Lucy and Ted’s* excellent adventure (in Paris)

*My family nickname is Ted

No, this is neither Lucy nor me! In fact I must confess to a certain fear of heights, and as Lucy will tell you, when we went up the Eiffel Tower late on my last evening, I scuttled crab-like around the centre of the platform, casually holding on to the metal struts. Casually with white knuckles that is! The view was stunning though, totally worth the wind, the rain and the fear.

But that evening was the end of the trip for me, not the beginning.

I remember clear snapshots of my three days in Paris:

• My arrival, stepping off the Eurostar and out of Gare du Nord and being swallowed up by the river of strange yet somehow familiar French culture and language that swirled around me.
• A last-minute worry while in the taxi to where Lucy was staying that despite all our online connectedness, we might not actually like each other. (It was fine, we did, she’s great!)
• My first sight of the Seine. Breathtaking. It’s like your first view of Manhattan: you’ve seen it in the movies, you think you know what it’s going to be like, but nothing can prepare you.
• Travelling on buses and the Metro just like proper Parisiennes.
• The rat racing along the river bank, keeping up with our Bateaux-Mouches evening tour boat for about 200 yards.
• Lucy’s calm map reading ability, which usually went something like this: “Yes, we have to get here, and we take such and such a street then cross down and it will be right there” (very definite) … pause … “I think…” (room for slight doubt). But she has a much better sense of direction than me, I tell ya!
• My usually punctual nature apparently deserting me, as I was late every single time I had to meet Lucy.
• The wonderful woman at Jean Millet who didn’t laugh at us when we walked in to order petit dejeuner and found that our ability even to say “Cafe au lait, s’il vous plait” completely deserted us. And who then served us the best coffee and croissant I’ve ever had.
• My new friend turning out to be a dog stalker…
• The number of really stylish older Parisiennes – in Paris, older women are not invisible, nor do they appear to overload on Botox. They seem comfortable and confident in their skin.

And this is all without even mentioning the amazing museums we visited and walks we went on.

More of that tomorrow, but meanwhile here is pretty much the first photograph I took, on the first afternoon, of the sunlight through the stained glass window at Sainte Chapelle reflecting coloured light onto the curve of the painted ceiling.