That Night In Paris Page 3

  In Paris, we’d shop in the mornings—mostly looking in windows and salivating—then find a little hole-in-the-wall bistro where we could eat chunks of baguettes slathered in cheese and drink cheap red wine.

  We’d hang out for a few hours and halfway-to-sloshed, we’d step out into the late afternoon to wander the streets and “ooh” and “ahh” over how French everything was. Maybe we’d fit in a gallery visit—Oh my God, I’m standing in front of an actual Monet. Wow, the Mona Lisa!—or a quick excursion to see some iconic landmark, before finding another hole-in-the-wall bistro for a late dinner of cassoulet and more red wine.

  For day two, rinse and repeat.

  Then, still tipsy, we’d catch the train to the airport late Sunday evening and fly home, dragging ourselves to work the next day—utterly shattered and swearing we’d never eat another piece of cheese as long as we lived.

  And there was the trip to Paris with my ex, Scott. It was where we broke up—well, not right away. I think we knew we were breaking up when we arrived, but instead of being adults and ending it, we hobbled along for another few days until we’d flogged that poor dead horse into the dust.

  Actually, that trip to Paris had been nothing more than a blur, a string of emotionally wrought snapshots that I rarely let see the light of day.

  But I could tell, even on the first day, that this tour would be vastly different from my previous trips—and not just the trips to Paris—all of them.

  For a start, I saw more of Paris that night than I’d seen in all my previous trips put together. The tour route took us to some of the most famous—and infamous—sights in Paris, and Georgina’s commentary was impressive, peppered with fun facts and historical titbits, making it all come to life.

  No, Georgina, I did not know millions of people were buried in the catacombs, or that the Académie française voted every year on which words to add to the French language.

  Occasionally, the coach stopped so we could get out and take photos. And at each of those stops, Jaelee handed someone her phone and requested, or rather commanded, “Take a photo of me.” We would come to know it as her catchphrase for the tour—maybe they hadn’t heard of selfies in Miami.

  As we explored the nooks and crannies of Paris, I started questioning my typical travel style—maybe I was a tourist. Wouldn’t a traveller, especially one who’d been to Paris so many times before, already know all the history and facts I was only just learning?

  And I know I’d exaggerated how much of a whirlwind tour it was—fifteen countries in fourteen days, I’d joked to Sarah—but I’d never travelled like that before. Most of my travel was like the Paris trips—quick jaunts to somewhere in Europe with lots of eating and drinking. I also wasn’t much of a culture vulture and, yes, I probably should have visited the Brandenburg Gate, but there was beer to drink and bratwurst to eat.

  I’d booked the tour to put some distance between me and Alex and to drown my sorrows. Actually, “sorrows” was hardly the right word. Exasperation? Drown my exasperation? Irritation? Self-flagellation? Why, oh why, had I slept with Alex? As annoying as he’d become since The Incident, I was more ticked off with myself for being a love fugitive. I was hardly setting myself up to be a proper traveller.

  Just as we flew into the Arc de Triomphe roundabout—did you know the traffic on the roundabout stops for the incoming traffic? And that twelve roads converge there?—I made a pact with myself. I was not going to fritter away my time in Europe. I was going to see all the things and do all the stuff. Starting with Paris, where we’d have the next day to ourselves.

  “Hey.” I nudged Lou gently in the ribs.

  Lou’s eyes were fixed on the giant arch, which was so beautifully lit it looked like it was sculpted out of butter. I’d never really noticed before how beautiful it was.

  “Hey,” she replied without breaking her gaze.

  “You up for exploring tomorrow? I mean, like squeezing the hell out of the day and seeing as much as possible?”

  That got her attention; her eyes whipped to meet mine.

  “Oh, for sure. I want to see everything.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “It may be the only time I’m here. Also, Paris is the main reason I booked this trip.”

  “We’re coming back to that—” I took out my phone “—but first I’m going to get us tickets to go up the Eiffel Tower—to the top.”

  A grin broke out across her face. “Cool.” The coach careened off onto a side street and there was a collective sigh from its occupants. It really was a busy roundabout; traffic was manic.

