J’aime Paris en hiver, mais j’aurai préféré avoir l’expérience avec les dents

It seems if I go to Paris, it’ll be in January – apart from one time when I took my sister there in April – and so in January, particularly in a northern-hemisphere January, my thoughts turn to Paris. It’s only natural

One of the things I miss about the UK is its proximity to other places, other cultures. Yes I’m “European” in ethnicity (I grudgingly accept this, but I still think “European” is the wrong word for it) but that doesn’t make “Europe” a homogenous landmass. A big part of the difference is language, of course, and while there are many theses already or waiting to be written on the subject of language shaping thought (or the other way around, depending on your viewpoint) there is no doubt that being in a country where train announcements, news bulletins, even adverts for loo roll are in a language not your own will affect you, whether it invigorates or terrifies. From NZ the minimum flight to another country is a good 4 hours, which makes it something you plan, not something you do on a whim, and even then, you still speak English where you land. I miss the immediacy of otherness.

So I was determined to go to Europe during my trip, just because I could. At one point Podna was thinking about a little jaunt to Germany, but in the end decided against it, so I lined up a wee sojourn in Paris. My itinerary was pretty jam-packed and was being thrown around at the last minute by not being able to tie down a particular friend I was very keen to see, but in the end that settled and I was able to schedule one night in France’s fair capital. Only one night? Well I only needed to get to La Grande Arche at La Defense, and to the Rue Cler. These are two places I always always go to when I’m in Paris, it’s like a ritual.

I was also keen to travel by the Eurostar train service, which I had never done, and I have to say it was a positive delight. After all, when you’ve flown into LHR from Auckland, let alone done a little transatlantic loop as well, you’ve done flying. The new terminal at St Pancras is very pretty, and although there are scads of people there I felt like it was totally deserted (how do they do that?). The automatic doors into the different areas go “whoosh” and it’s quiet enough for you to hear that it was lovely. And the train is so smooth, so quiet, so genteel, so relaxed. The seats were reasonably proportioned, the table had little flip up sections so you needn’t be hemmed in by it if you didn’t want to be, and the train wasn’t terribly crowded. And there were no seatbelts. Not that I mind wearing seatbelts on planes, in some ways it’s more comfortable, but I think the absence of them contributed to the atmosphere on the train. I don’t know if going by train is any quicker or slower than by air once you include the time it takes to get to the airport, check in, collect baggage etc but if you’re starting from London, go by train, that’s my advice.

I arrived in Gare du Nord at about 2130 and headed off for my hotel which was a couple of blocks away. And everything was so unspeakably French, I was grinning from ear to ear by the time I got there. The guy behind the desk was politely not giggling at my atrocious French which, somewhat disconcertingly, was coming back to me rather faster than I could control it and so I wasn’t altogether sure of what I was saying My room was reasonably sized, had a nice big bath and TV so I settled in to listen to French TV while soaking my English persona away and layering on my French one.

In the morning I headed down to breakfast and tucked into coffee, half a baguette and a croissant. The croissant never got eaten because, and this is where we discover why I’ll be paying for this holiday for some time to come, halfway through the baguette I renewed my acquaintance, but from the wrong side and altogether the wrong angle, with my dental bridge which sorts/sorted out the left side of my mouth. Yes the whole thing came out. Calamity, catastrophe, disaster and other such words sprang to mind. Actually some other words came first but this is a family show. Zut alors!

Bear in mind this was near the beginning of a two-week phase of reunions with friends, lovers and workmates from decades ago. I did not want to do this with half my mouth missing, but it appeared I had no choice. Somewhat rattled, I finished the coffee, which demonstrated that at least the problem area was not sensitive to heat. Further probing established that there wasn’t actually any pain. Visual inspection of the article itself showed that, unfortunately, I think at least half of each of two teeth, the anchors for the bridge, had basically come away. Yes my teeth are in a shocking condition, this is an affliction I have carried with me all my life.

Whipped back up to my room to think about things and because this little hotel had a small courtyard between front-of-house (where the breakfast was served) and the rooms, I walked through a blast of cold air and discovered that the abyss in my mouth was not sensitive to cold either. In some respects I was doing well although I would have rathered that the wretched thing had stayed in my darn mouth.

Quick call to the travel insurance people revealed that while I had emergency cover for pain-relieving dentistry , as for follow-up when I got back to NZ, no way no how. Why was I not surprised. The bridge cost me $3000 in something like 2000 or 2001 and lord only knows what it will set me back to replace it. We’re not going to be able to replace it because the teeth it was on have basically gone. I’ll find out more on Wednesday when my dentist will take a look. Ho hum. This story is going to be with me for a while.

So, focussing on the lack of pain and lack of sensitivity I pulled myself together and got on with my day. Off to La Defense first.

La Defense is on the north-western periphery of Paris and there you will find La Grande Arche, a huge white marble cube. It is the most beautiful man-made structure I have ever seen, I love it with a passion. You can see various snaps of it at my Flickr at the bottom right of this page and you can read the Wikipedia page. I went up to the top and for a small panicky moment I thought they’d closed access to the roof. However if you find your way to the gifte shoppe there you will find the only door that lets you onto the roof. And boy is it worth it. It has always been worth it, it will be worth it for ever.

Plondered around there for an hour or so (there isn’t that much to do there, unless you’re interested in the art exhibitions they have inside, but I just wanted to be there ) and reluctantly tore myself away to get to my other must-visit, the Rue Cler. Rue Cler is on the Left Bank, not far from Ecole Militaire and the architecture around there is so incredibly La Belle Epoque you can’t help but spontaneously start talking about philosophy and art and music and whatever takes your fancy, all in French of course. Doesn’t matter who’s listening Let’s face it, no-one does Frenchness like the French themselves. Anyway Rue Cler has shops and stalls I like to visit, particularly one cheese emporium, the name of which escapes me, actually I’ve never known it, I just go to it and I also wanted to find the chocolatier who first introduced me to the glories of chocolate-covered coffee beans. Success on both counts – found the chocolatier and purchased some of said beans, found the fromagier and relieved him of some of his best Raclette, plus some chili-covered chevre and…something else I forget but which was wondrous.

I also managed to find the hotel I’d stayed at with a particularly special friend, that took me back I suppose the hotel has been there for 200 years, it’ll probably be there for another 200, just like all the thousands of hotels just like it all over Paris.

Joking apart, I found that speaking French came a lot more easily than I thought, it being over 15 years since I’d spoken any I figured it had all shrivelled up and died. I had to jabber away at an SNCF woman to explain that my credit card didn’t work in the machine blah blah blah and managed that without even thinking. I wonder if I should do anything about that – build up my language skills again perhaps. But for what? Perhaps I’ll start by reading a French novel sometime soon.