The city of romance, and I was going to travel there on my own. I suppose that it was no worse than going with two blokes, but it was a sad, lonely bastard who got on the train to Dover. Little did I know at the time, but three years later, I would get engaged to my future wife in Paris.

Once at Dover, I caught the Hovercraft to Boulogne and then another train to Paris. The Hovercraft was one hell of a lot faster than the ferry, but the combined journey still took several hours. Interesting to note that each Hovercraft journey was referred to as a flight. I suppose that this is technically correct, but I would have much preferred the kind of flight that gets you from London to Paris in an hour.

When I arrived, the first priority was finding somewhere for the night. Running the severe risk of having to do chores, I decided to try the YHA hostel. However, arriving in one of the most popular cities in the world, late in the afternoon in the height of summer, it was a foregone conclusion that the hostel would be full. One good thing about the YHA is that they do see you right and they booked us all into an alternative hostel. Problem was, that it was way out in the suburbs.

When trying to navigate the Paris underground - or New York's for that matter - you realise how elegant the London tube map is. Trying to fathom out the best route between two stations in Paris is quite a puzzle. Mensa could make an IQ test out of it. However, once you manage to work out which line you need, it is no time at all before a train arrives. There was usually one waiting in the tunnel as the previous one pulled out, something that anyone who travels on the Northern Line can only dream about.

The map giving directions to the hostel left a lot to be desired. In fact it wasn't long before there was a small crowd of us wandering around wondering whether we had got off at the right station or not. It was in desperation that we eventually tracked it down to a small back street, by which time I was ready for bed; a bed which I would have appreciated that bit more if I had known that it was one of the best night's sleep that I was going to get for sometime.

Breakfast was continental of course, so I set off to do the tourist bit, dreaming of a good old British fry-up. I should have been grateful, as on my budget that meal was to seem like a relative pig-out. I first headed straight to the obligatory Eiffel Tower, followed by the Arc De Triomphe, the Champs Elysees, the Place De La Concord, Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur, the Seine… The list of sights in Paris is endless.

Paris is every bit as beautiful as it is made out to be. I actually quite like London, but Paris highlights to what extent we have decimated our natural heritage by replacing all the historic buildings with a load of 60's and 70's crap. I suppose that Paris has an advantage in that large chunks of it were not blown up in the war, but the gaps in London could have been filled tastefully, as they were in Berlin. Prince Charles, I agree with everything you say.

Anyway, enough ranting - for now at least. I left Paris, very impressed as you might have gathered. There was a lot left to see, but I would need to come back here again on the way home. This time, I needed to rush as I knew that Alan and Richard were thinking of travelling to Spain, so I went to the Gar d'Austerlitz for the overnight train, hoping to catch them. I was in luck.