Paris layover

 Paris Layover

About a month ago, I needed to make a quick trip home to Canada. All is well, the family member who was sick is on the mend now. The cheapest ticket I could find on such short noticed involved long layovers in Paris in both directions. On the way to Toronto, I had to spend the night in Paris. I decided to book a hotel in Montmartre. A taxi from the airport would have cost about US$100, so I opted for the cheaper train trip, which should have taken 1 hour. It took 2 ½ hours. By the time I arrived at Gare du Nord, it was almost 10PM, and raining. I grabbed a taxi for the rest of the trip. It was about 10:20, and still raining, when the taxi dropped me off in the street by the address I had been given. I had found the Ermitage Hotel on the internet, and booked the room the day before by skype. I had talked to an older woman who told me that I would be staying in a ‘studio apartment’ for the same price as a room (US$130). I rang the bell at 24 Lamarck, and there was no response. I walked back and forth, looking for an alternate bell, wondering what the heck I was going to do. Finally, the door at #24 cracked open, and I was greeted by a tiny elderly woman, wearing slippers and a housecoat. She asked if I had a reservation. I said yes, that I had spoken with her on the phone yesterday. She had no recollection, but ushered me inside, and tottered off to get her ‘book.’ She showed me a small pad filled with what could only be called chicken scratch. I was very tired, and asked if she had a room. She ignored the question, and continued to question me about the phone call. Finally she located my name in the midst of the scribbling. She fetched the keys, and tried to help me by grabbing the purse that I was wearing messenger-style UNDER my raincoat. We wrestled for a while, and she conceded that I could carry my own purse. We had to go outside, and next door (it was still raining). Once we were inside, she carefully showed me how to work the lock on the street door. She then grabbed on handle of my carry-on suitcase, I grabbed the other, trying desperately to carry the entire weight, and we struggled up a flight of narrow winding stairs to my ‘apartment.’ Once inside, she showed me the bathroom, the view (astonishing), and demonstrated how to use the key. I said good night, and locked the door. There was a quiet knock. I opened the door, and she wanted to check that she had shown me EXACTLY how to use the keys. She had. I said good night and locked the door. There was another quiet knock. I opened the door, and she wanted to check that she had given me the correct key. She had. I said good night and locked the door.

I had found (again through TripAdvisor), what looked like a lovely little restaurant nearby, and even mapped out how to get there from the hotel. I was too tired to make the effort, so my Dinner In Paris didn’t happen.

The ‘apartment’ was pristine, charming, and had a beautiful beautiful view. It was very very tiny, with a bedroom, tiny kitchenette, and bathroom with a half-sized bathtub. No hairdryer, no tv, no little toiletries. 

The next morning, I woke with the sun, and started out to enjoy a few hours of strolling through Montmartre. The last time I was in Paris was 10 years ago, when I had the enormous luck of interning at the Louvre for four months. I have always carried a torch for Paris, and the love affair was renewed in those few hours in Montmartre. For anyone vaguely interested in the history of western Art, Montmartre is a bit of a mecca. Here in these streets, in these cafes, some of the most amazing minds of western Art lived, argued, talked about Art. Montmartre, as the name suggests, is a neighbourhood built on the sides of a hill (Martyr’s Mountain). Is has been designated as a place of historical significance (duh), so it has retained its feel of an ancient European village. It’s all cobblestones, tiny winding streets, stairs, and charm. 

This is where I was standing to welcome the New Year 10 years ago!

Montmartre is crowned with the Basilique du Sacre Coeur, a magnificent white cathedral constructed 100 years ago. When I was living in Paris 10 years ago, this is where I celebrated the New Year. 

On my way back to Tashkent, I had a day-long layover in Paris. This time I decided to take the train to Les Halles. Les Halles was originally a grand marketplace in Paris. Its main attraction for me was the Georges Pompidou Centre, the incredible ‘inside-out’ cultural complex that houses the National Museum of Modern Art.  Unfortunately, the museum was closed. I ended up walking for hours and miles, along the Seine. I was so exhausted (I don’t sleep on planes) that the movement was the only thing keeping me awake!