{"id":384327,"date":"2026-04-06T07:17:09","date_gmt":"2026-04-06T07:17:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/384327\/"},"modified":"2026-04-06T07:17:09","modified_gmt":"2026-04-06T07:17:09","slug":"at-every-turn-in-paris-someone-was-standing-by-to-screw-me-the-irish-times","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/384327\/","title":{"rendered":"\u2018At every turn in Paris, someone was standing by to screw me\u2019 \u2013 The Irish Times"},"content":{"rendered":"

Tell most Irish people you\u2019re off to London<\/a> and their eyes will glaze over faster than you can say \u201cBin there, innit\u201d, while a visit to Paris<\/a> is almost as everyday an experience. But when you\u2019ve a tale of two cities punctuated by a train that goes under the grey waters of the English Channel, reaching speeds of up to 300km\/h at times, it\u2019s a different proposition.<\/p>\n

First up, before we get to price-gouging Paris, London is calling. Ireland\u2019s problematic relationship with its nearest neighbour over the centuries means we\u2019re sometimes loath to admit the truth: it\u2019s one of the world\u2019s great cities. <\/p>\n

Our adventure started in the well-heeled parish of Marylebone, and after breakfast of swanky pastries and coffee in an Ottolenghi cafe, we set off on a traditional pilgrimage to Camden Town, beloved of the cool kids for generations. <\/p>\n

Tourists stand shoulder to shoulder on Camden\u2019s High Street, while grizzled old punks look on through hungover eyes. One of the last of the Mohicans, a 50-something man in a heavily safety-pinned leather jacket that last had cultural relevance when he was a toddler, sits on the street nursing a flagon of cider. A sign propped up against his 18-hole Dr Marten boots says, \u201cHelp this punk get drunk.\u201d<\/p>\n

Just like the old punk, Camden Town is tired, cliched and laid low by market stalls selling Peaky Blinders caps, identikit jewellery, Union Jack tea towels and dodgy sunglasses. <\/p>\n

\"ConorConor Pope wanders about Camden in London <\/p>\n

Heaven knows it\u2019s miserable now, I think, as we walk past a heaving T-shirt shop engaged in a rough trade of Smiths merch. A young man sings, \u201cI would go out tonight but I haven\u2019t got nothing to wear\u201d as I pass. I\u2019m outraged by his lyrical sacrilege but he looks unhinged so I let him be. <\/p>\n

From Camden we take a black cab \u2013 because when you\u2019re in London for just one weekend, you can sometimes pretend to have money \u2013 to Portobello, where the vibe shifts appreciably. It too is awash with tourists buying rubbish, but it\u2019s not as much of a try-hard as Camden. <\/p>\n

\"ThrongsThrongs walk past stalls at Portobello Road Market in west London. Photograph: Henry Nicholls\/AFP\/Getty <\/p>\n

From there we check out Covent Garden, full of its stupidly expensive boutiques, and the wonderful and reasonably priced Seven Dials food market, packed with folk eating tapas-style dishes. We settle on crumble and custard from the Humble Crumble. It alone is worth the trip. <\/p>\n

After the markets we get two hits of the West End, firstly Wicked, and then a Paddington matinee. The former is a breathtaking celebration of difference, while the latter is a super-cute hymn to a welcoming, multicultural London. Even though they\u2019re just musicals, it\u2019s hard not to feel a little uplifted by them both. <\/p>\n

\"PaddingtonPaddington at the West End: A super-cute hymn to a welcoming, multicultural London <\/p>\n

Given all London has to offer and our time constraints, we take an open-top bus tour for a drive-by of the must-see landmarks over three freezing hours, leaving time for a wander through Soho and up Oxford Street. Then we take our leave of Marlyebone and travel to St Pancras Station for the train under the sea, bound for Paris.<\/p>\n

The giddy excitement in the Eurostar station is palpable. It feels like what flying must have felt like in the 1950s before we wearied of the idea of travelling at 1,000km\/h in the sky while being served snacks and hot drinks. <\/p>\n

[\u00a0An Irish man in Paris: \u2018When you live here it feels like no more your city: a mistress but never a partner\u2019Opens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n

