8 itchy feet

‘What’s wrong with this one?’, Paul wanted to know.

It just didn’t have the right vibe for good coffee. That was what was wrong. Paris is of course known for many things. The city of lights. The city of romance. But the city of coffee? Many coffee shops in Paris have this whole Paris thing going on, with colourful flower boxes, wicker chairs and little round tables lining the street, positioned just so for people watching. The coffee however leaves much to be desired.

It was however coffee time, and despite having walked past a dozen or more discrete specialty coffee shops in the same part of town the day before, they were now nowhere to be found. It’s very difficult to manifest just exactly the thing you want precisely when you want it.

So we plonked ourselves down at Maison Bichet, an aesthetically attractive cafe, and ordered two cappuccinos and a cafe au lait. The cafe looked like everything you could hope for, but the coffee machine behind the counter was no La Marzocco.

When our coffee came it was weak and burnt with fairy floss like milk froth extending for an inch above the tepid brown liquid. There was a light sprinkle of chocolate dust for the two cappuccinos.

We were crestfallen. It was an otherwise perfect Parisian day. The sun was shining, it was 20 degrees. We had just been for a cruise on the Seine on the hop on hop off Batoboat. The Seine was sparkling, and clean. I understand they cleaned it up for the Olympics and it looked good enough for a swim.

That particular morning we had intended to hop off at Jardins Les Plantation, but that wasn’t to be. Someone sleeping rough had parked themselves right where the Batoboat alights. Still, hard to think yourself hard done by when you’re minorly inconvenienced by someone who has just spent the night sleeping on the pavement.

Instead we headed off to the north, in search of Saint Martin Canal, the Sacré-Cœur and Montmatre.

We had spent the day before this, our second after arriving in Paris, doing laps of the Seine and its sights on the Batoboat. It was all so French! I mean there were French flags fluttering in the spring breeze atop the Hôtel de Ville, Musée de Orsay and of course the Eiffel Tower. Actually… maybe there was no flag on the Eiffel Tower. But then there doesn’t need to be, does there?

I figured any day in Paris was a good day, because in the scheme of things there are not really that many days spent in Paris. Not for your average Canberran anyway. The tower was resplendent and I wanted one of those photos where you make it look like you’re holding it up in the air from the tip by positioning your hand just so relative to the camera lens. We didn’t get far enough back from the tower though so it didn’t quite work.

Cest la vie. We found a boulangerie, fromagerie and supermarche to make up for it, before having a picnic in park overlooking the Seine. These were good times.

Our time in Paris wasn’t all so picture perfect. Back to the coffee shop. Khia abandoned hers after a single sip. We paid the exorbitant 21 euros for three abysmal coffees, and headed back onto the pavement.

I wanted to visit Canal Saint Martin. I’d read a blog on must see things to do in Paris which promised a charming district of galleries and coffee shops all set along a leafy boulevard arching over the canal. There was a leafy boulevard over a canal, but the rest of what was advertised seemed to be missing. It was a bit grim, run down and lacking the Parisian charm of La Marais where we had been the day before. Still there was a boat traversing a series of lochs which made for entertaining viewing.

It got grittier after that as we made our way from Canal Saint Martin over to the Sacré-Cœur. Where did the charming Parisian streets of our first day in the La Marias go? When we had stumbled into the charming Place des Vosges (a fashionable square where famous artists such as Victor Hugo have lived) and spent a half hour dozing in the sun in the charming park with fountains and gallery laden walkways in buildings around us? And where the owner of a closed toy shop saw us peering in the window and came out to open it for us just to show us around.

The charm returned as soon as we climbed the stairs to the Sacré-Cœur with views out over the city. We went inside the soaring domed basilica. More basic than Notre Dame, which we had visited the day before, it was impressive nonetheless. Still I just don’t know how I feel about these places. Inspiring and off putting all at once. The stain glass windows are nice.

Notre Dame had a carved relief which included images of babies being stabbed with swords. It wasn’t quite how I remembered it from 21 years ago when Emma and I first visited, but there it was. Khia remembered her bible stories and informed me it was King Herod who had heard of a prophecy of the coming of a king. He didn’t want to be usurped so thought it better to slaughter some infants lest one of them grow up to replace him.

