I love paris in the spring time....
Ah Paris. City of lights, or love and for the past week… home to Amy Maiden & Tanya Weiler.
That's right. Two Aussie girls who had seen each other once in the past three years decided it was time for a reunion in Paris.
After the past month of houses and jobs falling through, disappointments and shit house auditions, the idea of getting out of London was very very appealing and I was ecstatic at the idea. So… early on Monday morning there I was on the Eurostar… half asleep… earphones in… and on my way to Paris for the first time in eleven years.
I was going to relax, regroup and rediscover all the reasons why I choose to live on the other side of the planet.
Getting off at Guar de Norde station I was quickly lost in a sea of people, English tourists as far as the eye could see and not a familiar face in sight. I bought myself une baguette sivout plait, emptied my bank account of euro's (aka monopoly money) and headed towards the platform… and there… in her stripy "ode to the French" jumper… was Tanya.
Now, I have never been known as a "girly girl." Instead of being at the sleep over with the rest of the girls, I would normally be found down the pub listening to rock music joking with the boys. And quite happily so. I love my life; I love my life and it just so happens that a lot of them happen to be men. But I tell you what… there is something very special in the relationship between a girl and her female best friend.
So… after much screaming, crying and hugging… the holiday began…
1st stop: Hotel. Novatel Montepennasse did not know what had hit them. Neither had we when we walked into our twin room – to find our twin beds were actually one big double bed… but to excited to complain, we decided to deal with it later, get changed and get out onto the streets of Paris.
Next stop: Eiffel Tower. After a quick lunch served by the fattest, oldest waiter in France (aptly dubbed Papa Joe) we armed ourselves with guide books, cameras and metro maps, and walked to the German built, Parisian Icon to start snapping away. (And for some reason began in-explicably singing endless Sondheim show tunes… every where I looked all I could hear was "well there are worse things than staring at the water on a Sunday…" which then lead to the obvious Mandy Patinkin impressions… which led to songs from the wild party… and on and on it went.) Now… to answer the obvious question… no we did not go up to the top. The line was longer than the hair in a French Woman's armpit and we decided we had better things to do than to than to hang around with the rest of the tourists… so we took our pictures… perved at the bicycle policemen… and headed over to the banks of the Seine for a leisurely stroll.
Little did we know a storm was a brewing. And not a figurative one. All of a sudden… massive, brooding storm clouds rolled over and dumped them selves all over us. One hour later two soaking wet little Aussie battlers dragged themselves via the metro back to the closest station to the hotel. Unfortunately the station was a never ending Labyrinth of tunnels and non-existent exits. And not Labyrinth in an exciting David Bowie "Dance Magic Dance" way. Horrible in the stinky angry French people pushing past the moronic tourist way! (Not that I can blame them… I am the same way to lost tourists on the tube in London... probably worse.)
So… finally back at the hotel (and again too tired to complain about the double bed issue) we headed up to room 416 to dry off, freshen up and head out into the nightlife of a Monday in Paris.
Dressed in our sassy finest we jumped in a cab and whizzed our way to the Latin Quarter to indulge in some cuisine. After having agreed to eat our body weight in cheese and bread, it seemed the obvious answer to this was the one and only… FONDUE. Yes, that's right… break out your melted cheese and mini forks… it was time to eat some lard. And of course, the best thing to go with expensive fondue is always cheap wine. Oh yeah… in a dimly lit Parisian fondue restaurant, Tanya and I were putting the ass in class!
It turns out that, in the Latin Quarter, fondue actually translates to "stale bread in pot of globby cheese served by Gerard De Pa Due" and to counteract the heart burn from the food, we simply drank more of the vinegar they were claiming to be wine. And of course… the more we drank, the better it tasted… and the better it tasted, the funnier it (and we) got. The comedic highlight of the meal must have been my impression of "The Shawshank Redemption" using only the tiny fondue fork and the wall.
Gerard De Pa Due was not impressed.
So… having our made our mark on the fondue forks of France, we stumbled out of the restaurant to find ourselves some uber-chic Parisian bars. Instead… what we found was a crappy salsa bar, followed by a grumpy crepery, followed by an over priced gay bar. When the flirty gay bar tender handed us the bill for 48 euros for two drinks… enough was enough. It was time to call in the big shots.
It has been said that to see the real Paris, you need a local to show you around. Now… one of the advantages of having five years of cruise ships under your belt is that, no matter where in the world you are… you always know a local. And in my case… more often than not… that local is a bar tender.
