April in Paris, la deuxième partie!

The second instalment begins somewhere on a platform in what is well known to be the busiest train station in Europe. Paris Gare du Nord is bold, bustling and hot, yet quenched easily by the effortless Parisienne cool. Now there are many words I could use to describe myself on a day to day basis, and cool is not one of them, however, I had decided that due to the current task in hand, I was in fact (for that day at least) pretty cool. Two minutes at the Gare du Nord, and my ‘pretty cool’ status was hastily upgraded to ‘über cool’ after spotting ledge front-man of Sonic Youth indie cult band fame, Thurston Moore.* I mused for a while optimistically whether he would have felt equally cool spotting Chasing Storms jostling through crowd. Probably, not.

We fell out of the station and into our hotel adjacent, and the full magnificence of the imposing Gare du Nord neoclassical architecture became apparent. It’s no match for St Pancras but it certainly beats the unimaginative functionality of Ebbsfleet. Completed 150 years ago, the facade is adorned with more than twenty statues of female figures, each representing a destination served by the terminal. Their presence dominates the otherwise uncertain atmosphere, so I drew from the abundance of statuesque confidence, and stored it in readiness for the evening. We checked in, and I checked out my pathetic French on the unsuspecting portier, who was (sympathetically) impressed.

We had allowed a bit of time in our schedule for some sightseeing, just to remind ourselves that we were about to play in one of the most iconic capitals in the world, and hoped that some of the atmosphere would rub off on us for the gig. Fortunately we were positioned within walking distance of one of my favourite parts of the City, The Sacré Cœur and Montmartre. Being the weekend, being warm and sunny, and being the first day of the French holidays, the crowds were prodigious yet calm and laid back, and entwined themselves perfectly with the gently simmering artisan vibe and culture. Ben, already very familiar with the capital (having previously resided there) remained at the hotel, so it was myself and Mike who eventually indulged in a traditional savoury crêpe whilst perched on a street corner amongst all the artists, buskers, diners, lovers, entertainers, drinkers, dreamers, chancers, 2cv convoys, lamp posts, cherry blossom, and cheeky opportunistic sparrows.

When it was time, we pulled away with ease from the Big-Top congregation; we were here to live a dream, not dream a dream. We hurried back down through the hilly streets and back to the hotel, giving ourselves an hour to get ready for the night. For Mike, this was likely a 50min snooze and a 10min shower/change. For me it was a 60 min of shower, change, decide on clothes, moisturise, log in to wifi, make-up, decide on hair, manicure, change mind on clothes, pack shoes, jewellry, update Facebook, change mind on hair, run out of time for nails (again), negotiate an extra ten minutes for more make-up, and finally, re-arrange bag to accommodate shoes with the CD’s and flyers. It’s ritualistic chaos, but adrenalin fuelled excitement too. I arrived in the lobby sporting an updo, evening gown and baseball boots. This was Paris, no-one either noticed nor even cared.

It was rush hour, though quite impossible to ‘rush’ anywhere. I had to keep my claustrophobia firmly in check as we negotiated our way decisively through the tunnels and crowded trains across the pulsating city clutching guitars, music, stands and equipment. We made it safely to the Gare de Lyon, another historical railway station of vast proportions. It’s bewildering airport-like interior and throngs of commuters had us stalled for a while but we made it nevertheless into the stunning old part of the station, and finally laid eyes on the welcoming sight of The Montreux Jazz Café, and a life-size poster of ‘Chasing Storms’. ….to be continued!

*A more detailed and accurate account of events would reveal that it wasn’t actually me, but in fact Ben who first spotted Mr Moore and his female, guitar bearing companion. Despite his lofty frame and brooding yet unassuming rock-idol appearance , his presence would have passed me by completely had it not been for the blatant show and tell. But it’s my story, my cool story, and I can tell it how I like 😉