17-18/10/25 The Things I Didn't Do In Paris.

There were so many things I thought I'd do in Paris. The Musee L'Orangerie; Saint Chapelle; Notre Dame; Montmarte; and the ticket we booked for the Eiffel tower tomorrow night.

We had a ticket for the top.

Thanks to unexpected train availability we booked a ticket at 07:00 for a midday train to London and as a result I found myself on the morning streets of Paris looking for an ATM while Roger checked his medications and lamented his lost European holiday. We wanted the security of the UK's reciprocal health agreement with Australia so my little walk around the block was my moment to say goodbye to Paris.

The morning sun kissed the chimney tops of the apartment blocks that lined the alleyways as a couple on the street argued in vehement French.

No, I don't take photos of arguing couples.

A truck delivered white roses to a florist while waiters and patisserie staff opened shop, calling to and chatting with each other in the relaxed moments before the customers arrived. Someone rode a bicycle past with an early morning baguette, and someone else fouled the crisp morning air with cigarette smoke.

We made it through the Parisian Metro (oh my Lord, those steps again!) and onto the Eurostar, benefiting from the Steve Effect which allowed us to jump queues at the behest of customs officials at both the French and British border controls. 

Goodbye Paris: Gare du Nord.

I watched France unspool beyond the window.

Tractor farm.

Windmill farm.

Hello UK: St Pancras International.

At least the Tube had lifts, even if one of them displayed alarming British eccentricity when it came to going up and down and opening doors at the correct times. For a moment I thought we were going to have an inadvertent holiday bonding session with strangers in a London lift but phew! at the last minute the doors opened and released us to the trials of the Tube instead.

Our last minute train trip put us at the mercy of London's last minute hotel prices so we found our way back to the Ibis Budget hotel near Heathrow because we knew the beds were suitable for fragile backs.  Of course Roger wouldn't at all be secretly looking forward to resting his back while monitoring Flight Radar and shouting "Here comes a big one!" whenever an A380 came in to land. Not at all.

Home for a couple of nights: Ibis Budget Heathrow Central.

Out on the street I had to recalibrate my brain to walking to the left and not the right, and it was a bit of a shock to understand what everyone was saying. I spent Saturday doing paperwork generated by overseas hospital stays but we're not talking about that, are we?

Humph.

Tomorrow is another day.

I liked the turrets.