Karim had been a friend of mine on the Disney Wonder. A half French, half Moroccan bongo player who now works at the Ritz. I had emailed him to let him know I was on my way but had not called and had no idea if he was in town, and in my vinegar wine bad fondue state, could not find his number in my Mary Poppins style never ending hand bag.
So… the only logical option was to get in another cab, high tail it across town and walk right into the Ritz to find my friendly local.
Another bottle of cheap wine and a 10 euro cab ride later, two hazy Australians held their heads up high, took a deep breath and walked right into the place of Diana's last night. Whispering to each other "just be calm, just be calm" we found our way to the most expensive bar in town and sat down. While Tanya's eyes were scanning for drinks under the price of 55 euros and drunken celebrity faces, mine were desperately looking for faces of a familiar kind, some glimpse of recognition in somebody's eye.
I was about to give up and sneak out while we still had some shred of our dignity (and bank account) intact, when a ghost of cruise ship past wandered in from the back. Looking sharp in his Ritz approved tux, he was talking to a cute blonde friend of his and not looking vaguely in my direction. "That's him! That's Karim" I was desperately nudging Tanya in the ribs but she was distracted by her celebrity sighting of the mother from seventh heaven and busy attempting to look chic and sober.
Anyway…
No matter how hard I tried, he would not catch my eye… I was flicking my hair, clearing my throat and he would not look my way. (Although the reception girl was starting to give me some dirty looks.) Now in normal circumstances, I would shout something ridiculous or leap over a table to hijack fiends with a hug in order to catch their attention… but this was the Ritz.
And as they say… when in Rome… act like you can afford to be there.
So… I sidled my way out of the booth and up to the bar.
"Bonsoi Karim."
The poor guy. His eyes nearly fell out of his head. The lunatic Australian Mouseketeer, who he had not seen for well over a year, had drunkenly ambushed him at his place of work.
But I gotta say… in true Parisian style… he could not have been more of a gentleman.
The next thing we knew, we were inundated with snacks, cakes, and ridiculously good drinks… all on the house. We agreed to meet Karim and his friend Sebastian when they were done with work for a drink and a post work, end of night wind down.
But… um… the night was just beginning.
The boys took us out to a bar that was going to be having some live music and a good crowd. I was excited… some Paris jazz with some lovely locals and my best friend… it was gonna be great.
But the show in store was better than I could have ever imagined. My giggles started when big gay Pierre Allen and his fag hag Liza with Z came in wearing their tap shoes and singing the best of Kander and Ebb. Folks, you have not lived until you have seen a z-grade male cabaret singer performing all three parts of "You Gotta Get a Gimmick."
Needless to say… some sing-a-longs began, we got a little loud and maybe told some little lies about me starring as Mumma Morton in Chicago. Our singers bought the entire story and then next thing I knew I was standing by the piano singing wherever we go in a show stopping, history making classic duet with Pierre.
But… the best moment was when Tanya got up to sing Ne Me Qui Te Pa, the Jaques Brell song, but in her "late night" state could not remember any more lyrics than Ne Me Qui Te Pa. And so… like a true Broadway baby… she kept on singing… the same lyrics Ne Me Qui Te Pa over and over again… and I caught it all on tape.
What happens in Paris… stays in Paris.
Until you put it on your website.
So. After our stellar performances we looked out the windows of the bar and to our dismay realised the sun was coming up and it was definitely time to go home. So, Karim and Sebastian threw us into a cab, told the cab driver where to take us and off we went to bed.
There we were… two tired little tappers, sleeping in a double bed because we had still not complained about the room mix up!
The next morning to very heavy heads arose to a now trashed hotel room. I swear, between the two of us, the place looked like a drag queen had exploded in there. But… we were far too fabulous to clean (and far to tired to complain about the bed again) and had some serious business to attend to.
Ladies and Gentlemen… it was time to go shopping. I our best Carrie Bradshaw impersonation, we headed to the most expensive street in town and continued on our roll of infiltrating the uber chic and went shopping in Dior, Gucci and Dolce & Gabbana. Of course... we could only afford to smell the lovely clothes… but the skinny women of Dior didn't need to know that!
Anyway… fast forward a few hours and we had agreed to meet up with Karim and Sebastian for dinner and a local's night time guide to Paris. What a night we had… wined and dined and treated like complete princesses we were taken out for dinner by the Sac Re Coeur, drinks in a crazy Arabian bar and dancing through the streets of Monmarte. It is true. You have never seen Paris until you have seen it through the eyes of a local. I will never be able to thank Karim and Sebastian enough for the week they gave us.
