On the road again!
Up at 5am with my tastebuds salivating over the thought of a real French croissant, not those tiny 55p ones from Sainsburys, but actual whale sized croissants! But, that sweet flakey pastry and melt in your mouth buttery taste is still a long while away. 8 hours away to be precise.
We board the Ouibus just before 8am, after waiting behind some numpty people that were going to Gatwick, not Paris. From first sight, the bus is far more luxurious than the urine smelling, stained walled, loud bus from Leeds to London. Our Ouibus even has Wifi - yip, luxury! We head south through the city, we see an array of architecture and history as we drive through each suburb. Every area would have been its own little village but now it is all combined and connected by tube stations, Costas, local supermarkets, and fruit stores that are convincing no one that their only purpose is to sell apples.
An hour and a half flies when you are napping so uncomfortably in an 's' formation. But when we stepped off the bus, we could hear the soulful screech of seagulls and our noses tingled in the sea salt air that they have so longingly missed. We were greeted by the passport man, he was not your usual passport man. He had a smile on his face. We were in the duty free area equivalent, we had half an hour. Enough time to use the loo, change our currency, and get a frappucino. In That order. Everyone was so friendly, Lars thinks that they are doing it because as soon as you enter France everyone will be super grumpy.
We hop back on our bus, already seats 25 and 26 have become my little home. As Annie said "I love having my bus Me time". Too true. We make our way down to the train platforms, a few customs checks on the way and we are ready to go. The trains are not exactly how I expected. They are giant metal boxes with separate compartments for the buses. Getting in the train consisted of a 3 point turn, nearly running over a high vis jacket man, and having an overwhelming feeling of being swallowed by a whale. We get to our bus cubby, and cross all out fingers that our driver has put the handbrake on. Here we sit as our long metal whale train dives deep into the ocean that keeps England and France at arm distance. I wonder what creatures are in the other side of the Chunnel. Fish, yes. Dolphins, maybe. Sharks, maybe. Seahorse, hopeful. Mermaids, probable.
We reached the other side and it took a while to realise that we had changed sides of the road. After all the changes of countries, I have forgotten what side is normal. The landscape was a menu of green fields, cute villages and cathedrals in all different sizes. We knew that we had reached Paris when the graffiti overshadowed the nature. Lars was very excited to see a piece of graffiti that said his name. We pulled in to the bus depot, stepped out into the Parisian air, and tried very hard to not look like tourists. We failed. As we had a multitude of winter luggage, we had to find the largest and frumpiest taxi to fit everything in. Along with the biggest taxi, came the craziest driver. With all the honking and yelling and hand gestures, I truly felt as if I was in Europe! After nearly hitting 20 pedestrians, we drove past the Sacre Coeur and right to our doorstep. Graeme and Ingrid were hanging out the terrestrial window with wine and cheese in hand, welcoming us to the humble abode. And humble it was not, I was gloriously fancy. 3 levels, well laid out, huge kitchen, large lounge area, comfortable furniture, and the heaters set at the perfect temperature. Our room was out of a movie. Nearly floor to ceiling Windows with a cute little terraces, colourful curtains, and actual shutters. It felt like sleeping in a dream. And sleep was exactly what we were needing, to ready ourselves for the rest our visit.
Labels: Paris 2015
