Alone in Paris

Back from Paris, and contrary to our fears EVERYTHING was working as per normal. In fact so efficiently, that on arrival at the Gare du Nord, we made our way to the metro just as a train arrived, boarded it, made our way to an interim station, changed lines and arrived on the platform just as a train arrived again. Consequently we got to our hotel, in the east of the city, less than thirty minutes after arriving in the capital. The hotel, a Novotel, was functionally fine (although it appeared that the interior designer had previously worked on the set of the Austin Powers movies) and the self-service continental breakfasts were epically satisfying and a good start to the sight-seeing day. The weather was extremely kind to us, save for a torrentially wet start to Saturday that cleared by lunchtime, and walking through the falling leaves of the Tuileries was a delight, as were the chocolats chauds that we availed ourselves of in the various cafes we frequented. I won't bother to detail the itinerary, except to say that the highlights - for me at least - was the lovely autumnal light, the bustling market next to the Montparnasse cemetery, the cemetery itself, the view from the top of the Montparnasse Tower, onion soup near Montmartre, the brilliant white dome of the Sacre Coeur against the azure sky, the Eiffel Tower sparkling on the hour and a (very) quick visit to Shakespeare and Co. bookshop on Rue Bucherie. I could have spent a lot longer looking around this last, but as the Husband and two children were waiting outside, I made it a brief visit.
Too brief, and yet again I feel like I'd been sidelined. Nor did we visit Les Deux Magots or Cafe de Flore (which I'd wanted to do last time we were in Paris, godammit!). Fair enough, I suppose, the guidebook did contain a warning about the prices charged for a cup of coffee in those places. But still - there's a limit to the amount of times I actually want to see the Eiffel Tower or Arc de Triomphe.
Once is quite enough for me - likewise the rather bland civic architecture of places like the Madeleine, or the Pantheon or Les Invalides. Impressive in scale, yes, but not what makes up the real essence of a city. Paris is just SO big that macro-scale sightseeing just doesn't work for me. Everything is so far apart that you either have to metro it across the city, popping up like surprised moles at an adjacent station, or (as we did this time) sit for an inordinate amount of time on the open-topped tour bus and it contended with the Parisian traffic, which takes an age. I'd hoped that we would indulge in a little micro-scale tourism, taking an area and patiently exploring it street by street and getting to know some of the city's character. I'd picked the area near the Luxembourg Gardens, pinpointed a few destinations and interesting novelties, but alas it fell by the wayside. The only thing remaining of that itinerary was Shakespeare and Co. and a curious little Melkite Catholic church (which in truth was rather a let-down) St Julien le Pauvre.

I'd also managed to choose completely the wrong footwear. Having bought a pair of 'proper' walking boots to replace the ones I'd got last year (that never, ever got any comfier despite the saleswoman's assurances), and I thought I'd broken them in sufficiently to take abroad, having walked into town in them a number of times. They certainly didn't rub at all, and we weren't -on account of the open-top bus - doing an unfeasibly large amount of foot-slogging, but by mid afternoon the left boot was feeling agonisingly tight across the top of my foot, and causing it to go into spasms of cramp. I can't understand it, other than reason that the left boot has been made somewhat smaller than the right. The Husband thought it was something to do with the peculiar anatomy of my foot, but as I pointed to him, I've never had this particular problem before - not even with last year's boots which were patently a size smaller than they pretended to be!
The lasting legacy has been a numb side to my left big toe, and I find that my knees, which became increasingly stiff in Paris, have almost now almost entirely seized up, especially the right one.
It's incredibly hard to stand up at the moment - I don't think it's the joint itself, rather the ligament arrangement around it. Support doesn't seem to help and I'm a bit worried about restricting the blood flow. Coupled with a diagnosis a couple of days after we returned (during a routine appointment and on my birthday of all days!) of rather high blood-pressure (probably hereditary) I feel that I am getting old, creeky and about to fall apart at the seams.

Having been delighted about visiting Shakespeare and Co., I was eager to tell of my experiences, but realised there was actually no-one to tell. No-one I know has heard of it, and if you have to tell someone what it is before going into raptures, it kind of removes the pleasure of relating your story. What I really wanted was someone to say 'Oh wow! What was it like?' But no.
Once again I find I am the only person living in my world.

