Catch Up - Monday 18th August

Sunday evening and, dreading the 2:30am get-up, we frightened the neighbours with our beautiful SingStar karaoke renditions of I Want You Back, Parklife and Aretha Franklin's Respect.

As 2:30am arrived, we begrudgingly dressed and grabbed our two-ton bags and squeezed into Siân's dad's car. Dan initiated (God help us) a game of I-Spy which felt like it lasted six hours but only really lasted about half an hour. Lucy championed with "steering wheel" and "hazard warning light", but nobody really cared and Mitch just slept. 

We arrived at London St. Pancras (Lucy: LONDON ST. PANCREAS *laughs at her own, by-now-over-used pun*) at about 5:30am for our 7:55 Eurostar so we had breakfast in Costa whilst Mitch bemoaned the lack of Starbucks and criticised the barista's latte-making technique. He and Siân went for a walk around the station whilst Dan and Lucy played cards. She taught him to play Speed which might as well be called Slow as far as he was concerned. However, he found his calling in Snap and, later, Puerto Rican Speed (Dan: I totes have Latin flair). On a reconnaissance mission around the shops, Mitch and Siân found some pretentious glass-bottled sparkling fruit drinks which the four drank like classy, cultured travellers whilst inwardly sighing at the rather disgusting taste. 

After purchasing some snacks from M&S, we went through customs without a hitch and soon found ourselves seated on the EuroStar. The journey was punctuated with more card games from Dan and Lucy, naps from Mitch and phrase book-readings from Siân. Every ten minutes Mitch asked "are we under the Channel yet?" and then missed the actual event by sleeping.

When we got to Paris Nord station, Lucy retrieved the directions to the hostel, which is about ten minutes up the Rue de Dunkerque from the station. We got there at about 11:30am but check-in not being until 4pm, we paid for the stay and dumped our bags. Siân clearly established herself as the clumsy, forgetful member of the group by forgetting her Travel Money Card PIN number. She managed to pay but spent the rest of the day periodically ringing customer services and texting home to find the number or access code. Having stored our bags in the hostel luggage room, we went to the Sacré-Cœur which is a ten minute walk away, perusing some touristy shops on the way, including a "chocolate museum" which had chocolate models in it. 

We took our photos in front of the Sacré-Cœur then climbed the first of many stairs (no, seriously, stairs seem to be a recurring theme on this trip, a feature which Dan is, I assure you, loathing) to get to the basilica itself. Inside, we walked the periphery of the room, alternately hustled and shushed by the stationed priests. We were impressed with the high, painted ceilings and ornately decorated pillars but we couldn't help but feel it was somewhat commercialised as there were donation boxes at short intervals and we were kept to a strict constant speed as they drew more and more tourists into what is, after all, a house of worship.

By now, it was definitely snack time and we sat on the the steps with our crisps and biscuits, listening to a flutist (a word which Dan and I have disputed the pronunciation of - is it "flautist" or "floutist"?) play three songs like a broken record. Because the hostel was providing us with "Italian pasta" for tea, we decided we could afford to go in the crypt and climb the tower to the dome. Siân asked the woman for the tickets ("and the same for my friends who don't speak French"), and we entered the gloomy crypt. It was dark and cool down there, and Siân (as resident tour guide) explained and translated the stations of the Cross. We read the tombs and memorials before emerging back into the light and beginning our ascent to the dome. There are 300 stairs and Lucy and Dan resented ever single one. Mitch and Siân hurried ahead like excitable children and eventually we were all at the top, surveying the view across Paris. This was our first aerial view of many, and we pointed out all the places we hoped to visit across our trip. 

The downwards journey was almost as scary, and then we went for a stroll around Mon Martre, scouting out potential eating places and looking at the works of the street artists. As we left the square, we found out the hard way the aggressiveness of "charity collectors" who hounded us for money, identifying us as tourists. Fortunately they only got four euros out of us, and we steeled ourselves against other similar ventures. This came into play as we came back round to the front of the Sacré-Cœur and were swooped upon, vulture-like, by men selling friendship bracelets. Despite their insistent, arm-grabbing hands, we escaped and sat on the grass in the sun. Guess what Mitch did? (Spoiler: he napped). Soon it was time to check in so we found our way to our hostel room and bagsied which bunk bed we wanted. We were shattered by this point so we lounged in the the hostel waiting for the pasta. We asked about transport to Versailles and realised that with the closure of a train line, it was nigh on impossible, we opted to visit everywhere in Central Paris on Tuesday and go to Versailles if feasible on the Wednesday.  

When sitting around for food, Lucy and Siân asked if they could have the pasta without meat, thoroughly amusing and confusing the carnivorous French who were cooking for us. After (im)patiently waiting for about two hours, Dan and Mitch got served (Dan on a large plate and Mitch on a tiny one), then Lucy and Siân waited some more for their totally plain pasta. Mmm. They kindly offered us some butter to add flavour, which Lucy opted for, also adding garlic mayonnaise as a wild attempt to create flavour. 

Once fed, we took a walk to the Moulin Rouge. Dan, Lucy and Siân admired the iconic building whilst Mitch took photos of the Starbucks opposite. Laughing at the adult shops all the way down the boulevard (nicknaming it Sex Street) , we found our way back to the hostel, got changed and went to bed, setting our alarm for 7:30am.