15 December – 16 December 2019

It is said that the definition of insanity is to keep doing the same thing and expect a different result.This does not bode well for us. 

Just like in Australia when we were packing up the house, we said that this time would be easy. This time would be different. It wasn’t a big deal. After all, we only arrived 4 months ago with nothing but suitcases (albeit a large number of them). So what if we were on the 4th floor. It was only going down, not up. 

Well, 3 days and one (relatively) clean house later, we can say that we were wrong. Moving always sucks. It doesn’t matter if you’re leaving the house where you’ve spent your whole life or the airbnb where you’ve spent the last 3 days. It always takes longer and sucks more than you think it will. Or maybe its just us. Either way, it sucks for us (us, the parents, not the broader us of the kids, as they actively chose to take  no part in the operation – other than quite a lot of whinging, and aside from that were largely unaware that anything unusual was going on). 

• 

There is, it turns out, one very effective antidote to moving blues. Copious amounts of champagne. Luckily, it turns out that this was on offer for us on Friday night at Claire and Jean’s Christmas Party, where we fairly successfully drowned our sorrows in a sea of bubbles and dancing to a range of cross generational (OK, mainly 1980s) ‘classics’. Whilst this may have provided a brief respite to moving blues, it did nothing to help Anthony navigate the hills of the Sainte Victoire the following day). 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

So, despite all our collective moaning (both in real life and in these pages), by Saturday night we were sitting in our largely ‘reset’ apartment, eating takeout pizza and watching Elf (a Christmas tradition). The car was packed. Bonnie had moved to his ‘holiday house’ in the country, where he would spend the next 10 days being kept company by another dog (who he actually seemed to like) and a goat (the emotional state in either direction as yet undetermined). I suspect we will miss him more than he misses us (and potentially we will need to buy him a goat – or the goat – when we come back. This would not be the first time we have done something strange or excessive for that dog). 

The kids were excited to be leaving early the next day. Sena couldn’t wait to go to Byron Bay (where we normally head when we do early holiday departures). Ellie and Jessie (OK, actually everyone) was excited about McDonalds for breakfast. Anthony was not looking forward to the 8 hour ‘strike busting’ run to Paris (our very own version of the Berlin Airlift) which would start at 4am the following day and lamenting (again) the fact that our TGV had been cancelled and praying that no one had decided to build a wall across the motorway (very unlikely, as manifesting on a Sunday is unheard of in France. Way too uncivilised. Sunday’s are sacred in France). 

And of course, we would miss the apartment that had become our home for the last 4 months. We would miss our terrace, the views of the church, the life that we had been leading since we arrived. We would even miss those stairs. 

Still, it felt good to be driving out the next morning. By 430am we were on the motorway, the kids were asleep in the back. Liz, eyes like saucers, was watching Anthony like a hawk, expecting him to fall asleep at the wheel at any moment. Only 750kms and 7.5 hours to go. 

By the time the kids surfaced it was almost 8am. We had completed more than half the drive and were already in the Bourgogne. The sun was (just) up. Liz was asleep and the test match was playing in the background (thank you ABC Grandstand and Cricket Australia for scheduling a day/night test in Perth). We had not encountered any walls and barely another car. 

More disappointingly, it turns out that McDonalds adopt French customs in France. Not only are they very few and far between on the motorways, but those that are there do not open early (especially not on a Sunday! shock! horror!) and may not even serve breakfast. By the time we found one which was open, we were well into lunch time and had to settle for bad burgers and cold chips. Not the sausage mcmuffins and hash browns we were gunning for. It was, however, reassuringly expensive. 

In any case, by midday we were rolling into the outskirts of Paris, for our afternoon stopover before our flight to Helsinki the following day at 1220.

Our original plan was to catch the mid-morning TGV from Aix, arrive in Paris in the afternoon and then go up the Eiffel Tower in the evening as a special surprise for the kids. The following day we would have a leisurely breakfast, perhaps a run and then make our way to the airport. Obviously all the time making good use of the Paris metro and RER train systems. Learning from some of our mistakes of summer, we had booked an Airbnb around the Arc de Triomphe to have easy access to the Gare de Lyon TGV station, the Eiffel Tower and the airport. Sorted. 

Unfortunately, Paris was the epicentre of the strikes that were now in their 3rd week and showing no signs of abating before Christmas. No TGVs, no RER, no metros (at least none which required drivers)… and record breaking traffic jams every morning across Paris (up to some 670kms of jams in the morning rush, taking up to 5 hours to travel 15 kms around the peripherique) as those non-striking Parisiens who still had to go to work and could not requisition a scooter or bicycle to get there hit the roads with their cars. 

Our new ‘strike busting’ plan was to drive into the centre of Paris and park just off the Champs Elysee at Etoile within walking distance of our apartment, then walk to the Eiffel Tower from Etoile for the evening’s entertainment. The following morning, we would need to be up and out early enough to miss the morning peak and its 5 hour traffic jams to make our 1220 flight (and give us enough time to fill up with fuel to ensure we can get back to Aix on the 24th, as there was talk of refineries being blockaded). No worries. 

