Travel Man (2015) s02e02 Episode Script
48 Hours in Paris
1 Mini breaks are a swirling nebula of nonsense.
How can anyone go somewhere new and be expected to enjoy themselves without a decade to decompress? With no idea where to go, how to eat or what to do, it's impossible to stop the whole thing turning into a monumental fudge-up.
But do not tether yourself to a rack and rend yourself asunder, for, I, an ill-digestible dish of DNA called Richard Ayoade, have come to turn travel on its tete.
Accompanied by a whole quiver of well-known faces, I'm going to take you hurtling through a foolproof maxi mini break.
This is travel without mercy.
Tonight, 48 hours in Paris.
Home to artists, writers and romantics, Paris promises both style and substance.
And to help me shoulder the cultural burden, I'll be joined by comedian, presenter and phenomenon, Mel Giedroyc.
SHE BURPS Wow.
Together, we will glug green liquid Did you feel that at the back of yourbrain? Head? Yes! .
.
commit culinary clangers Chef, I need support! .
.
and unearth our inner artist.
Oh, shattered.
It's come apart.
Ooh, 'ello! Whoa! We're here, but should we have come? We're hurtling to the City Of Light in dignified ground-based fashion by taking the Eurostar.
We decide to document this unique moment in history by stepping out of it to take pictures of our own faces.
No sooner than our media sticks fill to capacity, we arrive.
Mel Yes.
.
.
we're in Paris.
I'm feeling it.
Good.
I'm feeling Parisian already.
Why have you brought me here? Well, Mel It's a lovely thing, and I'm not dissing it, but why? Well, Mel, I'll tell you why.
We all know Paris is the Texan city made famous by Wim Wenders' cinematic cri de coeur, but there's actually another Paris closer to home in a country called France, of all things.
This Paris is home to two and a quarter million bods who in turn jostle with 50 mill tourists a year, making Paris the third most visited city in the world.
But none of these saps have mini-broken like we're about to mini-break.
This photogenic capital is the birthplace of the bikini, the stethoscope and the pencil sharpener.
And for cats who like to keep their arboreal game tight, half of the 470,000 trees in Paris are referenced and measured by order of the Mayor of Paris himself.
A weekend here in the French capital will cost about £230, but in the interests of excess, we may well spaff even more.
So Where are we going, Richard, do you know? L'Hotel.
Yeah.
What's it called? That's what it's called.
Straight up.
Neat.
What, the hotel is called l'Hotel? Yeah.
Located in what's regarded as the most intellectual of neighbourhoods, l'Hotel is perfect for people who like their hotel names to contain no superfluity.
Its understated opulence and basics such as private pool hire have attracted Hollywood and literary greats, as well as Keanu Reeves.
OK, well This is some boudoir, Richard, isn't it? Nice.
That's a very nice Whatever the word is.
Bed.
Bed! Yep.
Oscar Wilde apparently died in this room, so, er Oh.
Did he die in this bed, do we know? I don't know.
I think he died just by the DVD player.
Blimey.
Mel leaves me with my bedfellow and scuppers off to scope her quarters.
Velvet walls.
Just how I like them.
Oh, yeah.
Mel, come on - stop relaxing.
This is a mini break.
Wake me up in 48 hours.
The first thing most people do on arriving in Paris is head to the Eiffel Tower, but who wants to waste hours in a queue for the lift or climb 704 steps to be rewarded with a view of Paris that doesn't even include the Eiffel Tower? Everyone, minus two mavericks.
The best view of Paris is to be viddied from a whole different tower.
Take a look at the queue.
Yeah.
It's not here, is it? Montparnasse Tower not only has the highest roof terrace in Paris, but also Europe's fastest lift - an attraction in and of itself.
Look at that.
Eiffel Tower.
Which we would not be able to see, were we foolish enough to ascend it.
There are 30 replicas of the Eiffel Tower around the world.
Did you just pluck that out of nowhere, or is that something I just pulled that out of my fact quiver.
OK.
There'll be further fact arrows from my fact quiver as we proceed.
We can see Les Invalides, Arc de Triomphe, Louvre.
Yep.
The lot.
Very nice colours.
There's camel, there's buff, there's beige, there's taupe Down to cream.
Which we've subconsciously bought into.
I know.
I never wear this colour in England, do you wear that in England? No.
You look like a young Terry Venables.
Do I? I love the camel.
I thought you were going to say some French film star, called Terry "Ven-able".
In order to effectively tend to our ticks to time ratio, we combine lunch AND history at Paris's oldest cafe, Le Procope.
Opened in 1686, it now doubles as a museum dedicated to some of its most famous patrons.
Napoleon's hat.
Small fellow.
What's with the upturned V? I don't know.
This Way Up? It was a favourite of Voltaire, Marie Antoinette and a raft of French revolutionaries.