En Vacances en Automne

Our Autumn city-break looms.
This year I am a wee bit less enthusiastic about going away as our destination is Paris, currently gripped by protests and strikes. Unfortunately, the day we travel has been declared an industrial day of action, so there is the prospect of arriving (DV) in the centre of Paris and being unable to get the metro to our outlying hotel. We chose one well out of the centre for financial reasons: they're so much cheaper than hotels in the city-centre. We also chose one from an international chain as (a) they're one of the only places you can get a reasonably priced family room (the two youngest still being fairly happy to share accommodation with us - we couldn't afford it otherwise) and (b) the buffet breakfast facilities mean that you can stoke up for the day ahead on endless croissants, ham, cheese, jam, cereal, yoghurt and coffee. I've looked at maps and have worked out that it's about 6km from the Gare du Nord to our hotel - not ridiculously far, but far enough to walk at the end of a day of travel, and probably in the dark. There exists also the possibility of a taxi, though I imagine that if the metro is on strike, or running limited services, the taxi queues will be ridiculous.

I don't like having to plan with worst-case scenarios in mind, but this time I just have to.

What if the protests turn to riots (police, tear-gas etc.)? Go in opposite direction immediately.
What if the tourist attractions are shut tight? (I know the Eiffel Tower was last week)
Plan stuff that just needs to be walked through and looked at (Champs Elysees, Montmartre, plenty of churches...).
We will make the most of it, whatever the situation is, and if the worst comes to the worst, we have the trusty credit-card to bail us out.

It's funny the reaction I seem to get when people ask what I'm doing half-term and I reply 'Oh I'm going abroad (to Milan, Barcelona, Rome wherever..)'. I get the strangest 'old-fashioned' looks that rather convey the impression that they think 'It's alright for her!' or 'Hmmmph!'

This really p*sses me off!
All our planning is done on a shoestring, on the internet hunting for cheap fares and accommodation, cashing in the Tesco Clubcard vouchers for Airmiles, buying railcards, saving month by month for our trips throughout the year.

You see, it's a question of priorities: Some folk believe that having a pristine home, furniture and stuff is important to family life. Some folk (like us) prefer to spend carefully set-aside money on broadening their children's minds and horizons which, unfortunately cannot be done by plonking them on a DFS special in front of a 42" plasma travelogue, or dragging them around the local attractions (again).
Daughter #3 and the Bright-Eyed Boy are fairly well-seasoned little travellers by now. The first trip to Rome (about 5 years ago) was done with (our) fingers crossed, but they were both so good, trotting around with their little back-packs on a ne'er uttering a single word of complaint. They seem to love the continental lifestyle and atmosphere as much as we do, and it's a real pleasure and privilege to be able to take them along.

However there seems to be an undercurrent of envious Schadenfreude when I say we're off to Paris - a general smirking that things might not run smoothly and maybe we shouldn't bother going.

Nonsense! Say I: We will not be put off! We shall prepare for the worst, and expect the BEST - as always.

And when we get back, I'll show you our photos...and you can show us yours.....he he he!

Milandering About

Milan was an absolute revelation! Completely unlike anywhere we've been before. It's a real working city that keeps its treasures quietly to itself unlike say, Rome or Venice, which have their wares conspicuously on display around every corner. You have to WORK at Milan, rifling through the side streets and the guidebook to unearth delights which reveal themselves unexpectedly, like the cool green courtyards glimpsed from the outside of four-square, hulking buildings. Milan is turned in on itself, but in a good way, and we loved it! The Duomo square is, of course, spectacular and the Galleria Vittore Emmanuel II fascinating in its unashamed slavery to image and expense, but the things we enjoyed were a little further off the beaten track: the Navighlie area, Bohemian bars with lavish buffet snacks looking out onto the canals (yes! Milan has canals); the darting, wheeling house-martins around the 4th century basilica of San Lorenzo alle Colonne; the jasmine hedges that lined the streets near our hotel; the pasticcerie with their displays of tarts, cannoli and barquetini.

We did make it up to Lake Maggiore: the weather improved rapidly throughout the morning of day two, so we hoofed it to the station and found ourselves on the 12.43 Domodosula (sp?) train and disembarked at Stresa. It had got hot, so we were content to stroll along the panoramic promenade taking in the (only slightly misty) mountain and lake views, stopping for a cold beer and paddling in the icy waters. After arriving back in the centre of Milan in the early evening, we had a minor restaurant crisis. This involved seating ourselves in an interesting looking place near the canals (recommended in the guidebook!) asked for the menu over our aperitives and found....NOTHING we fancied eating!
The evening before we had gone to a lovely restaurant and sitting in the vine-hung courtyard, eaten local specialities such as osso buco and risotto Milanese (made with saffron, totally delicious). This canal-side restaurant seemed to have had...shall we say an 'Experimental Chef'. Finding that there was nothing that the children would even contemplate (and they are good, hearty eaters) we made our excuses and sidled out after settling the drinks bill. By this time we were really hungry as we'd last had a sandwich on the train up to the lake many hours ago. It's never good trying to decide on where to eat when you're tired and hungry, plus the restaurants were fewer and further between than in Rome. We ended up walking a couple of miles to one that the Husband had read a favourable review of in the 'cheapies' section of our book, but we were SO glad we did! Named L'Oca Giuliva (The Happy Goose) it was an homage to all things goose-like. Small, with dark wood cabinets housing the desserts (typically Italian), cosy tables, goose figurines and images everywhere, and a most attentive maitre d' who seemed to come from another era in his long white apron and neat moustache. The food was gorgeous, none too expensive, and the wine copious and intoxicating. We must have spent sufficient as the waiter brought us a digestivo on the house before we wove our way, via the metro, to our hotel. Alas, it was over far too soon! But we decided there and then that we most definitely WOULD be returning to Milan before too long.

