French men don’t get fat

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There is a best selling book you may have heard of, by Mireille Guiliano called “French Women Don’t Get Fat”. This very title kept rolling in my head as I was spending my very first romantic week end in Paris with my girl friend this Easter. And as hours were passing by, I started wondering if by French… she meant Parisians?

Spend sometime on any RER or TGV and you will be reassured that some French women do get fat. I have been there, all squashed against the window as they sit next / on top of you. Just like at home.

No its not French Women but Parisians that don’t get fat, men and women. You see, it is simply impossible, at least without a lot of work and dedicated gluttony, to get fat when you have to walk half a mile just to get your bread. And the French ALWAYS insist on FRESH bread.

I found this out the hard way. Saturday morning and I awake next to my long distance love.  “I will pop out and get une baguette and les croissants, ma chérie” says I, in the hope to impress her with my chivalry. Almost an hour later, I am back with baguette and croissants and she is happy. My feet however are not!

Look how far away we are still. My poor feet!!

Wind the clock forwards to later in the afternoon. After walking the length of the Champ de Mars to the Eiffel Tower and then along the bank of the Seine, she suddenly remembers she had promised her sister to pick up some more Nespresso for the coffee machine. Well… you know, this is not a case where you jump in your car and drive to ASDA. In the French version of this, she grabs my hand, pulls 2 metro tickets out of her handbag, and drags me down the stairs of the closest station.  “Where do we get the coffee ma chérie?” “Nearest shop is on the Champs” says she (NB: les Champs is local slang for Champs Elysées apparently).

By the time I know it, I am changing lines at Châtelet Les Halles, the worlds BIGGEST underground station. Really this thing is massive, looking after something around 750,000 passengers a day. You can walk for half an hour just to change lines, even more if you are blonde and find yourself looking at the wrong train.

Any one with a belly must be a tourist

By now I am thinking I must have lost a good few pounds in weight over the day. Using the mad rush as an excuse we  stopped at a very nice looking Café.

Relaxing and enjoying the simple pleasures in life, a cold beer, my French girl by my side and my throbbing feet were being forgotten about. But then who turned up but the pee pee fairy. Off I go in search of the local convenience only to find it wasn’t in the slightest bit convenient.

Little did I realise that just to use the loo would require climbing up and down 2 flights of stairs. Shattered and exhausted it was becoming very clear that even the belly expanding pastime of beer swilling could not produce excess calories.

Watching the thin and even thinner population of Paris passing by it was clear. It is not French women that don’t get fat, nor is it French men, it’s Parisians. It is almost implausible to think that a Parisian could get fat. A mile walk for bread. Several miles to get to and from the office and even a mammoth task to go for a pee.

 

16 hours in Paris

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Her: I have 2 tickets for a concert, do you want to come?
Me: Yes, of course I do
Her: It’s a Tuesday night, can you make it?
Me: I am sure I will find a way!

And then the problems started. Location Paris. Another iconic city in the world I have managed to escape up until now. But the location was only the beginning of the problems. With work and other commitments it meant that for this to work we both needed to meet in the center of Paris early evening and be gone again around 6 the following day.

By now I had found a very useful site for finding flights, Skyscanner.net almost always finds me the best and cheapest traveling options. An Easyjet flight from London Luton to Paris Charles de Gaulle was booked for the Tuesday afternoon, arriving at 17:10 I knew that time would be tight. The concert started at 20:00 at the Bataclan but without reserved seating, so the earlier we get there, the better the seats.

Tip: For a speedy escape from the aircraft, get your seat on the as close to the front of the plane as you can. You get off quicker, there is less time spent at passport control and you can cut your departure from the terminal down to about 10 minuites.

The only realistic way to get to the center of Paris from Charles de Gaulle is using the train system. The RER is very reliable and only goes in one direction from the airport. Good news for all would-be blondes in a mad dash to meet a hot French girl waiting on a random underground station in the center of a totally unknown city.

By chance I found a very useful guide on getting to the RER from the terminals. Take a look here, it could really help you. In the end though I didn’t use it. Arriving at Terminal 2b, once out from baggage claim and passport control, facing the exit of the airport (the big glass doors) I turned left and marched with all vigor towards the station.

It’s a long walk but it is well signposted (always follow signs for RER), look out for cash-point machines along the way and keep going. There are travelators but they were all out of action when I arrived and when I left, maybe this was the part of the French system currently on strike? who knows.

Get a ticket from the automatic machines (there is an English option for the menu) and get on the train.

The train should look like this

 

Tip: If you are on a big flashy 2 story expensive looking train, you are most likely on a TGV. I did say follow signs for the RER. This not only the wrong train but also the wrong station.

Now on the right train it is much like any other subway, tube, u-bahn system so if like me that fills you with dread and fear have no worries. For the iPhone there is an app called vianaigo, this allows you to plan all your routes. Put in the departure and destination points and it will tell you what you need to do. I punched in cdg (Paris Charles de Gaulle  Terminal 2 pops up) and my destination as I have been told is Denfert Rochereau. That’s easy. Its one train and I am on it.

 

 

 

The meeting point

We met up and escaped out of the Metro to grab a taxi. Time at this point would not have allowed for any more.

1 concert, a bottle of very nice champagne and a not so great hotel room later and we are back on the trail of travel, this time to get back home. First I have to put her back on a train towards the South. Gare du lyon was a short taxi ride away (the metro does not run at 5:30 in the morning) and time for a coffee and un pain au chocolat from the only vendor open at that time. Someone was in the loo so time to practice my French. ‘Bonjour, deux cafés noir, et deux pain au chocolat s’il vous plait’ Seemed to get me what I wanted. I handed over some euros in response to what ever was said back and in return i received what I had asked for and some change.

 

Go down that escalator for the RER back to the airport

 

Tip: A little French can go along way

Now safely deposited back on the train I can concentrate on getting back to the airport so I can be back in the office for lunch time, a quick look at the app and I can see the route, the trains and even the directions I need to be taking. Result. This blonde was back in the airport with lots of time to spare.

Now back in the airport and through passport control I thought it a little odd that there had been no security checks. Then I realised that if you fly to Luton with Easyjet they package you off to a remote corner of the airport with no toilets, shops or facilities other than a vending machine. So beware, if you are passed passport control and there is no sign of security checks, stay around the shops until you are within an hour of departure or you will have to cross your legs.

It seems that Easyjet from Paris Charles de Gaulle have found entirely new levels of cattle class for their flights. It is normal and acceptable that having purchased the Speedy boarder pass that you get on the plane first, this was however the first time I have been directed away from the other passengers, down stairs to be confined in what felt like a corridor to an abattoir to then be directed to the back of the plane to climb back up stairs to find my seat. Mooing along the way I chuckled at how pathetic this was in a effort to get passengers to upgrade to Speedy boarding. But on a serious note, if you have problems with your knees or walking at all, make sure you kick up a fuss at this point and avoid the unnecessary complication.

Back in Luton, back at the car, back at work. 16 hours in Paris flew by, but despite being blonde and confused I managed without a problem. I met my girl on that underground station in the middle of a city I had never been to before, on a deadline and feeling good about my achievement. If I can do it, so can you!