Thursday, 7th September.
I woke up at 7am. After a manic Wednesday, which overflowed into
early Thursday morning, I hadn't had a lot of sleep. And I hadn't
packed. There was no way known I'd make the 10:23am Eurostar to
Paris, so I rang up and postponed to 11:53am.
Even then it wasn't enough. After a tube journey featuring an
Irish busker ("Thanks, glad you could all make it," he said as he
boarded the train at Sloane Square) I arrived late, blaming the
On board the 12:53pm Eurostar to Paris, I watched London slip by
my window: Westminster, the London Eye. The suburbs of London
rocked me to sleep.
Then I woke up. Then I fell asleep as the train entered the
chunnel. I woke up wondering why the houses looked different in this
part of England, and it took me a few minutes to realise that I was
in France. France - tres flat! Well, at least the first bit was.
I had a few hours in Paris before I took my overnight train to the
south of France. I emerged from the Metro station at Place de la
Concorde and was immediately confronted with an Obelisque in front of
me and the Eiffel Tower in the background. I walked across the plaza and
looked down the Champs Elysees. Not too shabby. As the evening sun
slipped towards the horizon, I walked towards the Arc de Triomphe.
As I walked from the Arc de Triomphe towards the Eiffel Tower, I
was confronted with hordes of peddlers with their crappy wares.
Who in their right mind would buy a wind-up plastic pigeon?
I took the lift to the second floor of the tower - the top was closed.
The views were superb - Paris at sunset.
One final magic moment happened before I caught the overnight train
to Bayonne: I met a Tasmanian while I was up the Eiffel Tower!
Not only that, but we had met before, and my brother used to play
soccer with her younger brother. It's all so Tasmanian.