Paris
France
14 Apr 2018

Emergency room, vite!

My idea of long-haul travel involves comfy chairs, good food, several hours of uninterrupted horizontal sleep, a reasonable amount of champagne, and a shower or two.

Not this time. My stock of Qantas points had seen their tide go out with last year’s excesses. We were travelling at the back of the bus, no lounges were involved, we’d been delayed for an hour on the tarmac in Qatar, and Charles de Gaulle’s baggage-handling had been more than usually atrocious.

Oh, and there was a train strike. I’d booked a private shuttle – at enormous expense – and the driver was not entirely sanguine when we finally made it through the barrier. So I asked him to rush us to the Hospital. “1 Place du Parvis Notre Dame, s’il vous plait, m’sieur!“

We made it through the Paris traffic, past Bastille (where I had staid in a hostel on my first visit to Paris and had the absolute worst shower experience of my life), across a bridge or two and pulled up outside the old – but still operating in every sense of the word – city hospital.

Right beside Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cité, Hotel Dieu has been here since 651 AD, ministering to the sick and needy. In its current incarnation, after various fires, since 1877, a grand post-Empire confection of arches and arcades, courtyards and corridors. A mix of old stonework and sparkling facilities, it is quirky, welcoming, and convenient.

The driver followed his GPS, pulled up outside the hospital entrance and looked at us in puzzlement. Our bags were in the back, we were unclipping our seatbelts, we were clearly on the verge of opening the doors and getting out.

“But this is the hospital, M’sieur!” he said, and hit the gas. He took off, turned the corner, and I looked back in astonishment. Where was he taking us?

We went up a few side streets and around the block before I, in my atrocious French, assured him that yes, it was the right place, and our hotel was actually located in the hospital.

Hôtel Hospitel

There’s a boutique hotel in one of the attics of this working hospital. Just 14 beds and a tiny lobby, it shares a lift with various wards, haematology, oncology and other departments, and the hospital cafeteria in the basement.

Take care in following the directions to the hotel. Like any hospital, it is all a labyrinth. Through the hospital lobby, turn left, follow the corridor to the “B2” node, take the ascenseur up to the top floor.

I thought I remembered the way since my last visit ten years ago, but I was mistaken, and we found ourselves in a ward with our luggage; doctors and nurses looking at us with some amusement.

There are signs showing the true way, only a few steps to bump your bags over, and it’s not hard once you know how. Perhaps a day and night sitting in Economy had flattened out my usual bump of direction.

The location, right beside Notre Dame, cannot be beaten. In the somewhat over-processed dawn shot at the top of the page, it is the building complex occupying the left-hand half of the scene. And if you want to get a photo before the hordes of tourists arrive to clutter the parvis in front of Notre Dame, just get up and walk outside before breakfast.

Grab a baguette and a cafe au lait from the cafeteria for a quick, cheap brekkie on the way back.

The rooms are tiny – but show me an affordable hotel in central Paris that is any different – and there are no windows. There are skylights, however, and if you stand on a chair, you get a lovely rooftop view of Paris.

Our room wasn’t ready, so we stacked our bags in the corner, and went off to explore Paris. We’ve been here before, the immediate environs are familiar territory, and we headed off into the Latin Quarter. Once you escape the tourist restaurants by the river, it’s all fascinating little shops, tiny ethnic restaurants, Sorbonne students, and narrow lanes.

We found a bistro where French onion soup and Croque Monsieur were to be had, served by a waiter who clearly wanted to be elsewhere, and probably horizontal to boot.

Much like us, I reckon. Paris is a delightful and fascinating place, but not when you are tired and jaded and out of step with the clock.

A local beer and some local tucker in a table by a power outlet went a long way towards recharging the batteries. We eventually finished the last crumbs, drained our coffee, paid the bill and perambulated. The nearby Musée de Moyen Age is temporarily closed, but its mediaeval gardens are open and full of strollers. Off the Boulevard Saint Michel, we spotted a familiar laneway and pressed our noses up against the window of a Tunisian pastry shop that sells the most divine little sweet treats. We’d return.

We arrived back at Hotel Dieu to find that our room was now ready and we could collapse into bed. I had a shower first. Each room has a tiny ensuite bathroom, and wiping away the dust of four different airline terminals since my last ablutions was a welcome treat.

The skylight, I discovered, had a built-in blind that could be cranked completely shut, plunging the room into darkness, easing my slumber until long after sunset.

Not a lot of room for luggage, but there is a tiny wardrobe, a desk to put stuff on, and who cares if I have to hop over a suitcase or two?

I love this place. A secret in the heart of Paris, private, quiet, comfortable, and with bucketloads of culture a short stroll away. One night on our previous visit we had attended a Gregorian chant performance in Notre Dame. A couple of Euro, four monks in blue robes, no music, and their voices lifted to fill the cathedral. It was glory.

Joy and Friendship

We caught up with a couple of friends. Like us, they were heading to the BookCrossing convention in Bordeaux, and they had succumbed to my praises of this place. They had a room a little further along, and we had a shot of espresso in the foyer.

There’d be eight of us, all told, driving down through Normandy and St Malo, but we had a day to recover before leaving, and we examined our itineraries for the morrow, sharing tales of our adventures, and just enjoying good company in a hospitable home.

Cat looks like a movie star, and her smile lights up any room. We’ve shared adventures around the world, and nowadays she flies at the front of the plane – like a movie star – thanks to her devotion to collecting frequent flyer miles. I remember meeting her at an Indian restaurant in London in 2008, but I’m sure we must have been crossing paths before then. We share many hobbies, and if we’ve got some decent internet on our travels, chances are we’ll be on the same website, chuckling over the same things.

Cat’s partner Glenn is a cheerful Australian presence. Laid-back and laconic, his aim is to make friends with everyone, and he’s at home anywhere, leaning back, telling stories, working his way through the beer supply. He doesn’t do things by half-measures, and as the other driver on this trip, he was always at the next destination long before I was.

There are four more in the party, but they are staying a little further afield, and we’ll link up with them tomorrow.

I don’t mind travelling solo, and it’s better with someone to share, but there is nothing quite so delightful as having good friends to wander with. Through strange lands, through common interests, through life itself.

Here in the heart of Paris, I’m happiness incarnate.

Pete

The post God’s Hotel appeared first on A Thousand Flights.