Galloping, traipsing and trudging along the Parisian rues and avenues - Part 2

Posted by Nora K ,
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Having now giddily galloped along the Parisian rues and avenues cavorting with the resplendent gendarmes on their regal stallions, I was all tuckered out, in dire need of a nap and some much needed shut-eye – but first, my pink sneaker clad feet had to hoof, or should I say, ever so laboriously, trudge back home to my new digs on the banks of le Rive Gauche.  I would love to scribble that yet another adventure eagerly waited in the wings, as if mischievously bidding its time for an opportune moment to haphazardly strike, veering me once again off rail and catapulting me into a larger than life drama of unbelievable story-telling proportions.


But alas, this was clearly not meant to be, as the day’s events had been monumental enough, offering me a chance to revel with young and old in one of the most significant of French celebrations, as well as teaching quite the valuable lesson of not to foolhardily wander about garrisoned boulevards and blocked laneways on national holidays - that is - unless you enjoy ambling along in clue-less confusion for miles on end.

Where is everyone?  Did I miss something?

My raw and bleeding tootsies were in quite the lethargic state indeed, having spent the morning sprinting from the summit of the white washed spires of Sacre-Coeur in Montmartre down to Les Champs-Elysées, onwards to the banks of the Seine and were now in full-on hobble mode, dragging one pink sneaker dejectedly behind the other in a gruelling traipse to my new home away from home.  

At least I'm not the only one trudging along the rues and avenues

Why so dog-tired and bedraggled?  After all, I was the hands-down champion of meandering, strolling, marching and promenading, oftentimes with burdensome luggage in tow, so a couple of extra kilometers tacked on to the route home should have been a piece of cake and a walk in the park or so you’d think.


My near comatose cobweb eyed state was clearly due to the fact that I had barely slept a wink the previous night, sequestered like a mad woman in a corner of my claustrophobic apartment, frantically scouring the web for suitable accommodation.  With the Kid’s European holiday approaching an end, I would now be forced to face my fears alone in this light-less shoebox, visions of being trapped in the confining hallways with no way out, too over-whelming to bear.  So what if I was skipping out barely four days into a week long lease, as the fee had been handed over to the rental agent long ago - I was nonetheless more than willing to sacrifice a couple of Euro rather than spend one more second in le dreaded space. 

So, as Miss Niece dozed, visions of jetting home across the pond dancing in her head, her slightly cuckoo Auntie hunkered up for the night, vino in one hand, laptop in the other, on a determined mission like no other.  What were the chances of securing that gem of a find on such short notice?  My yards long check list included the must-have necessities of a floor to ceiling length picture window, a light and airy non-confining space, and most importantly, be bargain basement affordable.  Long past the witching hour and somewhere around the wee hours of the morn, with the pinkish rays of dawn welcoming a bright new day, my bleary eyed persistence struck virtual gold, confirming my reservation at Hotel Vendome St. Germain on the banks of le Rive Gauche.

Traipsing along the Seine en route to le fabulous hotel               

Time to wake the Kid, pack up our bags and head out, first to my new digs to drop off my luggage and then off to the airport.  Rubbing my weary and drooping eyes, my sleep deprived mind rationalized that I’ll be back in no time, curled up snug as a bug in a rug, contentedly snoozing the morning away.

Little did I know then what adventures lay ahead.

Come rent apartments in claustrophobic spaces, and jump ship half way through the duration of the lease and fork out even more hard-earned Euros on new accommodation in a part of town you’ve not previously stayed in…come gallop along the boulevards with the best of the rest….

Next week – what next?  Yikes!!  There’s more?  Stay tuned!!



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Galloping with the horses along the Parisian rues and avenues

Posted by Nora K ,
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Galloping throughout the Parisian streets, trying to outrun the horses, my pink sneaker clad feet were on a sprint like no other.  Trapped in a quagmire of cheering Parisians, screeching kids, regal horses and men in uniform, I could only hope and pray that there would be an alternate escape route that would eventually guide me to freedom.  All of the major rues and avenues had been blocked off, security was on full alert and police cars were the only vehicles within visible radar.  Yikes!! What on earth was going on?  All of the inhabitants of the City of Lights were out and about, anxiously lined up for what seemed to be an event of monumental proportions.




