We finished our hearty breakfast of pastries, coffee and fruit before we shouldered our backpacks again, wheeled our cases to reception, checked out and set off into the bright Parisian morning. It was just after eleven thirty.
It felt wonderful and everything I had hoped for. Even the air seemed different. I took a deep breath.
There were people hurrying to work or appointments, tourists consulting street maps and arguing about which way to go, sophisticated couples glancing into shop windows and workmen pushing street-cleaning carts. And as we walked there were so many things that awakened our senses: the aroma of strong coffee, an occasional drift of Gauloise cigarette smoke, the bustle of a city starting its morning routine as we strolled along the broad, tree-lined streets and past cafés and pharmacies.
We went into shops to look at the fashions, a wonderful stationery shop to buy notebooks and pens so we could record our travel adventures, and a small supermarket to stock up on snacks. And it was fun; we were taking our time, enjoying just wandering around the streets, dodging the other people and generally soaking up the Parisian life.
There was a lot of traffic of course, occasionally car horns tooting at some delay and everywhere French people doing French things. Blue and white enamel street signs, a woman in tartan with a little French dog in a matching tartan coat. A cross-looking man puffing on a cheroot and shouting into his phone.
After a while we reached the Place de la Republic and we stopped at a glass-fronted café, glad to put our backpacks down and our cases under the table. We had some reviving coffee which was bitter and very hot and somehow absolutely right.
‘Is it too early to have a cognac with this?’ Harriet wondered.
‘I don’t know what time it is,’ I said, and I really had no idea.
We consulted our watches and then our phones.
There was another text from my son.
Ben
Which bin goes out today?
Me
Look on the fridge door. Probably recycling.
‘One thirty, so that means two thirty local time,’ Anna decided, ‘so not too early at all if you think about it. Actually, it is definitely lunch time. And I’ve noticed they do pizza. I had my first ever pizza on our trip all those years ago.’
We sat people-watching for a while, slowly drinking our coffee and cognac, glad of the rest even if sitting at a pavement café in the Place de la Republic was probably going to cost us a fortune.
After that we shared two pizzas which were huge and hot and absolutely delicious even though Harriet grumbled because she didn’t like anchovies but had forgotten to say so. And then we shouldered our backpacks and set off again. Then after a few steps we went back because Anna had left her case under the table and we had neglected to pay the bill.
‘Well, that was a narrow escape,’ I said. ‘They might have called the gendarmes and then we would have had the shortest holiday on record. I’ve never been arrested, although once a security guard in Sainsbury’s gave me a hard look because I left my trolley in the wrong place.’
‘Some of these gendarmes are rather gorgeous though,’ Anna said. ‘Have you noticed? I wouldn’t mind that one with the moustache taking down my particulars.’
‘But not so attractive if they are chasing you down the street, waving their guns and shouting “Arrête ces femmes!”’ I said. The other two agreed.
We passed the statue of Marianne, the heroine of France high on a plinth, and stood admiring it. Harriet pulled out a small guidebook.
‘The most famous painting of her is by Delacroix, and recent statues of Marianne have been modelled on Brigitte Bardot and Catherine Deneuve. At least this one has her vest on,’ Harriet murmured.
‘Why is it they could make wonderful statues back then, but these days they aren’t nearly as good?’ I wondered. ‘Google it if you don’t believe me!’
‘Oh I believe you,’ Anna said. ‘I saw a bust of that famous footballer in Barcelona airport only recently. Wow, do you remember in French class, we were taught the Marseillaise? I can still remember it; I always sing it before France versus England rugby matches to annoy Rupert.Aux armes citoyens. Very rousing.’
I stood to attention and saluted in front of the statue of Marianne and sang a few bars, much to the astonishment of my friends and a few locals, but then Anna and Harriet joined in. I thought we sounded quite good, actually, but then we saw a pair of gendarmes coming in our direction, so we stopped.
‘Come on, troops,marchons, marchons! Qu’un sang impur,’ I sang rather more quietly, and we hurried off giggling.
We wandered on, our cases trundling obediently behind us, towards the Seine, passing shops with five or six storeys of flats above them. I wondered who lived there, and Harriet wanted to know what places like that cost.
Who was that woman sitting up there smoking a cigarette on her balcony while beneath her the traffic surged and fought to get past the man with the hand cart who was having a spirited argument with a gendarme? There was a toddler being pushed along in a stroller by an elderly woman who was probably his grandmother. Where did they live and what was his life like?
At last, feet aching, we reached the river and stood for a moment looking at the water below. I dabbed at my face and neck with a wet wipe from the special travel-sized packet I had brought. The day had heated up, the sun high above in a blue, cloudless sky. I felt a trickle of sweat run down between my shoulder blades and wondered if we should have got a taxi after all.
After checking the map again, we lugged our cases down some stone steps to the tree-lined walkway along the river, sat down with relief and dropped our bags at our feet. If nothing else, it was wonderful to be away from all that traffic.
