The Final Countdown. Day 63: Nice, France - Belgium (briefly) - London, UK

Today was our last day on Europe mainland. It was bittersweet! We got to have a short sleep in which was nice, not a totally early start like usual. We were actually ready earlier than we needed to be so we made our way to the bus stop for the airport. Turns out that was quite good because the bus took longer than we had bargained for!

First off was breakfast, though, and this was probably one of the most nutritious meals of our lives. We had to finish off what we had bought, so breakfast consisted of limoncello mixed with purple Fanta, and some chocolate wafers.

We splashed out for the express service to the airport and I managed to squeeze myself and all my luggage into a seat. Dan stood on the vestibule. The bus reached terminal two quite quickly, where almost everyone piled off. I had researched ahead of time which terminal we needed so I knew we had to stay on. Most other people hadn't done this, so they piled off and then most of them piled back on again - as well as new passengers.

Finally we set off for terminal one, and disembarked. Security was easy enough and after a lap around the terminal, settled on some seriously overpriced but not the worst in the place sandwiches. When it was time to go to through we found another lounge, with far less people. Oh well!

When it came time to board, we all formed an orderly queue as is appropriate. The first lot of people ahead of us jumped on the bus to be transported to the plane - and then we waited. And waited. And waited. The bus seemed to have gotten lost. It took probably close to half an hour to return to collect the rest of us - by now our flight time and been and gone. The flight attendants had been looking out the windows all wondering where it had gone too!

The flight was generally uneventful - managed to get a row to ourselves - fist pump! We arrived in Brussels airport a little bit late but we still managed to get ourselves a Belgium beer as hoped! We bought ourselves a couple Hoegaartens (the tasty pink one for me) and when we looked at the flight board next - our flight had been delayed by an hour. Bugger. We contemplated getting another beer but I’m quite glad we chose not to, in the end!

This flight too was relatively uneventful, a bit of turbulence on the way down but nothing too untoward. And so we farewelled Europe and welcomed England. We flew into the delightful Heathrow, and when we landed we did our best to race through to security to try to be ahead of the crowd. In the end I think we only lined up for about 20-25 minutes, the queue wasn’t too bad. Our security officer wanted a chat and thought he was a bit of a comedian, which was good but also frustrating as we wanted to be out.

For our first few days in London we were to stay at Epping with Paul and Alice. After some consideration we decided to still take the tube because it wasn’t a lot slower than one of the Heathrow lines, but a fraction of the cost. As we set off from Heathrow, Dan and I had a realisation that we would have to change to the Central line at Holborn. Any other time we have done this, it’s been crowded and horrible. So we took a punt...and frankly it didn’t quite work out as we expected!

We left Heathrow about 6.30ishpm. When we got to Acton, we changed to the district and went backwards two stops to the beginning of the Central line. This didn’t take us all that long, really. And we jumped on the Central and got easy seats. Then we set off.

God it took forever. At one stop we just sat there for 10 minutes. When we hit Holborn, the train was mostly empty and no one really got in. We looked at each other, like, bugger. That farting around did not pay off.

A man had gotten on earlier and looked at us and our mountains of luggage, bemused. He had to talk to us. He reminded us that this train was not going to Epping. Yep, we had to make yet another change.

We piled all our crap off the train and waited for information about the next one to Epping. The time kept shifting, until finally someone said over the loudspeaker that the drivers will announce their destination as the screens weren’t able to display the latest information. Also there was a train on the track and they couldn’t find the driver. Dan and I were just desperate to not be moving anymore but finally our train to Epping arrived. We breathed a sigh of relief!

At Epping Paul was there to meet us. We walked the short distance to his and Alice’s house and collapsed! We met the four cats, and settled in for a beer and a chat before it was time to crash for the night. It had been along long day and we were thankful to be still - and the next few days were only for relaxation!

Til next time,
xx

The Final Countdown. Day 61: Cinque Terre, Italy - Nice, France

Today was a travel day - these are always pretty rough. Our train to Nice was quite early and we still had to buy tickets, which we had a bit of trouble doing. We learnt later that this was because - while the machine had the option of going through to Nice, we actually had to go to the border and get the next tickets there. It would have been helpful to have that explained there.

