When the Channel Tunnel and Eurostar first came into being, there was a certain spring in the step of people who lived in the south of England. Paris was suddenly gloriously within reach for a short break, and trouble free thanks to our European passports and health insurance cards. It was enticing to save up and grab a weekend in Paris, and we did several times, with the kids.
Last time we went, around ten years ago, the children had become adults, soon to leave for their own adventures. There was a feeling we had 'done' Paris (how dare we!), and we resorted to rarer pleasures such as visiting Pere Lachaise cemetery, eating chrysanthemums in a Chinese hotpot restaurant and walking the highly alternative the Petite Ceinture walkway.
Since then Brexit has made our relationship with Paris more troubled but for months I've had a yen to return. Finally, with autumn leaves falling, Nigel and I managed it. The sun shone for our promenade along the Rive Gauche, and made the newly restored Notre Dame gleam.
The museums with which we had once been familiar opened up again like new treasures.
But our favourite moment occurred in the Musee d'Orsay. We were wandering amongst the Scandinavian Art Nouveau when an American couple marched past.
'Remember,' said the man, 'We have to leave time for that other museum you wanted to visit. What was it called again?'
'The Louvre.'
Nigel nudged me. Even twenty-four hours spent in the immensity of the Louvre would merely scratch the surface. They had less than half a day before them.
'It's okay,' said the woman. 'We can spend another hour here before the Louvre.'
In finding this funny, we were maybe just being snobby - laughing at tourists less clued up than ourselves. But a more charitable interpretation would be that the Americans' ignorance gave us the welcome chance to feel like Europeans again, even after Brexit.
