Adieu métro parisien; good afternoon the Tube
Indeed, I can bid farewell to my morning croissant, lightning speed TGV and immaculate road surface upon which the most accurate spirit level sees its magic bubble hovering over the half way point. But I am genuinely and eagerly awaiting my return back on British soil. With every crossing of La Manche comes a moment of realisation when one remembers the notion of ‘Britishness’; that intrinsic atmosphere inherent to any nation which can boast a series of distinct cultural traits.
The monotonous murmur of the French language is replaced with “mate”, “cheers man” and “fancy a pint my son.” Vending machines no longer sell books, but packets of flavoured crisps. University students no longer bear their hippyesque 1968 ensemble with pride, but sport chequered shirts most probably bought in Jack Wills (a fashionable student motif). Tube stations no longer appear to be unsanitary labyrinths of humid torture, but rather civilised, spacious channels of the upmost efficiency.
Hours after leaving Paris, I am walking through the recently renovated Westminster Tube Station. It becomes distinctively noticeable how lucky Londoners have it. Granted, the ticket prices are extortionate with out an Oyster Card. But with the help of this aphrodisiacal metro pass, I believe the London Tube experience is far superior to that of Paris. Mounting the huge escalators to reach the surface, I am surrounded with posters advertising shows at London’s West End, proving the city of London does not cease to exist once underground. Wall tiles are admirably clean, as are the inside of train carriages. Train drivers converse with their passengers informing them of closed tube stations or any major delays. The Paris metro, despite its impressive number of stations is no where near as high scoring when it comes to travelling in style and comfort. Perhaps this is why London Tube t-shirts seem to be sold in such high numbers. Likewise, wearing a t-shirt with the letters metropolitain plastered across the front is an unimaginable concept in Paris.
Living in Paris can sometimes trick you into believing that you have finally been acquainted with the world’s epicentre. Therefore, it is great to be back on Britain’s water satiated planes before I move into my new Parisian apartment in early August. I just love a good old-fashioned swap between chalky Britain and cheesy France.
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
'tween London and Paris....instead of Sydney and Melbourne...(the Aussie ones!)...
to have luxuriant verdant foliage, instead of the vast expanses of drab, monotonous
and muted hues of our varied gum trees, pervading the land of my country....
sometimes 'methinks', I belong there more than here...but then again, good ole Oz does have its benefits!
sorry about the floods...here in Oz we go from drought, and all whinge terribly, to deluge, and they all whinge again!
No Aussie can really say "whinging Pom" without addressing the same impolite moniker to their good selves!
give Big Ben a pat for me, or at least shout "fog says cheers!" as you pass by one day...hopefully not FLOAT by, unless you are ensconced in a delightful river boat in the Thames, of course!
cheers and beers,
fog