wander with me...: 2013

Thursday 19 December 2013

stinge-ing out in paris and london. part two

No surprises here...

Welcome to London, where professionals are worked so hard they start hallucinating and mentally break down, a cup of coffee costs 3 pounds ($5) and if you are idling along the footpath, well, stop idling or get out of the freaking way! The sun has long ago abandoned ship but the curious thing is that people continue to flock here from all (far sunnier) corners of the globe, to live the London life. But if you are not a professional working 12 hour days, you can expect a long commute because the cost of living is far too prohibitive for any of the more free-spirited bohemians (read waitresses) to survive in the city. Unless, you know, you aren't too keen on food.

St Paul's Cathedral, of Mary Poppins fame.

London is...grey. It is a big, grey machine. People are busy busy busy. There is money to be made and money to be spent. And if money isn't your thing you won't last in the city. But there are pockets of humanity in amongst all the suited people. And the flag of socialism is flying high above the art galleries and museums, which are completely free for all (unfortunately the privatisation of rail companies means the same can't be said for public transport, which is rather horrendously expensive). Housed in elegantly imposing old buildings there are wonders from every place and age, from dinosaurs, to the Rosetta Stone- the key that unlocked the heiroglyphs, to more modern treasures from Dali and Picasso. And since night begins to fall at about 3.30 and it is kind of cold in London right now, they are the perfect places to while away afternoons.

I spy with my enormous eye...

We met up with some Australian friends who happened to be in London at the same time as us and we took them to Shoreditch, a deeply hipster enclave north east of the river. We had explored the area previously and I found it very agreeable because with the pretension of hipsters comes good coffee, vintage shops and graff. So much graff. Graff on every corner, on every wall, door, window...An interesting place to wander and much more accepting of idlers than the business centre of the city. As our little Aussie gang made its way around we found a sign leading to some sort of farm, so we followed the trail and ended up at a brilliant little city vegie farm, complete with donkeys and ponies. And an awesome spinning see-saw.

Home of the hipsters, Shoreditch.

So there are places to escape the capitalist machine. Another such was an amazing little food market that Will and I were delighted to find one afternoon. We ate curry and a gourmet hotdog with pickles and a brownie and tried butter beer- it's a real thing and it tastes like warm butterscotch mixed with weak beer- and enjoyed my seasonal tipple of choice, mulled wine. And this was all sourced and produced locally and cost about the same as one large pizza from Pizza Hut (which, I am ashamed to say, we were unable to avoid patronising in order to satisfy our friend's hunger pangs and which is still disgusting but has now turned fancy- gone are the days of the all-you-can-eat dessert buffet...).

Tower Bridge and the king of Westminster.

During our first couple of days in the city Will indulged my consumerist alter-ego and we swanned from store to store pretending we had the space/money/inclination to buy all of the shinies we discovered. (I did buy boots...I am a girl after all). We also visited a bookshop on Marylebone High Street called Daunt's books, which is in a wonderful Edwardian building of 3 levels with green balconies and a stained glass window, that specializes in travel books and maps. Nothing remarkable, except that until the 1980's it belonged to Will's family. His great-great grandfather opened it as a book store specializing in travel but unfortunately the family had to sell it...and I have to say, they must be absolutely kicking themselves now- it was pumping (as much as a bookshop can be pumping) when we went in.

Another vestige of old London

So we've indulged our stomachs, our brains and our urge to buy- time to hit up the theatre. The first theatre I ever saw in London, several years ago, was 'Guys and Dolls' and 'We Will Rock You', the Queen musical. The first that Will and I saw together was rather more subdued and thought-provoking. We were in a pub listening to some terrible performers at an open-mic night and we decided to go across the road and check out a play we had seen advertised. It turned out to be two men, talking. More specifically, 2 homeless men and their conversations. It was enthralling, considering it was just a couple of guys on a tiny stage above a pub.

Also impressive was this here deer, made out of vacuum cleaners (and dad, as you can just see, from John Lewis).

When we met our friends, we decided we all needed to have a night out, London style (but not too late because we all had trains to catch and, you know, we needed our 8 hours), so we wandered through the bright lights of Leicester Square until we found a show we agreed upon (and still had tickets available). It was called "Strangers on a Train" about, incredibly, 2 strangers who meet on a train. What followed was the psychological torment of one man by another, spiralling ever further out of control. The story was good but the sets were incredible and the theatre itself- gilt, gold, velvet and chandeliers- was very memorable. As was the man sitting in front of us who, after listening to Will and Tristan have a rambling conversation about melting chocolate dogs dipped in honey and how it would make a good show, turned around and swelled their egos immensely by saying he would watch their show.

