31/03/23 08:18

The Magic Carpet Café.  In the 12^th.  I have a meeting with a well-known podcaster in 40 minutes.  But this will be covered in a later entry.  For now, I’m going to write – with my mini 3D pen – about yesterday before I get unexpectedly expectedly interrupted by a young Australian man carrying a painting of unknown dimensions.

Nev and I got to Paris yesterday, pretty much as expected despite a slight train boarding delay.  It was nowhere near as bad as it was last time when we had the boys with us.  That one was about 50 minutes; this one only 10 minutes or so.  We took the Metro, changed lines and headed deep into the 20^th arrondissement on Line 3.  An unfortunate misreading of the map on the station wall at the exit led us down rue des Pyrénées.  But in the wrong direction.  We turned back and headed toward where we came out from the depths of the Parisian underground.  We then took the second exit from the roundabout which we’d previously ignored, despite looking at the pretty flower shop on the corner.  We dropped our luggage at hôtel Bridget and then took our time walking back to the Metro, making sure to pick up a little food on the way from the local shops that we passed on this very fine spring afternoon.  We got to the porte de Versailles for the running expo in order to pick up my running bib, but we were running very early.  By just over an hour!  We turned back and headed toward where we came out from the depths of the Parisian underground.  We then took a seat at the bistro on the corner.  The waiter approached us and asked what we wanted.  But in Spanish.  This was fine.  We’d already had an encounter this morning, back home on the Tube.  Where we conversed fully in English.  On the Tube.  With a stranger.  It was after the driver decided that, seeing us running along the opposite platform, then up, over and down the staired bridge, it would be a good time to shut the carriage doors.  Nev had jumped on and I, laden with two suitcases, leaped through the closing doors, at full width, sideways, a suitcase in each hand and a hat perched upon my head.  It was an amazing achievement, by no mean feat.  There wasn’t a standing ovation, but I did feel the quiet cheering in my heart.  We ordered, in Spanish, and our drinks were served.  Still in Spanish.  The sun was out and for the first time in Paris, I was sat on the terrace, having a drink, watching the world go by.  The women were in their long cream, camel and brown coats, the men wearing light-coloured chinos, blazers and open-necked shirts.  I was truly in Paris with Nev, now.

A lady has just gotten up, left her table with her laptop on it and gone outside to take a phone call.  She was passed on the way out by another lady who was closely followed by a chap holding his rollerblades.  This is a very pleasant environment to be sat in, watching the lollipop man assist the children and their parents across rue de Prague as they walk, ride or sit on their way to the local écoles.  The dustmen are back out, although I can’t be sure if they’re here for the rubbish or the recycling.  I’ve only seen them moving the green wheelie bins.  The parts of Paris we’ve visited aren’t vastly strewn with rubbish; it looks like a normal dustbin day in London before we had the wheelie bins.  Black bags just heaped in a pile as opposed to each household’s front garden.  I know we’re further into the strikes and stuff, but they’ve also been having talks about things and are slowly coming round to cleaning up before it possibly kicks off once (or twice) more.  I’m not entirely sure if these actions are directly linked to the violent protests about the pension reform but that’s not affected us here, either.  Laying in bed last night, we watched the news where we saw a little mini riot around the hôtel de Ville.  We’d seen, just after dinner, that there was a street closed off on the Île de la Cité but that was where all the police cars, vans and motorcycles were stationed in preparation for that evening’s activities. 

Ten minutes before my meeting and I think I’ll leave the writing now just in case I’m in mid-flow and he arrives.  But I’ll try to make sure I write about it in the next entry.  I’ll also try to remember to write about the sugared fruits, the Lindt shop and my Navigo pass.  This last item is something I’m possibly too excited about.  At least it’s distracted me from the realisation that I’ll be running 26 miles in two days with very little sleep during this last week.  I’ll be trying to carb-load now, rest, relax and chill my mind.  I’ve done it before; I can do it again.  I understand about eating too much along the way, now.  I’m looking forward to getting back to the hotel afterwards, grabbing a shower and heading out to dinner.  Worst case scenario, there’s a McDonald’s just as we come out a Gambette.  We’ve seen it a few times on our many travels around the roundabout that houses the entrances to the Metro.  Probably more than we should have.  Yet, that’s one of the loveliest things about Paris.  It never gets boring.