5am always comes early. We went out for dinner last night with my new French partner and his wife, to a nice place just off the Champs Elysee. Despite a fairly Anglo-Saxon on-time start at 8pm, it was a lengthy affair that meant we didn’t get home until after midnight. Which made dragging myself out of bed even more difficult. Aude, on the other hand, remained fast asleep, preparing herself mentally to tackle the sales in Paris.

I learned a few things this morning:

1. The RER may be the quickest way across Paris, but at 5:30am, you can get a cab from one side of Paris to the other for under €10. At this price, it’s hardly worth the hassle of lugging your bags around.

2. Paris is really a very small city. Denfert-Rochereau to Gare du Nord, basically one side of Paris to the other, only takes 15 minutes by car when there’s no traffic. And that’s with a normal, sane, calm driver. Put a typical Parisian behind the wheel and you’d shave three minutes off, at least.

3. When Eurostar insists that you check in an hour before your train, they’re not really serious. I arrived at the station at 5:50am to discover that check-in for my 6:43 train didn’t open until 6am. And, this being France, 6am actually meant 6:10.

4. They’re delightfully apologetic when Eurostar is delayed. Actually, I knew this already, but it’s always a pleasant surprise. We were about ten minutes late leaving Paris this morning because they had to change engines on our train. With the way the conductor apologised, you’d have thought this was pretty much the gravest sin you could commit, so humble was the apology.

When I can be bothered to get out of bed early (or when I’m jetlagged and stuck in a foreign city), one of my favourite things to do is to watch a city wake up – and Paris is a wonderful city to watch come to life.

5am is an interesting time. The last of the drinkers are heading home, in time to grab a quick shower and make a haggard start to their day. The dustbin men are walking through the street, clearing the rubbish. Bakers are hard at work in their bakeries, getting ready for the morning’s first customers, and the odd greengrocer is cleaning his stoop and beginning to arrange his vegetables.

When I arrived at the station, it was deserted. The odd businessmen walked purposefully to catch the 5:58 train to somewhere, but mostly there were just a few bums keeping warm for the night. A few minutes later, the police were moving the bums along, and 15 minutes after that, the station was full of people, catching their trains. Shutters were raised on shops, cafes started serving coffees, and Paris was awake.

48 hours later, I’m back on the Eurostar again after a grey, cold weekend in Paris. Despite the weather, we had a great time and caught up with some old friends.

I arrived late on Friday night and managed to convince the ticket machine at the Metro to sell me a ticket. French machines, being French, refuse to speak in Foreign, so I was left relying on my schoolboy French to get me across town. That wasn’t a problem, but trying to work out where to stick my money into the machine was – the machine was designed to take coins or credit cards, but not Euro notes – unlike the ticket machines on the Tube. So there I was, stupid tourist, trying to stick notes into a machine that clearly didn’t take them, much to the annoyance of the French.

Having finally convinced the ticket machine to take my credit card, I met Aude and her friend Anne Laure at Bastille for a few drinks. We ended up in a bohemian bar down a side street. The waitress gave me a hard time for being American…

We jumped into a cab and headed for our hotel – a nice enough place, but near the Peripherique (beware Priceline’s interpretation of “near the Eiffel Tower” – we were as near to the Eiffel Tower as I look like George Clooney).

Aude rides the Metro into Central Paris

November in Paris features a special photography month, a subject near and dear to my heart. On Saturday morning we grabbed the Metro into central Paris to see an exhibit entitled “Children of the World” by Kevin Kling (a woman, despite the name) that was being exhibited outside the Jardin du Luxembourg and where we’d seen an exhibition of the best 20th century press photography when we were last in London. It was a great exhibit despite poor weather conditions.

A group of nuns take in the exhibition

Aude looks at one of the photos in the “Children of the World” exhibition

Inside the Jardin du Lumembourg

Inside the Jardin du Lumembourg

Inside the Jardin du Lumembourg

No, not rays of light coming from her head. Rather, something to stop the pigeons crapping down her front.

Sailboat rental

It was Remembrance Day in France, with flowers placed on most of the war memorials

We spent a lot of time like this. Never underestimate a woman’s ability to shop!

We were also going to try to see the Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibit – an interest to me because he shot nearly his entire portfolio using a 50mm lens. I’ve just bought a 35mm prime lens (the digital equivalent of a 50mm lens in the digital world, and very close to what the human eye sees naturally) and have been looking for inspiration. The 35mm Nikon lens is acclaimed as one of the best Nikon lenses ever produced, but I can’t seem to get it to work its magic for me. (Incidentally, all of the photos in this blog entry were taken with the 35mm lens – your feedback and constructive criticism is welcome!)

