Sitting on yet another French train a week after leaving Paris has given me the opportunity to digest and write about my whirlwind visit to the French capital and surrounding countryside. By any measure Paris is a fantastic place and one that should be on your list of things to see before you die. 

But my visit also raised some particular thoughts that might be of some use should you venture into this amazing city.

In no particular order here they are:

Bicycles ....of .....DEATH!

The French drive on the right, or wrong depending on your point of view, side of the road. As a result you have to train yourself to look for traffic coming in the opposite direction from what you expect. This you do quickly. Usually one or two near death experiences is all it takes to make the lesson sink in.

But the pushbikes all travel in the other direction. I was killed and nearly killed multiple times by mad French cyclists before I developed that sixth sense that told me when to look bike! You get no help from the locals who don't use their bell or sing out a warning. The attractive women riding the 'cute basket on the front' bikes are the most dangerous.

Je suis Australian

I lost count of the number of people who told me to make sure the French knew I was an Australian. "They hate the English" I was told. Apparently I could be yelled at, have my food spat in and be generally cold shouldered unless I made sure I was from the land of the diggers.

There are a few problems with this piece of sage advice. Firstly it mostly came from people who had not been to France. Secondly French people love their food, it is at the heart of their culture. They would never spit in it, not even to get back at the English. In fact I was told that the French don't hate all Poms, just some of them. Like us really.

Lastly, and most disturbingly, the average French person cannot tell the difference between an Australian and a Pom from the accent. Mostly they say "Oh you are Australian" only after looking at your passport.  You have to talk in a very broad accent before they will correctly identify your country of origin. This means that, to the French, bogans are more authentic Australians than the rest of us. Think on that for a moment.

Speak the lingo mate

The other consistent piece of pre-travel advice was to make the effort to try speaking French. "This will really be appreciated" I was told. This is good advice and should be followed. When all the planets align and I am at the top of my game my French is halting, grammatically incorrect and delivered in a weird accent. However people did appreciate my efforts and some even became helpful.

I didn't know whether to be pleased or slightly disappointed when, after having managed to spit out a reasonably coherent sentence, the object of my eloquence said "would you like me to speak English?".

It was more fun but a bit frightening when the response to my francais was a rapid stream of wonderfully sounding but indecipherable French. At this point the only thing to do is to grin like a loon and nod your head. The direction doesn't matter, just nod and grin, nod and grin.

Where's the greenery?

France has a long and proud agricultural tradition. Their farmers are famous for loud and prolonged protests if the government does things they don't like. Travelling on the train you pass seemingly endless fields of corn and other crops. So how come these vegetables don't appear on the plates in restaurants?

If you order duck with potato, that's what you get. A piece of duck on a spud. Nothing else. The duck and spud are cooked wonderfully well but how about just the odd carrot or even a piece of broccoli?

Turns out you have to order these separately, assuming the restaurant has them. But even when there is the option of having some greenery it is still very simple. Ordered a 'salade de saison' which turned out to be iceberg lettuce and two slices of tomato.

However, you do get bread without asking and there doesn't seem to be a limit,  just keep saying "encore pan sil vous plais" until you explode.

Fashionistas

Quite by accident I stumbled into the aftermath of a fashion show. Walking along minding my own business when suddenly I was confronted by a wall of fashionistas and a gaggle of paparazzi. Old men with ponytails and leather shirts arm in arm with 6 foot skinny blonde girls in miniskirts as far as the eye could see. Normally I would have been impressed but there was something faintly off putting about seeing so many try-hards in one place.

It was like a scene from Zoolander what with all the posing and 'look at me' strolling. Someone told me later that the worst posers would have been fashion magazine editors. Real models won't pose unless someone pays them.

The French love fashion and frankly they all look pretty good. There's no doubt that they go to a bit of trouble and it's one way to pick the tourists. Frankly we look rumpled and 'wash and wear'. Mind you it's not that hard to look like a local, simply add a scarf. People even put them on their dogs. Michelle put on a scarf one day and suddenly locals kept stopping her to ask directions!

If you read women's magazines, or have a partner who does, you'll know that French women are talked about in hushed tones and awe, 'they're all so elegant and slim'. This is mostly true. In Paris the only fat people I saw were tourists. I knew they were tourists because, aside from looking unfashionable, they were carrying maps. It was weird but I didn't see any fat locals until I got to Alsace. I said to Michelle 'I would sleep with 95% of the women in this city', for some reason she didn't find this witty and ironic observation funny.

How did they do that?

When you consider the millions of car loving people who live there, Paris is an amazingly well mannered and relatively quiet city. Many of the streets are narrow but the traffic seems to flow in an almost serene way. I was struck with how relaxed people were. Except for the bikes of death mentioned earlier, I didn't see any aggressive driving. Sure motorcycles, buses and cars all went through pedestrian crossings and the odd red light at speed, but not aggressively.

Repeatedly I saw cars stop in the middle of a street and a person jump out and go and do a bit of shopping. Apparently causing a multi block traffic jam is acceptable as long as you put your hazard lights on. This method also works for parking on corners, across driveways and in bus lanes.

Due to the layout of Paris small cars are king. So is the tetris style parking. Walking around I would exclaim "how the hell did they get that in there?" a lot. This is so amazing that watching parking should be on all the sightseeing itineraries. "On your left you'll see the Louvre in the Palais Royal home of the Mona Lisa ... and look there is Monsieur Thierry parking his Mercedes in a spot meant for a smart car, let's watch shall we? ...voila he's done! ... and if you'll just look to your right you'll see ..."

Walking the streets you would expect to see dents in every car in Paris, but no. Just like at home it's only the students and pensioner cars that look the worse for wear.

Alert not alarmed

There is a level of civility from the people in Paris that I didn't expect. "Pardon" is a word you will hear even if people barely brush you in the street. The Parisian has a reputation as arrogant and even rude but I didn't get that sense. Certainly they seem focussed on where they're going but this is common to people in all big cities.

Unlike some other big cities I have visited, I felt very safe. This might have something to do with the very visible police presence and army units patrolling the tourist sites and airports. Thanks to the Government's response to a terrorist threat all the pickpockets and aggressive street sellers had stayed at home. Only a civil libertarian would complain but the rest of us 'normals' were quite happy as we enjoyed our late night stroll along the Seine.

At this point, I have to say something about walking. Paris is a city designed for getting around on foot. There is so much to see and experience it's worth using the city's underground metro only rarely. But it is this treasure of art, architecture and smells that explains why no one walks at a pace even close to quick.

Amblers, Paris is your home. Try the Paris pace in Sydney and you'll have people crashing into your back and muttering 'pleasantries' as they push past.

"What about the dog poo!?"

Say you are going to Paris and immediately people will go on about the dogs. "There's dog poo everywhere!" they will exclaim. You get the impression Paris is awash in dog droppings. It's true that Parisians don't pick up after their dogs. This isn't because they don't understand the need or care about the mess. Carrying a little black plastic bad is simply not fashionable and that's the end of the argument.

However there is hardly any real mess. This is a cultured city after all and they employ lots of people who clean the streets. The chances of you stepping in dog droppings is less than at home. Dogs are welcome everywhere and as a result are used to being around people. Most of the dogs you see are of the little yappy type but in Paris they are all well behaved and quiet.

So what's the point?

Of this article, nothing. But Paris, well that's something else. Paris is a living example of the good in everyone. It shows humans at their best whether they be artists, architects, chefs or plain everyday people going about they daily lives. When you leave this incredible city you will feel many things, some positive and maybe some not but what you won't be is indifferent.

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