The first week was to be spent in Paris, a city I love but any sightseeing trip there has to be carefully planned, mostly, with tickets needing to be bought in advance, routes planned and itinerary arranged, so there should be very little scope for ad hoc activities that might have required a discussion were I not alone. The next week I was to travel south, down to Nîmes. This part of the trip was to be all about relaxing, more obviously relying on my own company, and taking in a few sights of this very Roman city, and then the antidote to that; the last few days spent in the countryside of the Cévennes was about meeting up with friends for a few days before coming home.
Day One
Having decided to catch a slightly earlier train than initially planned, I left home at 10am and trundled my case down to the station, pausing only for a quick chat with Sharon on the way. Once the train pulled in and I alighted I found myself in the Quiet Zone of the 10:41 train to Waterloo which turned out not to be quiet at all; one woman moved three times to get away from overly chatty people. The onward trip to St Pancras was as straightforward as ever; Bakerloo to Oxford Circus, Picadilly on to St Pancras which was quite crowded for a Wednesday lunchtime. While I got myself some refreshment it became increasingly clear there was a problem, confirmed by announcements every so often that the French passport control system had developed a fault and so they couldn't process anyone until it was fixed. Mild panic took over sections of the station, the queues for earlier trains got longer and the crowd edging around the entrance got larger. Too many people still don't realise that these days they will have a set check-in time for their train so, despite only two trains being open (and queueing because of the fault) it was staggering the number of people trying to check in for later trains who then gathered round, getting in the way and being a real nuisance instead of just wandering off for a while or getting another coffee. I was happy to wait and watch; it was still an hour before my train would be called anyway. By now it was obvious that the queue consisted of two trains worth of passengers waiting for the French to get their act together. Finally the queues snaked forward and eventually our train was invited to join it. After an unseemly rush our line snaked around what felt like the whole station, with people doing that fast walk that's just short of running to get in the queue as quickly as possible even though everyone has a ticket and a dedicated seat so there's no need to rush at all.
As it turned out, thanks I think to being boarded almost as soon as getting through security, our train left only five minutes late and arrived bang on time in Paris. The journey was as smooth as ever and especially comfortable in Eurostar Plus where I also had the pleasure of a half decent meal and glass of wine. I might need to rethink my seat next time as carriage 1 is furthest from the exit at Gare du Nord so it was quite a walk to the station hall and on to Metro line 5, through the barrier where I wrenched my arm last time here. However, it's thankfully not far, albeit on a packed train, to République where I emerge, not into the forecast thunderstorm but to a bright, if cloudy, sky and a noisy pro-Palestine demo.
My Hotel, the Meslay République, was easy enough to find and the receptionist very friendly. My room is clean and tidy, and the décor though clearly new was still a little stylistically dated. Both twin beds still in situ meant the room seemed smaller than perhaps it was. What wasn't an illusion was the smallest bathtub I've ever used.
Dinner was at "Mon Coco" across the Place de la République. Busy, noisy and quite a young clientele, I had a large beer and eventually a fairly good steak before strolling around the square back to the hotel and the football on iPlayer.
Day Two
Today was all about walking, over five miles in the end - no wonder my feet hurt.
I got up really early, for me, and had a nice simple breakfast. Not €12 worth, but there will be other days. I wandered vaguely in the direction of the Pompidou Centre but it wasn't going to be open for hours so I kept going, visiting Tour Saint-Jacques and the Rue de Rivoli before turning back into the Marais and an hour later finding myself at the entrance to the Musée National Picasso Paris. Entry was €16 and worth it for the fairly extensive collection, most of which had remained in the artist's possession until he died. After leaving there, I stumbled across a very different museum nearby; that of the Musée Cognacq-Jay, the private collection of the 19th century owner of one of Paris's premier department stores that was left to the nation upon his death - lots of Boucher style, very French, paintings in a reconstruction of a suitable house of the time. Free, and very worth seeing.
