Nous sommes a Paris!

"Would you like some leaves?" I said to Sandy as we sat eating our lunch on the Eurostar train from London to Paris. We were working our way through the brie baguette and plastic package of vegetable crudites, salad and hummus we'd bought from the bar carriage. "I didn't come to France to eat leaves," he said, which struck me as quite a good philosophy. I did point out that the French are known for their ways with composed salads, but I think it fell on deaf ears. Sandy was already thinking of all the parts of pig he'd be able to eat once we got to Paris.

So here we are, installed at the Hotel St Augustine, not far from the Boulevard Haussman (famous fashion retail street!) and near the Paris Opera and the Champs Elysee. Our room is teeny tiny, as expected - we have just enough room to scoot round the bed - but it is quite modern and stylish and the view from the windows really couldn't be anywhere else. I am quite excited. On the way to the hotel I even managed to have a semi-conversation with the cab driver, proving at least that not all the French I learned at school has deserted me. (Do you know, I got something ridiculous like 92% in Bursary French? It's such a shame that was nearly 20 years ago!)

As soon as we had unpacked as much as we could fit in the room, we headed out on to the street for a stroll. We went down to the Champs Elysee and while crossing the road through chaotic traffic, I got my first looks at L'Arc du Triomphe, shimmering above the misty grey street. Then we walked back up towards the hotel along the Boulevard Franklin Roosevelt, and stopped in a likely-looking cafe for a couple of glasses of wine and eventually a little dinner.

I love how the outside seats in French cafes all face the street. There's no pretense that you might actually be there to talk to the person you're with and have your back to the street. It's all about the people watching. We sat beside a guy with a beautiful dog; some sort of husky-ish thing, which sat patiently at the kerb while he showed his friend pictures of real estate on his laptop. A few tourists came in (they ordered croque monsieur - pah!) and a few locals. A woman wearing a beret and a trench-type coat (I know!) came and sat at a table beside us, but disappointingly she turned out to be a tourist, too. We decided she had her own version of the fantasy look she wanted for herself in Paris, just like my EuroNiki look. Sandy said her look was stuck in the 1950s, but I thought good on her for giving it a go.

The waiter seemed to understand what I was saying, although I wasn't 100% on what he said to me. About half way through the evening he started speaking English, which did make life easier. I ate a very good confit de canard (that's duck confit to you) with crispy fried potatoes and Sandy had a steak (cooked "saignant", that's rare - I was pleased to get that one right) and frites. I don't know, maybe it was the surroundings and just the fact that hey, we were in Paris; but this simple meal was more satisfying than many I have eaten in the last couple of weeks.

While we sat I saw more attractive, interesting, well-dressed people and about 90% fewer fat people than I saw in my entire time in the UK. That sounds very cliche-ish, and possibly a teeny bit snobbish, I know. But Parisiens truly do seem to be stylish and good looking more than they have a right to be. We told ourselves we fit right in.....