I like a good challenge. Any follower of past escapades such
as #GM10 or Drinking the Snail can testify to that. I particularly enjoy challenges
that didn’t previously exist and that no other idiots before me have embarked
upon.
At brunch a couple of weeks ago, a new challenge was born,
with the most self-explanatory name yet, Paris without a Map. Hashing out the details
took the best part of 5 hours of face-to-face meetings between the participants,
an extensive email thread which includes the phrases ‘I think you should be
allowed to run but not to take a bus,’ and ‘It is a Sunday after all and
therefore dedicated to relaxation.’ I also had various suggestions from friends
and family. (For ‘suggestions’, read sceptical comments such as ‘You’re doing
what?’ and ‘Oh god, not again.’)
In a nutshell, the rules were thus:
2 brave teams would travel in a subterranean manner to their
respective starting-points. Over the next several hours, each team would race
to the rendezvous-point finish-line with ABSOLUTELY no map / GPS assistance,
whilst completing various check-ins and tasks devised by the opposition on the
way. A complicated points system was established, and there had to be a possible
route of between 9 and 9.5km.
Impartial adjudicators (my friends Ana and Will) selected
the teams, by drawing names out of a hat. ‘Names’ being pots of UHT milk, and
the ‘hat’ being my hands. George and Jen vs. Pam and Olivier.
Each team held a preparation meeting before the big day. Pam
and Olivier went first, and so did all the serious point-setting for easy,
medium and hard challenges. George and I asked ourselves important questions
like ‘We can get them to go outside Paris for part of it, can’t we?’ and ‘Where
would be the best place to get them to do an impression of a bat?’
My Paris A-Z goes everywhere with me, so I was somewhat
nervous at leaving it at home that morning. I googled how to make your own
compass, but the requisite magnets and shallow vessels of water weren’t
really feasible at short notice. And I thought I was onto something with a
vague memory that you can orient yourself using the nave of a church, except
that there are about a million churches in Paris facing every which way, and I
barely know my apse from my elbow.
You don’t need to hear the details of how we wasted valuable
time buying chocolates shaped like rabbits and lambs, or visiting a Belgian
cultural-centre-slash-épicerie for no reason at all. Or how we spent ages
looking for wild fish and a macaron company headquarters, both to no avail, and
took a series of entirely unnecessary photos of bus-stops.
The important thing is, we achieved. We accosted tourists
and made them take selfies with us. We took a composite image of the Moulin
Rouge in the past and now. We found a specific type of German high-speed train.
My personal high-point of the day was George frantically making an about-turn
signal at me and hissing, ‘Not down there. There’s a bishop blocking the way.’
To cut a 14.8km journey short, EGG-O ENER-J (clever Easter-themed
Jen-George anagram team-name) lost. Amazingly, there were only 9 minutes in it.
Our elated selfie in front of the Philharmonie de Paris building is full of victory
and sunshine, now sadly tinged with defeat as, unbeknownst to us, Pam and
Olivier had arrived moments before and nipped to the toilet.
I’m choosing to take the high road and not quibble about the
fact that one of our challenges was not achievable or that there was an ‘on-foot/as-the-crow-flies’
miscommunication somewhere along the way.
Instead, I prefer to see Paris herself as the loser; being
without a map was ironically the least challenging element of the day. Not once
did I feel lost or disoriented. Seeing the Arc de Triomphe side-on or using the
shape of the lake in Parc Monceau to gauge directions, and assessing distance
using the faraway sight of a particular Métro bridge on line 2, made me realise
how well I know my way around these days.
I have realised whilst writing this that all these
ridiculous challenges have involved me enlisting entirely different friends
each time to take part, which I think proves that you all secretly want to do
them. If you know me, and haven’t yet been roped in, watch this space. I’m sure
to be harassing you soon enough. Future projects currently being workshopped
involve finding all the original water fountains in Paris and something to do
with the classic Meg Ryan/Kevin Kline movie French Kiss.
It’ll be first come,
first served, so you’d better get your name down asap.
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