Lunch was a couscous at a restaurant on the Left Bank – with a friendly cat that took to Aude immediately.

Proof that you can also find a Mexican in Paris!

As we walked past an Italian restaurant, Aude suggested I snap a photo of the chap in the window as a potential boyfriend for our friend MG. Innocent as I am, this is what I snapped.

Proof that Aude is a bigger pervert than me: Laughing at my picture, she pointed out that I’d entirely missed the point (no pun intended). This was the fellow she had in mind!

We decided to walk from the Jardin of Luxembourg towards Monparnasse, where the Cartier-Bresson exhibit was being held, doing some shopping on the way. Cue the first of many times getting lost in Paris (and the first of many sexist jokes from me). Due to a slightly unscheduled detour, we spent the afternoon shopping and gave up on the Cartier-Bresson exhibit due to my aching feet. On the upside, I did get a kiss from a strange woman – it was her hen night and she was kissing every passing man!

In a scene that was to become uncomfortably familiar, we find ourselves in front of a map, not knowing quite where we are…

We still had a few hours to kill and needed an activity that didn’t involve a lot of walking, so I suggested we catch a bateau mouche. Cue the second of many times getting lost in Paris. Determined to catch the bateau mouche at Pont Neuf (but holding the map upside-down), we ended up walking around nearly the entire Ile de la Cite before finally giving up. Instead, we went to Plan B and headed for Alcazar, the Conran restaurant I had booked for dinner.

Despite being unable to travel by bateau mouche, I was able to take a few pictures of Paris by night – when Paris is at its most beautiful in my opinion

After an ‘Ultra Violet’ for Aude and a Manhattan for me, plus a couple of kirs, we were in a much better mood. We went downstairs for dinner and had a beautiful meal – Aude started with foie gras and then had venison, I started with escargot (leaving me smelling like a true Frenchman all night) and followed with veal. I asked the sommelier for a wine recommendation and he suggested a Corbieres. When the wine was presented, it was a bottle of vintage Pomerol – lucky I paid attention to his suggestion and didn’t take the wine that arrived at my table – it would have been a very expensive mistake!

Sunday morning we met some old friends from Canterbury for a Moroccan brunch – Alain and Faouzia, Julien and his girlfriend Karine. I did my best to order my breakfast in French, but asked that I be served no eggs – and mixed up my article. Cue more piss-taking from a French waitress (and more muttering of C’est pourquoi tout le monde deteste les Parisiens). Despite clarification from my French-speaking friends, she still screwed up my order. No tip for her – he who laughs last, laughs best.

In any case, it was great to catch up, and my friends were all pleased to hear all the gossip and goings-on that had happened in Canterbury since they’d left (although Julien was ahead of the game, being a regular reader of my blog).

Julien & Karine

Alain, Faouzia, Julien, Karine and Aude outside the restaurant

Alain, Faouzia, Julien, Karine and Matthew outside the restaurant

L’église Saint Eustache

The Opera

Aude poses for a photo

Matthew poses with the smallest flowers he’s ever seen at the Grand Hyatt in Paris

Cafe culture – what Paris is a famous for!

Matthew standing in Place Vendome

No trip to Paris would be complete without a photo of the Eiffel Tower at sunset, would it?

Paris Metro

We left them mid-afternoon and went for a walk, stopping for a coffee at the Grand Hyatt, then walking down Place Vendome and through the Jardin du Tuleries. Back to the hotel, then we grabbed a cab which took years off my life (and reminded me: I need to update my will) until we finally arrived at Gare du Nord.

Aude smiles on Eurostar despite her reluctance to go back home

Matthew looking somewhat more skeptical

Beats a McDonalds!

Sauteed veal on Eurostar. Remember when food on the plane was like this?

A few hours later, and here I am again on the Eurostar (today’s celebrity sighting was James Blunt, having a drink in the Eurostar business class lounge), heading back to Canterbury at 300km per hour, eating another lovely dinner and drinking a glass of wine. I trust I’ll be greeted by two very friendly, very hungry looking cats.

Back to work tomorrow, but only for four days – we’re off to a Scottish wedding on Thursday night. Such a jet-setting life we lead. I’ve already packed my man-skirt.