Paris (France)
17 SEP - 18 SEP 2014
I was lambasted, harangued,
taunted and humiliated for even considering to wear a pocket chief with my
trusty black blazer and resplendent jeans, let alone allowing to convince
myself that I could execute the fashion feet, which in turn meant that I had
directly placed myself in the firing line of whatever this now unforgiving
audience could conjure up. In hindsight it was over the top but I had allowed
myself a small indulgence of Parisian couture ahead of my midday escape. Hence
I honourably endured the well-mannered taunts of work colleagues that had
collectively changed the pronunciation of my name to ‘Henri’ for the entirety of the meeting. There are, admittedly, far
less unpleasant things than sitting in a team meeting, looking out over Sydney
harbour to north head and accepting the good natured jibes of your co-workers
for concocting one of the coolest surprises going around town at the moment.
Well, it was going to be the coolest surprise in this town only until about midday really, as I mentioned, I had a
3pm flight out of Sydney and into Paris via Abu Dhabi and Amsterdam in order to
execute my incomprehensible, and lets say it, ‘enigmatic’ surprise. And hence I
continued to stare, with eyes slightly
glazed, focusing on the path of a Manly ferry as it progressed from Vaucluse to
Circular Quay, cutting through the deep harbour blue, and thinking to myself,
this was going to be legendary!
Meeting room view - 'Say what you want guys, I'm focused elsewhere' - Federal Courts of Australia - Queens Square - Sydney
View from my desk, it's 'ok' - Federal Courts of Australia - Queens Square - Sydney
This idea was the resultant
distillate from the essence of several other trips that I had been in the midst
of planning in earlier months whose own identity and life I regretfully had to
relinquish due to the onset of reality, i.e., a full time job with little or no
scope for leave in its first few weeks! How can you not give a new starter in a
role leave immediately? Especially when the reason for leave was to go to the
Football World Cup!? I mean seriously, where’s the compassion? Where’s the
justice? Who’s running this Federal Court of ours?
Plans were felled, ruthlessly
chopped down by the brute force of reality. Reality then lent its own
requirements to my mind whereby I was finally able to construct an awesome
holiday from the ruins of all those that went before, with one simple catch, I
would not be involved in the execution of any of those plans, as in, the next holiday
benefit would have to be paid forward to some lucky recipient! The actual
benefit to me therefore? Good question…the benefit to me was allowing to place
myself into the role of travel agent for my parents and to send them to places
that they would never have arranged for themselves and never have dreamed
possible, for various reasons. One of those destinations was to be the City of
Lights, Paris.
Planning trips on behalf of other
people for me is easy. It usually starts with one great idea. On this occasion
it was this, ‘They have to have dinner at
Jules Verne’. For those that don’t know, Jules Verne is a Michelin start
awarded restaurant located on the 2nd floor of the Eiffel Tower.
It’s somewhere that I’ve always wanted to go and it was the first thing that
came to mind when constructing the ‘epic
Parisian’ four day get away for them.