It was not yet 10:30am on a leisurely Sunday summer’s morn and it was as if pandemonium had struck while I had been sequestered on a bus en route from the airport, having dropped the Kid off for her overseas flight home.  When I had left le dreaded apartment at the crack of dawn, the city was still in slumber mode, languishing in a state of sleepy contentedness, offering not a glint of a hint as to what type of controlled chaos was about to unfold.

Clueless as to what all of the brouhaha was about, I was none too worried at first, as I would be safely nestled in my new Parisian hotel by noon, snug as a bug in a rug, in a state of delicious cat napping mode for the next hour or two.  But, alas, that was clearly not meant to be, as it took me the rest of the day to finally place my pink sneakered foot inside my new pad.  What would normally be perhaps an hour or two long trek to le Rive Gauche, was now instead an arduous and grueling adventure by way of cordoned off streets, blocked exit routes and a cavalry of horses parading regally along the boulevards.



Stranded somewhere within the vicinity of the Opera House, I had planned to lazily stroll along the avenues, scoot across Les Champs-Elysées and meander along the Seine until I reached my new home away from home.  A totally do-able and fabulous plan, that is, if you’re not planning on sauntering and meandering out and about on one of the most celebrated of French national holidays. Yikes!!  What had I gotten myself into?

Police and gendarmes seemed to have quite literally swarmed upon the capital, camera crews and radio vans were positioned about, and the sense that something colossal was in the works permeated the atmosphere.  What the heck was going on?  And then it dawned on me - it was Bastille Day, or la Fete Nationale and the celebration of the storming of the Bastille on July 14th, 1789, which ushered in the French Revolution, and which was now in full-blown processional swing.

Puzzled that the barricaded streets were barren and devoid of vehicles, I still hadn’t clued in as to the magnitude of the festivities, with the shutting down of Les Champs-Elysées for the arrival of the French president and his military arcade.  Darting up and down the garrisoned avenues, my pink sneaker clad feet were reluctantly turned back, politely told that this or that particular rue was temporarily closed, locked down until the end of the parade and festivities, some several hours from now.  You’re kidding, right?



Not one to argue with the French military, I thought, well, surely there must be some way to get from Point A to Point B and how difficult can it possibly be to find an alternate route to get across town.  Map in hand, seasoned traveller that I am, I rationalized that if I can’t walk to my hotel, then I’ll just have to fork out a couple of extra Euros for the luxury of a taxi ride to wisk me to my destination.  Easier said than done, as not only were pedestrians barred from accessing the majority of the streets, so were the cabs!  And so the hunt for that lone taxicab took on larger than life magnitude, my desperate attempt to flag down such a vehicle quite the daunting task indeed.  Veering further and further away from Les Champs-Elysées, I was by now almost in Montmartre, and miles and miles away from the hope of arriving at my hotel anytime before sunset.  Yikes!!

What now? Well, dear reader, not to bore you with the mundane details of my frantic sprint along the rues and avenues, but let’s just say, my poor aching tootsies had no choice but to dejectedly traipse along the boulevards in search of a park bench to rest up in anticipation of the next leg of my journey.



And that is how I ended up in the midst of an ever-growing crowd of curious spectators, cheering Parisians and military personal, finding myself smack dab in the heart of one of France’s most celebrated of holidays, enthusiastically hooting, hollering and reveling with the best of them.

As, after all, being such the Parisian wanna-be, it somehow seemed appropriate that I partake of the festivities and experience for myself the magnitude of the day’s events.






