Paris Diary ❤

Day Un.

Like all accounts I feel I should start at the very beginning, as in why we even decided to go to Paris in the first place. The idea first came into being during the Easter holidays, my friend Ieva who is a total label-whore but I love her anyway is obsessed with this French designer brand called Lancel that from what I can glean specialise in bags and the like. Ever since she was twelve years old she has pined over this bag and wanted to be its possessor, unfortunately it has always been outrageously expensive. Until, of course, a sale.  So she looked into it and discovered there would be a sale and she could order it online but to have it shipped to Lithuania (her native country) from Paris would cost a small fortune. And coincidentally a small fortune is exactly the same amount of money that would be required for an impromptu holiday. She proposed the idea to me, and instantaneously I concurred. Impulsive decisions are always my undoing, but I have wanted to go to Paris for most of my life and was incredibly excited by the prospect. Although, I couldn’t give a shit about this apparently life-changing, mouth-wateringly beautiful bag that resembles a marshmallow (which is my theory why she has coveted it so much); I do give a shit about going to Paris.

A few weeks before the alleged sale we started planning, we booked three nights at Aloha Hostel online and purchased return megabus tickets from Coventry Canon Park to Paris. It was all surprisingly simple. We planned what we wanted to do there, we found a myriad of things and then being brutal we slashed through some that we wouldn’t have time for. We were very ambitious, trying to fit eighteen things into three days and naturally not all of them were actualised.

On Sunday morning, we were scheduled to leave at quarter past six so we could reach Canon Park in plenty of time before our ten past seven coach. In preparation for this and the twelve hour journey ahead of us we opted to skip sleep and watch movies set in Paris instead. WE watched Pink Panther and practiced our own French accents, we had tea and packed and repacked and then packed again. We got to the coach station stupidly early and already hungry we indulged in some Galaxy cake bars. They were damn tasty, even if it was early.

The coach arrived and we sat together, even though in my experience from travelling to Amsterdam by coach, you should always sit by yourself when you are travelling for longer than a few hours. We arrived at Victoria Coach station in London a couple of hours later and went in search of hot food, we came to a café and had sandwiches. The coach trip to Paris was fairly uneventful, we discussed everything that was going on in our lives and infrequently napped, Ieva listened to her mp3 I gazed dreamily out of the window until we arrived at Dover.

We had missed the ferry. I love ferries, and am always unduly eager to board one, I love the rockiness and the smell of the sea, you just feel so fresh on the deck, utterly rejuvenated.  Instead, we crossed the channel via the Eurotunnel which meant we did not get a chance to stretch our legs at all. It was fine, a total of thirty five minutes so although there wasn’t much to look at, at least it was efficient. When we arrived in France, we looked eagerly at the scenery and all we really saw was a whole lot of green which was nice in its own way and then I shamelessly eavesdropped on the two girls behind us who both led very interesting lives. One girl was talking about how she had ran away to join the circus and that the circus was big in France, she had fallen in love with someone’s cousin and time apart was hard but she was very glad to be seeing him soon. The other girl had just graduated and was going to stay with her friend in Paris, she had an interview so she was only stopping for a few days and was very nervous. It was very entertaining.

Soon, Ieva alerted me to the Eiffel Tower and I forgot all about the girls behind me and concentrated on not squealing in delight like a two year old. We reached Porte Maillot Coach Station at seven in the evening and as we left it started to drizzle but not too much. Ieva had written out directions to our hostel and we planned to walk there even though in hindsight this was a crackpot idea. As we left the coach station in search of a street name we might recognise we came across a tiny, pretty building with gates. It was simple but appealing from the outside, and like dutiful tourists we snapped a few pictures and then I ventured inside to discover it was a chapel. A truly gorgeous chapel with stained glass windows, flickering candles and a marble Jesus on the cross. It was lovely, quiet, peaceful and echoing. I fell in love with this little chapel. A woman was there, praying intently she looked like she was in despair although maybe that was my imagination running amok. I like to think she was earnestly repenting and her piety would soon be rewarded. I am not religious by any means but this chapel made me wish I was.

Eventually after taking dozens of pictures and tiptoeing quietly around we left dragging our suitcases silently behind us. It started to rain and by rain I mean pour, we were being assaulted by the skies and not to put too fine a point on it we were miserably lost so we asked for directions. One woman sent us in the wrong direction so we asked another and she was extremely helpful even though she herself had no clue she would ask others. A guy with an iPhone Google-mapped it for us (Thank you God and Steve Jobbs) and we went traipsing back in the opposite direction at which point we saw the Arc de Triomphe from a distance and “fan-girled” for a couple of minutes.  We saw lots of tall, beautiful champagne and pastel coloured buildings that reminded me a little of Prague so of course we clicked away with our cameras, and by then I was desperate for the toilet so I went to a little café and practiced my limited French. The gentleman was very kind and I took ten minutes to freshen up.

We found the Eiffel Tower in due course and went crazy tourist for a good half an hour, with our suitcases we were easy targets and the dark skinned men with Eiffel Tower replicas on key chains pounced on us, but we just shook our heads and soldiered on even though some of the deals they were spitting out at us were quite tempting, one Indian gentlemen even offered one free as a gift which scared the shit out of me but amused Ieva to no end.  We walked far and then we walked a little more, we got lost a couple of times, we asked people directions, luckily the weather had cleared up nicely and we were fine, enjoying Paris. When we finally reached the street of our hostel we were exultant, we honestly didn’t think we would actually find the hostel it took us a good three hours but we definitely felt like accomplished human beings. Proper adults. It was a heady feeling. I think we were high on a sense of independence.

 At about ten pm we reached our hostel and our feet were dying. The man behind the counter was nice but he was very busy he told us to dump our stuff and go get something to eat so he could check us in when we returned, so we dumped our stuff I changed out of my boots because they were pinching my toes and we met two cute British guys in the storage room. We left and it was dark, we had passed so many places for food on the way we knew we wouldn’t have to walk far, we settled on a small Italian restaurant with red checked table cloths and wine already displayed proudly on the tables. We ordered hesitantly in French, Ieva had ham salad and I had Bolognese and Coke. It was good. We got lost on the way back to the hostel even though it was a mere street away and the sense of independence faltered but we found it in the end.

The man behind the counter had changed but he gave us everything we needed, our key cards, freshly laundered sheets, a few maps, times for breakfast etc. Our room number was 32 and we couldn’t find it so we asked the man again and he informed us it was outside so we went outside and trudged up to the highest floor. Our room was nice, there were two bunk beds, a sink and it was situated right next to the bathroom and shower which was handy. The only problem was it was already occupied by three girls whom we easily made friends with. They were all lovely and one tiny girl called Inka who was actually twenty-seven realised she had been in the wrong room all along.

Eventually, after washing and changing we crashed into bed. Ieva slept on the top bunk and every time it squeaked I had a mini heart attack. We planned to get up at seven in the morning eat our fill and then do some serious sight-seeing. There is no rest for the wicked.  I will upload pictures and videos later. Thank you for reading. Je t’aime beaucoup.