I didn't really like London before this trip. In fact I told everyone it was a bad city and I never wanted to go there again and neither should they. I was certainly not qualified to make this judgement, having only spent, cumulatively, about two weeks there. But the things that stood out in my mind were the ridiculous cost of everything, the bad weather, the greyness of the city and the terrible hurry that everybody always seemed to be in. This recent visit has changed my opinion somewhat. I still don't want to live in London and it still isn't a city that has you conjuring up romantic fantasies of a new life (a la Barcelona or Paris), but as its charms were slowly revealed I found I was beginning to like London. I'm not sure exactly what changed my mind; it may have been the red fox that we saw strutting through a city park in the middle of the day (much to the delight and amazement of all us tourists), it may have been the way it is just as easy to spontaneously go to the theatre as it is to the movies or the joy of surprising myself- and Will- with my ice-skating abilities at the Tower of London. It may have been the discovery that with the changing of the guards comes the closure of several roads, an army of policemen and a marching band and that they do this everyday (every second day in winter) and it is essentially just a shift change.

No fox here but there were these guys too.

So it won me over. I still think it is far more stressful, expensive and commercially driven than necessary, but I'm no longer a hater. (Will, who was expecting some kind of "soggy, grey, expensive compost toilet" of a city, liked it almost immediately and thought I was nuts for my harsh earlier judgements). Well done London.

P.s. Will wanted to feed a goose. With his face.

Friday 13 December 2013

stinge-ing out in paris and london. part one

The creme de la creme of famous dangles

We are no luxury travelers, but we have certainly not been down and out in Paris and London. Stinging out though? Yeah, a little bit.

Our journey from Chatellerault to Paris only cost us a few hours of slightly awkward small talk with strangers- we even learnt something. Did you know that 80% of France's power is nuclear? Neither did we.

We arrived in the city of love and, with our stingy hats firmly upon our heads, bought two children's tickets for the train to the 'burbs and our first night of Parisian couchsurfing. Which turned out to be more about celebrating the multicultural side of Paris than the 'stripey-shirted man with a croissant and a cigarette' side. We were staying with an Asian guy who lived with a family hailing from somewhere in Africa and we dined on Vietnamese pho (which was so good we were back in Vietnam for a minute).

We came round a bend on the river and saw this...

We had a far too brief 2 days in Paris and I'm sure we walked at least 100 kilometres in our efforts to see as much as possible (as well as, the metro is kind of expensive). And we saw a lot...of course the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysee (which meant I had that song stuck in my head for far too long), and Moulin Rouge. Also the final resting places of Oscar Wilde (Egyptian themed and covered in red kisses), Jim Morrison (covered in flowers) and George Melies (unfortunately no magic tricks were to be found) in the too big to be believed Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise. It is a wending, winding, tree-lined 110 acres with over a million "customers", that has been a fixture in Paris since 1804. I don't know if this is appropriate in a cemetery but I had to giggle when we came across a huge mausoleum housing somebody called 'Stroggonoff".

Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise

The fantastic thing about Paris is that you don't really need to know where you're going (excellent for us, as we will often study a map, decide where we need to go and head off in exactly the wrong direction) because there is usually something to see around every corner. On our first morning's stroll we stumbled upon the Notre Dame! (Though if you fail to see that whilst walking around Paris I don't know...you may not have eyes). You will often be walking along a street, admiring the elegant old apartment buildings, and you'll turn a corner and be in front of a wonderful little park strewn with statues or a grand old municipal building or a shop window beckoning with its rainbows of macarons or, much to our literary delight, one of Ernest Hemingway's past homes.

For some reason, me kissing fish has become a theme.

We were walking along the river one rainy afternoon and as we passed the Musee D'Orsay we noticed an enticing lack of crowds so went inside and whiled away a couple of hours admiring Monet, Cezanne, Van Gogh, Rodin and lots of other people that aren't so famous and therefore aren't so easily recalled. Ahhh, Paris. They also gave us discounted tickets for the museum as we are under 26. It is actually surprisingly easy being in Paris with very little money (as long as you have somewhere free to sleep and can resist the very strong temptation to buy everything) because you can look for free and there are many, many things to see. Also croissants aren't very expensive.