How is it? That's lovely.
Good.
In a moment of weakness, we order calf's head casserole, the signature dish of this 17th-century chop house.
But before we cow down, Mel demands we plough through a plate of invertebrates.
Oh, crumbs.
Here we go.
Mr Forky goes Right .
.
deep into snail town.
Well, the colour of this is something I need to ignore.
It's really nice.
And I'm good for snail.
Did you like that? I'm good for it.
I really like that.
Really? Yep.
What's amazing to me, is it tastes like snail.
It tastes quite gardeny, doesn't it? I've still not got through it.
It's still resisting.
As Rod Stewart sang, "I am snailing".
"Snail away, snail away, snail away", as Enya would say.
With mathematical inevitability, the second course follows the first and we buckle up for bovine bonce.
Here we go.
Ready? Calf's head.
That's very French.
That's really good.
See if I can clear the decks with a bit of carrot.
SHE BURPS LOUDLY Wow! (Really sorry.
) I don't know if that's champers, I don't know if that's brainstems I'm really sorry.
It's charming.
It's awful, I'm so sorry.
No, it's very continental.
Let me top you up with sparkling water! I think it's a sign of Enjoying it, in France.
SHE BURPS AGAIN That was a deep one.
That was from the shoes.
Sorry.
It's really unattractive, I'm sorry.
It's because you're relaxed.
Yes.
You're relaxed.
I think you've been holding this in for years.
It's the champs, mate, honestly.
Mm.
Have you eaten some stem? I don't know, the texture altered during that bite.
Did it become viscous? That is a draw.
Maybe time to say tatty bye byes.
Yeah, we're going to skip.
Filled with French fare, we need to slam some sights into our optics.
Look at this fellow.
We choose Retro Tours to help us rev round a multitude of must-sees.
Should I be strapped in in any way? No.
Here we go! No straps? No seatbelt required? No seatbelt! Oh, my God! That's quite fast.
The distressingly masculine Remi will speed us past Notre Dame, the Champs-Elysees and Arc de Triomphe amongst other things that also have names.
I've got no feeling in my right thigh.
You don't need it.
I feel like doing a Lucinda Prior-Palmer.
It's this sort of action.
Sorry about this move, I know it's a bit odd, I just want to keep my right buttock alive.
I think he's used to it.
Yeah! Oh, 'ello! Whoa! Oh, look, Notre Dame! Bang.
This is the smallest street of Paris.
That IS a small street.
Can I stroke your beard? Yeah, you can.
Very slightly.
Good.
How is it? Do you want to stroke it? I'm OK.
You are in Where is this? Champs-Elysees.
The Champs-Elysees.
In front of Le Lido.
Another cabaret, you know? Like Crazy Horse and Moulin Rouge.
Is that a bit saucy? Many tits.
Many tits?! Remi! What did he say? He just said many tits in there.
Ah.
Remi, you've lowered the tone.
It was all about the Musee d'Orsay and suddenly, it's "many tits".
Unbelievable.
This is Paris! OK, Arc de Triomphe.
Wow.
This is the end.
Thank you, Remi.
You are adept on this machine.
Good night.
I don't know what the barnet's going to be doing under this.
Let's have a look.
It could have suffered.
Helmet head.
What's happening? No, it's good.
Is it? Yes, it's actually Better? It's actually better! It's actually improved.
Good way to see Paris? Amazing way to see Paris.
I felt you fall for Remi over the course of that trip.
You were hugging him tighter and tighter.
It's Paris, isn't it? I think it's Remi, as well.
Let's not discount his manly, young Brian Blessed presence.
Sights duly seen, the hour commands we bevvy up.
5pm is the Parisian precursor to wine time and in the 19th century was known as the Green Hour in reference to the populace's penchant for absinthe.
Also known as the Green Fairy, it's distilled from a mix of fennel, aniseed and wormwood shrub.
Oh, wow.
Ooh, lovely.
Now So what's this sugar cube? You have to do Like that.
Drop and drop.
When the sugar is dissolved you can drink.
Shall I open up my hose? OK.
Whoa! Too much! Sorry.
It's OK.
'It can be as strong as 89% alcohol 'and after being blamed for a variety of ills 'from a rise in alcoholism to tuberculosis and even murder' Wow.
'.
.
absinthe was banned in 1914 for almost a century.
' I mean, it's like very strong toothpaste.
Dental.
Ooh, did you feel that at the back of yourbrain.
Head? Yeah! Yeah, I mean A slight I'm certainly not going to chug my way through this.
My eyes have locked.
Well Slightly locked eyes.
Already.
No.
There is a glaze.
There's a slight glaze.
I've got the absinthe glaze.
Yes.
I'm not so sure.
How are you feeling? I feel tired.
Depressed? Yes.
Melancholy.
You're spiralling through a Rolodex of emotions, there.