So we split the trip up, and bought Manarola - Genoa, Genoa - Vermiglia (French border), and then Vermiglia - Nice.

The first train was pretty uneventful.At the station we bought a sandwich and drink combo and ended up having to race a bit to the train. The second train was simply AWFUL. Someone smelt really bad. The train kept juddering (Dan said something about the brakes coming on and off) and because the seats have these strange plastic sideways headrests, I kept smashing my head against it. I also started to feel motion sick, and my hay fever wasn’t happy. It was super noisy. In all, just awful.

Finally got to get off the damn train at the French border, where we had to buy a ticket from a man. This train thankfully was quite uneventful, and we could see Monaco out the window. Dan and I were totally hangry by now, and couldn’t agree on the plan for what to do next.

Originally for Monaco, I had researched lunch places as I thought we would get in to Nice earlier and then head straight to Monaco. But we had caught a later train in the end, and the weather wasn’t looking very good, and I just didn’t want to rush straight to Monaco any more (but I didn’t want to have lunch in Nice, and then go to Monaco). In the end, we decided to stay in Nice today, and go to Monaco the next day. We found a place which did burgers - they were delicious! The man behind the counter was hilarious too, I got to choose sauces for my burger and my chips and I had some trouble, so he suggested putting the two together which was the BEST suggestion. He also pretended to sneeze in our chips.

After eating we went down to the waterfront where I sat under an umbrella while it spat rain around us. I felt a bit silly but others were doing it. The weather was warm but I didn’t feel like having rain splotches on my face. We were totally tired and it was super muggy - I could have gone to sleep here. We had to move though, and we could see a fountain up on the hill to our right. We wandered up here (which was a bit tough on our legs after all the hiking!) and checked out the fountain, standing in its spray. People were above the fountain, so we found the path up there and took lots of photos overlooking Nice. There was a busker up here on a piano accordion but he wasn’t actually playing. Occasionally we could hear him try to pick out the tunes and generally play the wrong notes, so he’d go back to just pretending and the backing track.

On our walk down, we detoured through the cemetery, and found a tram stop that would take us back to the accommodation. On the way we went to the supermarket - bought a massive wheel of cheese for €2 (yes, back to proper prices for cheese!), some ham and a baguette as well as wine and chocolate crackers for a dinner picnic back at our accommodation. Oh! I’ve been forgetting to mention the limoncello. At every opportunity  we have packed a shotty full of limoncello, but seriously this 500ml bottle isn’t getting any less. We drank a little bit of it tonight as we won’t be able to fly with it in two days time, but why is there still so much left?

A new country on the morrow, so it’s sleepy time!
Til next time,
xx

Lover of the bubble: Champagne in Champagne

Top 10 things to do in Champagne

1. Drink champagne (goes without saying)
2. Eat cheese
3. Stroll the Avenue de Champagne, and stop as often as possible along the way
4. Eat cheese
5. Frolic through the vineyards
6. Drink champagne
7. Stop into a large, wellknown winemaker knowing full well you can't afford their wines
8. Have a picnic in the park, complete with champagne and cheese
9. Visit a small winemaker and become an expert in the champagne making process
10. Drink champagne

It was decided that for our birthdays, Nicole, Cory and I wanted to go away. I put a spanner in the works as I had already planned my Summer of Fun, so we had to wait until I returned. Apparently there was a conversation last year, that I may or may not have been privvy to, of going to France and drinking a specific kind of wine in a very famous region. Either way, July rolled around and we set off to the Champagne region of France for a weekend of deliciousness.

I should point out here that I really, really, really like bubbly wine. I always had my "glass of champers" in hand (although it was highly unlikely to be true champagne) and it truly is my poison of choice.

Let the good times commence.