As we made our way down to the Eiffel Tower on our first Parisian day we crossed a bridge covered in engraved padlocks, proclaiming the love of thousands of couples (it is called 'Love Lock Bridge', I later learnt from eavesdropping on two American girls of questionable intelligence- they were certain 2 days would be enough in Paris as there was really only 3 things to see: the Louvre, the tower and this bridge...). Anyway we posed for a couple-y photo and were continuing on down the river when Will, in nervous earnest, told me not to expect a proposal at the Eiffel Tower, as there were no engagement ring sized surprises in store. He must have been growing ever more anxious about how to avoid becoming engaged without hurting my feelings ever since we arrived in the most cliched romantic city of them all (indeed, we saw two separate brides posing for photographs at the Eiffel Tower). I told him not to worry- I wasn't interested in marrying him until he could provide me with a house, a car and 2.5 children.

Love Lock Bridge

So the city of art, love, shopping, food (pastries for breakfast and cheese and wine for dinner anyone? How Parisians stay so thin when there endless displays of incredible food everywhere, I have no idea.) and wandering...we did so much walking in our time there that my ankles actually swelled up and I was rocking some serious cankles for the next week. It was also freezing, freezing cold while we were there but this did nothing to deter us from our hours of exploring the streets. In fact, if you can handle the cold- which all the Parisians said was completely normal and not actually very cold at all- this is the best time to visit because the places which I'm sure are over-run with tourists in the summer are completely empty now.

The Sacre Coeur at Mont Martre

And then, abruptly, our little Parisian sojourn was at its end. We had morning bus tickets booked for London, our bags were packed and we were ready to go (physically, if not mentally). We said goodbye to our wonderful host Pierre, an incredibly friendly and open-minded man who couchsurfs around the world with his 3 children and spends his Sundays giving food and conversation to the homeless of Paris, and made our way to a bookshop I wanted to have a quick look around before I left. The famous Shakespeare and Company has been a fixture of the Latin Quarter since 1951 and is a literary institution. Unfortunately the shop only opens at 10 and we had to catch our bus at 11 so we could only have a very, very quick browse. This, as I should have known, was impossible. We found ourselves still immersed in the tiny corners and bursting shelves of this densely packed space at 10.20. Thus ensued an incredibly stressful and frantic race between metro stations all the way across the city to make our bus, our tickets for which, if we missed it, would not be refunded. As you have probably guessed, we missed the bus.

While this made for a stressful morning (and a realization that we would not be winning any sprinting medals any time soon) it actually worked out rather well for us. Thanks pretty much entirely to two of mum's good friends who happened to be staying in Paris as well. We had come to our last 20 euros and Pierre was in the country visiting his children, so if it wasn't for Christine and Melvin's incredible generosity we may have spent the evening getting to know the ins and outs of the Paris metro stations. As it was, we stayed in an amazing apartment with a view of Notre Dame. We also found ourselves with an afternoon of bonus exploring time which we used to watch bocce in the park, stare greedily at incredible chocolate creations in shop windows (and succumb to two of the best macarons I've ever eaten), admire expensive chess sets in a charming old toy shop and climb (i.e. ride an elevator) up the tallest building in Paris, the Montparnasse Tower. From here we could visually retrace our steps all over the city and I have to say, I was very impressed.

But the next morning we really did have to leave and in a responsible, grown-up manner we arrived at the bus station a whole hour early. The bus ride was very boring, as they often are. The two moments of anticipation came upon leaving France- we had stayed a whole two days over our allowed time in Europe and didn't know what to expect from the officials...as it turned out, they didn't even check our dates and I'm sure we could have stayed weeks over and they wouldn't have cared- and entering the UK. I have previously gone through a horrible barrage of questioning at UK border control and wasn't really surprised when the official at this border was less than friendly. I kept so cool under all his ridiculous questioning that he gave up and with narrowed eyes -I'm sure- and a sigh of resignation, he stamped me in. Will, on the other hand, was expecting to be welcomed in with open arms being almost English himself, and was completely thrown off by the manner in which Australians are now dealt with. It was only after 15 minutes of questioning, bank cards and phone numbers of English family members offered for inspection and a lecture about return tickets that he was allowed to enter, shaking his head in disbelief, the little island of cold.