Slightly melancholy! People will ferment anything, won't they? They will.
Bricks.
Bits of tears.
Anything Oh, wow.
You're really leaning into that punch.
You have tobrace into it.
OK.
Throats aflame, we put the Green Fairy on the night bus and make our way.
Tomorrow, in our Parisian perambulations, we throw our beaks about I've got massive nostrils.
Mel! Try to unravel the mystery of a man mountain.
Now, Paul Hollywood, is that his real name? And give due deference to a genius.
HE MUMBLES We are halfway through our sacred charge to siphon off the essence of Paris in 48 hours.
Thus far we have dined discerningly SHE BURPS Wow.
.
.
gulped green goo It's like very strong toothpaste.
.
.
and restaged Easy Rider.
Oh, look! Notre Dame! There we go.
Bang! As ever, day two starts with staring at cakes through glass.
They've got gold macaroons.
Gold ones! Parisians' belief in the macaron is mythic, enshrined in the crucial calendric celebration, Le Macaron Day.
This is for suckers.
Oh.
Trot on past the Parisians.
The au fait contemporary traveller can no longer content herself with merely dining on delicacies, she now has to construct them from scratch.
Hence we're hitting the world's most famous cookery school, Le Cordon Bleu, to learn the secrets of the macaron.
Teaching the culinary art for over 100 years, the school is literally the only place on planet Earth to learn French cuisine.
Bonjour a tous.
Bonjour, Chef.
Bonjour.
Welcome to Le Cordon Bleu Paris.
Merci.
Thank you.
You know why you are here today? Definitely.
Yes.
Not really.
We're going to make macarons and make them really good.
I can see how this is going.
You're teacher's pet, you're right there.
I'm right close.
I don't like what's happening.
I am already the favourite.
Chef Olivier Mahut begins the class by mixing together ground almonds and sugar.
This has been pre-weighed? Yeah.
So thus far, I haven't made a mistake.
And then deftly segues to whisking the eggs.
It's actually quite tiring.
It's this Knackering, isn't it? WHISKS JANGLE Mary Berry I know.
.
.
with the whisking.
That's why she's so sinewy.
It is all sinew.
I know.
It's sinew.
She's like a young Iggy Pop.
Let's hope she doesn't start taking her top off like Iggy.
Now, Paul Hollywood, is that his real name? Yes.
You're out of your mind that's his real name.
Next, Chef shows us how to gently combine the two mixtures.
It's like if you're doing the breastthe stroke? Breaststroke.
Yeah, breaststroke.
OK.
So one hand does this Going through a forest.
Kate Bush.
Yeah, that's it.
That works.
OK, one hand does this.
OK.
And the other one.
Oh.
Nice.
OK? So it's like doing this.
Oh, great.
Displaying the kind of empathy and bonhomie for which I am famed, I proceed to find out about our fellow chefs.
Have you made macaroon? Never.
Have you made macaroon? Have you made macaroon? Yeah.
You bake all the time, right? Sometimes.
Sometimes(!) Come on! I see.
Only when he's not managing his international business.
Anyone wearing a pink shirt, I trust.
You trust? I trust.
It's a choice.
It doesn't just happen to you.
You're thinking about life.
We add natural food colouring and prepare the mixture to pipe onto the baking tray.
How Oh! Chef, I need support.
No problem.
I'm here.
Look, look, look.
Here we go.
Isn't that cheating? Isn't that slightly cheating that the chef is taking your bag? I'm trying to learn.
You get to the end of your life, what do you say, "I've won"? No.
But he's just done that for you.
You say, "I've lived.
I've connected.
" I've got very unsteady hands because of anxiety.
After three hours as a pastry chef, I feel I might finally be able to hold my own in my fortnightly Greggs discussion group.
That's a good macaroon.
It's good? It's a good macaroon.
Just when I think we won't receive certificates, we receive certificates and my rage subsides, to be replaced by a sense of utter achievement.
APPLAUSE Thank you.
Well done, Richard.
Thank you.
I feel that would have happened regardless of what happened here.
Merci, Chef.
Merci beaucoup.
Thank you so much.
Everyone, look.
I got thethat.
Look, it's a certificate of attendance.
It just means It isn't! .
.
you came.
We need to go because we are pressed for time.
Chef, thank you.
This means I can work anywhere, right? Thank you so much.
You're welcome.
That's a bit much.
I know.
Sorry.
That's a bit much.
Perforce we must bust, for the upcoming selection of sights have no intention of seeing themselves.
Despite my near legendary motion sickness, I selflessly book us tickets on the Batobus, allowing Mel to get a gutful of sights via nine key attractions, six arrondissements and 15 bridges while I try to quell my stomach's revolt.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
That's what Paris is about, what's happening right there against that railing.
Give it space to breathe.
All right, sorry.
But that's what That Paris.