And, last but not least, the proud men resplendent in their decorated uniforms were quite the pleasing eye candy indeed– ahhhh Paris – just another joyous fete in la ville de la joie de vivre…

Come scamper along the deserted rues and avenues with me, as all routes somehow collectively conspire and lead one towards the direction of La Fete Nationale, a celebration of France’s most glorious of holidays.

Next week – still stuck in the park along Les Champs-Elysées or do my pink-sneaker clad feet eventually end up in le fabulous hotel, on le Rive Gauche?  Stay tuned!!




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Le vin rouge, les croissants, le Louvre and so much more - my top 10 reasons for jetting to the City of Lights

Posted by Nora K ,
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No matter how many times my pink sneaker clad feet scamper about the rues and avenues of my beloved City of Lights, it never fails to amaze me that there is yet another discovery to be made and new perspectives to be gleaned, as if appreciating the Parisian landscape for the very first time.  I’m often asked as to why I jet away to Paris so often, as surely there are other equally as fascinating and appealing foreign lands to traipse about, and don’t I get bored travelling year after year to the same mundane location?  You’re kidding, right?  And so I’ve compiled my top 10 reasons as to why this French gem has been and continues to be a magnet for artists, writers, dreamers, lovers and just regular folk, all of whom harbour their very own reasons for stepping foot on this seductively mesmerizing parcel of land.

Reason #01 – Who hasn’t envisioned languishing the days away sequestered in a quaint nook of a café, sipping vino whilst penning that next great “yet to be discovered” novel, immersed in the inspiration of long-gone masters of the written word.  My imagination runneth over as I fantasize about randomly bumping into the ghosts of Fitzgerald, Hemingway and Callaghan as we linger over a pint or two and enthusiastically debate about plot structure and character idiosyncrasies.  Who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity of being mentored by any one of the literary geniuses of the 1920’s “lost generation”, but alas, that is clearly not meant to be, so I’ll reluctantly have to contend with absorbing all of their creative wisdom through the power of osmosis and hope that some of it filters through my pink-sneaker noggin.


Reason #02 – There is nothing more magical than meandering along the banks of the Seine on a late summer’s eve, watching the blushing heavens transform from a glowing salmon hue into an effervescent rainbow of twinkling lights and shadows.  A mesmerizing mélange of dusty pinks and vibrant acquamarine colours playfully shimmer from above, as if elevating the intricately carved arches of the ancient bridges below to a heightened level of perfection.  Add an element of mysticism and romance and you’ve got a picture perfect postcard of a hauntingly spellbinding moment in time forever imprinted upon your soul. 




Reason #03 – Waking with the roosters and queuing in a snaking line-up at the boulangerie at the onset of dawn, jostling with the locals for that melt in your mouth deliciousness of a fresh out of the oven golden croissant.  Scrumptious.  I don’t even feel guilty ordering a dozen of the butter infused delicacies, savouring each and every last crumb, all the while rationalizing that since I’m in Paris, it is my duty to consume as many heavenly baked goods as possible, as, after all, I’m in the land of gastronomic delight.  Hence, this is why I walk and trudge and schlep luggage for hours and hours and hours on end.  If you’ve read my previous posts, then you know what I’m talking about.



Reason #04 – the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame,  Sacre-Coeur and so much more...




Reason #05 – Le vin rouge, le vin rouge, le vin rouge – need I say more?  On that note, time for another libation of the bubble bath for the mind kind...

Reason #06 – Cutting edge fashion, where 12 year olds and babes in arms are attired in cooler than cool ensembles, setting the bar for that unattainable “je ne sais quoi” in attitude and “to die for outfits”.

Reason #07 – Les moules et frites.

Reason #08 – Stumbling across a quaint nook of a café or bistro that becomes your home away from home whilst traipsing about the City of Lights.



Reason #09 – Le joie de vivre pretty much says it all.

Reason #10 – After all, it’s Paris and in Paris anything is possible.  You just have to dream and believe.

Come believe in the dream of Paris and all things French….

Next week – where else in Paris do my pink-sneaker clad feet take me?  Stay tuned!!



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