Inspired by the thought of dinner
at Jules Verne I then crafted an itinerary like a feverish Ebola victim, manic,
careless, brutally unkind to my own well-being (financially), I settled upon
the following plan. Let me roll it out for you now, because I know it like the
back of my hand;
Thursday 18th of
September - Depart Belgrade 06:00 – Arrive: Paris 09:15 – Airport pick-up and
drive to the apartment on Rue de La Harpe in the Latin Quarter – (afternoon at
leisure) – (evening – dinner at Le Restaurant @ Le Hotel)
Friday 19th of
September – (Morning – tour of the Eiffel Tower), (afternoon – Bus tour of
Paris), (evening – Seine dinner/river cruise)
Saturday 20th of
September – (morning – Louvre museum tour), (afternoon at leisure), (evening –
Moulin Rouge dinner/show)
Sunday 21st of
September - (morning – walk of Montmartre),
(afternoon at leisure), (evening – dinner at Jules Verne restaurant)
Monday 22nd of
September – Depart: Paris 10:10am – Arrive: Belgrade: 12:35am
The itinerary was crafted in my
mind over weeks, figuring out how many iconic places and sights I could cram
into the four day period, each time wondering ‘What could I do that tops that?’, ‘What would they really remember?’… then that last
question somehow stuck with me, ‘What
WOULD they really REMEMBER?…’. All these places and sights were great but I
know in myself it’s the placing of a fantastic, unexpected moment in a specific
location that makes that moment truly unforgettable, and then I had my inspired
moment, what if, without telling them, I
flew to Paris whilst they were there and perhaps ‘casually’ ran into them
somewhere…actually,what if, knowing their itinerary I just ‘happened’ to stroll
on in whilst they were having dinner at one of the venues I had organised for
them!? What kind of freakin’
surprise would that be!? There would be no way in hell that they would see that coming!! Now that’s the type of
idea that deserves to earn the title of being capital of the land of EPIC! The
idea then planted itself so firmly in my mind that from the moment I thought it
that until when it happened there was not one single second when I thought of changing it, or of doing something different
or forgetting about it, it was ON!
As I sat on a shiny plain white
table near departure gate #18 at Sydneys’ Charles Kingford Smith airport,
looking onto the main runway, I thought of all the various components that went
into planning this jaunt, but mostly I thought of the complete looks of dismay
that I was going to inevitably receive from pulling off a stunt of this
magnitude. Sitting there in my own headspace and mulling it over for a little while I heard the boarding
call for Flight KL3937 to Abu Dhabi. I
looked at my newly acquired mate ‘Oz’ who’d also taken up residence with me on
this glossy table and thought ‘Ok, now it’s
definitely on…lets go and do this’!!!
12 kms above the Indian Ocean - Etihad flight to Abu Dhabi
Etihad flight to Abu Dhabi
The flight to Paris was
relatively uneventful, with stops in Abu Dhabi and Amsterdam. It was only when
I arrived in Paris that the trouble that I intuitively felt was coming with
several luggage handovers actually eventuated. There in the arrivals hall was
my name, printed in dark blue on the electronic boards, HENRY ELISHER – KL1229
- AMSTERDAM – TO BAGGAGE SERVICES. Ahhhh
DAMN IT!!!! I knew what that meant! I knew before departing Sydney that this was going to happen, so
confident was I of this scenario that I actually tried to negate the issue by
ONLY having carry-on luggage! The problem with that plan however was that my
carry-on luggage came in a few kilos overweight and I therefore had to check it in. I remember in
Sydney, watching my back track away down the conveyer belt thinking, ‘I hope we meet again’, and yet here I
was nearly 24hrs later, at Charles de Gaulle airport, standing in queue at
Baggage Services, waiting for the inevitable news that some bright spark
baggage handlers in Amsterdam had hit the ‘wacky tobacky cafes’ pretty hard the
night before and had sent my bag on a cargo flight to Nigeria. Expected time of
return, NEVER!!
Home of KLM - Schipol Airport - Amsterdam - Netherlands
Now this is how you get to a first date, you fly in - Schipol Airport - Amsterdam - Netherlands
Now to deal with the hassles of having
no luggage. Actually, more like the hassles of having to deal with a first date
in Paris with no luggage, no toiletries, no anything! I did still however have
my trusty Boss suit in tow, at least that was something of a suitable default. Now my head was filling with disjointed thoughts
of newly formed requirements drawn from
this base of small misfortune, thoughts such as ‘damn, need to buy a new phone charger asap’ and ‘what’s my signature scent going to be
now???’, making appearances in my head as I sped south on the RER from CDG
to my stop of St.Michel/Notre Dame. Usually, may I say, situations such as
these this irritate the living daylights out of me, but I’m not sure whether
it’s my more ‘mature’ age or whether it was the situation as a whole, but
mostly the issue of my lost bag was met with an internal ‘c’est la vie’. I was
in Paris now and I had some big days planned no matter what.