It's about laughing and looking in each other's eyes and interlocking.
Maybe that's a link to my feelings of nausea at the moment.
We have no choice but to abandon ship in the search of art.
Paris's most famous gallery is the Louvre, but we haven't got time to slog through some of the most evocative works ever produced in human history, let alone pay for it.
We want to look at graffiti, for free.
Armed with streetartmap, an interactive website that points out art wherever you are in the world, we're off to spot some stuff that's been sprayed on walls.
Look at Gregos.
He does these 3-D models of his face.
He's got a very small face.
I think he's trying to save on 3-D printing costs.
Yeah! HE SIGHS You find us between Kai and Shatters.
You can thank my app for telling me who did it, Kai.
Kai.
Kai.
Kai.
Shatters.
I love seahorses.
It's quite hard to be angry around a seahorse, isn't it? Oh, Shatters has come apart.
You've ruined a bit of Shatters.
Let's move on.
That's a shame.
Shatters has got to expect that.
Has anyone got any glue? Right.
No-one will ever know.
Art restoration duly performed, we head for a street-art shrine to a French singer and cultural icon.
Serge Gainsbourg's house, Mel.
I can tell you're moved.
He doesn't do it for me.
No? Not really.
Really? Do you like his music? I do.
Do you? Yes.
La Javanaise.
How does that go? HE HUMS A lot of them are quite like that.
He wrote Laetitia, that's incredible.
Laetitia? HE SPEAKS FRENCH Oh, Laetitia.
Sous Le Soleil Exactement.
And of course, Je T'Aime.
Really? There's something about that.
Don't like it.
The breathiness of it.
Afraid of breasts, of course.
Was he? Yeah.
I didn't know that.
Yeah.
Let's leave.
Growling, yeah.
Yeah.
Our hunger for souvenirs had reached something close to mania and that mania has turned my scent rancid.
I need perfume.
Fast! Paris has bewhiffed us with Chanel No 5, Dior and Opium, but we have unearthed something superior.
Let's hit the scents.
Oh.
In you pop.
We're heading for Parfum Sur Mesure where exclusive perfumier Stephanie de Bruijn can create a signature scent for a bracing four thou.
We've come to see if you can knock us up a scent.
Well, we say us, it's for Richard.
It's not for me.
We don't want to blow your perfume deal because she cannot endorse any other perfume than the one she is known for.
Smell, it's called.
Smell? S brackets M, and then E, L.
Just one L.
We are on a bit of a time pressure, so I know this normally takes about three weeks, does it? Yes.
We've got threeminutes maybe.
About three mins.
To create my fragrance, Stephanie pummels me with cues to discover the depths behind my rugged persona.
So ideally, I'm looking to smell like '60s new wave lemon fresh.
Yes.
With a hint of library.
Also Ribena.
Do you have Ribena? That's a heck of a drink.
She then selects a variety of smells for us to test-drive, based on my answers.
I have also bergamot oil.
You know bergamot? I don't know that oil, actually.
Bergamot is like a big lemon.
Oh.
That's subtle.
That gets you in the That gets you.
I've never seen you so You completely opened up in here.
I'm really enjoying this.
I've got massive nostrils.
Mel! No, you don't.
They're like a rocking horse.
I have a big sense of smell.
Please.
Stephanie will not be bullied into giving a cheap compliment, choosing to focus what remains of her energy on stirring up some pong.
What's that? Quite plummy.
It's nice.
That is definitely more citrusy.
Yes.
Come on.
Come on.
By the well, Lassie.
SHE GROWLS I'm saying that one.
I think that's more you.
You prefer the lemon one? On me? Definitely.
OK.
Et voila.
Thank you.
It's for you.
It's Le Rouge Et Le Noir.
Oui.
Emile Zola No, Stendhal.
Stendhal.
Sorry, I thought it was Zola.
That was a literary faux pas.
I know.
No problem.
Forget I ever came in.
Confusing Zola with Stendhal, back out.
Back out.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Oh, dear me.
As the final pellet of time dissolves around us, we hasten to the triumphant wonder of the Sacre Coeur.
A sustaining crepe rounds off a spend of ?4,787 per person.
But two thirds of that was on whiff.
Well Let's judge the trip.
How was it for you? It's been a feast of the senses.
Good.
The smell of your wrists.
My wrists are still very pungent.
What do you feel about the Cordon Bleu? It felt really good to go in there and, frankly, whip everyone else's ass, with our macarons.
Ours were better.
The best thing You've polished off that crepe.
The best thing has been hanging out with you.
Come now.
Come on, snuggle up.
Don't force me to return the compliment.
You know how I feel about Come on.
Paris, it's all laid out in front of us.
I've gone stiff.
I've never had a massage in my life.
Loose and limber.
Look.
I'm tight like a snare drum.
Next time A two-wheeled weekender in Copenhagen with comedian Noel Fielding.