  A quick check with Jaelee and Dani, who were sitting just in front of us, confirmed what I already thought—it would only be me and Lou for the Eiffel Tower. Over dinner, they’d made it clear they were all about the shopping, and not the window variety. They’d both come with spending money—lots of it.

  “Actually, it’s what I’ve been looking forward to the most,” Jaelee said as she speared a soggy piece of broccoli, eyeing it with distaste.

  I wasn’t really one to judge considering my typical travel style, but shopping was what she was looking forward to the most?

  “Really?” asked Lou. I wasn’t the only one then.

  “Totally,” replied Jaelee, matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, yeah, me too,” added Dani. She had already pushed her plate away and was twirling a paper serviette between her fingers.

  I could see how someone into designer clothes and shoes and bags would want to shop in Paris. I loved all those things too—bags especially—only I’m a teacher and I shop at TK Maxx for my designer wares. Still, we were in one of the world’s most beautiful cities; there were famous landmarks and spectacular artworks to see.

  “You mean in Paris, right?” Lou pursued her line of questioning. “What you’re looking forward to most in Paris?”

  “No,” said Jae, “I mean on the whole trip. The shopping in Europe is supposed to be insane—here, Florence, Rome. I can’t wait for Rome.” Jae gave up on the broccoli and put it back on her plate. Dani nodded in agreement, and Lou and I shrugged our shoulders at each other.

  A couple of hours later, as I booked two tickets to the top of the Eiffel Tower, I was secretly pleased it would just be me and Lou.

  ***

  Not surprisingly, sleeping in the garden sheds was less than optimal. Even in early October, when the leaves had started turning gorgeous shades and the night itself was quite chilly, the shed was stuffy. It was also extremely difficult to get comfortable inside a sleeping bag.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in a sleeping bag—I hate camping as much as the next sane person—but sleeping bags were required for the places with cabins, like Paris—or to be more precise, somewhere in the outer outskirts of Paris.

  As I rubbed sleep from my eyes and cracked my sore back, I reminded myself of two things. I am a traveller and I am going up the Eiffel Tower today.

  “Lou,” I whispered, which was a silly thing to do, because I was trying to wake her up.

  “Yes,” she whispered back facetiously.

  I had set my phone to vibrate at the ungodly hour of 6:00am with the sole purpose of getting us into a shower before the hordes showed up and we had to A) wait in a queue and B) stand in someone else’s shower water. Blech! Apparently, the bathrooms at the Paris campsite were the worst we’d encounter on the tour and I silently thanked my sister for the insider info.

  “Showers,” I reminded her.

  I heard a slight groan and then, “Yep. I’m up.”

  By 7:00am we were showered, dressed, made up, coiffed, and caffeinated. Danielle frowned sleepily at us when she made her way into the circus tent.

  “Where’s Jae?” I asked.

  “She’s blow-drying her hair. Is there coffee?” she drawled in her eastern Canadian accent as the frown intensified. Clearly, Dani was not a morning person. Lou pointed to the giant urn with a sign on top saying “coffee” and Dani ambled off.

  I finished the
rest of my scrambled eggs. That was breakfast, by the way—eggs and as much toasted commercial white bread as we could stand. In France, where decent baked goods are a basic human right.

  Traveller, traveller, traveller. My plan was to adopt it as my mantra until I stopped thinking negative thoughts.

  “Morning,” called a cheery male voice. Craig sat down opposite us and placed a plate brimming with eggs and toast on the table. The previous night, we’d added a fifth to our little group. Craig was eighteen—yes, really—from Oregon, and was travelling alone.

  That last part is why we’d decided to adopt him. Also, I was nearly twice his age and a secondary teacher. I believed it was my moral obligation to make sure Craig had people on the tour. We would be his people.

  “Good morning, Craig. Hungry?” asked Lou, semi-mocking his enormous breakfast.

  He missed the jibe and nodded while shovelling a massive forkful into his mouth. Lou turned my way. “I have three brothers. They’re all like this at eighteen. Insatiable.” She watched him with a bemused smile, or was it a smirk? And she meant insatiable appetites, right? I didn’t want Lou getting ideas about our boy.

