(all the way to) the top

Seeing Les Miserables one Saturday night in London with my dad was the perfect entree to my weekend getaway to Paris. Not that there was revolution in the air, or unrequited love, pursuits of prisoners or the rescue of orphans, but its antithesis - food, shopping, wine and carousing down the banks of the Seine.

With my dad in Europe for business meetings, and my sister staying in my little flat for a work conference, it was perfect timing to enjoy an autumn in Paris, and a great excuse to take off a Friday to take a long weekend. I couldn't have asked for a nicer start to my mini-holiday. A very civilised lunch in a local cafe with a very patient waiter - where triumphantly I ended up ordering herring (that was the only thing I could find in our tiny tourist dictionary) and a piece of porc. Then, a ride along the clackety metro taking us straight to the Eiffel Tower where my sister and I prodded my long-suffering dad into climbing the Eiffel Tower by foot. Funnily enough Dad did very well - we powered past some rather unfit people as they clutched the railing, panting for breath. Dad did get tired though, and we left him at the first level.

But it was all the way to the top for the rest of us. Having been to the top of the Tower before, I had seen it all before, but I did marvel at how beautiful Paris was, admiring the trees turning their colours in the cool autumn afternoon. A walk to the Arc de Triomph and a stroll along the Champs Elysees perfected a cruisy afternoon. I was however, very pleased to be able to do some shopping along the Champs Elysees. The first shop I entered I found a great duffle coat. Having searched the globe for a duffle jacket that would fit my rather skinny frame for the past 2 years, I knew I wanted the coat once I put it on, twirling in front of the mirrors. Another guy, stopped to look at me and my twirling and immediately put on the same jacket as I was wearing. We looked at each other and knew that the jacket was the goods. We both ended up buying the jacket, and wearing it out of the shop. Mutual validation - you should try it sometime.

Dinner was going to be the death of me. Having continued to snack on coffees and pastries all day, I continued on my path of gluttony with soup, duck and a very rich creme brulee. It was a rather uncomfortable night later as I lay in bed, a days worth of food churning in my stomach. But it was well worth it after months of eating supermarket sandwiches. Poor me.

The next day dawned with an early morning kwa-sson so we could beat the early morning crowds at the Notre Dame cathedral. We spent a little bit more money to go into the Cathedral's treasury where we saw a few of the more precious items on display, including the robes worn by one of the monsignors hundreds of years ago. I've always found cathedrals to be relaxing places (sans rude tourists taking flash pictures while people are in the middle of a prayer), and it was nice to take a moment to light a candle and think and reflect.

This rather mild form of contemplation continued on at the Musee D'Orsay with its excellent collection of contemporary art. I enjoyed seeing the Van Gogh collection again, and my sister, dad and I picked our favourite pictures so that we might buy some prints later. After a couple of hours however, the return on investment had its margins slashed (read: we got sick of art and wanted to eat lunch and go shopping) and on leaving, found that dad & sister had been to the gift shop and bought me a print which I had been wanting to get for a long time. Tres happy!

The rest of the afternoon was spent moseying through Parisian boutiques, ending up at the Galarie Lafayette - an enormous but very glitzy department store which on that day wasn't glitzy at all but completely packed out with hoardes of shoppers. Admittedly we did drop a few euros on some rather nice clothes here and there (well, the main beneficiary being my sister) but it was all good fun trying on the designer labels and making myself feel all ooh la la.

Voila.

On our final day of Paris we headed off to Versailles where we wanted to visit the Palace. An hour's drive netted us a big disappointment when we saw the line to get in to the Palace which we estimated to be at least a 2 hour wait. We decided against it given that time was against us and headed into the city centre where a very cute old little lady directed us to the centre and told us to visit the markets.

I am usually not a fan of markets, but it was quite fun to see the cakes, the cheese and all the fresh produce. I scored a bottle of red wine to bring back with me and a loaf of olive bread to bring back on the Eurostar home. But our Paris trip wasn't quite complete without a quick visit to an outlet shopping centre in suburban Paris (well, "outlet" is a bit too cheap a way to describe it given the first cab off the rank was Burberry, closely followed by Bally and then Ferragamo). There was some more twirling, and I scored a cool pair of Campers and a couple of designer ties for bargain prices. Go me.

However, as we soon found out we weren't going anywhere on the freeway back to central Paris for our train home to London. Stuck in a monumental traffic jam, we sweated and chewed our fingernails for 2 hours as we inched forward, killing us slowly with anxiety. We made it - just - after fighting through the chaos of everyone wanting to take the last 2 trains back to London. With a stamp at French immigration, a stamp at British immigration - we were off!

Only to arrive back to London and find ourselves in a massive queue for cabs. I have never been in a Black Cab before, and I don't think I will take another go after watching the spiralling meter chew through all my pounds. The cab driver laughed at me when I told him that I took the night bus rather than a cab - well, he should bloody well know how expensive it was.

The next day I dispatched my sister off to Heathrow with her suitcase in peak hour chaos - she was not a fan of London public transport having been jostled and pushed around on the trains. Having fought my way on to the Tube with her suitcase, I turned around and found my sister standing forlornly on the platform, people hustling her out of the way - like sharks circling fresh (tourist) blood. Needless to say, someone's poor brother had to haul his sister onto the Tube before she got left behind.

Just one final note to satisfy my ego. I won a reward and recognition award from the head of the Strategy Development and Projects Division for my suporting work on a few projects. Was a bit embarrassed, but pleased all the same. I ges I can spel and speek propa inglish arfta orl.

Onwards and upwards (to the top!)