 |
| We 're at No 19 |
It's Paris this time. We're in the City of Lights from 6 to 12 June this year. Why go to Paris? Is this a silly question? 16 million people went to Paris last year, ask all of them to be sure. We'd drawn up a whirlwind itinerary with an ambitious 1000 km road trip out of Paris, just to experience the fringes of France. Since it wasn't going to be Paris as usual, we're a little uneasy initially. The French speak, well, French. And they drive on the right side of the road, which is the wrong side in Malaysia. While we could quickly pick up some useful French at Carrefour, it's impossible to learn to drive on the right (wrong) side in Subang Jaya. With all the reckless drivers and police road blocks, it's actually impossible to drive even on the left (right) side. Confused, sorry. With hundreds of books and movies and jokes already on France, French and Paris, I'd understand if you question the wisdom writing about Paris.
 |
| Paris when I was young |
Paris: My Early Years
Just to be clear, I wasn't born in Paris. Or near Paris. It's just that I first heard of Paris in the early sixties, 64, or maybe 66, when Kota Bharu was dubbed Paris of the East. I'm serious. Kota Bharu, Paris of the East! I'm still not sure who started it, but he must have been long (and quite rightly) gone by now, taking the misplaced moniker with him. In those days without internet and android, plenty were left to imagination. So my first (mental) picture of Paris was a heady riverine town teeming with women selling their wares, and men just loafing and lazing about. I grew up with this idea until I learned geography and the teacher showed me, for the first time, a picture of Paris. From the grainy, black-and-white footage it's impossible to pinpoint any similarity that could vindicate the lavish comparison. So I promised myself that one day I must see Paris and settle this important issue, once and for all.
 |
| Cheap. But you've to pay for luggage, seat, water, air, pilot |
Dream Deal
In the good old days of one malaised airline system, going to Paris was looked down as highbrow, extravagant and downright snobbish. You went to Paris for only two reasons: one, you're rich (and corrupt), and two, you're rich (and corrupt). But thanks to Air Asia and its new business model, Paris now is more affordable than Lahad Datu. With one caveat: you've to book at least 50 months ahead. That's what we did. We booked 15 months ahead (not 50, but close enough). Eight of us for less than RM1500 per pax. I hate the word pax due to its vague origin and fraud undertone, but the price was real. I can promise you if you book on Malaysia Airlines today for a flight to Lahad Datu on 16 June (return 24 June), you've to shell out RM1934, yes, per pax. On top of that, you've to find one good reason to go to Lahad Datu, and for that long.
I thought it's a good deal even with potential show-stoppers like dengue pandemic (everybody), full-blown arthritis (my wife) or plain old age (me). The wait was admittedly very long. It's so long that my second boy decided to get married in the meantime. And Tan Sri Tony had all the luxury to think, rethink, rerethink and finally decide to discontinue the Paris route, and bought Queens Park Rangers. We're understandbly and visibly and mentally shaken because we'd already memorized three French survival phrases: "Good day" (Bonjour), "Thank you " (Merci) and "Can we get a discount" (Can we get a discount?). But it turned out to be a sliver of good fortune, and an already good deal became a better deal when Air Asia rebooked us on Malaysia Airlines, with peanuts and Malay horror movies thrown in at no additional cost, per pax (damn it).
 |
| What? Only eight passports? |
Flying To France (5 June 2012, Tuesday)
The wait's finally over and we're fit enough to fly to France. France? My sister or brother-in-law will jump. Yes, Paris is not a country. It's a city in France, just like Ottawa in Japan. Despite all the relentless reruns of Killer Crocodiles on National Geographic and killer judges in Masterchef, geography skills are now at an all-time low. Why learn geography when you have GPS, and Instagram? Why learn anything at all?
