Easy like Sunday mornings

I wrote this literally 2 weeks ago - *warning* - it contains serious rage against Easyjet.

Our weekend in Paris was great.

We didn’t get off to the “flying” start we’d hoped for though.

Knowing that I couldn’t take any time off work, our only hope to get to Paris for the Mumford & Sons concert on the Friday night was a 17.00 flight that should have got us in at 18.30, leaving plenty of time to get across town to our hotel, dump our bag and head to the venue.

We had synchronised watches and military-style precision plans in place for getting to the airport and, demonstrating all that we’ve learnt from watching The Amazing Race, made sure we were at the front of the line to ensure seats at the front of the plane and a speedy, hand luggage only exit.

Our Easyjet flight was delayed. By an hour and 10 minutes.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccckkkkk Youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Of course it was. OF COURSE.

Easyjet is always ALWAYS delayed coming in and out of Nice. We knew it might happen but we were still pissed when it did.

Who ever came up with the name “Easy” jet is a sick, twisted individual who deserves a punch to the gonads.
Flying with Easyjet is NOT easy. It's painful, frustrating and infuritaing.

A more appropriate name would be "yes-we're-the-cheapest-but-we'll-totally-screw-you-over-jet"

Once in Paris, it became a race against time to try and get a taxi from Gare du Nord to our hotel.
 No such luck – I have no idea why, we just seriously couldn’t get one so we decided to leg it, only then it began to rain. So now we’re running, in the rain. Wonderful. We arrived at our hotel, dishevelled, puffing (me) read in the face (me again) seriously late and soaking wet. A further delay as we waited for a taxi we were finally on our way to the concert.

I don’t know how much of it we’d missed, and I was really disappointed that we were so late, but it was all worthwhile when we walked in and found a spot and Mumford & Sons launched into a rousing rendition of “Little Lion Man” that tore the roof off.

The concert was fantastic. They were wonderful live and the atmosphere in the small venue was electric. So good, and so worth the hassle, just such a shame we got there late.

The next morning it was up at 05.30 to make our way to an Aussie Pub to watch the AFL Grand Final. I was sure that it was going to be like when we were watching the World Cup in Rome and we were the only people in the bar watching the Australia game.

Not so at all.
The pub was huge, it had about 4 or 5 big screens and was packed to the rafters.
And so many Collingwood supporters. I’m surprised they’d even know how to read and write well enough to fill out the Passport Application form ....

My stipulation that M could wear his Crows guernsey only if other people were wearing theirs was totally negated by the three other losers wearing their Crows gurnseys.

The boy was happy though. Even happier when he enjoyed his meat pie & Pale Ale.

Pies as Plat du Jour - not such a common sight in France. First pie in nearly 2 years. And it was gooooooood.
Even if it was at 7.15am.



Then the game was over, and all the bemused punters had spilled out onto the street, shaking their heads in disbelief over the result. We still had a whole day up our sleeves, so had a quick look through our Paris guidebook to try and find some of the attractions we hadn’t done – it’s getting trickier! We need a more detailed Paris guidebook now! Other than the requisite visit to Pierre Hermes for, I shit you not, THE BEST macarons in the world (the chocolate and passionfruit ones = orgasmic) we had a free day in the best city in the world, so it was off to explore some as yet unseen sights.

First up we visited the Rodin museum, which was gorgeous and then a quick lunch near Montparnasse, a walk through the cemetery and then on to the Catacombs.

Gardens at the Rodin museum

I really loved this sculpture - the hands are so expressive

Lovely autumnal light.

Autumnal is one of my favourite words.

Autumnal.

Catacombs. Bone-y, a little freaky and - frankly - kind of boring. 

Killer hangover.

heh.

That night we had a delicious – and meaty – dinner at Le Relais d'Entrecote.
No menu, just a quick question on how you’d like your steak cooked and then all the steak and frites you could possibly eat. Delicious and well worth the queue.

Next morning we met up with Aussie friends Jane and Bernard for a long, gossipy brunch and then it was a pleasant wander around the Marais and buying up big in WH Smith before we had to hop on our train back to Cannes.

So, despite the rough start. A great weekend. Ahh Paris. Je t'aime.


xxx