Arc de Triomph

Lyn was all dressed and ready to leave home this morning when she discovered her new jacket still had its security tag attached to the collar. 6:00 am is a bit early for any obvious solutions so she tag-dagged it for two hours on the train and then searched the international terminal for a solution. Several unhelpful shop assistants later, she found a 'nice man' in JB Hi Fi who accepted the challenge. 

Problem solved we have allowed Singapore Airlines to fuss all over us for the many hours it took to fly to Paris. Our long stop in Singapore was enlivened by taking a wrong turn in the enormous airport and my pullover falling off the trolley somewhere on our wanderings. I was too tired to backtrack, but Lyn walked a hundred metres to an information counter, filled out a lost property form and then waited 10 minutes until a ‘nice man’ returned the errant pullover. Impressive.

In the taxi from CDG airport Lyn chatted in French all the way to the hotel with our patient driver who was happy to correct her. He had visited a son in Brisbane for a long holiday a decade ago and was clearly a ‘nice man’.

Unsurprisingly at 10.00 am, our room wasn’t ready. We dropped our bags, walked to the Arc de Triomph and joined a long waiting line for tickets. Suddenly, we surged upstairs because the guardians of the site were on strike. We wandered around the outside. It is hugely vainglorious except for the eternal flame on the tomb of the unknown soldier beneath it. We walked on to Trocadero and a view.

On the way back Lyn tried out her French again by buying a takeaway lunch at busy patisserie where the lady was brusque. Back at the hotel, still no luck, so we picnicked in a park, and then returned to find our Spanish receptionist having an explosive argument with her manager. Eventually, our room was ready. After a well-deserved nap, we headed out for food and a walk.

We shared the evening view with hundreds of others with the same idea but it didn't take away the magic. Bon nuit.