It's a 13-hour, midnight flight from KLIA to Charles De Gaulle Airport. I was bunched smack in the middle of the middle rows with wife, my two girls Aida and Sarah, my two boys Asrif and Fadli and their wives Azalia and Siti Sarah. It's my first trip with daughters-in-law and I'm not sure what to make of this new business model. I guess they're just delighted being a few feet away from their in-laws for 13 hours straight! Ha ha ha. Anyway, we landed at 6.30 morning local time and CDG was surprisingly fast. We're cleared before 7.00 and all set to invade France, home of haute couture, cafe culture and 400 cheeses!
 |
| We smiled because we're hungry |
Handsome Honfleur (6 June 2012, Wednesday)
We had six days and the plan was to spend only the last three days in Paris. We rented two cars at CDG (Citroen C4 and Peugeot 207, both hybrid), and spun out of Paris towards Normandy. With onboard GPS, my Google routes were of little use. The first stop-over was Honfleur, an idyllic and breathtakingly beautiful harbour town, with unmistakable French charm and character. It's our first flavour of France. We'd yet to taste the cheese, but we're already impressed.
 |
| Still looking for the Germans |
D-Day at D Day Beaches (6 June 2012, Wednesday)
For movie and history buffs and the few remaining geography holdouts, a visit to D-Day Beaches in Normandy is de rigueur. We never realised it until we're well on the way that 6 June (today) was D Day in 1944. It's a pleasant surprise, even for accidental tourists. We reached Arromanches, the D Day ground zero, and practically gate-crashed into a loud parade and pageantry to mark the 68th D-Day anniversary. You could view the tell-tale leftovers of the Allied offensive, and it's hard not to feel and share the all-round festive and evocative mood with the marching veterans. It's even harder to explain to Aida and Sarah the meaning of all this fuss and commotion while they're busy with Instagram. It's drizzling when we headed out for another famous D-Day site: Omaha Beach and American Military Memorial (recall the stirring opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan). The beach was open, but the memorial had just closed for the day. We're not exactly gutted as it's already past midnight in KL. After five hours of chomping on chips and chocs, Sarah was screaming for some real food.
 |
| It's clear that Etap is not Hyatt |
Hotel Etap Bayeux (7 June 2012, Thursday)
It's summer, and days broke at 3.00 am in Normandy. Hotel Etap was a minimalist's delight (means cheap) but pleasant enough with Ikea feel, free wifi, flatscreen in French and toilet half my size. It's just outside an ancient city named Bayeux, about 300 km from Paris. A heavy downpour washed out our plan to see Bayeux and its world-famous tapestry in the morning.
 |
| Everybody in this village was hiding from us! |
Saint-Ceneri-de-Gerei (7 June, Thursday)
From Bayeux/Normandy to the Loire Valley, we took an off-road, cutting through quiet and quaint villages and small towns with no people, no cars and no hurry. Only bliss and glory. What a wondrous drive. What naturally came to mind was Subang Jaya and its motley mix of woman schoolbus drivers, Nepalese security and Nigerian faux students I'd to navigate on daily basis on the way to the grocery. Finally we reached this exotically-named village by a river, officially certified as one of Les Plus Beaux Villages de France. You guess. Apparently this place had been inhabited since the 8th century. It's hard to argue with that after just one look at the walls, roofs and windows. The famous 300-year old mosque in my birthplace Kg Laut is avant-garde compared with anything in this village.
 |
| Romancing the stone? |
Chenonceau Chateau (7 June, Thursday)
We're deep in the Loire, a region straddling the Loire River, famed for its fifteen castles and freak-out fees. But why did the French build their castles here instead of Paris? Must be herd instinct or money laundering or both. Whatever the reason, the conventional wisdom was that it's a shame not to visit any or all of them. None of us was a castle connoisseur, so we chose the one at Chenonceaux. With its imposing tower, stone bridge, standard moats, expansive gardens and cramped kitchen cum torture chamber, Chenonceau was delicate and graceful enough. But I still came out questioning why people love seeing castles (and why I kept typing cattle instead of castle). I mean with all the sordid stuff like murders, torture, forced labour that took place. I'd been to a castle only once before: Leeds Castle in England in 1993, some twenty years ago. If I were to have a castle KPI, it would read something like "visit another castle in 2032".
