France Paris 20th Anniversary

December 2014

My husband is an incredible gift giver. December marked our 20th anniversary and my birthday. He promised a surprise and I needled him for clues; he said it would be UK based. 7am the following dark December morning in a taxi, passing a black van to which Dave remarked “Do you think that van is filled with evil men?” (perplexed I noticed the number plate…666 MEN), we are driving to Kings Cross and I wondered aloud if we were heading to visit my Northern family. Thinking a few days spent with his mother-in-law for such a momentous occasion a unique if foolhardy excursion…when there we were, bags in hand, standing on the platform at St Pancras with the departure boards for Eurostar blinking above us. I think I might have shrieked. I was surprised given Dave’s antipathy towards Paris… but clarification came when he told me where we were staying; the magnificent Hotel Saint James Paris, the only Chateau within the city limits.

Greeted by concierge and led to the check-in desk where a fake black cat reclined convincingly and signed photographs of Robert DeNiro and the 14th Dalai Lama graced the wall behind….(“were they in bunk beds?” asked my friend Kate when I told her they’d stayed here). Passing two taxidermy zebra heads in the hall (they always look better in the wild) tumbling glittering stacks of chandeliers and up a sweeping staircase in a riot of black and white, leopard skin fabrics and towering red enamelled doors, we were shown to our room. My photos cannot do this feast of opulence credit…so I’ve nicked some from the hotel website.

Our trip coincided with the Olafur Eliasson immersive light exhibition at the Frank Gehry designed Louis Vuitton foundation. A 15 minute walk in the rain from the hotel through the park cawing with hundreds of crows and red squirrels digging in the soil. The Gehry building rises like an enormous curved silver fish above the trees at the park’s exit.

I’d seen Eliasson’s Weather Project twice at London’s Tate Modern several years ago. For this exhibition staff warn us that exhibits may “highlight feelings of disorientation and possible confusion”. Walls appear far away or non-existent but on inspection are mirrored; within reach when approached but move rhythmically when brushed by my fingertips creating an undulation which gently throws your depth awareness askew. A pitch black entrance with an upward sloping floor confuses your feet and sense of direction before you reach a softly glowing amber horizon which pulsates as it hypnotises. Disorientating but embracingly soothing.

After the exhibition and a cafe lunch of huge sandwiches we wander to the neighbourhood of Le Marais. Strolling along the Rue de Rosiers and Rue St Antoine in the old Jewish Quarter past the delis, bakeries and Eastern European Jewish restaurants. Wishing for an emptier stomach to be able to sample the enticing pastries in the windows. Old apartment buildings overlooking small squares and pretty independent boutiques; you are not far from the beautiful Places des Vosges which I remember from a business meeting years ago with a French music distributor. This is my favourite re-discovered area of Paris.

We hop on the metro back to the hotel… to relax, dress…me head to toe in black; pencil skirt and BIBA-esque blouse; feeling a little self conscious in our extravagant surroundings. We drink the gifted bottle of Tattinger champagne from the hotel, left in our room to celebrate our anniversary. Dinner at their in-house Michelin starred restaurant; forgoing earlier reservations elsewhere that would have meant heading out in to the cold and rain and Dave was going down with a heavy cold. Having stuffed our faces earlier in the day we skipped starters for the mains menu followed by a cheese board, attractively pungent to Dave, and a selection of Petit Fours. The waiter was lovely, the hotel and dining room staff refreshingly un-stuffy and humorous; and the resident (live cat) wandered around as we ate.

After a night of luxurious surroundings we checked out of the beautiful Hotel St James leaving our bags in lockers at the Eurostar station and set out walking for the day before our 6.45pm train back to London. Old favourites like the Sacre Coeur (Basilica of the Sacred Heart) where silver statues resemble molten mercury; curiously juxtaposed underneath the towering stone pillars and traditional statuary. The weathered carousel at the foot of its steps; both still have the capacity to romance even in a grey December.

We visit the sprawling Pere Lachaise Cemetery. Doors singer Jim Morrison is buried here, upheld as a poet as much as a songwriter…Paris a fitting place for him to have sadly died young and revered in a city of infamous poets. Graffiti arrows sprayed on graves lining the route to Morrison’s grave have been cleaned away…alleviating the distress of families with relatives buried here whilst simultaneously eradicating some of the mysticism that a young rock n’ roll death mythologises. Metal barriers are erected in front of Morrison’s headstone to prevent defacement; when I was last here in the early 90s you could walk right up to it, the much photographed graffitied bust of Morrison is now removed. Groups of damp youths are gathered tearfully at the barrier. Chopin’s grave is also here…’A. Fred Chopin’ carved in to his headstone.

Born naturally to sarcasm it was more fun for Dave to point out family tombs where he thought I could find my last resting place…I in turn picked one for him.

And so back home – to more birthday presents and a beautiful spray of white roses sent by my old friends Sandra and Tony on Vancouver Island in Canada. Inside the large white box was a hand molded life-size anatomically correct chocolate skull given to me by Dave; macabre and fantastic. No intention of ever eating it as it’s too beautiful a thing to destroy so I’m currently looking for an old Victorian display case to put it in.