I grabbed a quick café allongé and Linzertorte at the traditional Jewish deli - Florence Kahn - before seeking out the Carnavalet Museum nearby. This is the Museum of Paris and is very extensive in both scope and content - possibly the best free museum in the city, and probably in the top five of all museums here. I learnt a lot more about the French Revolution than I knew and even more about Paris (and by extension, France) in the Nineteenth Century. Before leaving, I indulged in lunch of croque mademoiselle in the museum café and some time resting my now very sore feet. My slight calf strain not helping either, but I did manage to avoid a very sharp downpour while solving the day's Wordle.
Next, a return visit to Place des Vosges and the Maison Victor Hugo. Some commercial art galleries line the otherwise lovely square but most of these were a bit brash and tawdry, aimed perhaps at the well-off tourist in reality. Maison Victor Hugo is worth visiting and not very big so it doesn't take much out of your day. I was going to have a wander around the Place de Bastille but another shower found me ducking into the metro for a round trip home.
The eastern end of Metro Line 5 terminates at Place d'Italie from where you can catch Line 6 back to the centre. Much of this line is above ground, which is interesting in itself and also gives you one of the best views of the Eiffel Tower (sit on the right) as it passes. A change a Trocadero to Line 9 takes me back to République and "home". It's been quite a day, I'm tired and frankly parched so a very large beer in the bar around the corner is most welcome before a late afternoon snooze back in my room. After which, maybe two hours later, I eventually dragged myself out for food and here's a confession; I settled on a Macdonald's but (mitigation) purely because they were advertising MacPoutine (I'm not sure they called it that) and I was intrigued. I'm sure it's a pale imitation of the real thing but O, Canada! If the real thing is even slightly better than this corporate behemoth can offer then it is truly a dish to be proud of. Also, the Big Mac was significantly better than those on offer in the UK. By the time I get back to the hotel I can only muster enough energy for a dip in the tiny bath before bed.
Day Three
I don't know what it is about holidays but I'm up very early again. Sadly today I awake to the news that my friend Rachael has succumbed to her cancer which puts a damper on the day. However, the morning is scheduled to be spent at the Musée d'Orsay which will be a very suitable place to lift the spirits for a while. I catch the metro down to Concorde and cut through the Tuileries to the footbridge across the Seine to the Quai d'Orsay and the museum. I'm early, of course, so waste some time sitting on the steps doing 'my games' including failing at Wordle - GOFER ffs! I join the short queue at 10.15 - no-one seems to care that it's 45 minutes earlier than my ticket is for. It's not overly crowded inside until you get to the impressionists' section and especially the Van Gogh room, where everyone seems to have rushed to. There is so much more to the gallery but most people only seem interested in the "hits".
I have a light lunch there but as I'm leaving I manage to give my dodgy calf a good (i.e. bad) tweak so the rest of the day is all about hobbling. Invalides, the now very appropriate venue for the afternoon, is not far under normal circumstances but it takes an age to limp there. It also means I only have the energy to visit the tomb of Napoleon rather than the whole Musée de l'Armée which might have been interesting. Invalides itself is massive and quite a distance from the river, even further to the entrance to the spectacular mausoleum housing Bonaparte's remains. By the time I've seen it I'm very tired and very sore.
Thankfully the nearest metro goes directly back to République without changing. Sadly the Paris metro is almost entirely lacking in escalators so it's several flights of steps to hobble up and down before reaching République where I seek out a pharmacy for some support bandage and, at the suggestion of my daughter, some orthotic insoles which they have. Then, while having a beer and a club sandwich at a nearby café I spy a sports shop across the square where I decide to buy some proper walking trainers and some tiger balm. Not feeling like finding a restaurant I get a snack tea from the supermarket and retire to my room for the night.
