Paris-de-resistance

So on the day of leaving the chateau (14th Oct) we still weren't 100 percent sure whether we would be able to catch our train out... only 1 in 3 trains were running from our region and all talk was of escalation - yeeks.... lucky for us it WAS the ONLY one running to Paris that day. Of course when we got on the train with all our luggage it was standing room only... for a 3 hour trip! Lucky (again) we had reserved 1st class seats and were given priority (let's face it I ain't even qualify as a chardonnay socialist - sweetie, move the fuck out of my way I am sitting this ass down!)

Paris one night then I was to train it to visit a friend I have not seen in almost 15 years, Maggie - who now lives near Nice/Antibes with her girlfriend (Valerie) who I have never met. But on the train I started to worry... IF I made it to Antibes, would I make it back to Paris and then onto my train to Madrid where I would then catch a plane to meet up with Stevey in Athens?

So torn - I support the strikers but could they have waited a week or two?! (yet another example of my failed socialism)

Anyhoo we arrived in Paris - Nikkii had a coupla hours to kill before her train to London (only line out of France that was not at all effected) - but that whole under The Channel thing gave me the heebies...

Anyways, we went to my teeny weeny hotel room (this is the lift that wouldn't fit my luggage - with or without a person in it!) The only thing smaller was the shower that was MAYBE 45cmx45cm

and then we went for a walk... and discovered this cute-as-pie tea shop - I had violet tea!

I'm not sure if you can tell from these pics but the owners had antique jewellery and bits for sale and had decorated the cafe with a cherry theme.

As well as dogs being allowed and violet tea there were many other bits of charm - hand painted frescoes, wonky seats and mismatching but cute teapots and china, the owners were doting grandparents and their newborn grandson was there being cooed at - even his crying added to the charm and character. I came back several times.

Soon it was time to say good-bye to Nikkii :( - as she headed down into the metro with all her luggage I wondered when I'd ever see her again - soooo in-each-others-14-yr-old-head-space for an intense and significant 6 weeks of this year?!

I started asking people what their predictions about the strike were - from storeshop owners to the hotel concierge... and then of course I got in touch with Maggie. Would I make it to Antibes... and then what? Maggie in turn asked her partner... I rang my insurance company... what was their advice. After much too-ing and fro-ing and internal conflict. I cancelled my trip to visit Maggie :( , booked an extra night in Paris and then my ticket on the Eurostar to London. Everyone was saying to git while the gittin' was good - the last time there were strikes about the same issue, they went for several WEEKS - no trains, no planes! The French have quite a militant reputation - yay (pathetic attempt to claw back some socialist respectability).

Basically I spent the first 24hrs in Paris dealing with bullshit bureaucracy... booking my under-channel escape route (gulp), a hotel in London (with fuck all notice so fuck all options) cancelling my flight from Madrid to Athens and booking one from London to Athens and Athens to Madrid... blah, blah, blah - ca-ching that'll be nearly $2000 please. fUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK! Thank fuck for credit cards eh?

I made all arrangements gambling on the strike continuing... if it didn't I definitely wouldn't get a cent back on insurance as it is... well, we'll wait and see. Lucky for me the strike did escalate - I would never have made it to Maggie's anyway - all trains there were cancelled, as were all the trains to Spain for at least the the week leading up to and including my originally booked trip!

Anyhow once all the bureaucratic bullshit was sorted I had an extra 24 hours to frolic in Paris! Lucky for me Maggie knew this area well and gave me a coupla tips - Paris hadn't won me the time before.

So in the morning I wandered around and in this section (5E - I think) I saw cute courtyards and found a nice outdoor market - with many of the French specialties - pate, cabbage and sausage stuff, cheeses - but more importantly given my isolation in La Roche Posay also some Turkish cuisine ... oh yeah, hit the babaganoush with a frightening fervour!

They also sold cape gooseberries (which I grow at a an average of 10 berries a year!) by the kilo... yeah!

Now Andrew (and any of my vegetarian friends), look away.

I've decided I prefer the honesty of the way they sell meat in many parts of Europe... you cannot pretend it is divorced from the life of a real animal. Course I'm still happy to eat that life (soz all)

I wondered along - sent packages home and a few chateau-cooked treats for Maggie and Valerie...

I discovered what an inner-suburban highschool looks like ...

Very jail-like, no? Only when the kids came and went could you see em - high fences, grey brick - shudder!

Of course in other instances the attention to detail on buildings was stunning - every wall painted with exquisite detail and then some feature panels of different scenes.

