed me.

I needed that.
I needed him.
I still do.

The barbecue went by without hassle-Emily was pretty widely accepted by the group, and it was a nice and entertaining evening. We all spent the night at Mr. Y's brother's house, and the next morning Mr. Y, Emily and I left for a day at Brighton.

Brighton

Which, apparently, is where Mr. Blair was also, spending time at the Labour Conference (along with more policemen and peaceful protestors than I have ever seen.). We walked around, Emily buying a few fabulous souvenirs, and then we had a typical English meal-fish and chips (wrapped in parchment paper, of course, and with a useless tiny fork) as we sat on the pebbled beach by the Brighton pier.

Emily and Mr. Y

The three of us went home, after stopping to buy an enormous mound of English, French and Scottish cheeses for her to take home, and managed to get Mr. Y to join us in a mud mask treatment. We polished off three bottles of wine and went to bed early, but not before one last pic (ignore the fact that Ems and I are without makeup).

Ems, Mr. Y and Helen

Emily is now bound for Houston, I am in a boring meeting, my Mr. Y is ensconced within Company X for the day. The week ahead may be a bit difficult-not only will I miss Emily (and hearing about the Tiaras, Sarah, and her life), but my lovely boy is off to Sweden on Wednesday for a few days, to spend some time with his kids and pack up his belongings, so I will miss him too.

The good news is I am mad about my boy.
The good news is I had a lovely time in Paris and with Ems.
The good news is in exactly two months I will have my cats.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:50 AM | Comments (22) | Add Comment
Post contains 1647 words, total size 10 kb.

1 Sounds like a great trip. One of my dreams is to go to Paris. It's a long way from Texas to France, though, as you know...

Posted by: mitzi at September 27, 2004 12:08 PM (iqePn)

2 Paris is pretty great. It's even better when you go with people you like. And those people like to drink wine and eat pizza.

Posted by: RP at September 27, 2004 01:24 PM (LlPKh)

3 well it sure isnt Paris, Texas that is for sure I must say you do the while in France beautifully! You synchronze amazingly- cause you have STYLE. And I am sure you do while in Brighton lovely too. You are welcome back here any time

Posted by: stinkerbell at September 27, 2004 01:35 PM (HhU+M)

4 "When in France and all" I had no idea that the French were drunk so much of the time. Are you sure you didn't end up in Ireland by mistake?*LOL* (Just a joke! No Irish flames please!) Sounds like a blast. The wife went to Paris while she was pregnant with 1st born, and she loved it.

Posted by: Easy at September 27, 2004 02:22 PM (U89mk)

5 Oh the French aren't drunk all the time! The French often can drink at lunch or dinner, it's just the tourists that can't hold their liquor.

Posted by: Helen at September 27, 2004 02:27 PM (dKPoa)

6 Sounds like you had a great time! Wow, time really flies. Only two months left for the kitties!

Posted by: Jadewolff at September 27, 2004 02:41 PM (8MfYL)

7 After reading a few of your posts I had pictured Mr Y as an older man, very distinguished and sexy. I'm rather surprised to see he looks like George Formby! ; )

Posted by: Red at September 27, 2004 03:32 PM (K2cNB)

8 But he IS very distinguished and sexy!

Posted by: Helen at September 27, 2004 03:38 PM (dKPoa)

9 Darling girl, you've brought back some lovely memories for me! Thanks ever so. I love the idea of you and Em tackling an enormous pizza and chugging wine in front of the Tower. That's EXACTLY how it's best enjoyed!

Posted by: Kaetchen at September 27, 2004 04:48 PM (1nMRx)

10 sounds like an absolutely lovely time. i love that you threw your shoes at the wall. :-) and of course, i'm thrilled to hear about your kitties coming home. yay!

Posted by: kat at September 27, 2004 06:28 PM (p+bUQ)

11 I need a vacation. Not sure I could get the super-model Mrs. Solomon to Paris, but hearing about your trip makes me want a long weekend somewhere fun.

Posted by: Solomon at September 27, 2004 07:14 PM (t5Pi1)

12 sounds like a lotta good news.

Posted by: pylorns at September 27, 2004 07:30 PM (FTYER)

13 envy.

Posted by: melanie at September 27, 2004 10:13 PM (jDC3U)

14 Wonderful! Great pics, too, thanks. YAY ON THE CATS!

Posted by: Amber at September 27, 2004 10:28 PM (zQE5D)

15 "When in France and all"... I thought the saying was "when in Rome..." I guess any country with a latin based language will do in a pinch, heh. Great story and pics Helen, and the last photo, the only one needing a bit of a touch up there is Mr Y, need to do something with that shiney nose =) Dane

Posted by: Dane at September 27, 2004 11:41 PM (ncyv4)

16 Yay on the kitties!! Jealous about paris... totally wanted to make it there while in london - but so much to do in your city. Didn't have time!

Posted by: Snidget at September 28, 2004 02:10 AM (votP0)

17 That does it! i want you to come to France with my daughters and me ( they are 15 & 16 ) when we hope to visit next year. The only difference would be that I really want to visit the Parisian sewers this time ( being France and all) and I have to go to the Louve. I've lived in France and somehow have missed it. I don't know, on second thoughts, we'd probably be boring..

Posted by: Marie at September 28, 2004 02:52 AM (3Y1np)

18 Aren't those little wooden forks great? I haven't seen one of those since I was in Atlantic City. They give them to you there so you can eat your steak fries soaked in vinegar. They're just as useless for this as they are for fish.

Posted by: Jim at September 28, 2004 04:19 AM (GCA5m)

19 What lovely pictures. "When in France and all"???? Not for nothing, but Chicago can be quite nice with the martini bars. And we have grotesques. No Parisians, though. Ah. Well. What a lovely weekend. Thank heavens - you deserved one! Love, Elizabeth VP of the M.A.S.

Posted by: Elizabeth at September 28, 2004 06:01 AM (Sqjve)

20 I'm impressed you managed to blend in with the French so well and piss off the Americans. You really are becoming an Englishwoman.

Posted by: Simon at September 28, 2004 07:10 AM (GWTmv)

21 Aaaah, merci beaucoup, mademoiselle. I'm living vicariously... especially after the week my boy and I have had. The countdown to your kitties have officially begun! Hurray!

Posted by: redsaid at September 28, 2004 05:29 PM (z+MC7)

22 Lovely.

Posted by: Almost Lucid (Brad) at October 06, 2004 08:47 PM (9gTyo)

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