Another week, another country: this time I popped off to Paris for a weekend, to kill two birds with one stone and not only visit Claire & Jamie (who were here for the Oktoberfest, the eidetic among you will remember having seen on these pages) but also catch up with my mate Ian from Melbourne, who has been in Europe for a few weeks and is in Paris until this Saturday.
And, as an added bonus, I got to spend the afternoon & evening of Friday in the car with Laurent and his two lovely daughters Megan & Julie; they were driving to France for the week of the school holidays here in Munich, and I tagged along for the ride (flights to Paris were extortionately priced, thanks to aforementioned school holidays, but the flight back was a bargain). And I even conceived a poem in French on the way there - how up myself!
Paris was the agony and the ecstasy. I need say nothing about the city itself; two thousand years of tourists have had their say on this "megalopolis of culture" (that quote from the Sewer Museum which we went to on Saturday afternoon!) and I'm sure that just the word Paris conjures up images of chic shops, suave people, and a general air of verve (it seems we need French words to describe the French capital).
Suffice to say that Claire & Jamie's flat is literally around the corner from the Eiffel Tower, and - more important this - surrounded by little boutiques offering cheeses, cakes and other goodies to die for. And by golly did we make sure we partook of all that the area has to offer! I haven't eaten that much raw meat in my life. (Actually, my gut has been paying the consequences ever since, but that's another story.) Plus which, the weather was balmy; I was in a teeshirt all day both days, and the sights of the City of Love shimmered in the autumn sun.
And to see Ian again after almost a year, albeit in a totally different context, was really wonderful too. I cherish every connection I have to Australia, particularly now that the weather in Munich is finally turning wintry (as I write the first flakes of snow of the season are falling past my window). Aussie friends have been on my mind all week: in related news Fiona my fabulous housemate from Melbourne rang me yesterday and it was indescribably wonderful to hear her voice; and today I've arranged a time to finally talk with Rainnie again after weeks of radio silence.
So anyway, Paris. Ah, Paris! (It's one of those places where you just stop in your tracks every now and again and exclaim quietly to yourself.) Okay, in bullet form my weekend went something like this:
Arrive; drink wine; sleep; buy cheese; buy bread; buy wheat beer to go with the Weißwurst sausages and Brezen I brought from Munich; meet Ian; eat breakfast; walk through patrician streets; visit Sewer Museum (actually it was fascinating, if a little pongy, to walk along a stretch of actual sewer and learn about the history of water and waste water in this city since Roman times); drink beer; stand beneath the Arc de Triomphe; drink more beer; eat cheese; drink yet more beer (this time in the form of a "giraffe": a 3 litre tube with a tap at the bottom); meet random French dudes; drink even more beer in the Marais district with Ian (Claire & Jamie having gone to dinner with other friends).
I have to interrupt myself there. Earlier I wrote of the agony and the ecstasy. So far, as I hope you'll agree, it's been all good. But now comes the shit bit: I had my wallet nicked right out of my front trouser pocket in a crowded bar. The bastards!! I've NEVER been pickpocketed before! I'm still angry at myself for even having my wallet with me; life in Munich is so hassle-free that even a seasoned world traveller like myself (oo, hark at me! but it's true to a certain extent) has forgotten to be vigilant.
And so the next several hours were spent at the local police station, ringing up various credit and bank card companies to cancel all the cards in my wallet. I ended up less angry and more zombie, as I finally made it back to Claire & Jamie's at 7am. Unforgettable - in all the wrong ways. At least they didn't take my phone or C&J's keys (which were both in my other pocket).
So Sunday didn't really start too well. But lunch was delicious (steak tartare in a nearby bistro with Claire & Jamie) and - after another police station visit to report the actual theft (bizarrely, French police won't have anything to do with you after you've had more than one drink, so you have to traipse back the next day when you're sober before you can speak to anyone about anything official) - dinner was also tasty (steak blue in a nearby steakhouse with Claire & Ian).
The three of us - Jamie having left to go to Glasgow that afternoon - headed off to the studenty cool pub under the Metro arches round the corner from C&J's for nightcaps. Ian soon went back to his apartment, but Claire & I stayed there and drank more than was sensible, given that she had work in the morning and I had a plane to catch. Ah well, c'est la vie.
So, the agony and the ecstasy. Actually, the saga continues, because I rang the bar I had my wallet nicked in on the off chance that they might have found something, and indeed they had, so Claire has said she will pick it up and send it to me. It's too late to do anything about the credit cards, but at least I won't have to apply for a new driving licence or health insurance card.
And now, to change the atmosphere completely, I am having my wisdom teeth out tomorrow morning. Eek! A surgeon will chop open my jaw and extract teeth - and what's worse, he told me to expect very loud noises. I am SO not looking forward to this. Wish me luck, people!