3 July

After our plane was delayed by a number of hours, we landed in Paris long after the shuttles to our airport hotel had ended. As we were checking into our room, I couldn't help but notice the concierge boy's face as he saw Cory arrive to share a room with two girls. The expression was clearly "Go son!" and we laughed our way to the room. On the morrow, we would be heading back to the airport to jump on the train out to Reims, one of the bigger towns in Champagne.

4 July

After a surprisingly good Starbucks coffee and some free croissants, our bellies were full and our caffiene levels high for our train to Reims. Cory had everything under control as per usual and led us to where we would be staying. We had to wait in the hot sun for some time but eventually the owner arrived and let us into the apartment that would be home for the next few nights.

The apartment was grand - three bedrooms, lovely kitchen and open living space and we discovered we were able to get out onto the roof. Once we got ourselves organised, we hit the streets for the first of many wine tastings.

G.H. Mumms

Our first port of call was the Mumms cellar door. We hadn't been able to pre-book, so we rocked up and thankfully we were able to get a place. After a short wait (and a hundred selfies later), our tour started.

Our guide, a lovely French lady whose accent was ever-so-slightly too thick (rendering her largely un-understandable), led us down, down, down into the cellars after we watched a short movie. The cellars were cold and a welcome relief to the hot summer temperature outside.

Here we learnt that bubbly wine from this region is made up of three varieties of grapes:

• pinot noir (a red grape with white juice)
• pinot meunier (another red grape with white juice)
• chardonnay (a white grape)

The wines themselves are then a combination of the varieties, with varying quantities and growing conditions lending the different flavours to the wine.

As the guide was reasonably difficult to understand, Cory, Nicole and I found ourselves lagging behind and taking many an artful photograph of the cellars. Row after row after row of bottles lined the walls, stacked on racks which are turned 180 degrees in the morning, and then back 180 degrees in the evening. Why? This prevents the sediment from sticking and is either a manual process (one bottle in each hand) or a less manual process (a hundred bottles on a rack that can be turned simultaneously).

Soon, it was time for the wine tasting. We crowded close, watching as the glasses were expertly filled and the bubbles frothed forth. We took our glass of wine and...spent the next 5 minutes selfying with it...before our first sip. 

Our first sip of champagne in Champagne! And it was glorious.

We had wanted to have a picnic in the park with wine and cheese this evening, but the weather took a turn for the particularly soggy and so we went to a local store, bought some [cheap] bubbly, an insane quantity of cheese and other snackables and had an evening in. We each chose a bottle of bubbles and we polished them - and all of the cheese - off. Nicole made a delicious baked camembert as well as a french pear creation, the name of which escapes me but the flavour sensation hasn't! We had a reasonably early night because in the morning, we were going to head to Epernay.

5 July.

We had one rule.

We were only allowed to consume three kinds of beverages while we were away.

Water.

Coffee.

Champagne.

After breakfast at the station we made our way to Epernay, another village that makes up part of Champagne. The day was quite grey, but continued to be hot. Cory lamented that all of his holidays have been grey, and where is the blue sky?

We wanted to explore Epernay by bike, but after wasting what was probably close to an hour at the tourist centre trying to organise a bike, we gave up and decided to walk. The main stretch of Epernay is the Avenue de Champagne, home to some of the biggest champagne producers cellar doors.

Moët and Chandon

Perrier

Pol Roger

Mercier

To name a few. Also many boutique wine makers and as many people know, I believe the real heart of the wine industry is in the small craftsman; those that make it with love.

As we approached Moët and Chandon, we could see there was a small commotion. What is this..a Ferrari convention? Stupid us, for forgetting our Ferrari! Red Ferraris, black Ferraris, Ferraris with Italian flag racing stripes; about 15 in total. And many poor tourists such as ourselves gawking and taking photos. We mustered our courage and went inside, but unfortunately Moët and Chandon was under construction and wasn't conducting tours or tastings. We wandered through the shop for a while and continued on down the street.

A. Bergère

We found a small cellar door that suited our tastes and chose one of each of the bubbles. A standard bubbles, a no-added-sugar bubbles, and a pink bubbles. After approximately 10 minutes taking artfully framed photographs of the flutes, it was time to finally drink the deliciousness. A sip of each, passed it around, and from there we decided which was each our favourite.

