"Bonjour, Mesdames, Messieurs. Welcome to the execution, pardon, the excursion aboard Paris Vision this evening." Our guide, dressed in a chic little black number, had a voice as gravelly as the songbird, Edith Piaf. Waving her microphone around like a baton from her podium atop the open-top bus, she proceeded to enlighten her attentive audience about her beloved city, Paree, the City of Light. Rudely, the bus engine roared below and our petite guide disappeared as quickly as a fireman down a greasy pole. Having secured a back seat, I gazed at our fellow passengers. We were indeed a motley crew under a sea of baseball caps, Panama and Tilley hats. It was easy to spot the honeymoon couples held together by magnetic force, a flotilla of jetlagged retirees who looked like they needed a retread and a contingent of Japanese tourists who were intent on filming everything alien.

Our tour was almost surrealistic as the pages of our Eyewitness guidebook unfolded before our very eyes. Our bus wove its way along the expansive Champs-Elysees, skirted the Place de la Concorde, the Madeleine, the gilt-encrusted Opera House and around the imposing edifice of the Louvre. Amidst the architectural wonders, Parisian life throbbed below us. At Café Rue, a waiter with panache attended his patrons who were enjoying a leisurely aperitif while conversing on their cell phones. Air Algeria, Tunisian Airlines and the Tourism Office of Morocco, half of which was boarded up, lined the business area. Street sweepers attired in bright green outfits worked diligently to keep the refuse at bay. We drove past the Ritz which is the most luxurious hotel in Paris and minutes later, the tunnel where Diana, Princess of Wales died in August 1997.

As the sun began to set and a mauve canopy covered the city, our bus took us to Pont de l’Alma where we boarded a Bateau Mouche for a cruise along the River Seine. These gigantic glass-covered barges are especially popular for evening cruises when the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, bridges and many other sights are beautifully illuminated.

It was late evening by the time we returned to our point of departure at the base of the sparkling Eiffel Tower so we headed for the nearest Metro station. This was easier said than done especially as it was now dark and our Paris map did not highlight stations. Eventually, I found an underground entrance and fortunately my husband stopped me in the nick of time as I was about to walk down the steps to the public toilets. We contemplated getting a taxi, but the line-ups were enormous and we were tired. At last we located a station but as we approached the unoccupied subterranean platform, I had a very eerie feeling. After all, I had read many travel books warning against such predicaments. As I willed a train to come out of the dark tunnel, five burly young men wearing blue T-shirts charged past us with a mean-looking muzzled dog. Members of the rail police, they were obviously chasing someone who was not one of Napoleon’s long lost cousins. Our ten-minute train journey back to the Grands Boulevards station was welcome despite the fact I found myself sitting opposite a nit-infested street lady who smelled like a sewer.

The next morning dawned bright and beautiful and the nightmare of the previous night was washed away in my pleasant dreams. In the Hotel d’Espagne, our French windows opened onto a peaceful enclave which partitioned us from the noisy Paris streets. Having partaken of our simple petit dejeuner, we decided to take one of the hop on-hop off L’Open Tours. Our choice included three different circular routes – the Paris grand tour, the Notre-Dame and Bastille area, or Montmartre.

Once outside our courtyard, we waded our way through the breakfast melee congregating around the local creperie. Crepes as large as Frisbees were stacked up like pillars. Favorite fillings were Nutella, chestnut & honey, tuna, sausage and rum/Cointreau. The French tote around baguettes in the same fashion the English carry folded umbrellas and as we maneuvered through the early crowds, we felt rather like a salmon swimming upstream. The yellow and turquoise L’Open Tour bus stops were easy to locate, as were the buses of the same color. Montmartre with its Bohemian atmosphere was interesting and the funicular trip up to the Sacre-Coeur basilica afforded us a spectacular view over the city. Unfortunately the church was undergoing major renovations during our visit so it was impossible to appreciate the interior beauty through clouds of plaster and the earsplitting pneumatic drills. A little footsore, we whiled away the rest of the day enjoying the sights from our eerie on top of the bus.

On our last full day, prompted by travel tales by author, Rick Steves, we decided to visit his favorite street, rue Cler. A pedestrian-only street, this was a relaxing place to wander among the locals. In the perfumery, I found myself standing next to a well-behaved coifed poodle. The gift shop sold exquisitely packaged presents for first communion and weddings. I dallied at La Fromagerie admiring the miniature pucks of moldy goat cheese and large rounds of Gouda from the Pyrenees. Outside La Boucherie, I momentarily thought I had bumped into a member of the Ku Klux Klan but it was the local butcher wearing a long hooded garment as he shouldered carcasses from the abattoir. At the fish market, giant oysters, prawns, clams, octopus, anchovies and sardines from Brittany were on display. Flats of fragrant lavender from Provence were being unloaded at the florists. After all this window shopping, we joined the locals and sat down at the Café Brasserie to enjoy an almond croissant and a café crème. In my book, this was definitely the best way to savor the City of Light.

Travel tips:

We tagged a Europe AirPass on to our transatlantic flight and booked our 3-night hotel package through British Airways Tel.1-800-AIRWAYS or www.britishairways.ca

© Caroline M. Jackson, Travel Writer

Caroline Jackson has wielded her pen in pursuit of travel adventure in many lands. Whether swashbuckling through the jungles of Thailand atop an elephant, riding a camel across Australia’s brick-red Outback, exploring the icy Swiss Alps or steaming like a clam in a Finnish sauna, it has been a privilege to share each experience with her Canadian and overseas readers. She has also worked as an editor, contributed to radio travel shows and taught travel writing courses.

Hailing originally from Scotland, she particularly enjoys writing about various pockets of the UK and loves to weave threads of humor into her writing tapestry. Usually she travels in the company of her husband, Hamish, who brandishes a weighty camera when confronted by anything moving or scenic

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