That, my friends, is Galloper!
How can anyone go somewhere new and be expected to enjoy themselves without a decade to decompress? With no idea where to go, how to eat or what to do, it's impossible to stop the whole thing turning into a monumental fudge-up.
But do not tether yourself to a rack and rend yourself asunder, for, I, an ill-digestible dish of DNA called Richard Ayoade, have come to turn travel on its tete.
Accompanied by a whole quiver of well-known faces, I'm going to take you hurtling through a foolproof maxi mini break.
This is travel without mercy.
Tonight, 48 hours in Paris.
Home to artists, writers and romantics, Paris promises both style and substance.
And to help me shoulder the cultural burden, I'll be joined by comedian, presenter and phenomenon, Mel Giedroyc.
SHE BURPS Wow.
Together, we will glug green liquid Did you feel that at the back of yourbrain? Head? Yes! .
.
commit culinary clangers Chef, I need support! .
.
and unearth our inner artist.
Oh, shattered.
It's come apart.
Ooh, 'ello! Whoa! We're here, but should we have come? We're hurtling to the City Of Light in dignified ground-based fashion by taking the Eurostar.
We decide to document this unique moment in history by stepping out of it to take pictures of our own faces.
No sooner than our media sticks fill to capacity, we arrive.
Mel Yes.
.
.
we're in Paris.
I'm feeling it.
Good.
I'm feeling Parisian already.
Why have you brought me here? Well, Mel It's a lovely thing, and I'm not dissing it, but why? Well, Mel, I'll tell you why.
We all know Paris is the Texan city made famous by Wim Wenders' cinematic cri de coeur, but there's actually another Paris closer to home in a country called France, of all things.
This Paris is home to two and a quarter million bods who in turn jostle with 50 mill tourists a year, making Paris the third most visited city in the world.
But none of these saps have mini-broken like we're about to mini-break.
This photogenic capital is the birthplace of the bikini, the stethoscope and the pencil sharpener.
And for cats who like to keep their arboreal game tight, half of the 470,000 trees in Paris are referenced and measured by order of the Mayor of Paris himself.
A weekend here in the French capital will cost about £230, but in the interests of excess, we may well spaff even more.
So Where are we going, Richard, do you know? L'Hotel.
Yeah.
What's it called? That's what it's called.
Straight up.
Neat.
What, the hotel is called l'Hotel? Yeah.
Located in what's regarded as the most intellectual of neighbourhoods, l'Hotel is perfect for people who like their hotel names to contain no superfluity.
Its understated opulence and basics such as private pool hire have attracted Hollywood and literary greats, as well as Keanu Reeves.
OK, well This is some boudoir, Richard, isn't it? Nice.
That's a very nice Whatever the word is.
Bed.
Bed! Yep.
Oscar Wilde apparently died in this room, so, er Oh.
Did he die in this bed, do we know? I don't know.
I think he died just by the DVD player.
Blimey.
Mel leaves me with my bedfellow and scuppers off to scope her quarters.
Velvet walls.
Just how I like them.
Oh, yeah.
Mel, come on - stop relaxing.
This is a mini break.
Wake me up in 48 hours.
The first thing most people do on arriving in Paris is head to the Eiffel Tower, but who wants to waste hours in a queue for the lift or climb 704 steps to be rewarded with a view of Paris that doesn't even include the Eiffel Tower? Everyone, minus two mavericks.
The best view of Paris is to be viddied from a whole different tower.
Take a look at the queue.
Yeah.
It's not here, is it? Montparnasse Tower not only has the highest roof terrace in Paris, but also Europe's fastest lift - an attraction in and of itself.
Look at that.
Eiffel Tower.
Which we would not be able to see, were we foolish enough to ascend it.
There are 30 replicas of the Eiffel Tower around the world.
Did you just pluck that out of nowhere, or is that something I just pulled that out of my fact quiver.
OK.
There'll be further fact arrows from my fact quiver as we proceed.
We can see Les Invalides, Arc de Triomphe, Louvre.
Yep.
The lot.
Very nice colours.
There's camel, there's buff, there's beige, there's taupe Down to cream.
Which we've subconsciously bought into.
I know.
I never wear this colour in England, do you wear that in England? No.
You look like a young Terry Venables.
Do I? I love the camel.
I thought you were going to say some French film star, called Terry "Ven-able".
In order to effectively tend to our ticks to time ratio, we combine lunch AND history at Paris's oldest cafe, Le Procope.
Opened in 1686, it now doubles as a museum dedicated to some of its most famous patrons.
Napoleon's hat.
Small fellow.
What's with the upturned V? I don't know.
This Way Up? It was a favourite of Voltaire, Marie Antoinette and a raft of French revolutionaries.
How is it? That's lovely.
Good.