I'd like to take a small pause and say that I adore travelling with these two. We have the same travel style and one of my favourite aspects is that, in any given situation, we all instinctively know that we will take photographs of whatever it is, and not to jump in/eat/drink/move until we have all snapped our fill. It's hilarious and it would look ridiculous to anyone watching us. But I love it. And them!

Back to the bubbles.

We stayed here for a short while, basking in the warm Frenchness and yumminess of our first champagne for the day - all before lunch, no less. After a little while we continued on down the avenue until we reached Mercier. We frolicked in the vineyards before deciding that their champagnes were a bit too expensive, so returned to one we had seen earlier.

Michel Bonet

It boasted €20 for 3 glasses, including paired cheese. The cellar door had a gorgeous courtyard and so we made ourselves comfortable under an umbrella. Our wines and cheese were staggered, and each were paired to perfection. Our host explained the flavours and grapes present in the wine and the cheese, which was presented on a slice of crusty white bread. We felt very fancy.

A little while (and a smashed glass) later, with bubbles in our heads we were ready to depart. Nicole wanted to see the view from a high point, and so we started to trek up and up the hill until we reached scrolling vineyards at the top. We dispersed to take various photos and selfies, before coming together to make our way down again (by going up the steepest hill yet). It was time to leave Epernay so, after one last wine tasting experience, we caught one of the last trains back to Reims. 

We ended the day with dinner on the main street, where I had snails for entrée and a salmon and foie gras salad for mains. I felt bad, but it was rather delicious…

6 July

Our final day in the gorgeous Champagne region, and we were checked out of the apartment early to depart for a wine tasting tour. We were picked up and, with a small minivan group, were taken to the Hauteville, literally meaning 'high' or hill town. It provided a glorious view of Epernay and the vineyards to the horizon. 

We visited two winemakers and each grew Dom Perignon grapes. However, due to copyright reasons, they are unable to label themselves as such, and so have their own brands. Basically, we spent the day drinking Dom Perignon. 

Fernand Lemaire

The first cellar was situated high on a hill with the most glorious view out over the valley, and we were shown through their cellar and wine making procedure. It was similar to Mumms, but on a much smaller scale. These wines are only sold in France and out of the cellar door. Here we learnt (as we could understand our guide) all about:

• brut = dry; the amount of sweetness (additional sugar) that has been added to the wine. If a wine says "brut" either no or a very small amount of sugar has been added. Cheap, awful wines don't say "brut" and they are super sweet, to compensate for the fact that it's not a very good wine.
• cuvee - the first or best press of the juice
• cru - the vineyard quality

After we were shown through their cellars, we were taken across the road and seated at a table with a lovely view. We were presented with three delicious brut champagnes, which we tasted and ahhed over which one we preferred. The last of the rosé made its rounds, and my glass was topped up with the final few drops.

"Are you married?" the lady suddenly asked me.

Confused, I looked to Cory and Nicole, not sure if she was asking if I was married to them.

"Um, no?"

"Ok! You finished off the bottle, that means that you will be married by the end of the year."

Uprorious laughter as we all know I am the least likely person to end up in that situation, but nevertheless we sante'd to my impending nuptials.

J.M. Gobillard

Our next winemaker was a short drive away and another using Dom Perignon grapes. I lost track of how many wines we tasted here; they were particularly generous and I think we polished off a couple of bottles in our "tasting" (which by now was all just oh my god, how much do I love champagne).

"Who wants to sabre the bottle open?" our guide asked, and Cory volunteered. This is an old fashioned and particularly cool way of opening the bottle where by one strikes the end with a knife and the force and pressure of which forces the cork to explode forth in a rather dramatic fashion. Cory did an excellent job and got to keep the bottle top, complete with cork and ring of glass. Opened in this way, we just had to finish the bottle which we were all so disappointed about.

I'm not sure how many wines we tasted here, but I got my bubbly on, it was delicious, I cheersed Dom Perignon with my lovely London family, the sun shone happily and life was grand.