Our tickets are scanned by a cheery Cockney chap, and glass doors part. We hoist our baggage onto a conveyor belt to be screened and walk three steps to British passport control, and two more steps to French passport control. <\/p>\n

The journey from check-in desk to boarding gate is about 50 metres and takes no longer than five minutes. Take that, airports of the world. Immediately after pulling out, we enter a long tunnel and spend 10 minutes barrelling in blackness under Islington and Hackney and Barking and Dagenham and other delightful-sounding London suburbs before emerging into the green fields of England. Just over 20 minutes later, we\u2019re under water. <\/p>\n

\"ConorConor Pope on the Eurostar <\/p>\n

I\u2019m thrilled by this moment, but the laconic French man in the red knitted jumper, skinny cream chinos and glowing white Adidas sitting beside me seems less so and \u2013 infuriatingly \u2013 he falls asleep immediately. As his perfectly coiffured head lolls towards my shoulder, I realise that until he wakes, I\u2019m trapped. I curse my laissez-faire approach to seat selection and stare out at the blackness while my family are free to explore. Some 20 minutes later, we emerge into the watery sunshine illuminating the fringes of Calais. <\/p>\n

We\u2019re sucking diesel now, and our train reaches close to 300km an hour as we barrel along parallel to the motorway network, leaving speeding cars in our sleek wake. <\/p>\n

The most beautiful and romantic city in the world is even more actively hostile and egregiously expensive for visitors. It\u2019s an eternal pity<\/p>\n

\u2014 \u00a0Conor Pope on Paris<\/p>\n

Like most Irish trains, there\u2019s no trolley service selling Barry\u2019s Tea or Tayto, but eventually the sleeping Frenchman wakes up, allowing me to shimmy past him and sway my way down to the cafe for snacks and coffee which I\u2019ve barely time to finish before we arrive in Paris.<\/p>\n

If we\u2019d travelled the conventional way on a flight leaving at 1.30pm, we\u2019d have set off from our London hotel at 10am. Then there\u2019d have been a 45-minute flight and 45 minutes walking through the airport and 15 more getting through passport control, and an hour to get from Charles de Gaulle to the centre of Paris. <\/p>\n

All that means we\u2019d have arrived at our destination at 5.15pm local time, equating to over seven hours\u2019 travel time. By contrast, we left our London hotel at 11.30am, departed on the Eurostar at 1.31pm and arrived in the centre of Paris at 4.55pm, which amounted to just over five hours of travelling. <\/p>\n

And so, our tale of two cities moved on to the best of times and the worst of times.<\/p>\n

If ever a place didn\u2019t need an extra soup\u00e7on of confident arrogance, it\u2019s Paris, but that\u2019s what the 2024 Olympic Games seems to have given it. Now, the most beautiful and romantic city in the world is even more actively hostile and egregiously expensive for visitors.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s an eternal pity.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been in Paris many times, but have never been as badly gouged as on this occasion. At every turn, someone seemed to be standing by to screw me. <\/p>\n

Infuriatingly, I was complicit in some of the rip-offs. <\/p>\n

\"TouristsTourists aplenty sit on the street outside a cafe in Paris. Photograph: Getty <\/p>\n

On our first morning, we wandered into a postcard-pretty bistro near our hotel, close to the Place de la Madeleine, and ordered two coffees, a hot chocolate and three croissants. The smiley waiter left with our menus but then paused to ask whether we\u2019d like orange juice. <\/p>\n

\u201cSure why not,\u201d I thought. \u201cWe\u2019re on holidays, we\u2019ll take three.\u201d<\/p>\n

Almost immediately, small cups of lukewarm cafe creme arrived along with very tired croissants. Our friendly waiter placed three tiny glasses of juice made up mostly of ice cubes before us. <\/p>\n

Moments later we\u2019d finished so I asked for l\u2018addition. It came to \u20ac60. <\/p>\n

\u201cSurely some mistake,\u201d I thought \u2013 until I looked at the receipt and realised the juice we\u2019d been so casually upsold cost \u20ac9. <\/p>\n

