Paris Je T'aime

My new favourite train journey is from London St Pancras to Paris Gare du Nord, two of the prettiest stations I've set foot in. My first journey on the Eurostar was followed by a short walk to our hotel, where the amusingly mardy staff refused to let us check in a minute earlier than 3pm. They allowed us to leave our bags though, and we strolled around the Sacre Couer and drank endless coffees, vowing never again to be tired enough to get ripped off for €4.90 a pop.

We had both done the sights before, so the weekend was planned and spent as an eating, drinking and shopping one. Our hotel, just on the edge of Montmartre, was basic but our room (top floor, no lift!) gave us views of the Sacre Couer and some famous tower I hear they have in Paris. I saw it twinkling on the first night while out there smoking a cigarette in my going-out clothes, but when I called the boy to come see, it had stopped. My own private twinkle-moment.

Most of our walks started off in the wrong direction thanks to a combination of my 'hunches' and the shit map the boy had picked up at the hotel, which he insisted on unfolding and turning upside down like a proper tourist until we figured out where the hell we were, but hey, you don't mind that when you're on holiday in the prettiest city in Europe, and we discovered lots of funny little things and places this way.

Planete Mars is a lively and drunken sci-fi themed bar playing spacey 50s & 60s pop, soul and psych, and a very good place to prop up the bar and drink pints and not feel so conspicuously touristy. Bar Dix, a proper little Left Bank dive bar serving pitchers of sangria to the hip kids in the know, is less welcoming, but you get the feeling you're in proper Paris as opposed to guidebook territory here. Just two of the bars we visited, but deffo the best two. Over the course of the weekend we mentally opened our own bar back in London, picking up things along the way from the Paris bars which shaped our fictional one into something pretty ace.

Oh wow, the shops of Le Marais! Vintage stores on every corner, although it's hard to actually get in the door and customers think nothing of trampling all over you, pushing you out the way, or just snatching an item of clothing out of your very hands. It's carnage, but worth a good rummage. It's never been so much fun to try on ridiculous jackets in a cramped basement. We bought hats from a proper hat shop, where the staff won't let you try on anything they don't believe will suit you, and tell you off for not wearing them properly, and push hats around on your head until you look just-so. I was seduced by a 1930s style felt one, and €40 slipped easily out of my hand for the pleasure of owning it. The boy wore his all day and looked not at all out of place, but hasn't dared wear it in London yet. We could be whoever we wanted.

On the last night we went all out to eat EVERYTHING. The largest amount of cheese ever consumed, followed by Nutella and banana pancakes and a stagger back to the hotel, full of sugar and fat and booze and cigarettes, which somehow feels okay when you're on holiday.

I lay awake for a long time on the last night, partly because the room next to us were having a fucking loud shouty party, but mostly because everything felt so bloody lovely and I didn't want to miss it. Here I was in the most gorgeous city, with the person I want to spend all my time with, and excuse-moi if I'm getting all sentimental here, but I felt pretty damn smug.

In what seemed like a flash (despite the hour delay, for which we were offered another free Eurostar ticket - Paris, we'll be back!) we were back in early morning rush hour London and saying a quick 'see ya later' before the boy disappeared into the underground, late for work, thus returning life to normal with a short sharp shock.

I took the bus home in the rain and hoped I hadn't dreamt it all.