Following this wine maker, we made a quick stop into a church just across the road, to see where the grandfather of champagne was buried, Dom Perignon himself. 

It was time for the tour to be over, and we all hopped back into the van. Our guide reached into her bag and began handing something to each of the groups, and then came to us. She passed us a full bottle and a half bottle as a gift, and they had been personally labelled by the last wine maker. We were extremely thankful and very excited at the bottle and a half of delicious champagne we had been given - but we realised that none of us had checked luggage and we couldn't bring it back to London.

So what do you do when you have 2 bottles of bubbly and no way to take it home? Why, you have a picnic, of course!

After we were deposited back in Reims, we bought a wide range of cheeses, multiple baguettes, plastic plates and champagne flutes and found a gorgeous leafy park to picnic in. Complete with Nicole's champagne jam bought, we had the finest feast. Nicole, unfortunately, discovered that a slightly shaken bubbly bottle has the tendency to explode and was hit rather dramatically in the forehead with a rogue cork. Aside from that one mishap, (oh and me snapping our one and only knife), we ate cheese until we looked like it, trying different combinations of all four and sipping on our wine until we grew sleepy in the midday sun.

Sadly, it was now time to go.

Nicole went for a journey of epic proportions to find a bathroom, I ate a chocolate gelato that I am quite sure was either off or completely spiked with chilli (needless to say, I threw it in the bin - it must have been bad for me to throw it away) and we made our way back to the train station; back to Paris; back to London.

***

Another biggest of thank yous to the most amazing travelling buddies for organising this lovely weekend away.

I had always loved champagne or prosecco, or whatever cheap bubbly wine I could get my hands on, and this trip re-inspired my heart. The champagne of Champagne is delicious, fresh and happy making, and I cannot recommend enough if you are a lover of the bubble to make your way there to drink in the glorious sunshine.

xx

Fin.

The end.

Part 5 - Je ne parle pas français

7am, blinding light. Not again. I groan. I had thrown away my drink bottle and was completely parched. I had again gone to bed in my dress from the night before, and still didn't have a quilt. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to get up soon and was adamant I would make it down for the included breakfast today.

We'll skip past the bit where I'm feeling rather shonky and go straight to what I got up to that day. Except I made an exciting discovery. I thought I had two incredibly soft, wonderful pillows. Turns out one was my quilt folded up underneath my pillow. This solved the mystery of why everyone else had a quilt and I didn't - it was...literally under my nose the whole time.

I checked out and put my luggage in a locker and made my way out into the day. Today I was going to do be doing something that I was incredibly excited about and was number 1 on my bucket list for Paris - I was going to the Palais Garnier - the Paris Opera House.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication.

Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation.

Why was I so excited to see the Palais Garnier? 5 words: The Phantom of the Opera.

The Palais Garnier is the basis of the original book by Gaston Leroux, with its underground canals, ornate decorations and sincere beauty. I had to go here. And now I've been, I have to go back to see something, wearing a ball gown.

I am getting ahead of myself. I arrived at the impressive building and walked a full circle around it. Once inside, I bought my ticket and even decided to get the headset self-tour. I sat on the plush red sofa and soaked up the atmosphere. Following the instructions on the headset, I looked up at the ceiling. I looked over here, I looked over there. I walked through that door. I made my way through to the famous staircase, and in all honesty, I got a little teary. It was so beautiful, and I was so giddily happy to be here. I adored this place. I could stay here all day and come back again and again. I took photos of the incredible architecture and artwork. I selfied, of course. I followed the headset into the theatre, and saw rows and rows of plush red seats. I saw the famous chandelier, the painted ceiling. 

Lot 666, then…a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera - a mystery never fully explained. We're told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier that figures in the famous disaster…

I made my way around to Box 5 and then simply marvelled at the beauty of this building, much of which I had been completely unaware. I can't describe just how happy I was in here, but soon my grumbling belly got the better of me and it was time to move onto my next destination.

