Chapter 21: Naives in Paris

Rosemary and Ian Richardson's visit in 1969

As Paris is one of the most popular cities in the world, I hesitated to post these experiences from August 1969 because subscribers might find little that is revealing. However, those who have more recent stays in the French capital, might discover interesting changes that have taken place in the past 55 years.

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We set out at 11.15am for the British United Airways terminal at Victoria Station in the heart of London where we joined a train for Gatwick Airport, which is about 25 miles south of London. There we boarded a propeller-driven Viscount for Le Touquet. The plane flew across the English Channel at just 3,000 feet, so we had a good view of everything. Because it was not pressurised at such a low height, and the air circulation system was not working, the plane was almost unbearably sticky inside.

At Le Touquet, we walked about 100 yards to a two-carriage diesel train. It was very smooth and fast and did the trip of about 140 miles in two hours.

The train trip was interesting, cutting first through a canal area, complete with barges, then through grain farms, and finally through market gardens. The weather progressively improved as we neared Paris, but as our taxi pulled up outside our hotel at about 5.30pm there was a torrential downpour, which fortunately did not last too long.

Our accommodation, the Hotel Arvor, was in a little street straight out of the TV series Maigret. The narrow pavement was cobbled and most of the buildings were painted white with shutters that swung over the windows. It was on the southern fringes of Montmartre and within easy walking distance of the Moulin Rouge.

Our room was quite comfortable and spacious. It did not have a bathroom, but there was a partitioned section with a basin, a toilet pan and a bidet. A word about the lift: In our travels we have seen some strange mechanical wonders in hotels, but this one was unlike any we had seen. According to the sign, it had a capacity of three persons, but this was a considerable exaggeration. It was  awkward enough for one person to use, difficult for two persons, and (we would say) impossible for three persons. And for some reason, it refused to answer calls from anywhere but the ground floor.

Unfortunately, the only person in the hotel who could speak any English was Le Patron (the boss) who wasn’t there very often. So it was back to Comedy Charades. Being a refugee from Sheila Hernan’s French class at the Charlton Higher Elementary School, my French was near useless. Rosemary couldn’t help either because she managed to skip French altogether while at school. Nevertheless, I was surprised to discover how much of my schooldays French came back to me as time progressed. I found it fairly easy to make sense of French-language signs, but I had some trouble with spoken French. In fact “some trouble” is an under statement. But more about that later.

After settling in at the hotel, we went for a stroll. Our first important lesson was that when crossing the road we should look to the left instead of the right because all vehicles travel on the right-hand side of the road. Countless times we were nearly skittled. First stop was a pleasant little sidewalk cafe around the corner from the hotel for a much-needed beer. We were delighted to find the beer a great improvement on the English offerings and much closer to Australian-type beer. It was our first purchase with the French “play money”. President Pompidou had kindly devalued the Franc for us, giving us 13 francs to the Pound. This made them worth about 15 cents Australian.

After a relaxed beer we strolled up to the Moulin Rouge for a look around. It is in a street of strip shows and cinemas with a real cosmopolitan atmosphere. In the little side streets there were numerous bars with “Hostesses on Demand”. The girls, showing plenty of thigh, sat just inside the doors while spruikers outside also did their bit to attract business.

There were some very interesting little food shops and some stalls selling rolls, pancakes and (of all things) hot dogs for about a Franc each. The hot dogs were excellent value. First a piece of French roll about nine inches long was pushed into a spike which had the two-fold purpose of heating the roll and putting a hole down the middle. Then the frankfurter was dipped in mustard and dropped into the hole. Tasty and quite filling.

We tried to get into the Moulin Rouge without any luck. So we spent an enjoyable couple of hours sipping drinks in a sidewalk cafe next door. Rosemary was taken with the wine that sold for about 1.50 Francs a large glass. It was pleasant watching the “sights” go by and relaxing. Once you’ve bought a drink the waiters leave you alone, no matter how long you take.

Finally, it was time to return to the hotel for a bath (which we had to pay for) and a good night’s sleep. Breakfast next day was Continental-style, i.e. a cup of tea or coffee and a couple of rolls. Having been forewarned, we brought with us from London some small tins of fruit, which we used to supplement the meagre fare.

We discovered that we had arrived in Paris on a holiday weekend and most of the streets were pretty quiet. First on the agenda was a bus tour of the city to familiarise ourselves with the sights worth spending extra time on.

We went to the tour office by Metro. The underground system is even more comprehensive than in London, but the trains themselves are a mixed bag. Some were modern and ran on rubber wheels, while others made Bendigo’s trams look positively futuristic. The ventilation was poor, unlike the London Underground, and we found it hot and musty. The atmosphere was very French with piano accordion players wheezing away in a number of stations.

The bus tour lasted about three hours and was comprehensive. We found the city clean -- if not cleaner than Moscow -- and very pretty. It is without doubt the most charming city we have visited. Of course, the tour was not without its clutch of ecstatic, camera-clicking Americans. The thought occurred to us that if Mr Kodak, wherever he might be, came back to earth to see how his company was going, he would, take great comfort from just five minutes with a group of American tourists. The average American tourist just does not seem to comprehend even the basics of camera technique. It made us wince to see the Yanks shooting still and movie shots at random from buses as they whipped along at 30 mph or more. We saw one twit taking scenic shots through the window of a moving bus -- with a flashlight.

