I’ve decided not to travel with Aude any more – she seems to be cursed. We caught our train out of St Raphael this morning right on time and made an effortless journey to Paris. Arriving in Paris with plenty of time to spare, we went down to catch the RER D back to Gare du Nord, only to be met by a group of police pointing us in the other direction. Someone had apparently left a suspect package on the train and they were closing the station.

Plan B involved a connecting service across a couple of other RER lines, and we eventually made it to Gare du Nord with plenty of time to spare.

It’s back to work tomorrow, another holiday over. Only a few weeks until New Orleans, thankfully.

We woke up early on Thursday morning with a sense of smugness. We had decided to avoid the long Easter queues, the traffic jams and the nightmare scenes at the security check at Heathrow, instead opting to take the train to visit Aude’s parents in the south of France. “What could go wrong?” we thought as we boarded the 8:05am service from in front of our house to Ashford.

Our trip down to Ashford was painless enough, and once we arrived there we checked in. We were through security in five minutes, then straight to the (very small) business class lounge for a cup of coffee. An hour later they called our train. We boarded, found our seats, and sat down with a look of self-righteousness. We set off from the station right on time, and a few minutes later the driver announced that we were about to enter the Channel Tunnel. With a contented look on my face, I turned to Aude and remarked “What a good decision. This is definitely easier than the whole airport struggle.”

Ominously, at that moment the train stopped in the middle of the Channel Tunnel. “A problem with the regulation,” said the driver, who had no further information to provide. Twenty minutes later and still stuck 40m under the English Channel, the driver came on to provide another update. Apparently, the train in front of us had broken down completely, and until they could move it we weren’t going anywhere. Pierre, the purser (honestly, I’m not making this up), came onto the tannoy to give us an update. “We are now twenty minutes behind schedule. Don’t worry, ze ventilation system is working properly and we are completely safe here for ze moment.”

The ventilation system failing was something I hadn’t considered until Pierre had helpfully brought it to my attention. Suddenly I was claustrophobic. More importantly, our 1-hour connection in Paris was looking less and less likely.

We finally started to move again. Allez, Pierre, allez!

We made it into Paris Gare du Nord at 13:25. Our train to the south left from Gare de Lyon at 13:50. Cue two travellers frantically sprinting across Gare du Nord to try to catch the RER D train. Luckily, we managed to push our way onto a train that was waiting at the platform (the carriage was half-empty inside, but everyone insisted on standing in the doorway so that no one else could go on. I’m suddenly thankful for the London Underground announcements asking people to “move right down inside the carriages, please”). We arrived at the RER station at Gare de Lyon at 13:45. Cue more sprinting as we tried to locate our train.

We finally boarded at 13:49. Being the last to board, there was no luggage space left except between the seats. So I figured that’s where I’d put my bags. Until Madame Crazy in the seat next to us decided to give me a stern talking to in French – apparently upset that I had moved her bag. (Come on, you silly French loon, what part of “communal luggage space” don’t you understand?) I feigned ignorance, carried on with what I was doing, then spent the rest of the trip quietly detesting the woman.

Nevermind. We’d made it. We pulled out a nice picnic lunch and a bottle of wine and settled in for the four hour trip to St Raphael. The friendly ticket inspector was even kind enough to wish us a “bon appetite!”

Our little sprint aside, the train was actually pretty stress-free. The seats on the TGV, even in second class, rival our first-class seats in the UK and are certainly more comfortable than their airline equivalents. We arrived right on time, no one hassled us about the size of our carry-on (except for Madame Crazy), we had no security nightmares, and we didn’t get stuck in traffic. All things considered, I’d take the train again.

48 hours later, I’m back on the Eurostar again after a grey, cold weekend in Paris. Despite the weather, we had a great time and caught up with some old friends.

I arrived late on Friday night and managed to convince the ticket machine at the Metro to sell me a ticket. French machines, being French, refuse to speak in Foreign, so I was left relying on my schoolboy French to get me across town. That wasn’t a problem, but trying to work out where to stick my money into the machine was – the machine was designed to take coins or credit cards, but not Euro notes – unlike the ticket machines on the Tube. So there I was, stupid tourist, trying to stick notes into a machine that clearly didn’t take them, much to the annoyance of the French.

Having finally convinced the ticket machine to take my credit card, I met Aude and her friend Anne Laure at Bastille for a few drinks. We ended up in a bohemian bar down a side street. The waitress gave me a hard time for being American…

We jumped into a cab and headed for our hotel – a nice enough place, but near the Peripherique (beware Priceline’s interpretation of “near the Eiffel Tower” – we were as near to the Eiffel Tower as I look like George Clooney).

Aude rides the Metro into Central Paris

November in Paris features a special photography month, a subject near and dear to my heart. On Saturday morning we grabbed the Metro into central Paris to see an exhibit entitled “Children of the World” by Kevin Kling (a woman, despite the name) that was being exhibited outside the Jardin du Luxembourg and where we’d seen an exhibition of the best 20th century press photography when we were last in London. It was a great exhibit despite poor weather conditions.