Which was…back to the Eiffel Tower! My meerkat had yet to have its photo taken. It was a gorgeous day and as I made my way back to where we had been two nights before, I noticed the fountain that had been dry was now not only full, but putting on quite a water display. I snapped a few photos before they abruptly turned off. Good timing, I thought. While here, I and my meerkat took the liberty of a few photos (putting my dignity on the floor with my handbag).

Still starving, I decided lunch would be nutella and banana crepes and so my happy giddiness continued: eating crepes while sitting in the shade of a tree, with a lovely view of the Eiffel Tower. At this point I decided I would take it easy. No rushing around to see more, but just soak it all up. And so I slowly wandered around and through and closer to the tower, ogling the line of people who were preparing to ascend, and popped out the other side where I took another seat in the shade and just relaxed. What a beautiful way to spend some time. I was very happy, but decided I would make my way back to the hostel to figure out how to get to the airport and home again.

So long Paris, you were an interesting, polarising place. I actually liked more of your touristy areas than your hidden spaces - I did not feel in the least bit safe outside any tourist destinations. I also did not enjoy being accosted on the streets by people wanting to sign their petition (read: opportunity for them to pick pocket you while you're signing). I will never hear "Do you speak English?" in the same way again. I will be returning to you again; I will climb the Tower, I will visit the Moulin Rouge, I will see an opera in the Palais Garnier. You haven't seen the last of me, gay Paris!

***

And so that concludes Paris. I was terrified coming back into Heathrow as I had heard that the government was cracking down on terrorism and as I rounded a corner in Heathrow, the people backed up was mind boggling. I'd never seen anything like it. I panicked, thinking that I would never get back into the country. After a few minutes of terror, though, I realised that they were all British/EU passport holders and I managed to push my way through to the other passports queue, which ended up moving rather swiftly. I couldn't quite figure this out but I was too busy trying to prevent a panic attack that I didn't dwell on it too much.

Finally it was my turn to be called forward and I instantly explained my situation with the two passports to one of the kindest men I have ever met. We had a bit of a chat about why Heathrow was madness ("It's the students, you see, they bring Heathrow to a standstill for a whole month!" to which I could reply "Oh yes of course! It's Freshers' Week soon!") and to my incredible disbelief, he checked my fingerprint scans and waved me on through. No little holding pen. No nothing. I basically ran through in case they changed their minds - this seems to be happening more often than not, although no one can still tell me what I should do about my passport.

And thus I was back in London, back home.

xx

Too many photos, sorry I'm not sorry.

Parlour for the Palais Garnier.

Stunning sculptures and you can see some of the
paintings on the ceiling 

At the staircase, I may not look that happy but I was so thrilled to be in here!

The famous chandelier

I could have lay down in the middle of the floor
in this room and just looked up for eternity

No Eiffel Tower this way!

A la fountains.

Nutella and banana crepes and the Eiffel Tower. #happiness

Not sure how impressed Meer was though.

Pretty flowers

Au revoir, Paris!

Part 4 - Je ne parle pas français

Blinding light. I run my hands down my face and scrub at my eyes, opening one and fumbling for my phone. 7am. Great. 3 hours sleep. I pull the little curtain around my bed tighter to try to block out the light, scull the remainder of my water, realise I have quite a headache and put my sexy eye mask over my head in an effort to get a little more sleep.

Yeah, nah, that's not gonna happen. I realise I'm still in my dress from the night before, and I never found my quilt. Didn't need it though because the room was so hot that a blanket would have been very uncomfortable. I allowed myself to stay in bed until about 9.30, playing on my phone and intermittently trying to doze. The combined heat, light and ruckus  made by those checking out that morning made for a rather fitful couple of hours, so I made my way to the shower to get ready for the day.

10.20am. I grab my phone and charger (so I can go to the charging station!), a map and a pen and head to Belushi's downstairs for breakfast. Naturally, I'm 20 minutes too late for the included breakfast so have to order and pay for the strange breakfast burger I ended up with. I mildly planned my day and set off to find some Parisian op shops.

