France does not inspire me, it must be said. I think it must be connected to the fact that I'd spent so much of my school life chanting "Dans le weekend, J'ai visité La Rochelle" or "J'ai regardé la television". I also think that the fortnight I spent living in Dagneux, a town near Lyon, with a French family as part of a French Exchange added to my laissez-faire perception of France.
Paris was nevertheless a city I hadn't been to; it was among the various European destinations on the drop down menu of a number of no-frills airline websites operating out of the United Kingdom and, having already been to a fair few of the other destinations, Paris became the next - albeit rather by default. My expectations were lessened even further when the time drew closer for departure. Blackened clouds gathered ominously over the French capital; I prepared myself for an utter soaking. The epithet "The Capital of Love" didn't just seem incorrect in this context, but completely absurd. Armed with our padded winter coats and an umbrella we traipsed through the capital, stopping off for a warming coffee (the French are particularly good at serving up an awesome latte) and chocolate-drizzled waffles (somewhat of a culinary motif on "the continent"). Despite the rain our sightseeing achievements were fairly respectable all things considered; iconic Metropolitain signage, the famed red windmill of the Moulin Rouge, views of the River Seine, Notre Dame Cathedral, the Louvre, the L'Arc du Triomph (under which Hitler triumphantly marched his army), shopping on the Champs Elysees and the obligatory, if not thoroughly underwhelming, Eiffel Tower. I have always been of the opinion that the icon of France, the Eiffel Tower, must rank as one of the most-hyped and over-rated landmarks in world travel. I found it difficult to feel uplifted by its iron girders and bulbous rivets - and not just because the queue snaked around the corner for tickets to take the lift to the viewing platform which sits at the heart of the structure. The tower which helps to put France firmly on the travel map, even with its elevator, was not uplifting - metaphorically nor literally.
Like many of my earlier travels, my trip to France pre-dated digital photography; I entered the French capital with nothing more than a cheap 35mm camera and a roll of film in my back pocket. This explains the woeful and grainy images featured in this Chronicle. Perhaps I will head back to Paris to give the city a second chance - and photographically, I'll make sure I'm far better equipped. However, I may check the forecast before I book my flight...
