My beloved and I decided to celebrate 40 years’ of married bliss with a long week-end in Paris, the most romantic city in the world. While I’ve been fortunate to traverse much of the city on foot and visit all its major monuments and museums, my beloved has not. Consequently, I left the choice of what we were going to visit to him. Though, naturally, I intended to do of all the bookings.
He’d expressed an interest in visiting Versailles but as our trip drew closer so the forecast worsened. Part of the charm of Versailles is its splendid gardens, so we decided not to book but to wait and see. Additionally and quite by chance, the week-end was the one where you can visit lots of buildings not normally open to the general public, so our choice of places to visit expanded exponentially and we decided to play it by ear – often the best way.
We rented a studio apartment in Le Marais, largely because it’s an area I love and, having recently scratched its surface on my two most recent trips to Paris, was keen to discover more about the area. Additionally, one of my girlfriends, whom I haven’t seen for a while, lives there and I really wanted to catch up with her. My beloved has never visited Le Marais but, as it had featured prominently in a book he’d recently read about the history of Paris, he was keen to visit.
We much prefer travelling to Paris by train. Sure it takes longer but it’s so much more relaxing and, providing you book well in advance, it’s considerably cheaper than flying. When you book a train ticket, you’re allocated a seat. When all the seats are sold, that’s it, the train’s full. There’s no standing on French TGV trains. I like to sit in the top section in either two seats side by side or facing one another. I hate sitting as part of a foursome. If I’m on my own, I’ll book one of the single seats. Sometimes I’ll work or maybe read but I often just enjoy watching the sea and countryside speed by. I say speed by but, in all honesty, the train doesn’t pick up any real speed until after Avignon.
The weather on route was sunny while we traversed the rolling hills of the glorious French countryside which was dotted with herds of creamy coloured cows grazing on lush green pasture and a patchwork of ploughed fields, golden stubble, shrivelled sunflowers and vines ready for picking.
We arrived in Paris at lunchtime, no accident, so we could dine at the magnificent Le Train Bleu restaurant. My late father would have loved it and it’s one of my few regrets that I never got to take him there. Sated, we wheeled our cases the short distance from the Gare du Lyon to our home for the next five days.
After checking out the neighbourhood, we bought a great bottle of wine and some goodies from one of the many traiteurs for a light supper before an early night. We needed to recharge our batteries for some serious traipsing around the neighbourhood over the week-end.