Part Two: You Old (French) Romantic #france #french

More reminiscences of France…

I married in 1984, May and we decided to postpone a proper honeymoon until later because, well, we were pretty skint. But, in case that wasn’t romantic enough, we had four days in Paris.

It didn’t start well. Regular readers will know that, to let the senior Male Le Pard loose on a holiday itinerary is a guarantee to end in tears. Or a close second. Here the incompetence comprised my fallibility with the complications that are the 24 hour clock. Back then you didn’t need to check in so early that airports offered birthing services for those who hadn’t been born by the time you were required to be in a queue. Even so, some margin for error was recommended. Which meant that, by the time I had realised that a flight at 14.20 didn’t mean a flight at 4.20 pm, we had a cool 17 minutes to get from check in to the flight. I think it was only because of the confetti spilling out of our bag and our admission that this was our honeymoon that they told us to ‘just run’ and they’d call ahead. I’ve loved Gatwick ever since, though the other passengers on our flight weren’t so delighted to be held up.

That ‘phew, got away with it’ moment lasted until we landed. Back then I’d flown twice and hadn’t appreciated the trickery involved in branding airports as ‘Paris’ even though we were closer to Paris when we took off than when we landed in Beauvais. If you get the chance to visit Beauvais, don’t. If you have to, declare martial law and impose a curfew on yourself. Just. Don’t. Go. Ever.

It’s grim and no place to begin a period of isolation in a cholera outbreak let alone a romantic break in Paris.

By the time we’d reached the Peripherique, we were knackered, monosyllabic and testing most of the wedding vows to destruction.

‘I’m hungry,’ declared the newly rebranded Mrs Le Pard.

‘No problem,’ declared the far from confident Mr Le Pard. ‘All the guidebooks say Paris never sleeps.’ Well, people, that may have been true, it may be true today but on May 20th 1984 I can speak with confidence and say, ‘utter bollocks.’ Especially in the obscure part of the 17th arrondissement where out three star hotel was situated.

I did an unusual thing for a Male Le Pard. It may in fact be unique. I asked for directions from the concierge. Something that may have translated roughly as ‘My cherub person of largeness, pray deliver me of a slice of mappage for a timely repast.’ I’m guessing obviously, but going by his look when I’d finished my best attempt in French, it had to be something like this.

‘There is a Macdonalds open. They do burgers.’

Seriously? We’ve come to the bloody self declared home of haute cuisine and we are being directed to the home of the culinary equivalent of mouth washing with napalm? I tried again. Slowly and with a greater volume.

Mine host tapped his watch. It was 9pm. ‘It’s late.’ And then at last I knew I was in France and even if we had to eat something on the unspeakable spectrum in a bun and not a baguette we would be ok: it was our first Gallic, ‘fuck you, rosbif’ shrug. Bliss. Bless.

We climbed two flights of stairs. While I collapsed on the bed and tried to make sense of what passed for a pillow but could easily have been an embalmed grandmother rolled up in a body bag and placed at the head of the bed, the new Mrs Le Pard headed for the en-suite facilities. She returned to the room, laughing. Well, somewhere between laughing and psychotic hysteria. ‘Check this out.’

The bathroom was compact, in the sense that thumberlina would have felt it rather cosy, but it had a toilet, sink and shower. The thing was the shower head was right above the toilet. There was a little cardboard sign. It took me a while to translate but the gist was we were advised to remember to remove the toilet roll before using the shower, because spares cost extra.

We slept well, rose to Paris rooftops, discovered patisseries and I drank the first really delicious coffee I’d ever tasted. The Louvre, The Jeu de Paume – which then housed the Impressionists – le Tour Eiffel, the Centre Pompidou, Place d’Etoille, L’Arc de Triomphe, La Bastille, Sacre Coeur… we walked, we metroed, we ate and drank with rare gusto. It was everything I had hoped. Hell, I was in love and in the City of Love and who cared if I was hopeless at organising anything. Though I never did fathom the pillow thing…

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline. I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy. I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
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28 Responses to Part Two: You Old (French) Romantic #france #french

  1. Darlene says:

    Sounds delightful! A perfect place for a honeymoon.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. JT Twissel says:

    A honeymoon should be memorable – doesn’t matter if it’s perfectly coordinated or not.


  3. Wow. That’s lovely. The pillow sounds dreamy but it’s the toilet-shower that won me over. Great honeymoon. Though…probably better than mine, now I think on it. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Ritu says:

    Wonderful 😊

    Liked by 1 person

  5. You listed all the reasons to be in Paris. In love was #1

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Erika Kind says:

    So, that was a very special honeymoon experience and looking back it was really unique and for sure romantic!

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Elizabeth says:

    We had the terrible idea of camping for our honeymoon. It rained and the tent leaked. You had a much better go of it.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Spot on, in love and in a romantic place. Ours was celebrated a year later, and Devon was one of those places we visited, being in love and introduced to clotted cream, went down well.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Seriously? Did they want guests to use the toilet and shower simultaneously, p’haps?


  10. As entertaining as ever. Now, there, you could have washed your hands and peed simultaneously

    Liked by 1 person

  11. George says:

    Haha. You paint such a colourful picture. I remember a similar food thing, when interrailing. We stopped off in the French countryside to visit a friend who was working at a camp site and had promised us a tent. He took us out to a nearby village. The restaurant looked idyllic, and we were warmly greeted and served drinks, but when we asked about food, we were told they couldn’t serve us any.

    “But you’re a restaurant.”

    “Yes, but it’s been quiet, and the chef, he got bored and went home.”

    Liked by 2 people

  12. Jennie says:

    Thumbelina. Still haven’t stopped laughing!! At least you had good pastries and coffee the next morning.

    Liked by 1 person

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