Tanya and I woke the next morning with a glow of "a night in Paris" still hanging in the air and decided to take ourselves off to see Notre Dame and The Louvre. If it is possible to have a nervous breakdown from seeing too much overwhelming beauty – we did it that day. From the home of Quasi Modo, to the ninth bridge, along to the Louvre to visit Mona and Milo. It was all too much.
Although it is apparently never too much to do bad "Davinci Code" impersonations outside the gallery! It's a code… can you break it? You must follow the rose line…
Oh and by the way… the Mona Lisa is the biggest rip off in Paris!!!!!! What an anti climax! The 10x8 headshots I take look more impressive than her. There are many more stunning works in that amazing gallery. I was so pissed off at Mona being so decidedly average I took it upon myself to sing Craig Mcglauchlan's "Hey Mona" in front of the priceless piece of art! So there.
By this time we were completely exhausted and decided to head on back to the hotel… after having some crepes… that cost 40 euros… and then attempting to find a phone that took coins (which are apparently non-existent in this crazy city) to call our favorite two locals! But, on the way home, during out night time stroll through the city, Tanya had decided that it would be a good idea to go on the ferris wheel and take a look at the Parisian view. Now… I don't know if any of you are aware… but I am COMPLETEL TERRIFIED OF FERRIS WHEELS! I can ride roller coasters, go bungee jumping, perform in front of thousands and thousands of people… but DO NOT ask me to go on a ferris wheel. Other people see pretty lights and romantic chairs, but I see falling bodies and twisting metal. I had one bad experience at the Ballarat show 8 years ago and it ruined me for life. But… Tanya is my best friend and she wanted to go… so, after much whining and complaining, I braved the scary carnival men and got on the ferris wheel. Now… yes the view was spectacular and the ride not as scary as the one at the Ballarat show… but nothing will ever help me recover from the frighteningly ugly Americans attempting to repopulate the world in the chair below us!
Now the next day was our time to use some more of our connections to get the ultimate free ticket… to Disneyland Paris. Yes, I still have my Mouseketeer rights and Tanya and I waltzed into the park for a free day of pixie dust and magic.
Um… not quite.
Disneyland Paris is a pale poor comparison of its U.S. counterpart and I was not only disappointed but DISGUSTED at the behavior of the cast and characters. It seems that the money has somehow dropped out of the place and it was like walking through a half finished, over priced piece of le crap. The streets of Paris were cleaner than Disneyland! THE PUBLIC STREETS OF PARIS people!!!! There was no magic, no Disney difference!!!! I was nearly at screaming point when I saw Donald duck (with paint chipped off his beak) signing incorrect names and making sexual gestures. That place needs a big troop of the Disney Police to head in and give them a severe ass whooping Mickey Style… will that be done by officer Amy? I don't know… but the idea has crossed my mind. Anyway… we had some fun on the roller coasters, paid too much money for chicken that gave Tanya food poisoning and caught up with my old mate Keir who is currently killing himself being "friends with" Tigger and Gepetto. But alas… after a magical day of disappointment, it was time to head back to the hotel and head out for a final night of Parisian splendor. Again, a lovely long night of dinner, drinks and music with our two favorite locals ensued.
At this point I want to make a small observation. Before going I thought everywhere I went I would be awash with the tunes of accordions and wonderful French music… but no! The music in bars and restaurants is this crazy mix of 70's golden oldies and the best of the 80's. Everywhere I went all I heard was Bohemian Rhapsody, YMCA and Duran Duran!!! Boo to the French musical tastes!
Anyway… that was it… it was the last day and we had a few hours to kill before I had to get back on my Eurostar and head back to the real world. But not before a stop at the Redin Museam. Home of the spectacular "Thinker" and "The Kiss" this is a place that anyone who goes to Paris absolutely has to go and see. Quite easily the single most beautiful gallery I have ever been to… Tanya and I loved it so much we found to sun chairs, curled up and went to sleep in the gardens!
And so ended my trip to Paris… more than I could have ever imagined it to be… and probably a lot more than I could ever translate into a website blog.
But let me tell you my dear friends… it is the city of lights, of romance and of love. And there is no better way to see it than with your best friend! Tanya and I have now agreed to annual trips together and the next destination… Cuba. Look out Havana… you ain't gonna know what's hit you!!!
