Some commentary:

1. I was younger and, apparently, crasser. Not much crasser, though.
2. I still don’t like Paris, but I would be less scathing about it in retrospect. It lacks a certain ambience that I look for in cities; a sense that it would continue to exist even if all the tourists went away. I’ve described it as a museum of a city and I stand by that.
3. I have lost my fear of mass transit.

I am not a well boy.

Its the end if my first calendar week abroad. I’m writing this from what is probably my favorite spot in Paris so far. It’s a little ledge on the river that runs around the Ile de Saint-Louis, and the reason why I like it is because the sun virtually never hits it. The sun and I are not friends at the moment; it wants to be some thirty-degree-centegrade sillyness and I want it to be raining.

Unfortunately, I also seem to have every disease ever invented ever; a cold that I brought with me, a fever (complete with delerious nightmares) and diarrhea c/o Mr Sun and a nasty stomach bug thanks to Paris’ dirty tap water.

Paris is very old-fashioned compared to London. From a distance, I didn’t realise that it’s roughly one-third of the size of London, and that even France as a whole – despite occupying twice the landmass – has a smaller nose-count overall than the island I call home. This does give Paris a kind of personality which I suppose London lacks, particularly to an outsider, but does make the city feel rather hollow. While it is certainly both beautiful and eccentric, it’s clear that it is, for example, ill-equipped for commerce; the driving system is a glorious chaotic mess and there doesn’t appear to be a sizeable commercial district at all. Which shouldn’t bother me, as a tourist, but for some reason it does.

Also, for an allegedly first-world country it can be quite backward. I mean, honestly Paris – I at least expected clean tap water.

It’s also expensive. Budget-bustingly so, in fact. I’ll just have to try and make it up once I hit the Low Countries.

So. I spent the first couple of days in Monmartre, which was nice – that hostel I stayed at was literally in the shadow of the Basilica de Sacre-Coeur, and the view out of my window was amazing. Thurday evening was sensible – bearings then food then bed. Simple.

On Friday, however, I seem to have decided to be silly. In my wisdom, despite having had no sleep and being unable to retain solids, I decided to walk to length of the city twice. From my base in Monmartre, I headed towards the Moulin Rouge in Pigalle, and was amazed – minge in the windows! I then headed south towards Opera, which is the absolutely jaw-droppingly stunning French national Opera house, then onto – and around – Le Louve, which was probably also spectacular but I was flagging a little by this point. For some reason, I then decided that it would be a good idea to walk to Bastile – it wasn’t, as obviously there’s nothing there but a big roundabout, although the walk alongside the Seinne was nice – after which I was more or less obligated to slog along the Rue Magenta towards Gare du Nord and Monmartre.

I could, of course, have spared myself all that at any time by simply jumping onto the Metro. UNFORTUNATELY I have a mild (yet bizarre) fear of unfamiliar public transport systems – it took me the better part of a week to get onto Tokyo’s metro, and here as there I found that the more tired I am the less inclined I am to face my peculiar issues.

Thus, Saturday was pretty horrible. I’d barely slept, I couldn’t eat and my body was still giving me hell for Friday’s stupidity. I moved hostels to one near Pont Marie, although with the larger pack on my back I bit the bullet and lost my Metro cherry while my brain was still functioning. My new hostel is pretty grim – swelteringly hot, badly built and no air conditioning, or even fans, which only goes to reinforce my opinion that Paris is a 15th Century city pretending to be a 17th Century city. I tried to get some compensatiory sleep, but couldn’t because of the heat; tried to eat but threw up; was generally useless. I ended up not doing much apart from feeling sorry for myself, which is something I’m quite good at.

Today has been better. I got some sleep this morning, and even ate a bit for breakfast and kept it down. The wind in my sails, I headed toward the Eiffel Tower to see if it was worth the fuss, and, yeah, it’s big and it’s go views and stuff. I almost carried on for the Pantheon, but I was feeling a bit rough after Eiffel’s stairs (1665, fact fans!), so I took Friday’s lesson to heart and mooched back to the hostel. So here I am, writing this with a baguette, so camembert and cherry tomatoes and orange juice, in what is, now, no longer my favourite spot in Paris – as a French man has just reached into my bag, pulled out my swiss army knife and mimed stabbing me. I think I’m going to move on now – tonight I’ll probably head towards the Arc de Triomphe, which I hear is also well-endowed in the views department.

If I seem slightly negative about Paris, then that’s because thus far I’m genuinely underwhelmed. Perhaps it’s the fugue state talking, and perhaps I’ll be more receptive when I shake my various maladies, but it seems like a very superficial city – more like an installation or sculpture than a real, living city. Which isn’t to say it isn’t beautiful – which it is – or that it is somehow lacking in life or energy – which it certainly isn’t. More to say that, between the stunningly pretty girls, the glorious Gothic architecture and the bohemian chic lies only filler, and not a real city at all.

That said, the one thing that has impressed is the Metro. Not only is it cleaner, fatser, quieter and cheaper than the tube, it has also provided the definitive Moment of the Trip So Far. London Underground, as many of you will be aware, has designated, Carling-sponsored busking spots for hairy men to sit in and play bad pop-rock, accousticly, so that we can all ignore them. At first I thought they were a kind of containment, stopping these people from roaming the streets, but no – apparently they’re still allowed to do that. I tend to just ignore them.

I digress. The Moment occured when I rounded a corner in Concorde station and encountered nothing less that a twelve-piece brass and accordian band, who were actually (and surprisingly) really good. They even got some change out of me, which is a rarety; I would have bought the CD but frankly I didn’t want to lug it around Europe only to discover it it was actually pap when I got home. So I guess I passed on that; nevertheless, it was the first time Paris had actually delighted me.

Right, I have to go now. Sorry this was so long, they’ll probably get shorter as I get bored-er of keeping a journal, but for now the novely’s fresh, so enjoy it while it lasts. Much love to all.