Sorry, this moral thought on Chenonceau, or castles in general, is mine alone, and in no way reflects my daughters-in-law's views.You may call them directly if you want to know their opinions.
 |
| On the way to a showdown with Count Dracula |
Amboise and Leonardo da Vinci (7-8 June, Thursday-Friday)
Amboise was a pretty place with its own, hold your breath, castle. To appreciate its beauty, and the castle, one must view it from across the Loire River. The great inventor Leonardo da Vinci died in Amboise. I guessed if Amboise was good for a genius, then it's good enough for us. So we checked in at a Hotel Chaptal, right in the city centre, close to a small Carrefour shop, where a 1.5 litre bottle of Evian or Volvic could be had for 0.60 Euro (RM2.40). Mineral water was about the only cheap stuff in France. And cheese.
 |
| This couple is older than the castle |
 |
| Without that Laumiere, this could pass for Puchong. |
Evening in Paris, Etap La Villette, 19th Arrondissment (8 June, Friday)
It's evening when we finally hit Paris. Ah, An Evening in Paris, Sharmila Tagore, dekho, dekho, dekho, dekho! Our base camp was Etap Hotel in la Villette neighbourhood in Paris 19th district. A good location actually, with CDG only 20 km away, a Franprix grocery (and cheap Evian) just next door, and halal Turkish joints with loud music all around. With the nearest Metro station (Laumiere) only 50 metres away, we're actually no more than 20 minutes away from Eiffel Tower, Louvre, and Arc de Triomphe.
 |
| Where's my goat cheese? |
Latin Quarter ( 9 June, Saturday)
Latin Quarter, not Latin Quartet. Purportedly the coolest of all tourist hotspots in Paris. Latin used to be the language of choice. Now it's all languages except Latin. We started quite early (meaning at 10) to catch the morning market at rue Mouffetard, at the end of Latin Quarter. It's a typical street market with vendors selling fresh fruits, fish, pastry, antiques, collectibles. And cheese. Lots of cheese, all shapes, flavours and origins. A cheesemaker named Andre pulled me aside and embarked on a five-generation family history of his specialty. I just played along and even sampled one of his masterpieces. It's as goat as it got. We stopped by Paris Grand Mosque, but it's closed. We moved on, passing the imposing Pantheon, staid Sorbonne, chaotic cafes, cafe chaos, and finally found a bench at the lush Luxembourg garden to settle down. The golden apples from Mouffetard market were sweet and crunchy. A big, colourful crowd here, as expected. Honestly I couldn't quite see the lure of Luxembourg. It's vast and free, fair enough, but that's about all. Maybe it's different in fall or spring. But for sheer variety and topography, our Lake Garden can hold its own.
 |
| What? You mean, no roti canai? |
Shakespeare and Notre Dame (9 June , Saturday)
From Luxembourg Garden, it's an easy stroll to Notre Dame, the iconic cathedral and an enduring Paris landmark. On the way, we dropped into Shakespeare and Company, a fabled and much revered bookseller and publisher (Don't ask me why). With their own literary pantheon and leading lights, why're the French still banging the Bard? You could sense and technically scent the offbeat culture with the artsy and literati set crowding and sweating it out in this rundown and shabby shop. Even with my sparse French, I could lip-read two Sorbonne students arguing heatedly on who'd actually coined the trick line "I think, therefore I am". (Not Michel Platini. He's way too short for such complex thinking).
Notre Dame was an architectural tour de force. I'm sure its overwhelming presence, intricate design and ostentatious facade had deeply inspired and driven many artists, photographers and story tellers, but it remains very much a minimalist's bad dream. No entrance fee here, probably the reason for the endless queue to get inside. But after a dose of dark castle yesterday, we're in no mood for more ghosts.
 |
| The biggest bookstore in Paris |
 |
| Found my toilet. It's called Cartier here. |
A Princely Pee on Champs-Elysees (9 June, Saturday)
We parted after Notre Dame. I was left with wife, Aida, Sarah and three Paris maps. Asrif and Azalia were still jostling with the hippies at Shakespeare and Company. Fadli and Siti were probably rushing through all one hundred museums in Paris. We took the Metro from Les Halles exiting right before Arc de Triomphe, another Paris landmark, where Champs-Elysees begins. Champs-Elysees just blew away everything before it. It's an oversize, tree-lined thoroughfare littered with all the famous upscale and luxury brands and cafes crawling with Qataris. There's a long queue of excitable Chinese and Japanese waiting to get into the Louis Vuitton flagship store, reminding me of a similar long queue at a rojak stall at SS15 in Subang Jaya. A mamak and a French, but same marketing ploy.
