Paris, finally!

Paris. Here I am, after all those weeks on the road, at the End of this Road. And I Love It: The city is lovely, the weather is beautiful, the people are friendly and the dancing is good. Most importantly, though, I feel really good about the achievement that took most effort in the very beginning and the last few days.

As a matter of fact, I did get here already Friday evening, but time has just passed in such a blur that I simply have not had the time to sit down and write about it. Even as I write this (at 4 am on Sunday morning, having just returned from a milonga), I am about to fall asleep while seated, so I will need to be brief.

On Friday morning, I had an early start from Peronne, and despite the minor (?) logistical problem of a 40-km stretch missing from my maps (funny, considering that they were the neighbouring pages of a series of maps) managed to cover most of the remaining distance without getting lost. This changed, however, the moment I got into the suburbs of Paris: all of a sudden, there were just so many crossroads of local, regional and national roads that it was impossible to have a clear image of which one I was supposed to take or indeed, where I was. I had been anticipating this and did not mind too much, as the weather was nice, I felt strong and there were still hours of daylight ahead.

However, when by pure accident I came accross a group of six Swedes also cycling to Paris, and one of them had a GPS with local maps in it, I decided to tag along for the remainder of the journey. They were a truly relaxed and friendly bunch, and obviously felt every bit as excited about reaching Paris as I did. They had started on the West Coast of Sweden (Lund), but covered the whole distance in 3 weeks, with only one (!) rest day in Amsterdam. On the way, they had had a lot of technical problems and a couple of minor accidents, one resulting in a total wreckage of a bike that had to be replaced by a new one. Despite all this, they seemed to be in really good moods, and really made the most of the journey: one of them had a huge ghettoblaster tied to the front of the bike, and while they were riding, music was blasting at full volume.

Arriving in downtown Paris, we must have been quite a sight: 7 Nordic-looking, more than slightly dishevelled travellers, whooping with joy, racing the remaining few hundred metres to Arc de Triomphe. It was indeed a triumph, although I think they felt it more strongly than I did, as there had been the earlier trips with their respective triumphs of achievement.

We did a funny dance in front of the Arc, followed by lots of photos and general congratulations. At that moment, all the troubles and hardships of the trip seemed like a distant memory, and I honestly felt like it had been no trouble AT ALL getting here. I briefly rode to the Eiffel Tower for the compulsory pics, before making my way to the hostel not far away. There, I just had enough time to get a shower and grab a hasty meal, then it was time to ride into town in search of the milonga. I felt suprisingly energetic and not at all tired at this point, although I had been riding for about 10 hours by then.

Since then, I have danced in 4 milongas around Paris, and tomorrow will be going to two more. In between, I have had some very short spells of sleep, as the hostel I had booked has a funny policy of forcing everybody out of their premises between 11 am and 4 pm. From my perspective, this really is less than ideal as it means that I can only sleep for about 5 hours before waking up for breakfast. However, I only noticed this policy after booking, and of course there are no refunds for cancellations.

The dancing itself has been very enjoyable, but right now I am just too tired to tell you about it. Tomorrow I just might be able to find the time and the energy.