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!

Sevillian serendipity...

I think in Sevilla I fell in love. It felt that intense and pure. In love with travel, in love with freedom, in love with this beautiful city in the sun!

Uh oh!

I did regret only spending 2 nights in Valencia… but only briefly. The train trip was fab… but getting on the train was less fun! You go into a huge hall where everyone stands around and waits and moans and sweats (can you see how many women have fans… most!) it’s part of the background noise, a gentle periodic flutter.

Then they announce what platform the train will be on and there’s this thumping stampede. It’s not like the seats aren’t allocated. I have an unconfirmed suspicion it’s cos the train leaves bang on time… regardless of whether you and your luggage are on. Luckily I’m pretty scary when stampeding… my luggage and I were on.

On the train there was a 10-member family near me – at least 3 generations (poss. 4) and their Chihuahua-cross-something-or-other-else! They were cute … a diversion on the 7hr trip. I giggled to myself cos I could make out enough that the mum – who I’d “chatted with” over some agua con gas in the dining car – wanted her daughter to practice her English with me but the daughter (12ish) was waaaayyyy too shame-job for that. I pretended not to know what they were talking about! Tee-hee – teenagers eh?

They thought I was mad when I lay out in full sun at one of the country stops along the way but the weather was incredible – crisp and sizzling. 40ish I think. This is my ideal weather… where do I find it 24-7, 364 days per year? Yum! Oh, sorry, rumour has it that it’s been rainy and miserable for most of you (in Melb). Oh even the train stations have olive trees here!

Anyway on to Sevilla – I was a little nervous arriving cos the only accomm I could get was in a hostel… yeeks SHARING a room with… BACKPACKERS! Ewwwwww.

The place was great – 4-bunk-female-room – first night there were only 2 of us… me and a Canadian who had just graduated from law. She impressed me cos she knew about the political situation (was JUST after election) in Oz and we discussed the right-wing uprising there and in Canada.

I guess this is a poshish hostel. Clean, comfy, orange and yellow, close to everything. Perfecto (yikes just noticed how much my Spanish is fading already! And I’ve only 10 days in France – Merde!) The roof-top-terrace was awesome. You could chat to folk – or ignore them and take in the views… I tended to be up earlier than most of this young crew – bless em they thought I was only 32… The kitchen was great I cooked real food (ie fish and salad and such stuff) or reheated take away… all good and money saving would recommend sevilla@samayhostels.com

for those up for a hostel stay.

OK time for some iPod-notes and memories on the actual time spent in Sevilla.

I like that time in a new city before you find a map

There are some real advantages to NOT doing research before you arrive somewhere. The honest-to-goodness-joy of discovery… that can only be unexpected cos you know so little.

DAY one I just took my iPod, a bottle of water and my wallet and headed out. In my head I tossed a coin – turn right or left? Turned right. Walked maybe 100 metres… this is what I found…

A beautiful park, with paths and fountains and sun and dappled light and I felt sooooo happy… irrepressibly, I actually thought to myself “fuck it, no-one knows me, there’s not gonna be any ‘Hey miss’ kinda-surprise… so I found a place in the sun, outstretched my arms and spun around and around. Must have been a sight – but do I give a fuck?!

Eventually I headed up a narrow cobbled path between old, rust and sandstone coloured edificios, up some stairs where a man was playing flamenco guitar… wish I hadn’t accidently deleted the video – it was precious. I was in amongst a maze of beautiful old buildings – I randomly wound my way through. Twice I was nearly run over by a herd of tourists and their guide. In between it was oddly private and … special... eventually the narrow cobble-stone paths opened up and revealed this. Horse drawn buggies and the amazing ornate architecture of this cathedral. Awesome.

It turns out I had wandered through Jardines Reales Alcazares, through to Reales Alcazar de Sevilla and Catederal de Sevilla… key tourist sites. They are special when they are unexpected but I am sure if I would have gone looking for them they would have just been ticked off the to-do list.

They were mine for that morning.

I spent the rest of the day wandering with wonder before heading back to the hostel armed with a map marked with the nearest market… always my favourite hang-out. A loose plan for day 2.

DAY two

A gentle morning enjoying the rooftop terrace and writing a blog about Barcelona that I finished writing later that night.

My slow wake up led to me heading out around 11 determined to walk quite a distance to the market along the river, before heading to a language school and making enquiries about enrolling in November.

But that’s not all that actually happened.

I wander along and saw this…

Weird. Why are there all these padlocks on a river bridge fence?… There were no bikes or bike locks, just padlocks. You know I’m not shy but I didn’t know the Spanish for padlock… oh well, just flagged down some unsuspecting Sevillian (tee hee turns out the Sevillian civilian was Sicilian… no jokes). They told me it was in fact an Italian tourist love ritual. A symbol of a couple’s romantic true love. What’s the thinking there? Apparently symbolic for inseparable permanent love… for oh so romantic ME, symbolic of shackles… symbiant co-dependence and control… but I ain’t the lovey dovey type.

Anyway I was walking along still loving the aesthetics of Sevilla - white-wash buildings with vibrant trims.

