From Paris to Amsterdam, via the battlefields and beaches of two world wars
A father and son fight the tourist hordes and make their way across Europe on a sobering journey through 20th-century history
It’s midsummer in Paris and there’s an ominously long line of tourists waiting outside Notre-Dame Cathedral. Things are no better 10 minutes away, at the Louvre, where sightseers slowly shuffle towards the entrance and an eventual encounter with the Mona Lisa.
Gaining admission to the Catacombs, the spooky subterranean cemetery containing the centuries-old remains of 6 million Parisians, means standing in the sweltering July sun for at least two hours, and queuing for the Eiffel Tower requires Zen-like levels of patience.
We could have paid for “skip-the-line” tickets but I’ve been to the French capital before, and Sam, my 13-year-old son, isn’t fussed about seeing the iconic attractions. His idea of bucket-list bliss is playing soccer with some local lads in the Jardin des Tuileries.
We walk the length of the Champs-Élysées, marvel at the Arc de Triomphe and watch as workmen install a grandstand in readiness for the final stage of the Tour de France. I get chatting to a doorman at the flagship Louis Vuitton store who reckons at least half the customers are now Chinese. Judging by the crowds milling outside, perhaps the French fashion house should start offering skip-the-line tickets as well.
To escape the glitz, glamour and designer handbag-related hubbub, we hop on the metro to peaceful Père Lachaise Cemetery and track down the graves of Oscar Wilde, Frédéric Chopin and Jim Morrison. In fact, it’s Sam’s interest in cemeteries that has shaped our holiday itinerary. After studying the first world war at school, he asked if we could visit the battlefields of northern France and Belgium.