An Impostor in Milan

May is racing by: next week will be half term again! Our lives seem to be measured in these six-week increments, dollops of time. I have been so busy on my PhD stuff recently, having undergone the 'upgrade' panel ( a not-too-painful grilling on my programme and the whole process in general) and delivered my first-ever seminar paper. As usual, I veer between elation that I am actually doing doctoral studies (and getting paid for it!) and extreme pessimism about my chances of completion. I feel sure that I'll be unmasked as an intellectual fraud sooner or later, but recently someone drew my attention to the psychological condition known as 'impostor syndrome' the symptoms of which sound eerily familiar. I am obviously mad. Bwahahaha!!!

Daughter #2 has creaked past her quarter century and we celebrated with a lovely Italian meal on one of the hottest days this month. Sitting outside, under sun canopies quaffing rossofreddo and working our way through the 'taster' menu, we agreed that it was a most civilised way to proceed. Later on we continued by finishing off a bottle of prosecco and some Lavazza coffee ice cream while the husband and Bright-Eyed Boy broiled at a football tournament near Hull.

Daughter #3 became a teenager a couple of days later, which was marked by the arrival of a new electric bass guitar (black and sparkly) which now occupies pride of place in the front room.

Her regattas continue on a pretty regular basis and we're now finding the entry fees and the petrol used in getting to them a pretty major expense. Never mind the early starts and whole days devoted to just standing around on river banks! Hey ho!

We're going to Milan soon, which I've been unable to get excited about - I've just been too damn busy - a fact noted by the Husband who remarked tartly on my apparent lack of enthusiasm. it's not that I'm NOT looking forward to it: I will, on the day when I'm setting off toward the airport. I don't really think Milan has a big enough historical centre to warrant more than an outline itinerary (the Parents tell me it's just one long street, really), and we're only there for one full day, plus two halves either side. The Husband is keen on taking the train up to the mountains, which would be lovely, but I'm against booking it in advance in case the weather isn't favourable for that sort of trip (low cloudbase), or there turns out to be more than enough to keep us occupied in the city itself. I am totally, totally uninterested in the Milan fashion scene/shops so that means a lot of Milan's popular appeal is wasted on me. Let's see what it's like: it's not Rome, or Venice, or Florence, or Barcelona, as I keep pointing out - it's Milan: let's take it as we find it.

May Day! May Day! May Day!!!

The half-term holidays are here again (again? So soon already?!) and have unfortunately coincided with a severe lack of cash, owing to the fact that
a) it's been a five-week month, and
b) a Visa bill has arrived with the Venetian trip expenses (hotel) and two birthdays'-worth of presents on it, and
c) it's car servicing, road tax and insurance renewal time.
The weather, so lovely and balmy over the weekend, has defaulted back to the distinctly chilly (although that's been partially moderated by some sunniness this afternoon). The husband, faced with the prospect of returning to his ever-increasing pile of responsibilities, was surprisingly upbeat. Looking out of the window this morning at the dull greyness, it was me who was distinctly fed-up. Daughter no.3 impressed me with her organising skills as she arranged to meet some friends for a trip into town. She was most dischuffed when they proved themselves to be both immature and ungrateful (she'd offered to buy two of them a Subway sandwich, which they'd initially claimed to want, and subsequently turned their noses up at - it was her pocket-money she was spending on you, you morons!) and cut short the trip to meet me and her younger brother in Starbucks where we were scraping a filter coffee and a small bun. That's the family allowance gone - and it's another three weeks or so before the next payment. It's no wonder that parents are getting deeper and deeper into debt. There's really no cheap way of entertaining the kids during the school holidays. Don't give me that guff about baking and sticking and board games. Been there, done it, got the jam stains. Nowadays children are far more sophisticated and intelligent than that. They'll go along with that sort of stuff, but it holds little of sustained interest for them. We've also done the gym, swimming, museums, art-galleries, nature walks, projects, workshops, yadda yadda....What would they really like to do? Travel: travel abroad and get away from this miserable, chilly, sunless land. Me too, for that matter!