Even a man leaning out the window for a smoke can't undo the charm.

That's right, this trip Paris was charming me!

I wandered around and marveled at how much more honest the French were about more than their meat-eating. They acknowledge that people watching is one of the best parts about street cafe-life. They set the seats up almost like a friggin cinema, and the life around them is the movie of choice. Awesome, I watched many movies in my brief time!

I wandered down Rue Mouffatard and was captured by it's charm, both during the day and by night... Here I found much of the awesome graffiti art featured below... and now that I was heading for FUCKING COLD territory (ie London) that I hadn't packed for, I had an excuse to buy gloves and a hat (yay!)

Anyway here are some shots of Rue Mouffatard...

Paris is very charming, Non?

GRAFFITI ART GALLERY

Finding all this graffiti art made my heart sing - the spontaneous, risk-taking conversation between artist and pedestrian is always a joy (ps I make a distinction between street art and tagging ... tagging to me is just a bunch of boys (usually) pissing to mark territory)

In one spot I discovered many great pieces... but some were from further afield

For me graffiti art signals a city has heart - and an intelligent defiance. Approve!

This is just some of the art I saw, I did not always have a camera!

What this piece lacks in finesse and detail, it makes up in the feeling of joyous freedom it evokes!

A little tacky for my taste... but, whatever!

This piece I nearly stepped on! It incorporated a watermain man-hole, awesome!

Anyhows, brief as it was, this trip to Paris provided dimensions beyond tourism and sleaze I needed that if I was ever to have a reason to return. Paris, pleased to meet you at last, charmed I'm sure!

Un peu de Paris (A little bit of Paris)

Peu is right!

Paris, so talked about, so revered and for me in these two days, so overrated.

I hadn’t wanted to leave Spain so that could have been part of it. I had had the train trip from hell so that could have been part of it. I hadn’t slept properly in days so that could have been part of it. But when I finally got to Paris, I was actually keen. Keen to have an arvo of exploring on my own before Nikkii came from Portugal. Keen to have a day touristing with Nikkii and Thomas etc Keen to discover what this revered city had to offer. But I only had 2 nights before heading to the chateau...

The details. The hotel was up in Montemarte up near Sacre Coeur – in a really seedy section.

Strangely I didn’t take photos of the neighbourhood – off my game I guess. But I arrived before check-in so I dropped my bags and went to the local internet café.

An hour or so later I checked in and settled into my half of the small space, had a long nap and decided to head out for an adventure. I had eavesdropped at check-in on a conversation indicating a market just up the street. Cool!

So, I am walking a block or so from the hotel when I become aware of a man following me. He nods and smiles – I smirk/sneer and keep walking. A block later and he’s still there… I turn down another street, he follows. Ok, now I’m starting to get creeped out and quicken my steps – I am also suddenly aware that I know NO fucking French. Not “what do you want?”, not “piss off you fucking-creepy-loser” and certainly not “help – this fucking-creepy-loser is following me!”. Merde!

I see a coat store and duck in – I pretend to look around at fake leather coats of a most un-me variety in an attempt to lose the Fucking-Creepy-Loser (FCL). I head out… he’s waiting – FUUUUCCCKKK… I walk half a block and duck into a chemist – I peer outside and the pharmicist asks (I assume) if the there is anything I want. I try to explain that a FCL is following me… sign language, gestures… I look up at the pharmacists as I gesticulate and it becomes clear that rather than understanding the urgency of what I am attempting to communicate, they are deciding whether to call the psych-emergency team for assistance. Merde!

I head back outside, he is gone. I keep going toward the market, looking over my shoulder to see if the FCL is following me. Nup… but I keep looking, the whole trip.

The market is a dud. The kinda cheap tatty shit sold at two dollar shops or the touristy sections of the Vic Market. Yeesh. But I walk around and witness coded communications between a group of men targeting tourists for pick-pocketing. Subtle fingered gestures behind the back to guys walking a few metres behind. Impressive, wrong, but impressive.

I decide to head back via the metro station which is less than 50 metres from our hotel. I line up, just wanting a metro map to use for the next coupla days. I am beset upon by a series of touts trying to sell me metro tickets cheaper than at the window or in the machine – their English, while awkward, is nonetheless impressive. A woman who has clearly led a harsh life puts a McDonalds cup in my face, intended for my loose change. I keep standing - eventually, these people move on to their next targets. There are at least 20 “dodgy” characters operating in a 5 metre radius of me. I am awed, fascinated, saddened and repulsed. Then a chaotic shouting begins and people scurry in every direction, cups get emptied and launched into gutters in split seconds, tickets get pocketed and many leap across entrance barriers towards the trains – the gendarme (coppers) have arrived. They stroll about, looking around with less than vague interest, they stroll back out… the miscellaneous dodgy hoards are back at work within 2 minutes… my queue has barely moved forward.