Day Four
Day four is Louvre Day and I don't need to be up too early but when I am awake I realise I haven't been sent my ticket. A couple of texts later and it arrives over breakfast. It's not far to the Louvre really, just one change of metro, but my calf is still not great and Bastille metro station is massive so it's a long way between platforms. I finally get to the Louvre in good time, passing the queues for tickets in the shade of the building and joining the queue with 11am tickets in the open sunshine by the pyramid. It's only about half an hour in the end before I can enjoy a good hobble around the art. Once away from the crowds milling to see 'you know who' I had a great couple of hours in the so-called minor areas on the upper floors before finding myself in Nineteenth Century French art and the crowds around the Gericault and Delacroix. I then took a deep breath and braced my self, for it also had to be done, to brave the Italian Renaissance wing and see all the great works on the way to and from La Joconde. I've calmed down a lot from all the texts I was sending the family at this time, but really! I then went to pay my respects to the Venus de Milo, whose shear beauty can still make me shed a tear or two. In a side gallery on the way, there was the finest Attic Red Figure vase I'd ever seen - I don't think any of the crowd streaming past for the Venus noticed it at all; their loss.
I was by now really tired of standing and walking and needed desperately to sit in the park with a drink and something sweet. Before leaving (via a surprising underground shopping centre I swear wasn't there last time), I bought a stupidly heavy book from the gift shop before heading out into the Tuileries in search of that refreshment; it was mid afternoon by now and my lunch in the gallery a distant memory. I found a shady table in one of the cafés and after being moved from that table for four (that no-one sat at in the hour I was there) to a more appropriate (in their eyes) table for two, enjoyed an apple clafouti and Breton cider. I did think about visiting the Orangerie for a Monet fix but the queue was halfway to Concorde so I wandered off, through the fairground to the Rue de Rivoli and then up towards Vendôme, which has to be THE most exclusive square for shopping anywhere. I hopped on the metro at Opéra and back to the hotel. Dinner later was at Bouillion around the corner; a decent terrine and OK veal, but a nice restaurant.
Day five
Le Tour finishes in Paris today; a fact I was unaware of when booking this trip and only became aware of after having my Louvre booking moved and noticing a Facebook post about how the race was climbing Montmartre for the first time in years. Even so, I wasn't sure I was going to make the effort to watch the race, especially with my leg the was it was. The stage itself was not due to start until 4pm and wouldn't reach Paris for a couple of hours after that, meaning there would be plenty of time beforehand to other things before I'd have to decide.
First up I decided to visit Pére Lachaise cemetery today instead of Tuesday as planned, leaving Tuesday to Montmartre if I fancied it. It wasn't too sunny but it was close. Once I arrived, instead of studying the map, I just meandered around the graves and tombs getting a feel for the place but soon enough came to another map and decided to properly get my bearings. The grave of Oscar Wilde seemed to be about the furthest from where I started so I headed off up the hill with the idea of working my way back down via some of the other famous graves. It was quite a climb to the other side and Oscar but I made it and after waiting for a tour group to finish, paid my respects. Google maps turned out to be a great help once I'd zoomed right in - many of the famous graves were clearly marked - and, after passing large memorials for all the murdered of each Nazi death camp, I soon found myself at the grave of Edith Piaf. Working my way around past Modigliani, Balzac, Sarah Bernhardt, Pissarro, Jim Morrison and many others I ended up at the tomb of Eloise and Abelard by which time I was back at the gate. The nearest Metro station was on the same line as that nearest to the Pompidou so it seemed a good idea to go back there now it would be open. Sadly, however, when I arrived and after going through the rigmarole of security I discovered, after depositing my stuff in a locker and only peripherally noticing the apparent emptiness, that because of a refurbishment program, the only part of the whole place that was open was a Tilmans photo exhibition which at €17 was a lot to ask so I left.
Day six
The queues outside Notre Dame are off-puttingly long so I continue with my plan to explore the two Seine islands for the day.