In a moment of weakness, we order calf's head casserole, the signature dish of this 17th-century chop house.
But before we cow down, Mel demands we plough through a plate of invertebrates.
Oh, crumbs.
Here we go.
Mr Forky goes Right .
.
deep into snail town.
Well, the colour of this is something I need to ignore.
It's really nice.
And I'm good for snail.
Did you like that? I'm good for it.
I really like that.
Really? Yep.
What's amazing to me, is it tastes like snail.
It tastes quite gardeny, doesn't it? I've still not got through it.
It's still resisting.
As Rod Stewart sang, "I am snailing".
"Snail away, snail away, snail away", as Enya would say.
With mathematical inevitability, the second course follows the first and we buckle up for bovine bonce.
Here we go.
Ready? Calf's head.
That's very French.
That's really good.
See if I can clear the decks with a bit of carrot.
SHE BURPS LOUDLY Wow! (Really sorry.
) I don't know if that's champers, I don't know if that's brainstems I'm really sorry.
It's charming.
It's awful, I'm so sorry.
No, it's very continental.
Let me top you up with sparkling water! I think it's a sign of Enjoying it, in France.
SHE BURPS AGAIN That was a deep one.
That was from the shoes.
Sorry.
It's really unattractive, I'm sorry.
It's because you're relaxed.
Yes.
You're relaxed.
I think you've been holding this in for years.
It's the champs, mate, honestly.
Mm.
Have you eaten some stem? I don't know, the texture altered during that bite.
Did it become viscous? That is a draw.
Maybe time to say tatty bye byes.
Yeah, we're going to skip.
Filled with French fare, we need to slam some sights into our optics.
Look at this fellow.
We choose Retro Tours to help us rev round a multitude of must-sees.
Should I be strapped in in any way? No.
Here we go! No straps? No seatbelt required? No seatbelt! Oh, my God! That's quite fast.
The distressingly masculine Remi will speed us past Notre Dame, the Champs-Elysees and Arc de Triomphe amongst other things that also have names.
I've got no feeling in my right thigh.
You don't need it.
I feel like doing a Lucinda Prior-Palmer.
It's this sort of action.
Sorry about this move, I know it's a bit odd, I just want to keep my right buttock alive.
I think he's used to it.
Yeah! Oh, 'ello! Whoa! Oh, look, Notre Dame! Bang.
This is the smallest street of Paris.
That IS a small street.
Can I stroke your beard? Yeah, you can.
Very slightly.
Good.
How is it? Do you want to stroke it? I'm OK.
You are in Where is this? Champs-Elysees.
The Champs-Elysees.
In front of Le Lido.
Another cabaret, you know? Like Crazy Horse and Moulin Rouge.
Is that a bit saucy? Many tits.
Many tits?! Remi! What did he say? He just said many tits in there.
Ah.
Remi, you've lowered the tone.
It was all about the Musee d'Orsay and suddenly, it's "many tits".
Unbelievable.
This is Paris! OK, Arc de Triomphe.
Wow.
This is the end.
Thank you, Remi.
You are adept on this machine.
Good night.
I don't know what the barnet's going to be doing under this.
Let's have a look.
It could have suffered.
Helmet head.
What's happening? No, it's good.
Is it? Yes, it's actually Better? It's actually better! It's actually improved.
Good way to see Paris? Amazing way to see Paris.
I felt you fall for Remi over the course of that trip.
You were hugging him tighter and tighter.
It's Paris, isn't it? I think it's Remi, as well.
Let's not discount his manly, young Brian Blessed presence.
Sights duly seen, the hour commands we bevvy up.
5pm is the Parisian precursor to wine time and in the 19th century was known as the Green Hour in reference to the populace's penchant for absinthe.
Also known as the Green Fairy, it's distilled from a mix of fennel, aniseed and wormwood shrub.
Oh, wow.
Ooh, lovely.
Now So what's this sugar cube? You have to do Like that.
Drop and drop.
When the sugar is dissolved you can drink.
Shall I open up my hose? OK.
Whoa! Too much! Sorry.
It's OK.
'It can be as strong as 89% alcohol 'and after being blamed for a variety of ills 'from a rise in alcoholism to tuberculosis and even murder' Wow.
'.
.
absinthe was banned in 1914 for almost a century.
' I mean, it's like very strong toothpaste.
Dental.
Ooh, did you feel that at the back of yourbrain.
Head? Yeah! Yeah, I mean A slight I'm certainly not going to chug my way through this.
My eyes have locked.
Well Slightly locked eyes.
Already.
No.
There is a glaze.
There's a slight glaze.
I've got the absinthe glaze.
Yes.
I'm not so sure.
How are you feeling? I feel tired.
Depressed? Yes.
Melancholy.
You're spiralling through a Rolodex of emotions, there.
Slightly melancholy! People will ferment anything, won't they? They will.
Bricks.
