Paris

We are spending a few days in Paris as the guests of Nathalie Banaigs who lives half the time in Faversham and half the time in Sceaux, where she grew up in the southern outskirts of the French capital. We were driven to Ashford International Station by our friend Debbie Lawther who does a very useful taxi service in return for use the car during the owner's absence. Saves the car parking fees.   The day was superbly bright and clear. The landscape was shining and radiant with a pearly dusty quality, absolutely mesmerising.  The Eurostar was late in arriving, and the train itself so shabby, rusty-looking and worn out.  We remember how marvellous it all was just a few years ago when it started. Like the whole European project, we are disillusioned now. It no longer looks so attractive and the experience of travel to the continent is all a bit squalid. We learned that the new trains which are available cannot use Ashford Station, only Ebbsfleet. These trains have wifi and gloss, but we will have to wait a year or so till we can access them at Ashford.
Nonetheless, the seats are quite comfortable. The ride is quiet. You can - just - see daylight out of the filthy windows, and so we caught snatches of the magnificent sky, and then we plunged into the tunnel. A baby nearby was howling with tiredness, and it was half an hour before he settled down to sleep.  We emerged in France as the dusk cloaked everything in darkness.
There was - not surprisingly - some sort of strike on the metro in Paris, so at the Gare du Nord we plunged into the crowds expecting chaos and trouble, but it was remarkably good tempered. It was noticeable that people look somehow less stressed than their counterparts in London. Down and down we went, tracking our way to the RER deep level platforms. Everything was brightly lit. The adverts show impossibly beautiful seminaked women, with the text extolling their spiritual qualities, while they model the tiny necklace or vest or invisible perfume, and the people rush past muffled up in their puffer jackets, scarves, hats, gloves....
On the platform we were in a remarkable tumult of confusion.  Apparently far fewer trains were running but those which were flashed up onto the signboards but with unreliable information - the platform, the destination, the times....    A young official was helping to push commuters into the carriages as they do in Japan, and he was hurling information out as a kind of waterfall of speech, while simultaneously covering the little loudspeaker on his chest which was sending him the information he needed to direct people to the right platform. Thank god we had Nathalie with us. It was practically impossible to find out what was going on. She could see the trains were on the wrong platforms, going in the wrong directions, with wrong stops advertised on their itineraries. We went back up a level to try another platform, but then returned to our original spot.  A train was waiting, destination Robinson!  That was our train, rapidly filling up.
As we got on, a man sprang from his seat and insisted I take it. I am OLD!  Later, someone gave his place to Andrew, for he too is OLD.   The train took us out through the centre of Paris - Chatelet, St Michel, southwards and out to Sceaux.
We emerged into a quiet, elegant residential area which reminded me of Swiss Cottage in the old days. We dragged our cases and bags through the streets, past the old walls and gardens of the 19th century villas, and then up into the centre.   We got some cash, some milk, and then came up into this tiny apartment in its tidy block.  There's a large terrace, two rooms, k, b and loo.  Dumping everything, we went for crepes... I was given colouring pencils to complete a printed image on the menu paper, and the food was simple and welcome - ending with a pretty spectacular flambé for my dessert.
We walked on to a friend's house - artist Sophie Tandel - and were enchanted by her gallery/home filled with works - a paper hippopotamus, a 60's TV converted into a tableau of Star Trek, many African masks and carvings, ceramics, model ships, paintings, jewellery, feathers......   She lent us a heater and we set off home again.  An old woman lurched towards us, swathed in rags and cloaks, entirely bent over so her torso is parallel to the ground, and carrying many bags and bundles. She looked like something from a Victor Hugo novel, ancient and powerful, a lost person who has seen everything. I wished he 'good night' but I doubt she heard me.
We slept peacefully, and overnight the clear air was changed into a rainstorm. The sky was low and dark, the rain sleety and hard, the wind gusting. We went out this morning to find breakfast - hot chocolate and baguettes. Sceaux has some of the most enticing food shops I have ever seen. We will come back.