A group of nuns take in the exhibition

Aude looks at one of the photos in the “Children of the World” exhibition

Inside the Jardin du Lumembourg

Inside the Jardin du Lumembourg

Inside the Jardin du Lumembourg

No, not rays of light coming from her head. Rather, something to stop the pigeons crapping down her front.

Sailboat rental

It was Remembrance Day in France, with flowers placed on most of the war memorials

We spent a lot of time like this. Never underestimate a woman’s ability to shop!

We were also going to try to see the Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibit – an interest to me because he shot nearly his entire portfolio using a 50mm lens. I’ve just bought a 35mm prime lens (the digital equivalent of a 50mm lens in the digital world, and very close to what the human eye sees naturally) and have been looking for inspiration. The 35mm Nikon lens is acclaimed as one of the best Nikon lenses ever produced, but I can’t seem to get it to work its magic for me. (Incidentally, all of the photos in this blog entry were taken with the 35mm lens – your feedback and constructive criticism is welcome!)

Lunch was a couscous at a restaurant on the Left Bank – with a friendly cat that took to Aude immediately.

Proof that you can also find a Mexican in Paris!

As we walked past an Italian restaurant, Aude suggested I snap a photo of the chap in the window as a potential boyfriend for our friend MG. Innocent as I am, this is what I snapped.

Proof that Aude is a bigger pervert than me: Laughing at my picture, she pointed out that I’d entirely missed the point (no pun intended). This was the fellow she had in mind!

We decided to walk from the Jardin of Luxembourg towards Monparnasse, where the Cartier-Bresson exhibit was being held, doing some shopping on the way. Cue the first of many times getting lost in Paris (and the first of many sexist jokes from me). Due to a slightly unscheduled detour, we spent the afternoon shopping and gave up on the Cartier-Bresson exhibit due to my aching feet. On the upside, I did get a kiss from a strange woman – it was her hen night and she was kissing every passing man!

In a scene that was to become uncomfortably familiar, we find ourselves in front of a map, not knowing quite where we are…

We still had a few hours to kill and needed an activity that didn’t involve a lot of walking, so I suggested we catch a bateau mouche. Cue the second of many times getting lost in Paris. Determined to catch the bateau mouche at Pont Neuf (but holding the map upside-down), we ended up walking around nearly the entire Ile de la Cite before finally giving up. Instead, we went to Plan B and headed for Alcazar, the Conran restaurant I had booked for dinner.

Despite being unable to travel by bateau mouche, I was able to take a few pictures of Paris by night – when Paris is at its most beautiful in my opinion

After an ‘Ultra Violet’ for Aude and a Manhattan for me, plus a couple of kirs, we were in a much better mood. We went downstairs for dinner and had a beautiful meal – Aude started with foie gras and then had venison, I started with escargot (leaving me smelling like a true Frenchman all night) and followed with veal. I asked the sommelier for a wine recommendation and he suggested a Corbieres. When the wine was presented, it was a bottle of vintage Pomerol – lucky I paid attention to his suggestion and didn’t take the wine that arrived at my table – it would have been a very expensive mistake!

Sunday morning we met some old friends from Canterbury for a Moroccan brunch – Alain and Faouzia, Julien and his girlfriend Karine. I did my best to order my breakfast in French, but asked that I be served no eggs – and mixed up my article. Cue more piss-taking from a French waitress (and more muttering of C’est pourquoi tout le monde deteste les Parisiens). Despite clarification from my French-speaking friends, she still screwed up my order. No tip for her – he who laughs last, laughs best.

In any case, it was great to catch up, and my friends were all pleased to hear all the gossip and goings-on that had happened in Canterbury since they’d left (although Julien was ahead of the game, being a regular reader of my blog).

Julien & Karine

Alain, Faouzia, Julien, Karine and Aude outside the restaurant

Alain, Faouzia, Julien, Karine and Matthew outside the restaurant

L’église Saint Eustache

The Opera

Aude poses for a photo

Matthew poses with the smallest flowers he’s ever seen at the Grand Hyatt in Paris

Cafe culture – what Paris is a famous for!

Matthew standing in Place Vendome

No trip to Paris would be complete without a photo of the Eiffel Tower at sunset, would it?

Paris Metro

We left them mid-afternoon and went for a walk, stopping for a coffee at the Grand Hyatt, then walking down Place Vendome and through the Jardin du Tuleries. Back to the hotel, then we grabbed a cab which took years off my life (and reminded me: I need to update my will) until we finally arrived at Gare du Nord.

Aude smiles on Eurostar despite her reluctance to go back home

Matthew looking somewhat more skeptical

Beats a McDonalds!

Sauteed veal on Eurostar. Remember when food on the plane was like this?

A few hours later, and here I am again on the Eurostar (today’s celebrity sighting was James Blunt, having a drink in the Eurostar business class lounge), heading back to Canterbury at 300km per hour, eating another lovely dinner and drinking a glass of wine. I trust I’ll be greeted by two very friendly, very hungry looking cats.

Back to work tomorrow, but only for four days – we’re off to a Scottish wedding on Thursday night. Such a jet-setting life we lead. I’ve already packed my man-skirt.