Exiting at St.Michel/Notre Dame station I surfaced in
the heart of the Latin Quarter and immediately I remembered why I love Paris so
much. There’s such a charm, elegance and sophistication that you can’t find
anywhere else. It’s the epitome of what ‘being European’ is but in a distinctly
French way, and therefore for me it’s a city that I am very much fond of.
Making my way down to Quai de Montebello on a magnificently bright, warm day, I
saw Notre Dame come into view as I crossed the square Rene Viviani, reminding
myself of scenes out of the move Before
Sunset where the main characters, Jesse & Celine walk the same road up
from Shakespeares’ bookstore in the opening scenes.
Notre Dame from square Rene Viviani - Paris - France
Notre Dame - Paris - France
My home for the next few days was to be an
open and bright apartment on Quai de Montebello which had an unbeatable aspect
straight over the Seine and onto Notre Dame, yeah I though, this is working for me…this is alright. The sun
just appeared to be that much brighter today and given that the forecast for these
days in Paris had provided the forlorn hope of ‘rain, cloud, late thunderstorms’ for each day, then this sunshine
seemed to me to be the justified trade-off for my bag remaining in perpetual
transit.
View from the apartment - 19 Quai de Montebello - Paris - France
My early afternoon was fairly
mundane to be fair. Running around to locate an iPhone charger at an FNAC near
Chatellete/Le Halles, undertaking toiletry shopping in the Latin Quarter and acquiring
a bottle of red wine along with the consumption of a red wine chaser on the Rue
Saint-Jacques. It was all very grounding, setting the scene for what would eventually
be the coupe de grace at Le Restaurant that evening.
The decision of having dinner at
the restaurant of L’Hotel was made in part by recommendations from Tripadvisor
and part from the memories I had of watching one of my first ‘No Reservations’
shows on the travel channel. Actually, it was from the same show that the
wonderful world of Chez Robert et Louise was brought to my attention also, the
restaurant that currently owns the title of ‘…What Henry Elishers’ last meal would be..if ever he was required to
have a last meal because he ended up on death row for being overtly stupid’.
As the late afternoon sun lit the
rooftops of the French capital and they were soaked in their various burnt
orange afternoon hues, I left the apartment, suited, booted and donning a pair
of newly acquired Ray Bans, I felt uncharacteristically cool. I mean how many
times do you fly across the world, get dressed up and walk into a restaurant
with the notion of surprising someone in this manner? If your answer to that
question was zero, then you’re wrong, you get one chance, and that’s why with
this one chance I wanted to make sure that I got as close to perfect as
possible
Walking into L’Hotel I felt
enlivened, this moment was going to make a bold entry into the ‘memory charts’
and knock a few of the favourites by the wayside. By the time I had walked from
the apartment to the hotel I had given myself about 30 mins of certain space prior
to their arrival. My game plan was to wait at an open and visible table in the
L’Hotel bar, which in fact you had to pass through to get to the restaurant in
any case, and just watch the realisation of what was happening hit them
squarely in the face like a sledgehammer. I ordered up a St.Germain sour from
the bar, took my seat ringside and waited
for the show to commence, all the while fielding texts from all over the world
wanting to be provided with a blow by blow account of what was happening. I
think half the time I spent in the bar was replying to texts message of people
that were nearly as eager as was I was to find out how this would play out!