Ornate tiles and detail (these tiles aren’t my pics I appear to have accidently deleted mine) just make me happy

Water glistening in big old river – I contemplated a river cruise, I watched people on those paddle-bike-boat things – romanticize the notion of doing that… know I’d ultimately hate it but kinda wish I had a mate around to give it a go. Sigh. Continue dawdling… feeling wee bit warm –ok back of head and neck sizzling – joder – no lotion de sol.

I make it to the market but buy some sunscreen along the way at a chemist… it cracks me up how throughout Europe you tell people you’re Australian and they giggle, point at you, say “kangaroo” put their “paws’ up and start hopping and giggling some more. Cracks me up each time… weirdos!

I bought some fresh fruit and veggies… again loving the animated conversation and the way they put they fruit or veg not in bags but in “cones” made of stiff paper. I also love that if you buy fish or meat they slice it off the whole animal there in front of you. I bought fish for dinner.

It was pretty much lunchtime and I was no longer in the pulsing part of Sevilla so I asked for a recommendation for some local tapas… I was directed to a bar/tapas restaurant around the corner called Manolis (I think).

I walked in struggled over the menu and then proceeded to ask what everything was. The waiter was not as generous in his help as most of the Spanish have been but a guy at the bar was. He told me what everything was. I put in an order for 3 dishes to go and a sangria (fuck it, it was hot and after 12… I think and I was in Sevilla!) Turns out in Sevilla the tradition is not to tell you the total or give you a bill it’s to write it in chalk on the bar! Cool.

The helpful guy at the bar introduced himself… he was from Chile and his name was Freddy … as he said ‘ ‘like Freddy Mercury or Kruger’ Yikes! Which is more disconcerting? The jury is still out on that one. Anyways we chatted … and 3 hours and a coupla sangrias later I realized Kruger/Mercury was a bit keen (always slow on the uptake) - me, I was keener on getting the fish into the fridge at the hostel. I took his number and made lame excuses about going to see the language school I was thinking of enrolling in for November.

He walked me out then I tippied (tipsied?) my way back, sincerely looking for the language school – to no avail. Gave up and sat on the window ledge of a closed shop and ate some tapas in the sun… then I turned around and actually looked at the shop display. I think it was a men's clothing store but there were stuffed deer and mounted animals everywhere... very surreal when drunk during the day in random streets in strange cities... Yeeks.

Time to keep going… accidently staggered my way into a local craft shop – awesome… drunk, floating on ego boost, in love with sun-soaked city and … armed with a credit card! Oops a pair of earrings, a necklace later and other baubles later…. Actually that’s unfair I also had an hour long convo with the woman there and she gave me a list of local galleries (I was over the big ones in each tourist town) and a free magnet J.

Then I staggered home, cooked fish (despite risk of poisoning from lack of refrigeration) with side-serves of tapas and passed out looking forward to a day of gallery hunting.

DAY THREE - First one up in the hostel and first on the terrace… as the hostel dude unlocked the door to the terrace a disheveled and crumpled overtanned woman, breasts somewhat exposed, staggered off, stilettos in hand - how did she get there it's a rooftop terrace and the door was locked. Ahhh morning mysteries.

Anyway my last morning in Sevilla – I watched the sun rise while a full moon still hung in the sky behind me- a pigeon pecked at a cd hung from a clothes line… hung to deter it, but it acted like a budgie pecking at a mirror in its cage. I could hear traffic, birds and bells as well as the reticulated water system and robins pecking crumbs off the terrazzo floors on the terrace. Nice.

I plotted my trip on a map – a bus … my first in Spain to the contemporary museum. Then I’d walk back via a few of the local galleries. The bus was a little tricky to find but got it eventually and even got the driver to understand where I wanted to go… I hoped. I sat back and watched the urban scenery. Then he told me it was my stop. This is a 360 of where I was. Ok… now what? I headed one way. Nothing. Then I headed another - searing heat dead straight road… kept going.

Then I found it. Two ponds almost moat-like over a bridge to a conventy building. A mystical oasis. I watched rojo dragon flies dance over the ponds. I headed in.

Mind-blowing exhibits… Here’s a few images but it captures little… sure you can see the slide projector (so Gudrun's... only a few of you will get that reference, sorry) and some of the photography, the video art of a woman letting people grope her breasts in a box in public places, the self-harming Flamenco dancer, the intense feminist-photographer/word artist... but you get nothing really!

I spent 2½ hours wandering around the labyrinthine building… amazing architecture... discovered an inner-well which also took away my breath… I left and waited for a bus in 43 degree heat listening to the buzzsaw of crickets.

Walked back part of the way… I noticed that political poster are pretty much the same everywhere in the world… the traffic lights here whistle annoyingly when it’s time to cross… the Spanish like bingo (another thing in common).

I came back to the hostel, chilled and then headed back out to find a local gallery… and dinner. Instead I meandered narrow cobble-stone streets found one gallery… but it was closed. I found a few shops to explore the and then sat for tapas and sangria (uh oh?) … On one corner was a shop that sold ott flamenco dresses (awesome), two bars and a Spanish $2 shop. I sat eating squid in the cobble-stone plaza and wrote a few postcards while a local busker serenaded us all. Bliss. It’s a beautiful thing watching the delight on other tourist’s faces as they turn the corner to discover what you discovered moments earlier. Maybe you will make it here – my favourite city so far – and discover it yourself

Valencia... vale?