Except of course the bit about driving into the very centre of Paris, and back out again in the morning peak. Gulp. And last time we were in Paris, walking was not exactly the kids strong suit. Double gulp. 

We hit Paris outskirts at around 1130. In Aix-en-Provence there is literally no traffic on the road until at least 1pm on a Sunday. You could play a test match on the peripheric and not be disturbed (we still don’t know what the Provencale people do on a Sunday morning, but it is clearly very home based). Not so Paris. The freeways coming in were rammed, no doubt exacerbated by the lack of any other form of public transport. 

Concerningly, but unsurprisingly our trusty Waze had us doing a left turn around the Etoile roundabout (something like the second busiest intersection in the world) where 8 of the busiest roads in central Paris come to hang out around the Arc de Triomphe. Wonderful. We approached with caution but some confidence. It’s just another roundabout, how hard could it be? We saw a gap in traffic and ventured in, choosing to stay close to the outside of the 5-6 “lanes” (there are none marked) of cars that were making their way around, and going as slowly as possible. 

Within seconds we were getting honked at by a friendly Parisien to politely inform us (at least that’s the way we choose to interpret his emotional waving and aggressive honking) that this particular roundabout is not in fact a roundabout at all, rather a massive system of giving way to your right (as it, turns out, is lots of Paris where stop and give way signs are often not really a thing). Lesson learned and disaster averted. Understanding of the rules now we made our way around and safely out of the system and onwards to our carpark, nonetheless grateful that we have fully comprehensive, zero deductible insurance. 

• 

We have a slightly confusing relationship with Paris. We have had some wonderful trips here before kids and its impossible for us not to be hit by the sheer beauty of the place (and, interestingly after spending 4 months in a small town, just the scale of it). The Eiffel Tower was a symbol of this year and what we were doing, and we were really excited to come here in July.

Side note:  It turns out we have very different memories of our trip here over summer. We (Liz and Anthony) remember the heat, the whinging, the crowds and the fact that we needed to have ‘the chat’ with the kids – but also cycling around Versaille, sketching in the Louvre and picnicking under the Eiffel Tower. The kids, conveniently, just remember the good stuff – the Louvre, Versaille, the Eiffel Tower and the open top bus ride. Sena is not sure what country Paris is in, and this remains a question of great concern to her. 

We debated whether to come here this time or not. We were split between keeping life simple, getting the train straight to the airport and staying there the night or bringing the kids back for another (brief) crack at Paris, and in particular up the Eiffel Tower. We eventually landed on trying our luck for a second time. This time would be different. It would be cooler, we were better at travelling with kids and we were keeping it simple. Right? 

To get to our apartment, we had to walk along the Champs Elysee and around the Arc de Triomphe. The winter sun was shining and it was a balmy 10 degrees. Despite the 8+ hours in the car and the fact they were carrying their daypacks, the kids were excited and in good spirits. Ellie in particular was both intrigued and excited by the ‘shiny’ designer stalls including Yves Saint Laurent, Dior and Boss. She really needs to marry well. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

By 130pm we were up in our Airbnb, a mastery of self promotion and creative photography (ie it looked good but was absolutely rubbish) in a fantastic location between the Arc de Triomphe and Trocadero. It would be more than fine for the very brief time we were there. 

Considering we’d made such good time from Aix, Anthony even had time to get out for a quick run around Paris to see a bit of the city and dust off the effects of the 8 hour drive. No matter how many times we’ve been here before, its impossible not to be blown away by the Eiffel Tower, the Invalides, the Grand Palais, the Pont Alexander III and of course the Arc de Triomphe and running around (without having to carry anyone or anything) is a great way to see it. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

From there, it was back to get the apartment to pick up the kids and take them to ‘their surprise adventure’. We walked the 30 mins to get to the tower, noting the distinct lack of whinging from the big kids (to be fair, whilst we were carrying Sena most of the way). They were excited. We made our way with minimal delay through the multiple security screenings to get up the tower, remembering the size of the queues in summer, and before we knew it we were whizzing up to the second floor of the tower. A brief view of Paris from the lower deck, a short wait and another lift before we hit the summit and Paris laid out before us. 

It was about 415 and the sun was dipping towards the horizon. The kids were running around taking photos and pointing out the sites they recognised. Lots of selfies and family shots. It was a real success. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

When we’d had our fill of Paris from on high (to be fair, the one thing you really miss from the top of the Eiffel Tower is a view of the tower itself), we wandered down in the early evening dusk light just as the lights were starting to illuminate the tower. Ellie and Jessie, suddenly very interested in the cameras that we have been carrying around for them for the last 5 months. The views from the Seine and up to the Trocadero were as inspiring as ever. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

From there, it was up to the Trocadero for some pug patting and pizza for dinner at the same restaurant we went to last time we were here – mainly because of the toilets which provide hours of entertainment for the kids. Good wine, good food, happy kids and the best macarons in Paris for desert is a formula that is hard to beat. Even the Eiffel Tower seemed to be playing to our mood, sparkling away like a giant Christmas tree in the background. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

As we wandered back to our apartment spirits were high. The night was dry and mild. The streets were beautiful. Everyone was walking without complaint. No-one was fighting. 

Paris, you have redeemed yourself. We love you again. See you in the springtime.