After the bus tour we decided to see the city from the River Seine. We hopped aboard one of the many modern and comfortable tourist launches that ply their trade up and down the river. Not having got around to lunch, we decided on a snack from the launch’s automatic refrigerated food vending machine. We bought two cheese rolls, and from the taste of them they were made around the time of the Creation. Never mind.

The trip, lasting just under two hours, was most interesting and relaxing. The Seine is prettier than the Thames. Being inland, there are no docklands to spoil the horizon. However, there appeared to be an active trade carried on with barges.

After the river trip we walked up to the Arc de Triomphe. Getting to the monument involved risking life and limb crossing through the traffic whizzing around the circular pavement linking the spoke-like avenues. Rosemary opted out of climbing to the top, but muggins-me did so. The view isn’t as high as that from the Eiffel Tower, but it was worth the effort.

Exhaustion was rapidly moving in on us, so we strolled down the Champs Elysees to a Metro station and made our way back to the hotel. We tried once again to get into the Moulin Rouge, but no luck. So we retired to a self-service cafe nearby, then later to our favourite spot beside the Moulin Rouge for some more of that delightful French wine.

Back to our hotel for a bath and a good night’s sleep. The pillows, by the way, were of a type we’d not encountered before. They were sausage-like with long cases that tucked into the sides of the bed under the mattress. They were quite comfortable.

Earlier, I mentioned the lift in the hotel. So now a word about the toilet. It appeared to have been built as an afterthought in a broom cupboard. It was cramped to say the least and most inhibiting to a good wiping action.

Saturday turned out to be an overcast and rather dull day. First thing on the agenda was to buy some cheap but good wine to take home. A member of the hotel staff escorted me to a nearby wine shop and picked out a top-quality champagne (for our wedding anniversary) costing about 22/- and a bottle of red wine costing about 5/-.

Next was a visit to the Eiffel Tower. Rosemary was reluctant to go because it was too “touristy” but enjoyed herself when she got there. The view was great, even though it was rather hazy. From a distance, the tower looks rather small, but close up it is a giant, if somewhat ugly, structure. It’s a real clip-joint for souvenirs. They were of poor quality and over-priced to blazes. We didn’t buy any.

From the tower it was off to the Latin Quarter for lunch. And it was there that an embarrassing incident, caused by language problems, took place. We found a pleasant sidewalk cafe near the Sorbonne and made ourselves comfortable. When the waiter brought the menu it rapidly became clear that he neither understood any English nor my severely limited Bastard French. Ever adventurous, we tried to make ourselves understood. Three times the waiter took our order, and three times he went away muttering to himself. Finally, he ventured forth with our order — ham omelette for me and a plate of raw ham with half a gherkin for Rosemary.

As I hungrily consumed my lovely omelette, Rosemary made a brave attempt to eat her raw ham with the aid of a couple of rolls and some butter. And how eagerly she looked forward to her sweets. These, she rashly assumed, would be some sort of chocolate confection. Twice the waiter returned to check her order, then with a flourish he presented her with the “sweets” -- a tiny pot of strawberry jam! At this, Rosemary dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. As tears began rolling down her face, we left enough money to cover the bill and crept away. That poor waiter, no doubt, would be talking about us for years to come.

After that embarrassing incident, we strolled back across the river towards the Louvre, stopping for a beer on the way. We noticed that the women weren’t as well dressed as those in London. And very few women wore stockings. Whether this was a lack of fashion sense or something brought about by the high cost of stockings we did not discover.

By the time we reached the Louvre we were exhausted and not at all in the mood to appreciate the fine works of art. Still, seeing that we were there it seemed silly not to at least view the Venus De Milo and the Mona Lisa.

From the Louvre it was back to our favourite spot beside the Moulin Rouge for a rest, a drink and a bite to eat. It was there that Rosemary encountered her first Continental-style public toilet -- a shower recess sort of thing with slots for the feet. She wasn’t sure whether to squat over the hole in the middle — or what. Of course, many of the toilets in France are for both men and women. But the big disappointment for me was the inability to find a pissoire -- one of those open toilets in the streets. The thought of having a widdle in the street somehow appealed to my twisted sense of humour.

Time was ticking by, so we returned to our hotel to gather our goods for the trip home. And joy of joys (for Rosemary in particular) the taxi we ordered was one of those low-slung D-type Citroens. The driver was clearly in training for Le Mans. The trip to the railway station was swift and thrilling. I was tossed on top of Rosemary as we went around one corner.

The train trip back to Le Touquet was comfortable, quick and uneventful. At the duty-free shop at the airport, Rosemary bought some French perfume in an attractive Pressure-Pak bottle. It cost her 38/-, and she tells me it was a real bargain. On the plane trip -- this time made at only 2,000 feet -- we bought some booze (for ourselves) and some cigarettes for our friends. The booze (gin and brandy) cost 15/- a half bottle (compared with nearly 30/- in England). The cigarettes cost about 3/- a packet (compared with about 5/6).

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