Bits of tears.
Anything Oh, wow.
You're really leaning into that punch.
You have tobrace into it.
OK.
Throats aflame, we put the Green Fairy on the night bus and make our way.
Tomorrow, in our Parisian perambulations, we throw our beaks about I've got massive nostrils.
Mel! Try to unravel the mystery of a man mountain.
Now, Paul Hollywood, is that his real name? And give due deference to a genius.
HE MUMBLES We are halfway through our sacred charge to siphon off the essence of Paris in 48 hours.
Thus far we have dined discerningly SHE BURPS Wow.
.
.
gulped green goo It's like very strong toothpaste.
.
.
and restaged Easy Rider.
Oh, look! Notre Dame! There we go.
Bang! As ever, day two starts with staring at cakes through glass.
They've got gold macaroons.
Gold ones! Parisians' belief in the macaron is mythic, enshrined in the crucial calendric celebration, Le Macaron Day.
This is for suckers.
Oh.
Trot on past the Parisians.
The au fait contemporary traveller can no longer content herself with merely dining on delicacies, she now has to construct them from scratch.
Hence we're hitting the world's most famous cookery school, Le Cordon Bleu, to learn the secrets of the macaron.
Teaching the culinary art for over 100 years, the school is literally the only place on planet Earth to learn French cuisine.
Bonjour a tous.
Bonjour, Chef.
Bonjour.
Welcome to Le Cordon Bleu Paris.
Merci.
Thank you.
You know why you are here today? Definitely.
Yes.
Not really.
We're going to make macarons and make them really good.
I can see how this is going.
You're teacher's pet, you're right there.
I'm right close.
I don't like what's happening.
I am already the favourite.
Chef Olivier Mahut begins the class by mixing together ground almonds and sugar.
This has been pre-weighed? Yeah.
So thus far, I haven't made a mistake.
And then deftly segues to whisking the eggs.
It's actually quite tiring.
It's this Knackering, isn't it? WHISKS JANGLE Mary Berry I know.
.
.
with the whisking.
That's why she's so sinewy.
It is all sinew.
I know.
It's sinew.
She's like a young Iggy Pop.
Let's hope she doesn't start taking her top off like Iggy.
Now, Paul Hollywood, is that his real name? Yes.
You're out of your mind that's his real name.
Next, Chef shows us how to gently combine the two mixtures.
It's like if you're doing the breastthe stroke? Breaststroke.
Yeah, breaststroke.
OK.
So one hand does this Going through a forest.
Kate Bush.
Yeah, that's it.
That works.
OK, one hand does this.
OK.
And the other one.
Oh.
Nice.
OK? So it's like doing this.
Oh, great.
Displaying the kind of empathy and bonhomie for which I am famed, I proceed to find out about our fellow chefs.
Have you made macaroon? Never.
Have you made macaroon? Have you made macaroon? Yeah.
You bake all the time, right? Sometimes.
Sometimes(!) Come on! I see.
Only when he's not managing his international business.
Anyone wearing a pink shirt, I trust.
You trust? I trust.
It's a choice.
It doesn't just happen to you.
You're thinking about life.
We add natural food colouring and prepare the mixture to pipe onto the baking tray.
How Oh! Chef, I need support.
No problem.
I'm here.
Look, look, look.
Here we go.
Isn't that cheating? Isn't that slightly cheating that the chef is taking your bag? I'm trying to learn.
You get to the end of your life, what do you say, "I've won"? No.
But he's just done that for you.
You say, "I've lived.
I've connected.
" I've got very unsteady hands because of anxiety.
After three hours as a pastry chef, I feel I might finally be able to hold my own in my fortnightly Greggs discussion group.
That's a good macaroon.
It's good? It's a good macaroon.
Just when I think we won't receive certificates, we receive certificates and my rage subsides, to be replaced by a sense of utter achievement.
APPLAUSE Thank you.
Well done, Richard.
Thank you.
I feel that would have happened regardless of what happened here.
Merci, Chef.
Merci beaucoup.
Thank you so much.
Everyone, look.
I got thethat.
Look, it's a certificate of attendance.
It just means It isn't! .
.
you came.
We need to go because we are pressed for time.
Chef, thank you.
This means I can work anywhere, right? Thank you so much.
You're welcome.
That's a bit much.
I know.
Sorry.
That's a bit much.
Perforce we must bust, for the upcoming selection of sights have no intention of seeing themselves.
Despite my near legendary motion sickness, I selflessly book us tickets on the Batobus, allowing Mel to get a gutful of sights via nine key attractions, six arrondissements and 15 bridges while I try to quell my stomach's revolt.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
That's what Paris is about, what's happening right there against that railing.
Give it space to breathe.
All right, sorry.
But that's what That Paris.
It's about laughing and looking in each other's eyes and interlocking.
