Day 1 - Parisen cityscapes

My first walking verse for yesterday was Genesis 13.17, "Rise up, walk through the length and the breadth of the land, for I will give it to you."

Well there's a promise. But perhaps Abraham and I share in the sense of promise, of making new discoveries and of an adventure as a gift to be received, whatever it holds.

Jennifer and I set off yesterday for the Ile de la Cite at 10.30. We've never explored the district around Boulevard St Germain before and loved its stylish shops, restaurants and cafes.

At Notre Dame we picnicked on sandwiches and spicy king prawns. The sunshine was surprisingly hot for April. We've only been to Paris in high summer before and we can now see why spring is recommended as the best time of year to visit.

We found the 'kilometre zero', a brass plaque set in the pavement outside the West Door of Notre-Dame, from where all distances from Paris are calculated. This was the official start to my walk and deserved a photograph.

Jennifer walked the first mile with me, across the bridge and along the embankment on the Rive Droit. At the Solferino footbridge we parted. As she crossed the bridge and as I walked along the embankment, we could see each other and waved. Eventually the bridge and crowds took her from my sight, so now I'm on my own.

At Place de la Concorde, I crossed to the centre of the avenue, and up into the Champs d'Elysees. It was crowded with shoppers and tourists and I, no doubt, stood out as rather peculiar in my backpack, boots and hat. I remembered that at one time all tourists were pilgrims, there being no other reason, apart from trade, to set off voluntarily on a long journey. I thought about the connection between holidays and Holy Days, about how we set aside short periods for refreshment and invest them with significance.

I didn't bother paying to climb the steps of l'Arc de Triomphe but sat for a while in the cool of the tunnel which passes directly under it. The tunnel which led north-west, the way I was heading, was much less crowded, the Arc being the farthest attraction on many tourist's itineraries. I wondered if this was the moment when my status changed. No longer tourist in Paris but pilgrim on a journey.

The Avenue de la Grand Armee is lined with motorcycle shops. It's the place to come to see the whole range of bikes and scooters, of which Parisiens are especially fond. I window-shopped my way up to Porte Maillot, crossed the Peripherique ring road and continued the straight walk.

La Defense is France's Canary Wharf. Its towering skyscrapers are visible from across the city. At ground level, its like walking through a modern British university campus. Lots of textured concrete and wide steps.

The grand squares and vast walkways are on a scale which is anything but human. If the towers are designed to be admired from a long distance, their effect on the solitary walker is a bit intimidating. There were people around and at its busiest I think I could see something of the vision for the place. But in quieter areas it felt bare, quiet but not tranquil.

The Grande Arche is an amazing construction and has the feel of a temple. It's approached on an ever-rising route, and within itself has hundreds of steps, each wider than any I've ever seen. Climbing them I had the sense of being encouraged to believe that I was ascending for some cultic purpose. But there was no ceremony or altar waiting for me at the top, just a ticket booth offering a ride in an elevator. I declined.

A cityscape designed for architectural surprises is hard to navigate and I got lost as I tried to leave. Eventually I found my way out into Nanterre, whose tower blocks were of the 'depressing-residential' rather than 'glamorous-corporate' variety. I started to feel uncomfortable, anxious for the first time about being an alien. It was the kind of concrete development which lends a menace to the bored youths hanging out. Most, if not all, of this was in my head of course. No one spoke to me, let alone intimidated me. But nonetheless I was aware of being an outsider, an intruder even. I kept checking the map to confirm I was on the right route, not caring if this indicated I was from out-of-town (surely the rucksack does that).

At one point, a car stopped for a red light next to me and a kid on a motorbike pulled up next to the driver, formed his gloved hand into the shape of a pistol and pushed it into the driver's face. "Police!", he shouted, before screaming his bike away and laughing. Perhaps it's what the kids do here for kicks.

Eventually I found the Hotel d'Amandier, the most expensive on my whole trip, though the price does include dinner and breakfast. I was disappointed but relieved to have found it. The room is spartan but the restaurant surprisingly good, with friendly staff. At no point since yesterday at 1.00pm have I spoken anything but French to anyone - a fact about which I'm rather pleased.