How I Spent MSV #6

There were certainly other things we did and saw in Paris: the Decorative Arts Museum, the Merci store, the high fashion district (where I had to wrestle myself to the ground to keep from upgrading my traditional look), not to mention various meals, the best of which were Italian for reasons that defy brief explanation. Half the people you see walking the streets really are carrying a baguette. Place Pigalle reminds you of just how cruddy Times Square used to be. The black dress with henna hair look seems to have moved along, but everybody still smokes. Now instead of doing it in the restaurants they do it in the seats out front, which makes those seats less than attractive to the non-smoking contingent. Tant pis. Everything people tell you about the French not being friendly is ridiculous; I’ve never found the French any different from anyone else when it comes to dealing with poor naïve tourists who are at least trying to play according to the rules, whatever they might happen to be. I do question Mark Twain, who claimed that if you awoke any of them in the middle of the night by surprise they would all converse in English. A week in any city, on foot and with no particular agenda, pretty much does the job of settling you into the nature and rhythms of the place. I can’t imagine a better way to learn about a place, short of moving in with a family that lives there. All in all, we had a great time.

The next stop was London, which we’ve visited many times. It was our first trip through the Chunnel, though, which takes you from the edge of Paris to the Edge of London in a little over two hours. This is a miracle of modern travel. The first time we traveled between the two cities twenty years ago was on the old boat train, i.e., a train to Dover, a boat to Calais, a train to Paris. An all-day event, and especially memorable if, a) the Channel crossing is so bad even the captain is vomiting, and b) the French trains are on strike. (Of course, there are those who would claim that noting that the French anything is on strike is like noting that the sun rises in the east, but I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt, here, even though the trains and the airports both went on flash walkouts during our stay this time.) The Eurostar, as the train is called, is a high speed jaunt that seems to mostly cover French countryside. Then for about fifteen minutes it’s dark, and then it’s a last shot of land, this time of English countryside. The idea that it might somehow be claustrophobic simply isn’t true. If there’s a better way to connect the UK to the continent, I don’t know what it is. Then again, I love trains, and I certainly prefer them to planes. Legroom? Space to walk around? Ability to bring a decent sandwich on board? Your luggage right there where you can see it? Train station in the middle of town rather than an hour away? It’s not even worth comparing.

As I said, we’re quite familiar with London, and we’ve always stayed in the same neighborhood around Bayswater and Paddington, so this was something of a homecoming. Of course, the Parisian Metro makes the London Underground look like hell with transportation, which is one of those surprising things given the French reputation for mechanical efficiency, but there you are. The Underground is extensive, but it’s hot, uncomfortable, occasional and from everything I understand, relatively dangerous in terms of accidents. Oh, well. I like everything else about London.

This was once again an on-foot week, and we explored different areas like Regent’s Park, Hampstead Heath, Kew Gardens and various downtown neighborhoods like the north edge of the City about St. Paul’s and Knightsbridge and so forth. And we did the odd museum and some plays. I’ll fill in next on the details of the high points.