First I head to the furthest end of Cité and the Pont Neuf and find myself in the delightful Place de la Dauphin where I enjoy a lovely early lunch of beef carpaccio and a well-earned Pastis to the soundtrack of a couple of petanque matches going on at the fat end of this triangular square. Then hobbling (still) the length of both the Isle de la Cité and Isle St Louis before resting a while in the small park at the other end. It really is worth taking the time, even with a dodgy leg, there's lots to see, plenty of interesting shops and bars and, if you're lucky, you might see a man walking his cat. Passing the former residence of Charles Baudelaire and its extravagant down pipes I cross back to the right bank and wander along looking at the green box book shops - the Bouquinistes - that were open, buying a couple of small gifts before I got back to the Louvre.
As I walked along, the idea of an afternoon on the river began to appeal. Sarah would have loved it. There's much to choose from but the 'Batibus' is as good as any if you don't need a running commentary. It's a hop on / hop off boat that goes to all the major sites on the river - €23 for 24 hours - and as I didn't fancy one of the much more crowded Bateaux Mouches, it seemed ideal. Approaching two hours later I got off at the stop marked Concorde which in reality was right by the Grand Palais and a good 250m from the Place de la Concorde itself. Still, my leg is starting to benefit from walking in my new shoes so it's back to Concorde, back to République, back to the hotel.
Day seven
It was a very poignant day all round but also one that was more relaxed than the others. I spent the day. wandering around the Butte taking it all in again. After breakfast passing the shop of M. Collignon and down to the funicular up to Sacré Coeur (of course), following the footsteps of Amelie Poulin as well as our own. I was saddened to see the people selling locks for the fences around the basilica and then saw the very long queue to get into Sacré Coeur itself in the now hot sunny late morning so I wandered on, past the pharmacy who cured my cold last time and stopping for a pastis at a very busy bar before taking a turn around the main 'artistic' square where the tourists are fleeced of their hard earned by some of the most ordinary, indeed often just bad, art on offer.
The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering, no particular purpose, finding new sights, remembering old ones, until my calf hurt more than it had all day and I headed back down Rue Le Pic to Blanche and home. Once refreshed and hungry I popped across the road to the Italian restaurant opposite which turned out to be excellent fare before returning to pack my bags for the journey south in the morning.
Paris has once again delighted, even on my own, but I did feel it would have been nicer to share it with another. Maybe next time.
Day eight
Travel day.
Settled up at the hotel handing over another €150 for six breakfasts and the city tax. Decided in the end to take the metro to Gare de Lyon and regretted booking such a late train but found a seat by the piano as a young woman went through almost her entire repertoire so at least I was entertained. The call for the train to Avignon came eventually and after a trek down the platform I found my single seat in first class (because why not?), amusing those around me by failing to link my earpods to my phone so they had to listen to two minutes of "I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue" before they said anything. I listened to the rest of the programme and another podcast before spending the rest of the time looking out of the window - it's a pretty interesting landscape around that line past Lyon.
At Avignon I disembarked, grabbed a sandwich from the Relay shop and got on the local train to the main station in good time to make my connection to Nîmes. I was probably half way there before I realised that my ticket only took me as far as Nîmes Pont du Gard - a considerable distance from Nîmes Centre. I assumed I'd have to catch a local train into town but the train I was on did stop there making me wonder why my ticket only went so far. Probably my fault in booking. I decided that as my ticket had already been checked and the train was pretty full, I'd risk just staying on to the right stop and plead ignorance if someone checked. They didn't and I walked out of the station into the full glare of the afternoon sun and 30º+ of heat. The flat I had rented was a full fifteen minute walk from the station and despite a fair amount of shade, it was a real slog dragging my now much heavier case (remember the book from the Louvre?) with my improving but still sore calf.
Romain, the owner, had sent me a phone number for Nicolas; the guy managing the flat and who lives on the top floor of the block, but it was a digit too short so it took a couple of calls to Romain to sort it out before Nicolas bounded down the stairs and carried my heavy case up three floors to a very smart apartment. He thought I was arriving an hour later so while I went to a nearby Carrefour City for basic supplies, he finished cleaning the floors. I made myself a very passable pasta dish and collapsed in for an early night.