Eventually I get my map and head for the stairs back out.

A man smiles and starts launching himself at me, “Beautiful woman, I love you, you stunning me, beautiful, sexy woman…” I grimace, and indicate my lack of interest with relative politeness. “I love you, beautiful woman, sexy woman, sexy woman, I want sex you”… I turn and indicate my lack of interest with somewhat less politeness as I stride up the stairs… he follows – he continues. I turn around and approach him, yelling directly at him “Just FUCK-OFF”, he stands, smiles and says, “Yes, I fuck you beautiful, sexy woman. I fuck, I fuck.” Good grief! I stomp off without looking back - he didn’t follow.

When I get to the hotel I ask the woman at reception to write down how to say in French, “Fuck off and go away”, she is a little taken aback and says that it might be better to say “Laissez moi tranquille” (leave me alone)

That was my first few hours out and about in Paris!

I decide to stay in the room and await Nikkii’s arrival later that night.

Nikkii arrives, so tanned she looks like a backpacker – not an English one though, they tend to more beetroot shades. Portugal has good beaches for sunning on it would seem – damn should have put it on my itinerary! It’s late, we crash.

Day 2 – We organise to meet Thomas (the lovely 18yr-old guy from just outside of Paris that I'd shared my flat in Barcelona with) in town with his girlfriend (I’m embarrassed to have forgotten her name cos she was lovely!)

Before we do Nikkii and I stroll around – she knows Paris … at least in passing. We head to a lovely park next to the Louvre… we stroll enjoy sunshine and

colour – she predicts a pick-pocket scam just before it happens (people ask you to read their postcard in English… and rob ya), we buy post cards, we sit in the sun and people watch. Aaahhh, that’s more like it!

Then we head in to meet up – it quickly becomes clear that Thomas does not really know Paris in detail either. Like an eighteen year old from Geelong showing people around Melbourne – his girlfriend had come into town more often. They were both generous and kind. At first the suggested a burger joint for lunch, thinking that would appeal to us? But then they took us to the old Jewish quarter where we sat for lunch of awesome falafels! This was more like it…

Then we just strolled the streets and chatted. They answered my many questions about signs and monuments and stuff. We walked along the Seine, Notre Dame and the Latin Quarters – lovely day in the sun laughing and talking, sight-seeing and just looking. I was oddly underwhelmed in a way because everything seemed to familiar - images from TV I guess. I felt incredibly touristy (which I inevitably am, everywhere) To emphasise it I took a photo of Nikkii taking a photo. There must be uncountable repetitions of the same images, places, perspectives. As always, I (as I'm sure many people do) wanted to get underneath the gloss to the culture ... but not the variety that had dogged me on day one! Not possible in 2 days I guess.

We found Duvver's street too / a collision of her names - Rue Christiani!

While we walked Nikkiii took photos of random space invader artwork while I concentrated on graffitti this one says approx hello I am a painter but I do not have money, I do poor drawings a complete mess thank you - approx

I became aware at this point that Paris was a city of cats. Not only literally – they are frequently depicted in art and can be seen strolling streets or hiding in drains – but also analogously … if the Spanish are dog people (transparent, boisterous, fun-loving), Parisians are cat people (mysterious, aloof, elegant). Hmmmm

Eventually it was time for the others to head home…

Nikkii and I decided to head to Sacre Cour and walk home from there - a little of an uphill hike but what a view!

More sun, more people watching, talented buskers (this one juggles while keeping a goldfish in a bottle balanced on hi head!), art and cobble streets of wonder.

It is at this point that I first noticed a phenomena I had vaguely observed in Spain but was now in my face everywhere I went... NUTELLA - huge fuck off jars of it, it has followed me since as well. Why do Europeans love Nutella so much… it is everywhere, it lacks class!

The wind picks up and it is cold again … or, more accurately, we have dressed optimistically… it is time to walk home… via a bread shop (hot, crusty pane), a fruit shop (mmm berries!) etc… we eye off other pastry shops but decide to wait until morning. We get in, we eat, we crash.

The next moring is filled with bureaucratic must-dos, get phone credit, email, post snail mail – achieved… time to head to the station and our trip to Chateau Valcruese, La Roche Posay where we will live for the next six weeks. Gulp – but that’s the next blog!

bye-bye Barcelona!