  “Three brothers?” asked Craig through a mouthful. If he did it again, I would have to say something. I can’t abide that.

  “Uh huh. I’m the baby, so three big brothers. My dad had to shop every other day.” I caught the lilt of affection in her voice—and that she hadn’t mentioned her mum.

  I couldn’t imagine growing up with brothers. It was just me and Sarah, and we’d always been close—except for the year she started uni and became an insufferable cow. That year sucked. Don’t tell her I said that.

  Craig smiled at Lou, then swallowed. “My mom always says that about me—that I’ll eat her out of house and home. It’s only me and her,” he added without a trace of self-pity.

  Only me and her. I wondered if it was why he’d gravitated towards us the previous night, rather than the four Kiwis, or any of the other guys.

  He took another bite. “How did you end up on a Ventureseek tour?” I asked. Part of me wanted to scream, “Why are you here all alone? You’re practically a baby!” I didn’t though.

  He finished his mouthful before replying—maybe he’d caught my earlier frown. “I kinda crashed and burned towards the end of my senior year. I put a lot of pressure on myself to get into the school I wanted.” I knew he meant university. “I did get in, but I’ve deferred a year. My grandfather bought me this trip for helping out at his store when I can, just with stocking after hours, that sort of thing. He can’t carry as much as he used to.” Craig smiled again, affectionate thoughts of his grandfather evident on his face.

  Dani returned to the table with her coffee and sat down next to Craig.

  “Good morning, Danielle.”

  “Well, good morning to you too, Craig.” Wow, the coffee had kicked in fast. “You remind me of my baby brother,” she said, cocking her head appraisingly. “Did I tell you that?” I guessed we all had our reasons for bringing him into the fold.

  “No, but that’s cool,” he said, sounding like he meant it.

  I was glad we were his people. He was a good kid.

  Jaelee made her entrance five minutes before we were due to get on the coach. She wore a pair of white skinny jeans, a bright pink silk blouse and a pair of matching pink stilettos. Her hair was a sleek sheet of black down her back, and she carried a bright green Michael Kors bag.

  I wondered how in the hell she was going to walk the cobbled streets of Paris all day in those shoes, but she looked incredible.

  Jae and Dani—with her gamine haircut, slim figure, eyeliner flicks, and Audrey Hepburnesque outfit of a black turtleneck T-shirt, cigarette pants, and ballet flats—were exactly the types of women Parisian sales assistants would fawn over.

  “Okay,” Jae said, as though she was addressing the whole tent and not just the four of us. “Let’s do this.” Then she looked at us expectantly and we all got to our feet and followed her out of the tent—even Craig, who grabbed two more pieces of toast for the road.

  It seemed I wasn’t the only one who liked bossing people around.

  As we climbed on board, I heard my phone beep inside my bag. I pulled it out as soon as I sat down next to Lou, and my face must have said it all. “Is it the guy?” Lou peeked over my shoulder and I angled the phone so she could see it.

  How’s Paris? x

  She nodded solemnly. “It’s the guy.”

  “Yes.”

  “You may need to spell it out.”

  “Yes.”

  Later, I thought. Love fugitives are cowards.

  ***

  Lou and I saw the hell out of Paris that day.

  Armed with Sarah’s insider info and a to-do list as long as a baguette, we started the morning with the rest of the group at Sainte-Chapelle. If it had been two years before, our day would have started at Notre-Dame, and I tried not to think about the great loss—besides, they were rebuilding and no doubt it would be spectacular when they were done.

  After Georgina gave a short spiel about the church, she had us open the maps on our phones so we could mark the pick-up point for 5:00pm. Then we were on our own.

  Lou had entrusted me with the mammoth task of curating the perfect day out in Paris. There were some bucket-list must-sees, which would only take a few minutes, but I was planning for the truly amazing stuff, like Musée d’Orsay, to take some proper time. I’d also never seen the Arc de Triomphe up close, so that was on the list too.

  I planned for us to have a quick look inside Sainte-Chapelle, then we’d have just over two hours to get from Île de la Cité to the Eiffel Tower in time for our 11:00am tickets to the top, with one important stop in between.