Notre Dame had a big fire back in 2019 so perhaps it’s unsurprising that it wasn’t quite as I remembered. The fire destroyed the timber structure supporting the lead roof which also turned to liquid and ran down into the cathedral. It could have been worse. The vaulted stone ceiling prevented more damage inside the cathedral itself. The entire place had to be scrubbed clean nonetheless and roof and spire rebuilt. I’ve got to say the facelift has done wonders. It’s magnificent. I mean really. The dark stone work I remembered from twenty years ago is gone and in its place, glistening white limestone forming the vaulted stone ceilings soaring overhead. Gorgeously painted antechambers line the nave. They picked a great colour scheme. A little dark and moody perhaps but no denying the Catholic Church has taste, or good interior design consultants at least.

Meanwhile back out at the Sacré-Cœur, Paul was feeling the pressure. He needed to deliver a quality coffee for Khia. Khia likes a coffee around mid morning, to which I can relate. Cafe Maison Bichet had missed the mark badly and Paul was not keen on seeing Khia go disappointed.

He got excited after consulting Google and declared he had found the best flat white in Paris! Suddenly we were off on a mission. We blew through the hyper Parisian scene of Montmartre (read tourist trap), plunging down steep stairways into more delightful and charming streets (read still touristy but not OTT). Round a corner. And there it was. Spree Coffee. Heavenly choirs sung, Ahhhhh!!

Paul ordered flat whites from a delightful Parisian father and son combo. Who said Parisian’s were snooty? The coffee was from Mexico, with undertones of chocolate according to Khia’s palate. The scene was perfect, a sunny afternoon under the shade of an awning on a cobble stoned street. We sat and we watched the world go by. Paris style.

This all but sums up our three days in Paris, with the exception of our stop at the Tuileries Garden (one of the hop on hop off locations on our boat tour) and an evening dash to the Arc de Triomphe.

At the Tuileries there was icecream, right where Oliver remembered it from ten years ago when we had spoken to him a short while beforehand. Ah, but that was not all. There were boats too and a pond! Little tiny wooden sailing boats for rent. 6 euro for 30 minutes. Paul didn’t hesitate, later declaring it the best 6 euro he has spent in Europe. He shoved it off into the pond where it tacked and turned all of its own accord while he and I ran around the pond lined with sunbathers sprawled in chairs, looking for where it would come ashore. There were other sailors too, but none of them older than 10. May we never grow old.

On our last night I was struck by a dose of FOMO and wanted to visit the Arc de Triomphe and Champs Élysées. One metro and one train later (paid for twice by Paul because his metro travel card played up and not paid for at all by me because my metro travel card played up (I jumped the gate, don’t tell anyone) and we arrived at the Arc just as the sun was setting. We circumnavigated the roundabout admiringly, stopping at a park bench to watch traffic with no rules when a pigeon took a dump from the tree above right onto Paul’s foot. Shit happens.

Au revoir from Paris.

“Do you think that if I wore my merino t-shirt, merino long sleeve, and merino cardigan and then my raincoat that I would be warm enough on the Pyrenees?”, I asked Emma.

Emma said, ‘I think you’d be a sheep!’

Ha ha. So funny Emma is and still I’m left pondering, do you need a puffy coat in addition to all that merino to walk the Camino in April? It’s an extra 412 grams!

We went for a training walk with Paul and Khia in Sydney a couple of weekends ago. We’ve named ourselves the toe sock pilgrims after all four of us concluded toe socks to be the sock of choice for pilgrimming. Paul even asked AI to write us a theme song.

Just a month from now, we, the toe sock pilgrims, will be in Paris on our way to Saint Jean Pied de Port (or SJPDP as we prefer to call it), the start of the Camino Frances. The most popular and well known of the various pilgrim routes to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. It’s an 800 km walk and we are so excited!

40 days where our existence will boil down to waking up, packing up, walking, eating, checking in to an albergue (pilgrim accomodation) eating again, sleeping and then doing it all over. No meetings, no briefings, no budgets to clear, no strategies to devise, no spreadsheets or data to trawl through.