My 59-year old bladder was hitting the tipping point and I'd to find the toilets. One of the things I loved about Paris was its abundant public toilets, mostly clean and free, some with English-speaking attendants. But none in sight on Champs-Elysees. After a bit of frantic Harrison Ford-style running around, I finally I found one. Good news: it's open. Bad news: I'd to pay 2 Euro per pee or poop (RM 8). Good news: It's cheaper than any LV bag. Well, this is the country that gave us the term laissez-faire. Willing buyer, willing seller. It's probably my most expensive pee ever.
 |
| Shhhhh. That guy on the bench is Datuk Shake |
 |
| Flop market |
Puces St Ouen (10 June, Sunday)
Don't come here. It's the biggest flea market in Paris and our biggest flop in Paris. It's overrun with West African traders, probably illegal, selling fake China-made shirts and shoes. If you had to go to a street market, don't go to Paris. Go to Shah Alam Stadium on Sunday morning, or better still, to Kota Bharu for its bundle outlets and night market at Wakaf Che Yeh.
 |
| Actually I can jump higher if I see Katy Perry |
Eiffel Tower (10 June, Sunday)
Finally the inevitable: we came face to face with the face of Paris, La Tour Eiffel. From afar you'd easily fall for its stylish and symmetrical lines, but as you close in, you'd mistake it for a mass of unfinished steelwork. Built 120 years ago, Eiffel Tower is both an eternal engineering triumph and a powerful cultural statement, not to mention a lucrative financial statement from ticket sales. As a way of expressing our own artistic and cultural instincts, we had a small picnic on the bank of the Seine, just across the Eiffel Tower. Nothing grand, just an Algerian grilled chicken (bought at St Ouen), potato chips, chocolate and, of course, mineral water. Fadli and Siti were safely with us. We're not sure where Asrif and Azalia were, but I'd bet my last Euro that they're at the bloody Shakespeare and Company again.
 |
| Showing off our culture |
Walking the Quai, Eiffel to Louvre (10 June, Sunday)
We lost Fadli and Siti among the thick crowd and long lines at the foot of the Eiffel. They're off to secretly finish their 100-museum tour. So we decided (actually I decided) to walk to the Louvre, the home of Mona Lisa. From the map, it looked like a leisurely 1 km walk along the panoramic quai (footpath along the left bank) of the Seine. Clearly my eyes were failing. It's actually 3.9 km, and my old Timberland broke. But it's well worth it. Paris is best enjoyed on foot, and true enough. The right-bank view from the quai was simply stunning, with rows of period buildings, monuments, galleries, boulevards, monuments again, trees and gardens, arch bridges and VSB (very slow boats, got you). It's Paris on song. Would I be passing this way again?
It's already late when we reached the Louvre. Along the way it's a feast for the eyes, with picture-perfect Pont Alexandre III bridge, laid-back Tuileries Garden and elegant Place de la Concorde the standouts. I counted no less than five museums in between, and we even sneaked into one of them (named Petit Palais), just for the hell of it. I can tell you now that it had lots and lots of old stuff (it's a museum, what do you expect?). And, before I forget, it had ultra-modern toilets.
 |
| River, boats, men doing nothing. This must be Kota Bharu. |
 |
| Done 2 km. 2 km to go. Give me Additional Maths, please |
Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves (10 June , Sunday)
Paris is a city for perennial lovers, and occasional pickpockets. We knew this well. The Metro station near Louvre was terribly crowded with people rushing out after viewing live Mona Lisa (painting), and discovering that Da Vinci Code was part of a football betting ring. As the train pulled in, we moved on with the crowd, and a group of two young boys and two girls suddenly appeared. They squeezed and hustled us in. In the thick of things, wife suddenly realised that one of them was dipping into her handbag. She started, and the thieves quickly got off. Nothing was taken, maybe nothing worth taking. As the train was speeding away, I had a good look at the boys: sharp dress, black hair, pink face with a permanent smirk. Somehow we're not too upset. "We'll live" I assured Aida and Sarah. We'd had two break-ins and two MCA-DAP debates in two years, pickpockets didn't scare us.
 |
| Waiting for gypsies? |
The Annick Goutal Girl at Galeries Lafayette (11 June, Monday).