  “So, the church—how about we pop our heads in, then make our way over to the Louvre for nine. Good?”

  “Yep,” She replied.

  And when I said “pop our heads in” I meant we’d elbow our way through the crowd, gawp at the incredible gothic ceiling and wonder at the vast array of stained-glass tableaux in fifteen minutes flat. When our whirlwind visit was over, I was filled with the kind of relief I felt after a Marks & Spencer season sale—glad I went, but even gladder to be out of the melee.

  Sainte-Chapelle

  With Sarah’s tip to use the side entrance of the Louvre, we’d avoided the massive queue in the main courtyard, and were inside at five past nine. I had the floor plan open on my phone and led the way to the Mona Lisa, hopscotching around tour groups and art lovers. Sure, it was a touristy thing to do, but would you go to the Louvre and skip the world’s most famous painting?

  By the time we arrived at 9:15am, the crowd was only three-deep. “Right, similar approach to Sainte-Chapelle—get in there, elbows out, and I’ll see you back here when you’re done.”

  “Wait, you’re not coming?”

  “I’ve seen it—the first time I came.” That was mostly true. I’d seen glimpses of it—from the back of a hot and bothered horde, who took turns to stand on my toes and elbow me unapologetically in the ribs and head. I’d left with sore calves from being on tiptoe for twenty minutes, a multitude of bruises, and an odd sense of accomplishment. I hardly needed to go through all that again to see a painting I knew by heart.

  “Got it. So, should we synchronise our watches?” Lou deadpanned. She took off without waiting for a reply and I chuckled to myself. I had chosen my bus bestie well.

  At around five-ten—my best guesstimate—Lou was easy to follow in the crowd. She made some impressive early manoeuvres, and I decided to add her to my crew should I ever form one for a caper or a heist. She came back to me within minutes, a little out of breath.

  “It was touch and go there for a moment—encountered a Chinese tour group—but I pushed them out of the way. I think one of them may need an ambulance.”

  “Hah!” The laugh escaped and echoed around the cavernous room. No one seemed to notice.

  “So, what did you think?” She shrugged. “Yeah,
me too.”

  Mona Lisa

  “Now, is there anything else you wanted to see here? I mean, there are literally thousands of pieces,” I asked.

  “Nothing in particular—most of the art I want to see is at Musée D’Orsay.” Our tickets were for 2:00pm.

  “All right, then there’s something I want to show you. I think you’ll love it.”

  Ten minutes later—the Louvre is huge, if you’ve never been—we emerged into the atrium where the Marly Horses reside.

  “Oh my gosh,” said Lou, her mouth slightly open as she took in the vastness. Yes, I’d been before, but I had to agree.

  Glass diamonds, almost as tall as a person, had been pieced together to form the impressive roof, and marble was ubiquitous. It formed the archways, window casements, stairs, walls, and floors. With slats of morning sunlight beaming down on the smooth, milky surfaces, the whole atrium looked like the inside of a vanilla cupcake. It was accented with topiary trees, which were dotted about for pops of green, and then there were the statues.

  The Marly Horses are my favourite pieces in the Louvre, but really, any marble statue with that much detail impresses me. How does a person start with an enormous block of stone and work their way in to something like that? I can’t even carve a pre-roasted chicken from Sainsbury’s without hacking it to pieces.

  We found an unoccupied bench and sat for a moment, taking it all in.

  “It’s just so beautiful,” said Lou after a few minutes.

  “I completely agree.”

  “And I don’t just mean this—I mean, yeah, this is gorgeous—but the whole city. You know how you see a place in photos or in movies and you’ve wanted to go there for so long you can’t remember a time when you didn’t, and then you go and it’s way more … well, just more than you could ever have imagined? It’s that.”

  “You said Paris was the main reason you booked the tour.”

  She looked down at her sneakers and rubbed the toes together, then sighed. “Yeah. Jackson—my husband, well, maybe he’s my ex-husband now—he never really wanted to travel. And I mean, anywhere. Even for our honeymoon we just went to Whistler and that was a big deal for him, an hour’s drive from Vancouver. And all he did the whole time was complain about missing home.”