The train trip to Valencia is a fever induced blur – but thanks to a lemsip or two I actually slept part way – felt like crap but still noticed beautiful places I’d love to come back to (like Salou?) ... one day! I also made the realisation that no matter where in the world you are, the back view of the burbs as seen through a train window is a depressing weedy, graffittied blur.

The night before I’d left Barcelona I checked my emails to discover this…“Your rooms will not be available for your first night in Valencia,” it said, I panicked … “but we have organised for you to stay at xxx for the same price on the first night and on the second night you stay here gratis.” Nnnooooo it had all gone so smoothly thus far. Que, rooms plural? What shit-hole had they stuck me in, how far from transport was it etc… But what could I do, right, it was after midnight when I read the message!

Anyway after a pleasantly hazy train trip I caught a cab for 10 minutes to my “new” hotel. Literally at the intersection of the main drag. And posh! A Bath, a bidet, a balcony all the best in the b, b, b stuff. Beautiful! I sat and ate a picnic on the balcony and then passed out in air-conditioned comfort (can I recommend freezing a bottle of gazpacho great on the train and when you arrive in your hotel room).

Here are views from the room and of the room

When I awoke I went for a brief stroll just to orientate a little to Valencia and pick up some tourist maps/brochures from the office less than 200 metres away.

Funny thing, I asked the guy at the tourist office if there were any local festivals or live music on. At first he said no... and then he said the next night on the beach I could go down and listen to Ior Meyan.

“Oh,” I said, thinking about tradition Spanish music and an evening on the sand the next night, “sounds good.”

He looked shocked and said, “you like Ior Meyan?”,

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard it before.”

I paused. His surprise was palpable and I rewound … it took a minute amd some brain whirring translation to realise what he’d actually said... “Iron Maiden”

It also explained the disproportionate number of long and lank-haired, black wearing, dumpy, middle-age tattooed odd-bods I’d seen in Valencia!

I kept strolling to discover that the 10 minute taxi ride from the station to the hotel was in fact less than one block!... and he'd had to drop me so I walked half of that block. Cab drivers eh? I also found that there was a bull-fighting ring around the corner. Luckily no bouts coming up! Would hate to get arrested for animal rights protests on my only weekend in Valencia!

Came home with take-away tapas and sat in the room listening to evening life on Valencia’s streets, the clatter of cutlery and laughter from diners, the squawk of seagulls and the sound of hawkers peddling their wares - sunglasses, handbags and tourist fans. When I’d finished my meal I was serenaded (with the diners in the street below me) first by piano accordion and then by heavily accented covers of Beatles songs. It was definitely time to pass out again.

In the morning I was feeling somewhat more even-keeled... the fever, at last, was lifting. It made the move (two blocks) to the new/original hotel bearable – even with my bag which was classily falling apart. The new place was not quite as posh but they were most apologetic and threw in free breaky both mornings – yay!.

Time to hit the streets… it was a beautiful day – intense blue skies caliente (38) pero seco – perfecto! I loved the details on the lamp-posts and that naranja trees grow in parks… The fountains and open plaza was great to sit in and sun-soak… and people watch.

Some things I noticed/thought:

Children chase pigeons all over the world,

I know it’s a falsely blissful impression… the couples are frighteningly happy because they are on holidays not just cos they’re in Valencia.

The sound of cascading water is even more important than the aesthetics of fountains

Valencia is a shiny and clean place…

I decided to head off and go to the contemporary graphic design and photography exhibition.

Some of it was twee, some of it made me giggle… some of it made me think of friends back home.

The Italian graphics gave me a flashback not cos they were retro… which of course they are, but because when I was into graphic design I had a book that featured some of these pieces

The exhibition was all good until they busted me taking pics… but that was good tooo cos it lead to a great convo with the guard in Spanglish about her dreams of travel and becoming a florist! Though you don’t see the 19^th century middle eastern photography

Anyways, it was time to head off and wander again … I got a little nostalgic as I staggered past the strip of wedding stuff – so Sydney road… but a touch more glam?

Then I found a gelati shop and had a natter (in Spanish and mime) and discovered delicious new flavours (which I have since forgotten!)

Popped home, refreshed and headed to the movies and saw Madres y Hojas... dubbed over in Spanish. WHat was great was I accidently chose a filum that I'd seen but forgotten in the blurry haze of the flight from Aust... but I must have fallen asleep cos the last 20mins was a total surprise. It was great cos I knew the general gist and could focus on language rather than plot. The film is ok... a little contrived but ... ok!

A new (well ok, not really) realisation – the touristy bits of travel and entertainment are ok but for this living, breathing Gemini to the core – it is the random conversations, the successful complex communications (from ordering gelati to avoiding being expelled from exhibitions) and observing human interactions that provide the moments of real joy!

PS Valencia is real pretty