Each. <\/p>\n

It was three quid a watered-down mouthful. And to think we think we\u2019re the masters of the rip-off in Ireland!<\/p>\n

I questioned the price, and the once-lovely waiter morphed into a Gallic cliche, all shrugs and disdain. I left scowling. <\/p>\n

Another rip-off came in Le Marais, one of the most chilled-out shopping and eating places in the city. <\/p>\n

It lashed rain a lot while we were there, and my child\u2019s porous shoes were quickly rendered cold and unwearable. Not able to find a Penney\u2019s-type shop and getting desperate, we settled on an Ugg shop. The only option were boots priced at 90 quid \u2013 expensive for sure, but we went a size up and figured she\u2019d get a good year out of them. <\/p>\n

As the littlest Pope bounced about, relishing that new shoe feeling, the assistant asked me for \u20ac159. <\/p>\n

\u201cSurely some mistake,\u201d I thought again, and pointed to the \u20ac90 price tag on the shelf. <\/p>\n

She shrugged and said that was for slightly smaller sizes. With my daughter testing out the boots\u2019 waterproofing in a puddle by the door I\u2019d no choice but to buy the Uggs. <\/p>\n

Ugh, actually. But such Parisian rip-offs were left in the ha\u2019penny place by the Metro meanies. <\/p>\n

Now, I\u2019ve used the Paris subway system many times and never with any difficulty, but for reasons that still confound me, it seemed trickier this time. On arrival, I\u2019d bought passes that could be topped up, and paid a \u20ac2 deposit on each card, along with the fare. They didn\u2019t work, and with no attendants to ask, I bought three more. All told, I spent the guts of \u20ac20. <\/p>\n

We used the cards once and when I tried to use them on the second day, they didn\u2019t seem to be working. I figured it was a system error, and seeing an open turnstile, seized my chance, ushering my family through so we could board a metro travelling two stops to Chatelet, near Notre Dame. <\/p>\n

The Louvre was, as ever, overrun, but the stroll from the Place de la Concorde through the Jardin de Tuileries \u2013 where Dior were setting up for Jonathan Anderson\u2019s spring-summer showcase \u2013 was a delight<\/p>\n

As we left the station, we were met by 15 ticket inspectors and four transport police. Our tickets were scanned and declared invalid. I was asked for \u20ac140. <\/p>\n

There was a frank and lengthy exchange of views which ended with me assuring the man robbing me that if he ever brought his family to Ireland and found himself similarly befuddled by our public transport system, we would not treat him as Paris was treating the Popes. <\/p>\n

He shrugged and said, \u201cBut your country is small and this is Paris and we have just hosted the Olympics, so …\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never hated a man as much. <\/p>\n

Apart from the wasted money and the driving rain, Paris was as beautiful as ever. Notre Dame has been fully restored as a glorious hymn to heavenly majesties. <\/p>\n

The Shakespeare and Co coffee and pastries were gorgeous and the staff lovely \u2013 the queue for the bookshop was far too long. And while the Eiffel Tower was shrouded in heavy mist when we ascended, the absence of decent views had deterred all but the most optimistic tourists, so we got to the top in record time. <\/p>\n

\"TheThe Popes in Paris: ‘The Eiffel Tower was shrouded in heavy mist when we ascended it’ <\/p>\n

The Louvre was, as ever, overrun, but the stroll from the Place de la Concorde through the Jardin de Tuileries \u2013 where Dior were setting up for Jonathan Anderson\u2019s spring-summer showcase \u2013 was a delight.<\/p>\n

Le Marais was pleasant, and getting a table in the eternally lovely Chez Janou off Place des Vosges ahead of a bunch of queuing tourists made me feel just a little less displeased by Paris as I headed to the airport \u2013 for a disappointingly ordinary flight home. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Tell most Irish people you\u2019re off to London and their eyes will glaze over faster than you can…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":384328,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[72,61,60,99,709,1838],"class_list":{"0":"post-384327","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-business","8":"tag-business","9":"tag-ie","10":"tag-ireland","11":"tag-london","12":"tag-magazine","13":"tag-paris"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/384327","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=384327"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/384327\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/384328"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=384327"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=384327"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=384327"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}