Ah, it's just me and wife in Paris. Everybody else was off to Disney. With a combined age of over 110 years, we're definitely too old for Disney. Well, we're too old for anything. So, today's free and easy for us, but locking up in Etap wasn't an option. Lucky thing we'd something in common: I'm crazy about Manchester City, the most famous football champions, and she's crazy about Annick Goutal, an almost-famous French perfume. (See, we're both crazy). You can get Annick Goutal any day at Pavilion or KLCC, problem is there's no way of knowing whether it's a girl or a boy at the counter, if you know what I mean. Let's get Annick Goutal in Paris then, and the sure place was Galeries Lafayette, the doyenne of all department stores.
After yesterday's mayhem on Metro, wife's now all game for the gypsies: she'd stuffed her bag with tons of toilet rolls and panty liners. It's a 20-minute Metro from our Laumiere station to Chausee d'Antin La Fayette, the station for both Galeries Lafayette and its competitor-from-hell Printemps. It's a smooth, gypsy-free ride. Galeries Lafayette was big. I mean big, like three five-floor blocks of it. Stepping in, we're instantly overcome by the opulent and ornate atmosphere. Further inside, this sense of grandeur was somewhat sullied by the sight of long lines of horny Chinese at LV and Longchamps boutiques. Same rojak trick here. After a short swing, we found Annick Goutal, and immediately got down to business, chatting away with the girl at the counter. Yes, a girl, we're sure of this. And very pretty, too, mixed French Vietnamese, named Marianne, pronounced Maghian, with soft g. How about that. She's planning to visit Vietnam and might stop over in Malaysia or Singapore. We wrote our home address and phone so that she woudn't waste money on shady hotels in Pudu area. (No gimmick, we're sincere). And the perfume, it's cheaper than Pavilion, so we'd no reason not to buy. Wrapping up our purchase, she quietly pulled out another 100 ml bottle, packed it all together, and pressed it into our hands. Her gift. We simply ran out of words.
 |
| Empty streets sans mat rempits, just like Subang Jaya at 2 am. |
In Praise of Paris (11 June, Monday)
The rues (streets) connecting Galeries Lafayette, Opera, place de la Madeleine and place Vendome is a traveler's delight, even for a pathological currency converter like us. Ambling along, we're swamped by an eclectic array of expressive buildings, structures, monuments. The lovely boutiques and crowded cafes and, of course, the French and Parisians going about their business. And no skyscrapers or twin towers to intimidate you. So rich, so vibrant, so cultured, it's hard to believe that DSK was born and brought up here. We're just happy to hang about, savouring the splendid sights and scenes panning out before us, and drawing some sense of perspective at every turn. Paris, decidedly, is not Kota Bharu of the West.
 |
| We can confirm now that hunchback was a hoax |
 |
| Without lalang, our garden back home would look like this |
Au Revoir (12 June, Tuesday)
Aida, Sarah, Asrif, Azalia, Fadli and Siti were still buzzing with Disneyland. It cost them an arm and a leg, but what the hell. It's time to leave Paris and conclude this journey of romance and love (ha ha ha). We knew we'd not seen all of Paris. I'd yet to see the other 99 museums. We left Etap at 8.00 and reached CDG with plenty of time for our MH 021 flight at 12.30. There's still one final bit of business just before flying off: I bought a 360 gm fromage de France. French cheese.
 |
| Sarah shouting: Ayah, are we walking back to Subang Jaya? |
 |
| Our bags are 50% lighter without sambal ikan bilis |
 |
| All Set For Next Trip..........Lahad Datu |