I was sadly disappointed by the op shops I did find in Paris. There were plenty of them, and they had a lot of stock but it was a combination of terrible, dirty and overpriced (often all three combined). I left empty handed and, sick of walking, Google maps'd (I should get paid for all the marketing they get out of me) my way to the Louvre.

I hadn't originally intended to go to the Louvre but after talking to people in the lead up to Paris, decided I should probably check it out so I could check it off the list. I'd heard about the lines, and how disappointing the Mona Lisa was, so I leisurely disembarked from the station and wandered my way through to the underside of the pyramid apex. It was only later that I realised I had found the sort-of "secret" entrance - instead of lining up in the strangely sweltering heat outside for an hour, I just walked up, talked with a person behind me in line for 2 minutes and I was in. Next, the ticket booth, talked to the same person for an additional 35 seconds and bam. Ticket machine ready.

I grabbed a map and figured I'd go straight to the Mona Lisa and then work out from there what else I wanted to see. They say that if you were to see each of the 35,000+ art objects in the Louvre, allowing 1 minute for each, it would take you 25 days each of a full 24 hours. So…unless you're utterly mad, you don't see even a tiny portion of what is available. I followed the signage (and the crowd) flowing in the direction of the Mona Lisa. Along the way, I got out my camera just like all the other tourists. I started photographing the art, and felt like a fool. I then found myself a fun game - photograph the people taking photographs of the art. I mean seriously - what's the point of having a photograph (poorly taken, largely) when you can look at it online in much better quality? Why don't you stand in front of the art and actually look at it? Look at the paint strokes. Look at the framing. See how old it is. Nope. Let me just take a picture of it and move on. Or better yet, a picture of myself in front of it.

I enjoyed this game because people looked largely ridiculous. I continued following the flow of people until I saw a large crowd, pushing and shoving. That must be it. That must be the Mona Lisa. I joined the fray and patiently let myself be jostled - I wasn't in a rush, I don't need to push to the front to take my selfie. Soon, a little gap emerged and I snuck under an enormous American's armpit and claimed the space on the barrier for my own. Before taking a few pictures (which I admit I did do), I tried to take some time to actually look at the damn thing, while being pushed and shoved and elbowed from behind. This is complete madness. 

To be honest, I wasn't as disappointed as I expected to be. My expectations were so incredibly low and I thought she was proper tiny that my first thought was "She's bigger than I expected." (Think there might be a That's what she said joke in there somewhere). I took my pictures, I even whipped out my meerkat (that was embarrassing) and my meerkat had a selfie. Then I thought, what the hell, everyone is doing it, and so I turned my back on good ol' Mona and selfied. I selfied hard. 

Staring unbemused at another enormous American, I said "You can stop pushing, I'm leaving now" and "excuse me"d and "I'm leaving"d my way out of the ridiculous crowd. Exploding forth from the back of the crowd, I was confronted by the largest painting in the entire Louvre, and far more interesting in my opinion, the Wedding at Cana (you'll know if it you saw it). It was impressive, but I couldn't get a good picture (hangs head in shame that I even tried..) because too. many. damn. people. were. taking. selfies. in front. of. it. With Jesus looking bored in the middle and the party raging on around him, the painting was magnificent and a stark contrast to the teeny tiny little miniature Mona Lisa directly opposite.

I continued walking around - my next port of call was the Venus de Milo, and I walked through various halls and statues until I found her. I felt more in awe of her than I did her famous friend, Mona. Again, I wanted to stand and look but I was jostled and shoved until I just had to leave. How I hate tourists, even if I was one of them. I also saw a sphinx at some point too, with the same treatment - pushed out of the way once I had quickly snapped a picture, and tried to stand and appreciate what was in front of me.

Thoroughly frustrated, tired, sore and desperately hungry, I decided I had seen enough of the Louvre, dealt enough with tourists and had gotten my fill of so-called culture for the day and so I found a cafe, stood in line for what felt like about 4 hours and found a seat at long last. I sound like I hated it there, but really I found the human experience and the social aspect of it more interesting than the art. I would have gladly taken the people out and spent more time than I did but it simply was not the environment to - sadly - appreciate art.

