'THREE DUCKS HOSTEL, PARIS' CHAPTER 7

 I arrived in Paris on ..... 1991 and promptly had to find some accommodation. I had around two days to kill until I caught up with Brett and Pete for the initial tournament in Saummur, a .... bus ride from Paris. The following is my initial view on Paris and a place called the Three Ducks Hostel...

Tuesday, 1 July 2014

'3 DUCKS HOSTEL PARIS'

 Arriving in Paris in April 1991 is still vivid in my memory bank, visions of cafe's on every corner and alley ways made of cobble stones.
The thing that hits you about Paris is the way a movie scene could be made about simply walking down a street and buying a ham and cheese croissant  plus an oranjina to wash it down with. It's the way people live, in apartments overlooking other apartments but with a pot plant on the balcony and shutters on the windows. In Paris however it's so much more glamorous than if it were any where else in the World. 
I witnessed a cat on a lead outside 'La Poste', a Paris Post office, I raised my eyebrows, I thought only dogs were meant to be on a lead, especially in a City, but in Paris, well.....
Finding a place to stay in Paris isn't impossible but you have to be a little lucky also because Paris doesn't have an 'off time', it's always busy. So it was quite by chance that as I walked along a busy street I stumbled upon a rather French looking place of accommodation by the name of 'Three Ducks Hostel'.
"Parlez-vouz Anglais", (I think that's how you spell it) " Do you speak English"? 'Wee' "I wish to stay here for one, maybe two nights, what's my chances"? 'Very good, welcome to Three Ducks Hostel Paris'. Now that was music to an Aussie's ears. The court yard in this particular place was one that I will not forget, it was simply magnificent, with rooms off to the side. It was just what I had imagined my first place of accommodation in Paris to be like.
After being shown my room I went for a walk, hoping that I would remember the way home , I was after that one thing to 'walk the walk' in Paris on that first night. I didn't just want to talk 'pidgin English' and find a Macca's somewhere, Paris is full of Mcdonalds stores. I wanted something special, something that sounded French even if it tasted ordinary.
I found the equivalent of a late night deli, I found an aisle that looked very French and I picked up a can of Ravioli ( OK so it was an Italian food, I didn't know this at the time, it sounded French). I think it cost me five francs.  So could I find my way back to the Three Ducks Hostel ? You betcha , I walked into that place like a rock star into an arena, can of Ravioli in hand, ready to 'rock'. I cooked it on a stove in the kitchen and ate it in the court yard of a place that back home would seem 'run of the mill'.

In Paris however it was so much more, a place of romance and beauty that no other part of the World can reproduce. I had made it to the home of the Eiffel Tower, a long way from my home back in Albany Western Australia.
My days of hitting tennis balls on the brick garage wall at my parents house had finally delivered me to a destination that I had only ever dreamed of visiting. Tennis can take you places......