Day 3 – Off the tourist trail

We did sleep in again…but it was fine because we had to check out by 11.30am anyway. All packed and ready for a new day, we left our bags at the hotel and got the metro to the outskirts of town. I suffered a lapse in concentration this morning as we got the metro to a station, previously intended to be a connecting station, but I had forgotten and we exited onto a cute and quiet corner, about 20 minutes from our destination. Forgetting this, we decided to have breakfast here where it was quiet, enjoying crepes, croissants, coffee and hot chocolate, as well as teaching our waiter the collective word for forks, knives and spoons – cutlery.

Filled up and raring to go, we walked above the metro line, passing the Paris catacombs with a line bigger than that of Notre Dame yesterday, and continued on to Montparnasse tower. This tower is apparently the best view of the city as it includes the Eiffel Tower in it, making it marginally better. In our eyes, it was already much better than the Eiffel Tower because there was literally no queue. We actually thought it was closed because it was deserted. We got the lift to floor 56 and the viewing platform on floor 59 was also empty, allowing us to get a couple of photos and a tourist free look at Paris.

As we were in the suburbs of Paris, we needed to get the metro to our next destination (Montmartre) but with my signal not working too well, we had to gamble on a couple of stations that I knew were in that area. Deciding on one and walking for miles underground to get to the platform, our gamble paid off and found us on the best side of Montmartre. We also realised that we were very deep underground with the metro station displaying warnings that there were 92 stairs to climb in order to exit. Luckily these stairs led us out half-way up the hill, just down from Sacré-Cœur.

For the next hour or so, we walked around the artistic area, watching the artists drawing their landscapes and portraits, enticing tourists to be drawn and passing by the many cafés, a piano bar being my favourite. It was difficult to find an adequate place to have lunch here due to the sheer number of tourists, and the large number of shaded areas that was actually quite chilly if you were sat in one. Instead we held off on food and continued the rest of the tour.

Leaving Sacré-Cœur behind us, we continued down the main shopping roads and past the red-light district of Paris to get a quick look at the famous Moulin Rouge building. We then found a nice café by a church further along the street, where we decided would be the best place to have lunch. I really wanted a burger and Anna had her heart on a cheeseboard, so after ordering, it seemed like ages until our food came. At least it was for Anna as the waiter brought my food and forgot about Anna’s. Whilst taking the order from the table behind us, he eventually noticed and burst into laughter, having to apologise to us, and to the table he was at. Running off to get Anna’s ‘cheese’, he returned with a glass of yogurt… We were in stitches thinking that he had messed up again. After checking with another waiter to see if this was actually cheese or not, we were informed that ‘fromage blanc’ doesn’t actually mean white cheese, but instead means yogurt. At least Anna was being healthy. To cap off a hilarious lunch, the waiter also forgot to bring the bill on several occasions and we couldn’t wait to leave and get back to normality.

Having a look around Galeries Lafayette, disaster struck. Climbing the steps to Sacré-Cœur earlier, I inherited a small tear in my chinos. It was fine for a while but was growing exponentially since. The only thing to do was to get a change of trousers and spotting the nearest H&M, we dived into grab a suitable replacement. After selecting a couple, queuing for the changing room and trying them on, I proceeded to purchase my new pair and return to the changing room to change into them. Anna suggested I just put the new pair on now and they can remove the tags at the till, but I thought it better to keep it simple, especially in a non-English country.

Old trousers in the bin and dressed to impress, our chino hunt had taken up more time than we would have liked, meaning we were unable to visit the Garnier Opera House and a really famous and apparently delicious éclair shop. That will have to be the first of our stops next time… Our next and ultimate goal this time however was to get our phones back up to charge (as they held our boarding passes for the flight home tonight). We did this in a café opposite our hotel, where you were charged for the time you spent there – coffee, cold drinks, biscuits, breads and snacks all inclusive. It was called the Hubsy Café and no doubt if we had more time, we would have stayed there longer.

After collecting our bags and getting the metro to the train station, we were planning to get the train to Beauvais in half an hour. However, the machine didn’t work for us so it was easier to go to the ticket desk. That unfortunately meant we had to run to our platform at the other end of the station, as the ticket man had booked us on the train that left in 7 minutes instead of 37 minutes. We made it on time and were able to charge our phones a little more on the train. Thankfully it wasn’t delayed this time, but the ticket inspector did come round and gave off to me for having my feet up on the chair.

The taxi to the airport was straightforward and simple, but when we entered the airport, all that changed. The queue for security was already a mile long and because we arrived early (precisely for this reason), we weren’t allowed to go through security yet until called. We decided to take this opportunity and have an early dinner, as we doubted that the airport lounge had any more food establishments. Even if they did, we also doubted that we would have time to eat after seeing the speed and length of the queue. Our lasagne and pizza filled us for now and we decided to get into the queue, as there was nothing else really left to do in this airport.

The line diminished slowly and slowly until we reached the scanners for our boarding pass. A helpful sign said that it would be another 30 minute wait from here, despite already waiting for just as long to get to that point. Steadily making our way to security, I was in front of the passport control officer for what seemed an age. He checked my passport (and it appeared that I was fine) but he was on his twitter, watching the football match on the screen to his right, and getting involved in the passenger beside me, whose passport was blocked, despite him saying that his university had provide enough information to allow him to get through (to do research of some kind I think? My French listening skills are adequate at best). Finally the passport officer gave back me my passport back and was able to continue on to security. The security man was also keen to take his time but this time he interacted with us, asking us 21 questions about our trip and the contents of our bag.

What was now becoming close to 4hrs total time in this god forsaken airport, we decided to get in line at the boarding gate – who knows what would happen next. Anna had declared that you must only work in this airport if you failed flight school. She probably wasn’t far wrong. With it looking like we would need to line up outside due to restricted room in the departure lounge, we got our jackets and coats on in preparation for the chilly weather this evening. Thankfully, they didn’t make us stand outside to wait. Instead, they escorted us to the ‘departure tent’, which smelled like a primary school apparently. It did give a certain crayon smell right enough. We waited for a few more minutes before boarding the plan, delayed slightly because the man operating the stair vehicle at the back of the plane had actually driven, and crashed into the side of the plane. He probably dropped out of flight school rather than failing it like Anna suggested.

It was a holiday which seemed to be perfect in the middle and a disaster at both ends (with the punctured tyre and the hassle at the airport) with it being summed up perfectly by the Ryanair flight attendants singing Happy Birthday to their colleague, through the speakers and encouraging everyone to join in. I had enough fun for one weekend.

The journey back was driven with care and caution, sticking to the actual proper motorway roads this time and managing the speed so that the temporary tyre got us back home. It did without any further disaster and our little trip away came to its conclusion. Until next time, who knows where we could end up next…