Lost in Paris
October 13th 2007 12:30
I love Paris. My heart always lifts when I step onto the platform at Gare du Nord, hear the familiar language, see Metro signs and those unmistakably French characters dashing in all directions. I always arrive with a sense of excitement and expectation, a feeling that anything is possible and that adventure is just around the corner. I'm never disappointed. This time it's a little different. Like all the other Kiwis and Aussies on the Eurostar from London, I arrived this time with expectations overturned and Rugby World Cup hopes completely dashed.
Still, this is Paris, there are a million and one things to do and see, even for the hopelessly depressed and the depressingly hopeless. A cheering-up and moving-on race around the the most beautiful city in the world seemed like the answer to all our woes. By 8 o'clock in the evening we'd all assembled at Palais Royal, somewhat later than planned, after some wrong turns on the Metro, a near drop-out down in Les Halles and the loss of one group member to ticket-selling quest (he just couldn't bear to watch that game with South Africa) We took the Metro from Palais Royal to L'Arc de Triomphe where ceratin young males in the group took some alarming cavalier photos from the centre of the road, while crazy French traffic swerved around them. Then followed a shambolic, indirect and long ramble down the Champs Elysees. In a side street we discovered Le Pichet de Paris, a seafood restaurant with a tank of live crustaceans, guarded by a fisherman in beret and striped apron, at at its door. Accompanied by bieres pressions, merlots anmd bordeaux, heated "re-runs, "replays" and "re-inventions" of the England/Wallabies and the French/All Blacks, began with the escargots and foie gras, continued through the brandade, the saumon aux lentilles and the tournedos de boeuf and finally wound up with the petit fours. After this we felt ready for the Eiffel Tower where the sorry spectacle of NZ's giant Rugby Ball, erected in the days of glorious optimism BC (before Cardiff) awaited.
As the great tower came view from behind a building, we all drew a collective gasp and rubbed our eyes. There it was, with laser beams slicing the sky above, a brightly-lit rugby ball, turning at its centre, a giant screen beaming replays of past games into the night and lit from top to toe - yes, Australia! - in glorious green and gold. We stood and watched, wishing ourselves and all of you back before last weekend, until the lights changed to twinking silver stars on against the black steel.
The Eiffel Tower, lit in green and gold
Still, this is Paris, there are a million and one things to do and see, even for the hopelessly depressed and the depressingly hopeless. A cheering-up and moving-on race around the the most beautiful city in the world seemed like the answer to all our woes. By 8 o'clock in the evening we'd all assembled at Palais Royal, somewhat later than planned, after some wrong turns on the Metro, a near drop-out down in Les Halles and the loss of one group member to ticket-selling quest (he just couldn't bear to watch that game with South Africa) We took the Metro from Palais Royal to L'Arc de Triomphe where ceratin young males in the group took some alarming cavalier photos from the centre of the road, while crazy French traffic swerved around them. Then followed a shambolic, indirect and long ramble down the Champs Elysees. In a side street we discovered Le Pichet de Paris, a seafood restaurant with a tank of live crustaceans, guarded by a fisherman in beret and striped apron, at at its door. Accompanied by bieres pressions, merlots anmd bordeaux, heated "re-runs, "replays" and "re-inventions" of the England/Wallabies and the French/All Blacks, began with the escargots and foie gras, continued through the brandade, the saumon aux lentilles and the tournedos de boeuf and finally wound up with the petit fours. After this we felt ready for the Eiffel Tower where the sorry spectacle of NZ's giant Rugby Ball, erected in the days of glorious optimism BC (before Cardiff) awaited.
As the great tower came view from behind a building, we all drew a collective gasp and rubbed our eyes. There it was, with laser beams slicing the sky above, a brightly-lit rugby ball, turning at its centre, a giant screen beaming replays of past games into the night and lit from top to toe - yes, Australia! - in glorious green and gold. We stood and watched, wishing ourselves and all of you back before last weekend, until the lights changed to twinking silver stars on against the black steel.
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