Le Bar @ L'Hotel - doesn't it just sound better in French!? If you said 'The Bar at The Hotel' in English you would sound like a tool! - Paris - France
Waiting for impact with a St.Germain Sour - Le Bar @ L'Hotel - 13 Rue de Beaux Artes - St.Germain - Paris - France
As the minutes ticked down and passed
into overtime my brain started to play tricks on me. I questioned whether I had
the right date, the correct address, whether they may have had any reason to
have cancelled this dinner. I had well and truly rounded my second St.Germain
sour and had set my sights upon a third when I saw the familiar style of
movement of my parents as they entered the bar. No we were close, the moment of
impact was nigh! When I say style of
movement I mean that I recognise how these guys move when they enter an
unknown place, there always appears to be an air of confusion, turning around,
looking for seats, pointing at vacant tables, it’s always a production of
indecision and hesitation. I knew this would happen. Which is exactly why I had
selected a table that could be easily seen. I also knew that they wouldn’t
‘see’ me as such, that even if they saw a person sitting at a table their brain
would not comprehend that it was me in this distinctly unfamiliar location. It
was in those few seconds of their confusion that I realised just how cool an
experience this was, and as my mum spun on her heal looking for a vacant seat
she turned in my general direction;
‘You can join me if you’d like’ – saying it to the both of them as
they constructed their dance of disorientation.
As my mum picked up on a familiar
voice and looked straight at me I pointed at the two vacant seats at my table
and said again;
‘Sit here if you’d like’
I saw her facial expression
change and then I saw it, the realisation of what was going on just hit home
and now this was the instant that I had planned months for!
Looking squarely at me she just
repeated ‘You’re not normal, you’re just
not normal’.
My dad, being a second or two
behind the game connected fully and just started shaking his head, ‘Unbelievable…unbelievable…but you know what,
I knew it, I knew that you might do something like this. I even said it to
Tanja and Vladimir the other night…’
'...You're not normal Henry'...'I know :)' - The 'gotcha' face - Le Bar @ L'Hotel - Paris - France
Gotcha too! Dad just before he told us that he 'knew something was fishy' - Le Bar @ L'Hotel - Paris - France
I just laughed out aloud, not in
that fake ‘lol’ sense but in the actual, laughing out loud’ sense. Their
reactions, but more so their expressions were absolutely priceless. Then came the inevitable 101 questions on how
long I’d been planning this? How did it come into my head ? Why they were
running late? How long had I been waiting? What was the weather like in Sydney?
What was the weather like anywhere…?? But just those reactions and that
conversation made it all worth the effort that I’d put in over the months prior
to that.
The dinner at Le Restaurant was
fantastic! A wonderful 7 course meal organised by the chef with wines to
accompany every 2 courses. All of us
now, running on that excitement high probably chatted too loudly and a little
over animatedly regarding what had just transpired but in all honesty we didn’t
care. For me it was one of just one of those times when you can just sit back,
enjoy the moment and say to yourself, ‘Well
played sir, well played’.
The 3-4 hours that we spent at Le
Restaurant came and went all too quickly. The setting itself was charming and
elegant without being pretentious, and whole moment was as close as I could
have imagined it being to the one that I had planned out in my minds’ eye all
that time ago.
Dinner at Le Restaurant - L'Hotel - 13 Rue de Beaux Artes - St.Germain - Paris - France
As the evening wound to a close
and with several glasses of wine massaging our mindsets, we stepped out of Le
Restaurant onto Rue de Beaux Artes and the unfamiliar streets of Paris. Piling
into a cab we took the short ride back to Rue de la Harpe, watching the
changing colours of the neon night as we sailed through St.Germain and into the
Latin Quarter, all three of us sedately quiet, taking in our own impressions
and processing all that had gone before.
Entering their apartment on Rue
de la Harpe we just sat and chatted for a while, discussing the logistics of
what and how I had organised things, and listened to dad as he again repeated
his ‘premonition’. It was a night for
making bright and fantastic memories, and how fortunate that the City of Lights
should lend us her backdrop to utilise as we pleased for one evening.
Apartment view from parents place - 42 Rue de la Harpe - Latin Quarter - Paris - Frane
As I left their apartment and walked the few
mins back to mine on Quai de Montebello I felt extremely fortunate. Not many
people get a chance to do this let alone think about doing it. This now was
something I was going to carry with me always, and whether I’m normal or not,
something which shouldn’t be debated (because I’m not), the final result was
the three smiles and three separate memories that this idea created, and that’s
alright with me.