Maybe that's a link to my feelings of nausea at the moment.
We have no choice but to abandon ship in the search of art.
Paris's most famous gallery is the Louvre, but we haven't got time to slog through some of the most evocative works ever produced in human history, let alone pay for it.
We want to look at graffiti, for free.
Armed with streetartmap, an interactive website that points out art wherever you are in the world, we're off to spot some stuff that's been sprayed on walls.
Look at Gregos.
He does these 3-D models of his face.
He's got a very small face.
I think he's trying to save on 3-D printing costs.
Yeah! HE SIGHS You find us between Kai and Shatters.
You can thank my app for telling me who did it, Kai.
Kai.
Kai.
Kai.
Shatters.
I love seahorses.
It's quite hard to be angry around a seahorse, isn't it? Oh, Shatters has come apart.
You've ruined a bit of Shatters.
Let's move on.
That's a shame.
Shatters has got to expect that.
Has anyone got any glue? Right.
No-one will ever know.
Art restoration duly performed, we head for a street-art shrine to a French singer and cultural icon.
Serge Gainsbourg's house, Mel.
I can tell you're moved.
He doesn't do it for me.
No? Not really.
Really? Do you like his music? I do.
Do you? Yes.
La Javanaise.
How does that go? HE HUMS A lot of them are quite like that.
He wrote Laetitia, that's incredible.
Laetitia? HE SPEAKS FRENCH Oh, Laetitia.
Sous Le Soleil Exactement.
And of course, Je T'Aime.
Really? There's something about that.
Don't like it.
The breathiness of it.
Afraid of breasts, of course.
Was he? Yeah.
I didn't know that.
Yeah.
Let's leave.
Growling, yeah.
Yeah.
Our hunger for souvenirs had reached something close to mania and that mania has turned my scent rancid.
I need perfume.
Fast! Paris has bewhiffed us with Chanel No 5, Dior and Opium, but we have unearthed something superior.
Let's hit the scents.
Oh.
In you pop.
We're heading for Parfum Sur Mesure where exclusive perfumier Stephanie de Bruijn can create a signature scent for a bracing four thou.
We've come to see if you can knock us up a scent.
Well, we say us, it's for Richard.
It's not for me.
We don't want to blow your perfume deal because she cannot endorse any other perfume than the one she is known for.
Smell, it's called.
Smell? S brackets M, and then E, L.
Just one L.
We are on a bit of a time pressure, so I know this normally takes about three weeks, does it? Yes.
We've got threeminutes maybe.
About three mins.
To create my fragrance, Stephanie pummels me with cues to discover the depths behind my rugged persona.
So ideally, I'm looking to smell like '60s new wave lemon fresh.
Yes.
With a hint of library.
Also Ribena.
Do you have Ribena? That's a heck of a drink.
She then selects a variety of smells for us to test-drive, based on my answers.
I have also bergamot oil.
You know bergamot? I don't know that oil, actually.
Bergamot is like a big lemon.
Oh.
That's subtle.
That gets you in the That gets you.
I've never seen you so You completely opened up in here.
I'm really enjoying this.
I've got massive nostrils.
Mel! No, you don't.
They're like a rocking horse.
I have a big sense of smell.
Please.
Stephanie will not be bullied into giving a cheap compliment, choosing to focus what remains of her energy on stirring up some pong.
What's that? Quite plummy.
It's nice.
That is definitely more citrusy.
Yes.
Come on.
Come on.
By the well, Lassie.
SHE GROWLS I'm saying that one.
I think that's more you.
You prefer the lemon one? On me? Definitely.
OK.
Et voila.
Thank you.
It's for you.
It's Le Rouge Et Le Noir.
Oui.
Emile Zola No, Stendhal.
Stendhal.
Sorry, I thought it was Zola.
That was a literary faux pas.
I know.
No problem.
Forget I ever came in.
Confusing Zola with Stendhal, back out.
Back out.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Oh, dear me.
As the final pellet of time dissolves around us, we hasten to the triumphant wonder of the Sacre Coeur.
A sustaining crepe rounds off a spend of ?4,787 per person.
But two thirds of that was on whiff.
Well Let's judge the trip.
How was it for you? It's been a feast of the senses.
Good.
The smell of your wrists.
My wrists are still very pungent.
What do you feel about the Cordon Bleu? It felt really good to go in there and, frankly, whip everyone else's ass, with our macarons.
Ours were better.
The best thing You've polished off that crepe.
The best thing has been hanging out with you.
Come now.
Come on, snuggle up.
Don't force me to return the compliment.
You know how I feel about Come on.
Paris, it's all laid out in front of us.
I've gone stiff.
I've never had a massage in my life.
Loose and limber.
Look.
I'm tight like a snare drum.
Next time A two-wheeled weekender in Copenhagen with comedian Noel Fielding.
That, my friends, is Galloper!