Monday 12th

Monday 12th July – World Cup Final.




I woke to the raucous shouts of six English guys on the platform of the RER below. I wanted to yell out the window – you’re the reason the French don’t like the English and neither do Australians, but I didn’t. I climbed out of bed and shut the double glazed windows and pulled the curtains. Instant silence – amazing! I glanced at the clock, 9am, way too early to be awake. An hour or so later I stirred, got up and made a Nespresso. Glen was still asleep. I looked out the kitchen window into the courtyard, it was drizzling outside. Time to check my emails and wake Glen. Glen groaned, told me he felt not so good and rolled over.



The smell of the patisserie lured me down the circular stairwell and around the corner… today a “Pain au chocolat” and a traditional baguette. I had time so I stopped at the café – ordered a coffee and felt somewhat Parisian sitting watching the people pass by. We each sat, 5 of us, at small tables, the man in the beret sipping his espresso glanced up only as pretty lady’s walked by, the couple at the end were deep to conversation, while the man beside me ate his omelette while reading “Le monde”. A sixth sat beside me smiled and said “Bonjour” I replied and she promply said, “Australia?” She was a teacher from Adelaide – in Paris on a school excursion but one of the teachers had had a heart attack and was in hospital down the road. She had stayed as she spoke French while the class went onto London. She was a jolly personality with a true Australian spirit. She suggested great places to go and things not to miss.



I returned to the apartment – Glen was still not feeling so good. I decided to wander to the Latin Quarter and look for some shoes and band-aids. It didn’t take long to succeed in my quest – yes some good Vanessa style heels to save her feet! My next mission was to find a traditional fondue restaurant. So I wandered through the narrow streets, trying to avoid the hawkers wanting me to come and eat but getting close enough to read the menus. Finally I asked a gentleman at a restaurant who, of course, assured me their menu was authentic! Mission accomplished – homeward bound – heels on saving my feet! The metro and back in two stops.



Glen was feeling a little better so we decided to find a place to watch the game. Back on the RER to Notre Dame – he wanted to find an Irish Pub. It should have great atmosphere. We enjoyed the cool breeze as the sun streamed down the streets. It was warm! Not a heat wave like at the signs kept telling us – not in Australian terms or should I say Adelaide terms! Glen was starting to get tired, still not 100% so was decided to head back to Port Royal. We had walked our mandatory number of steps for the day and definitely several kilometres. Now we were both exhausted. We sat on the lounge watching the final of the World Cup. I kept drifting to sleep and waking. I really wanted to see the full game – was it jet lag or was I getting a bug!

We succeeded in watching the winning kick! It was the conclusion to World Cup fever! No more regular 4am mornings for 4 years!



Wow that was a long winded 12th!