On the long flight home from a work trip to Colombia in late 2024 I watched a movie about a fellow who walked the Camino de Santiago. I was exhausted after an overly stressful two weeks at an international conference and the idea of walking, just walking, was just what I needed. It kept us going. We love having an adventure to look forward to and now we are in the countdown to making it happen!

But first, we have had to plan, pack and train. Though we have undoubtedly spent many more hours planning and packing than training. Just last weekend we got the kitchen scales out and weighed every last item we planned to put in our packs. My reading glasses weigh 79 grams. Did you know that? 79 grams. My pack in total weighed 8.58 kg without water, which is too much! I have to lose half a kilo. I need Ozempic for my pack.

Anyway, back to the training walk. We walked from just near Middle Harbour all the way to Bondi. It was 67 km of the 80km Manly to Bondi walk, in and out the nooks and crannies of Sydney Harbour.

The harbour is spectacular, with long stretches of bushland wending their way round headlands and beaches all of which create the illusion of being a long way from anywhere. Then there are other stretches which make you feel like you’re in the suburbs, but the not the kind that most of us know. The kind of suburb where you can watch the start of the Sydney to Hobart from your balcony on Boxing Day. Fun.

Any ways, off we went with Paul and Khia. Parked the car, got out and started walking up the street. We made it 400m before someone thought it would be good to check if we were going the right way. We weren’t. So we turned around and went the other way.

Then we walked and talked, mostly about toe socks… and other gear. If you’re ever in a communication slump with your partner, you too should walk the Camino. It’s endless hours of discussion about the virtues of merino vs polyester, ponchos vs raincoats and whether or not you need an umbrella?

My proudest purchase is my merino underwear! I told Paul I was packing $180 dollars worth of underwear. Two pair of boxer shorts and a pair of briefs. Total weight 170 grams. That’s three pairs of underwear valued at average of $56 each. Paul’s underwear were polyester. Oh for shame.

Paul’s proudest purchase on the other hand was his umbrella. Light weight and packing good value. At 160 grams it came in at just $1 per gram! It was supposed to bucket this day in Sydney, but held off until the second day just as we made it past Potts Point. The skies opened! Not really, it was just a gentle shower but Paul stopped dramatically as the first drops fell, reached backwards over his packed and pulled forth his silver umbrella like King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone.

It was a dramatic moment. Then he popped it open and strapped it to his pack, striding on through the city with a hands free protection from the rain comically overhead. Emma had an umbrella too and I could have sworn I heard, ‘go go gadget umbrella’ just before turning around to see the two of them strolling with hands free rain protection.

We walked 27 km on day one, through beaches, coves, headlands, past defensive cannon sites from yesteryear, taking in harbouside mansions, yachts and ocean liners and finally under and then over the Sydney Harbour bridge. And we reflected, upon the merits of my merino underwear vs Paul’s polyester.

Point Piper was particular fun. Not for the views, you can scarcely see a thing walking around Point Piper. The streets are like being in a canyon with walls made from mansions. Every property a protectorate unto itself and built in such a way as to deny the casual passing Pilgrim in training even the merest glimpse of the million dollar harbour views. No, it was not fun for the view, but rather for the proliferation of profound, prophetic and poetically pointless alliteration of powerful ‘p’ words that we came up with to amuse ourselves while we pondered the professions of privileged practitioners plying their trades to purchase these plentiful homes.

Oh and then there was also the Point Piper resident out for a run whose concern for the natural world extended so far as to deviate from his side of the street to ours, to let us know in passing of a turtle that had escaped the bushland and was heading up a driveway. He noted that he had not time to rescue the poor lost creature and suggested that we may however like to do so. King Arthur can’t bear a damsel in distress so quickly sped to the lost turtles aid. Having picked up the poor creature, taken it back across the road and setting it free, we pondered whether in fact there may have been a pond at the top of the driveway it just returning home?

We spent our first night in a tower at Circular Quay. The pool deck had views of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House.

Our second night was at Watson’s Bay at the Watson’s Bay Boutique Hotel. Fun fact about Khia, if she requests chocolate and you come back with chocolate ice cream she will love you forever. Good to know before we spend weeks walking together.

Emma and I walked day three on our own. Around South Head and then along the sea cliffs to Bondi. A little foot sore perhaps, but all bodes well for the Camino. More photos below.