By Carol Goddard

So there we were, our last night in Montmartre, before a very early start the next morning, the beginning of our trek home to Australia after a glorious European holiday.

Hubby, knowing my penchant for making any situation into a celebration, gives me warning:

“Carol, we’re having a quiet night tonight. Just a few bevies at the pub down the street, a meal and an early night- got a 5am start tomorrow.”

Off we walk down Rue Lepic, in the heart of Montmartre, a stones throw from naughty Pigalle, teeming with cocktail hour activity, and only minutes away from the Moulin Rouge.

Lux Bar

So we take up our stools at the bar in the little pub called The Lux, to do all our “lasts”; last drinks, last food, last people watching.

We have sampled the delights of the Lux on a few previous nights, and the very outgoing waiter Max found us Aussies quite delightful.

So much so that he had talked about us to a group of his regulars, who happen at this moment to be sitting at a nearby table , ensconced in drinking aperitifs , and playing a card game.

These regulars are students from the nearby Sorbonne, 5 young men and women aged in their late 20s. And they apparently find us Aussie oldies to be quite fascinating.

From their table they strike up a conversation with us. They introduce themselves; they are extremely articulate, and friendly.

We are polite in our responses, and Max assures us they are “good kids”.

They ask us to join them at their table.

We respectfully decline, telling them we were only there for The One.

A few minutes later, 2 little blue shots are brought to us by Max.

Our new friends have shouted us.

And they are now going on a Parisian pub crawl , and would we like to join them?

I sense that this is potentially going to be the start of one of those travel adventures we would long remember. And I so want to join these kids.

But: we have that early start looming.

And, more to the point, are we being reckless, going off with a bunch of kids we’d just met? In a bar?? In a foreign country?

We throw caution to the wind.

And so begins a surreal, memorable, crazy pub crawl through the streets of Montmartre, which I still remember to this day with a smile and a happy heart.

We go from bar to bar. All of them are student haunts, none we as tourists would have found on our own, let alone frequented.

Some are so packed with bodies it is almost impossible to move. Music pumps, lights flash, and conversation due to noise is impossible.

And at each place we have a different drink, bought for us by our new friends.

I recall one drink which has smoke emanating from it , intriguing!

Fortunately, David, one of our new friends, summons up some cheese, meats and cornichons with bread to accompany the cocktails, and in the ensuing conversation he tells

me his family owns a vineyard in Bordeaux, and wants him to join the family business, which he has no interest in doing.

This was just one of many tales that night.

Over the next hours , we learn so much about the lives of these kids we’ve only just met. One is a local radio DJ, one has recently been released from jail, crime unspecified.

And at 1am, it is time to eat.

This is Montmartre. You can find a meal at any time. And so we eat pizza, their choice, drink Amaretto , as you do at 1am, and finally say goodbye to our young French friends.

And of course ,we pay for everyone’s meal, before staggering back to our hotel at 3am.

Yes: that early start is in 2 hours time.

Much the worse for wear, we are soon on our way back to Australia.

And the memories of that “quiet night” still make me glow all these years later.