Parisienne Walkways
The journey on the Eurostar went without a hitch. The hotel was just a short walk from the Gare du Nord, there wasn't room to swing a cat in the rooms but the proprietor was very friendly and spoke good English - though I spoke in French the whole of our time in France.
Dad thought he'd lost his Kindle when we arrived at the Paris hotel and had to log into Amazon on my iPad to de-register it, before phoning the London hotel to ask if it had been seen.
Both evenings we went to eat around six - yesterday we went to the Buffalo Grill who did a very tasty half Kentucky style chicken - then moved on to a wonderful little bar opposite the station, Au Rendezvous des Belges, with a friendly host and an excellent selection of Trappist beers.
Tuesday we made our connections on the RER and out to Rouen with no problems and took the tram out to the nearest stop to the cemetery. It was a good mile's walk, but fortunately there was a supermarket along the way containing a florist's shop so we were able to buy a couple of white peace lilies.
The information sheet we had showed my great-grand-uncle's grave reference as 'P. V. L.' and a number so we were a bit thrown, when we reached P block, to find the rows were labelled P followed by a number then a letter. Meandering around, the thought hit each of us at the same time that the V might be a 5. From there we located our uncle's grave, paid our respects and laid the lilies.
Leaving the cemetery, I noticed that a sports stadium was next door. A sign told me it was a football ground, home of FC Rouen; Dad, knowing about my fondness for groundhopping, joked "If they're playing at home tonight you're staying out here on your own."
We faced our only travelling hitch of the whole trip on the way back to Paris as our train was held for 15 minutes somewhere in the suburbs; my French wasn't quite up to deciphering the announcer's rapid-fire explanation why. Walking from the Gare du Nord to the hotel Dad reckoned Patrice Evra passed us on the street. On the next pedestrian crossing, although the green man was showing two cars came around the corner, obliging us to run back to the centre. That evening in the Rendezvous des Belges, the Armenia v France friendly was on the big screen: Dad said "If Patrice Evra's playing, it wasn't him we passed earlier."
On the Eurostar back to London this morning Dad's phone rang. It was the London hotel - he'd left his Kindle on top of the rubbish bin in his room's bathroom. Detour there to collect it, then cab to Waterloo and train to Portsmouth.
Chilling at the parents' in front of the telly.
Dad thought he'd lost his Kindle when we arrived at the Paris hotel and had to log into Amazon on my iPad to de-register it, before phoning the London hotel to ask if it had been seen.
Both evenings we went to eat around six - yesterday we went to the Buffalo Grill who did a very tasty half Kentucky style chicken - then moved on to a wonderful little bar opposite the station, Au Rendezvous des Belges, with a friendly host and an excellent selection of Trappist beers.
Tuesday we made our connections on the RER and out to Rouen with no problems and took the tram out to the nearest stop to the cemetery. It was a good mile's walk, but fortunately there was a supermarket along the way containing a florist's shop so we were able to buy a couple of white peace lilies.
The information sheet we had showed my great-grand-uncle's grave reference as 'P. V. L.' and a number so we were a bit thrown, when we reached P block, to find the rows were labelled P followed by a number then a letter. Meandering around, the thought hit each of us at the same time that the V might be a 5. From there we located our uncle's grave, paid our respects and laid the lilies.
Leaving the cemetery, I noticed that a sports stadium was next door. A sign told me it was a football ground, home of FC Rouen; Dad, knowing about my fondness for groundhopping, joked "If they're playing at home tonight you're staying out here on your own."
We faced our only travelling hitch of the whole trip on the way back to Paris as our train was held for 15 minutes somewhere in the suburbs; my French wasn't quite up to deciphering the announcer's rapid-fire explanation why. Walking from the Gare du Nord to the hotel Dad reckoned Patrice Evra passed us on the street. On the next pedestrian crossing, although the green man was showing two cars came around the corner, obliging us to run back to the centre. That evening in the Rendezvous des Belges, the Armenia v France friendly was on the big screen: Dad said "If Patrice Evra's playing, it wasn't him we passed earlier."
On the Eurostar back to London this morning Dad's phone rang. It was the London hotel - he'd left his Kindle on top of the rubbish bin in his room's bathroom. Detour there to collect it, then cab to Waterloo and train to Portsmouth.
Chilling at the parents' in front of the telly.