Day nine
Aside from a shopping trip to the very good market at Les Halles, the highlight of today was doing the laundry and lounging about. I deliberately put today aside as a do nothing day after my Parisian exertions but I roused myself enough to make a nice salad niçoise while listening to the cricket commentary. Back to the tourism tomorrow!
Day ten
A proper tourist day. First stop the tourist office who were very helpful and where, despite many things being free on the first Sunday of the month, I bought a four day city pass because of the flexibility it would provide. The proximity of Arles begs a visit and the lovely people at the office found me a bus to take me there so I will be going tomorrow.
The pass was well used today - firstly the excellent Roman museum which is spacious and well laid out allowing the visitor to follow the story of Roman Nîmes with a clarity seldom seen elsewhere. It also has a nice garden. There was some building work around the area and I couldn't find the bullfighting museum so ended up at the Musée des Beaux Arts. This is your standard city art gallery, nothing exceptional and not very big but it is nicely curated and it's worth the short time it takes to visit.
The Maison Carré itself is most impressive from the outside, but the inside is entirely bare and given over to an exhibition of its history. I'm not sure the entry would have been justified if not part of the City Card. By now I'm more than tired so a quick visit to the the Carrefour again before going home for the evening.
Day eleven
Arles is pretty shabby, especially compared to Nîmes, but I think some of the time it's a studied shabbiness. The places Vincent painted are marked with information "easels" showing the appropriate painting alongside the text including where the Yellow House isn't (see picture), the Rhone for one of the starry night paintings, and the hospital he stayed for a while which is now a chic little square. One of the squares he painted is now full of restaurants and cafés where I persuaded the waitress to allow me a table and one of the last servings of oysters for lunch. After thoroughly enjoying the local and Carmargue oysters, I wandered a bit further, found the Musée Reattu a very interesting art gallery for a hour or so, before arriving back where the market was no more.
By now it was late afternoon but the bus back to Nîmes wasn't for another couple of hours so I decided to go to the station where, if there wasn't a train, the buses also ran from. Thankfully there was a train which saved me an hour of waiting but cost €9.50 more so swings and roundabouts.
Day twelve
Up reasonably early and after what has become my usual breakfast here I'm out before the sun bakes the day too hard for I'm going to climb up to the Tour Magna- a big old Roman tower on top of a hill to the north end of town. It's approached through parks and gardens, attractive with water features and colonnades, statues and grotto-like features and rising through a combination of steps and slopes. I've remembered my water bottle this time.
Looking up, this internal staircase wraps itself around a large central column. There's nothing to hold onto on the inside of the spiral and the outer handrail has a flimsy look about it. I'm nervously about a quarter of the way up when I decide that I really don't like the trauma involved in obtaining a slightly better view of the city. I'm also very concerned about what will happen when someone wants to come down past me! I turn gingerly trying to simultaneously stick to the smooth column and hold tight to the worryingly insubstantial handrail. I wimped out.
Not much to be said for the rest of the day except that I made the mistake of not visiting a couple of remaining museums, which would have been free, instead thinking that I'll do them on Monday when, as I discover, they're all closed.
Day thirteen
Day fourteen
I brought my bounty back up to the flat and headed off to the Musée de Vieux Nîmes, which is mostly about the famous serge de Nîmes or as we know it; denim. It's not a huge place but nicely curated and well worth the €5 I had to pay because my city card had run out. After a pleasant while here I left for the centre of the old town and discovered that the cathedral, contrarily, was shut on Tuesdays. Ended up having a very nice lunch in the top floor balcony of the Carré d'Art before coming home to sort out the laundry and start packing after a game of "guess what Dad bought" on WhatsApp, then arranged for Steve to pick me up at noon tomorrow for my last few days here, chilling in the Cévennes.