Ok it is sunny again here at the chateau, now a rare thing as autumn sets in with cloud and mist and wind with mere glimpses of sun. Today however a gentle blue sky and sun on my face inspires memories and I am given a moment to recall. But this is a quickie, a last fleeting flit through Barcelona – meeting up with good people and getting ready to head to Paris. Just one day… and my notes are gone so… relying on my terribly holey memory!

Arrived and committed a heinous crime… headed straight to McDonalds. Not cos I wanted a burger or fries but because I needed internet – how else could a scraggly bunch of travellers catch up?

It’s funny really; I had always given Emre a hard time for eating Maccas and frozen food when in Spain… I mean really? What a fucken hypocrite I ordered a third of my default Maccas order (you know the order you ALWAYS had when you were a kid… mine used to be a Big Mac, chocolate thickshake and fries – now even writing it makes me wanna barf) – So fries and warm water it was, as I got online and confirmed a meeting spot with Hanna and Jan… 9with help from mobile phones too) they in turn told others. I first headed to Jan’s flat for a catch up and a mini cd download sess and a pit-stop.

We headed to said park to meet others near Barcelona’s Arc de Triumph (a prelude for all things French?)

I met the guy who had moved in after me as well and a few others. (Holy shit two auburn coloured squirrels skittered past me at the chateau - soooo cute!). We wandered around the park enjoying sunlight (some nursing hangovers!) sitting, watching others frolic.

We laughed at the OTT gold-gilt water features, but let’s face it, it's these garish touches that mark a place as special, as a space to laugh in!

This boy was so intent on the pond that he stayed in this possie for well over 15 minutes… Holiday lifestyles eh?

Eventually we kept wandering through the park where the others (not me!) had a crack – and failed – at this popular “sport”/activity. Essentially elastic is strung up between trees and the aim is to balance across – eventually doing fancy stuff. The people who had it set up were great and they kindly indulged a pack of tourists (us) who wanted a go too.

Time for a drink at an outside bar. Very touristy but let’s face it we were marking time, til I had to gather my things and head for a train - all of us reminscing our time in Barcelona, some of us starting to turn our minds to our next stop. The company was pleasant but the food I ordered was not - some fish salad thing. I barely touched it. Unusual given I knew I had a 14hr overnight train trip coming up.

Anywhoo I said good-bye to the others, jealously, and headed to Jan’s apartment to pick up my luggage and chuff-chuff off.

Now I must say Jan has proven himself a bit of a hero - twice… first with the Lemsip (a few entries ago) and secondly by storing my stuff for 2 weeks while I flitted around Spain. No biggie you say? Well you try to haul my erm rather heavy luggage up and down 3 flights of these rickety stairs!

He also kindly waited as I (in full panicked traveller mode – where’s my ticket, where’s my passport, where’s some water, where’s my ticket, where’s my passport… you get it, right?) paced and fanned myself. The train arrives – goodbye Jan, goodbye Spain – stampede. OH FUCK.

TRAIN_TRIP FROM HELL!

Suitcase handle breaks as I lug my case onto the train – drag it (picture huge fuck-off case and me with small backpack sidling my way through =narrow passages) to compartment… are you FUCKING kidding me – no luggage storage and a full compartment. The bed I’d booked specifically at the bottom has magicked itself to be a top bunk.

By now I’m flustered and crying – I had booked and paid for a first class sleeper THIS squishy closet with 3 other women was NOT what I was anticipating. I spoke to the train attendant about the luggage ticker I'd been given for luggage storage - she laughed, no such thing! And the bunk thing? a shrug of the shoulders - last day of the holidays - no spare bunks, tough luck. I was going to deck the bitch but I was so flustered and upset I ddn't have the energy. Turns out there are 3 levels of first class – this was the lowest.

The women in my cabin (kindly – if grumpily) help me get luggage in and try to pretend it didn’t worry them. Another even MORE kindly swapped beds – no-one spoke more than two words of English… or Spanish – they were French.

At 9:45 the train inspector came in and lowered all the beds, overhead lights out – bed time… my light didn’t work I was getting leg cramp, had my period, the little bit I had eaten at the bar was not agreeing with me and our cabin door didn’t snib properly and it kept slamming on the edge of my bed near my head randomly through the night. NOT HAPPY! Certainly not the romanticised idealised indulgent European train ride I had fantasized about... or paid for. It was one fucking long, sleep deprived train trip from hell … but it did eventually land me in Paris.

... but that’s next entry folks!