Days fifteen to nineteen
Anyway, I had been picked up in the narrow street outside the flat in good time and we headed out of the city towards Anduze. It was good to see a familiar face again. After showing me the local wine cooperative that we'd be visiting in a couple of days we stopped for lunch at La Madeleine, which was very pleasant. So much so that we lunched there again before the winery visit.
After stopping for supplies, we paused at my accommodation long enough for me to find my room and drop my case before driving up to the campsite for the rest of the day. It was so hot by now that I almost wished I enjoyed the water and had brought some 'togs' but alas I would have to make do with a cold beer or two. Once I'd been shown around and we'd had those drinks and the nice repast we'd picked up at the supermarché, I set off back down the hill to the charming converted mill that was my home for the next few days.
Back to the station for the return journey and we found that people were able to visit the cab of the train which was lovely but even hotter.
The next day is a road trip into the heart of the Cévennes. We take the main road, twisting high up the valley to the plateau and stopping to take in the views and refreshment before driving back down the other side which is smaller and twistier, passing through tiny hamlets and villages and ending up at the village Steve first stayed in years ago where we have a nostalgic wander before going back to the campsite. Attached to my B&B is a bar area where rum is king so we walk down the hill to spend the evening there. They also offer a charcuterie plate so we enjoy a cocktail and a beer or two alongside the meat and cheese before it's Steve's turn to walk home.
Day twenty and twenty-one
The homeward trip begins with another lovely breakfast before checking out and waiting for Steve to give me a lift back to Nîmes for the train to Paris. When booking I was over cautious when it came to making sure I could get to the station even if a lift was not available for any reason, so my train wasn't due until nearly 3pm. In the event of course, I could easily have caught a much earlier train and even made it home the same day at a push but I had a hotel near Gare du Nord and a morning Eurostar booked so being in no hurry was nice despite the wait. The train to Paris, unlike the one from there was a direct TGV into Gare de Lyon and arrived on time and without stress.
I took the Metro towards the hotel and emerged into an unfamiliar area of the city and took a wrong turn before eventually finding my accommodation. It looked nice online and the outside was promising but I was tired and going through the door I genuinely wondered if rooms were available by the hour. The woman behind the desk was charming and helpful though and even let me off 40c of the city tax because her card machine wasn't working and I couldn't find enough cash. She said she'd got me a nice room on the 5th floor with a balcony but once I'd taken the tiny lift up there and negotiated the narrow, slightly grubby, corridor and saw the room, my heart sank, The bed was great but everything else was anything but. The balcony was barely a foot wide and so high up I couldn't even countenance climbing out onto it. By now, stupidly as it turned out, I was thoroughly spooked so I had a tepid shower and a cup of tea and turned in to bed.
In the morning I packed and went down to breakfast to be greeted by the most friendly and cheery man who decided that despite ordering a pain au raisin as part of my petit dejeuner, a croissant was such an essential part of the repast that he'd given me, and the woman who wanted pain au chocolat, a complementary croissant alongside everything else. It was a very good breakfast and I was totally embarrassed by my fears the previous night. I strode out into the Paris daylight much cheered and made my way the short distance to my Eurostar home.
The trip back from Waterloo was anything but straightforward. I'd booked first class and was sitting comfortably awaiting departure when nothing happened. I don't know how trains start but this one didn't. An engineer was called. A lot of people got off and caught a different train south. I waited until the train was officially cancelled and walked over to the given alternative which turned out to be half the length with only eight first class seats which I managed to get the last of. At least I wasn't standing and there was the bonus of a can of gin and tonic proffered by one of my table companions. So, once again South West Trains surpass their usual awfulness as the last leg of the journey and I drag my case back home from Fratton station a couple of hours later than I'd hoped but pleased and content that I'd had a successful trip, that I could travel on my own quite happily but would obviously prefer company in the future.
0.21 tonnes CO₂ saved