 One thing I did very much enjoy at the Louvre - and highly recommend when you go too - is to look up. simply look up. Much of the incredible artwork housed here is the ceiling work. Incredible pieces with ornate corners - here was some exceptional - and probably largely under acknowledged - talent.

I popped out the other side. Food, done. My feet hurt, but it was time to see what else is around. I whipped out my little meerkat and took some embarrassing photos at the Louvre pyramids and on the Love Lock Bridge, which wasn't too far away. I was utterly exhausted (remember, I was only working on about 3 hours sleep!) and so made my way back to the hostel and had a much needed nap.

I could have stayed there forever and all night, but I hauled myself out of my bed (I still didn't have a quilt - why did everyone else have a quilt? Where did I forget to pick it up from?) and went back down to the powering station, double vodka red bull in hand. Here I said hello to Anthony again and started talking with the folks to whom he had been talking. We ended up having a few beverages and deciding to head back out into the night. It turned out to be a rather late one, filled with vodka, beer, cider, red wine and chocolate crepes and again I fell into bed at some ungodly hour, hopeful that I might get more than 3 hours sleep that night.

Only one day to go and then my French adventure is over.

xx

Don't forget to look up...

Oh, there she is!

Yeah I selfied.

But my meerkat did too! Can't put all the blame on me.

This was the incredible piece directly opposite the Mona Lisa.

The Venus de Milo. All I could think was
"You lost your arms in battle! But you grew
some nice boobs...!"

My meerkat is such a silly tourist. Seen here doing the Louvre point.

Part 3 - Je ne parle pas français

I felt a tad seedy and blurry eyed the next morning while I tried to silently go about getting ready without waking the others. The ziiiip of my little suitcase woke them up, and a quick hug and a thank you and I was out the door, ticket to Paris in hand.

The streets were quiet and deserted, and it was going to be a stunning day. I grabbed a stale sandwich at the train station and waited for the platform number to be called. Luckily I was early, as it took me a few minutes to realise I was standing in entirely the wrong place to board my number 17 carriage and, once in board, settled down next to a rather strange woman and closed my eyes. I let the next couple hours go by in a little bit of a dozy haze, trying to catch up on some much needed sleep.

A couple of hours later it was time to disembark and, grabbing my things, I emerged into an enormous train station. I google maps'd my way out and stood, blinking, at Paris.

First impressions, especially after Strasbourg? Want me to be honest? It was covered in a haze and smelt like piss. I was a little way out of the touristy zone as I was staying at the St Chrisopher's near Gare du Nord and wondered if this was what it was all like. I had been warned and prewarned and underwarned and overwarned about pick pockets, scams and muggings in Paris and so my guard was up. Google maps in hand, I began walking towards the hostel, feeling like I was being leered at on all sides. 

"Speak English?" 

Look straight ahead and keep walking.

With relief I arrived at my hostel, checked in, was too early to check in, and deposited my things in the lockers downstairs. First port of call: a walking tour, starting at 1pm. Plenty of time. I'll grab a cider and work out which train to catch. After I downed my breakfast of champions, I wandered back to the train station where much to my dismay I realised I had no idea how to buy a ticket or even where to get a train from. This wasn't going to do. I knew my starting point was roughly a 35 minute walk and so I set off, with exactly 35 minutes to spare.

It was hot. The streets were seedy. I walked as fast as my little legs would carry me and sweat was pooling in the small of my back. Suddenly, the streets became greener and clearer, cafes started to appear, the sky seemed to brighten. I was making my way towards the epicentre, the Paris of the postcards. Google maps says 5 minutes left to walk. 3 minutes. 2. Ah, there they are! I spotted a big group and joined the list. I was doing a Sandeman's tour of Paris which is free - but the guides are paid by tips and so they try extra hard to try to get bigger tips. It's a great way to have a very good tour.

Our tour guide was a spunky gal named Harry. It was a lot to take in and I can't remember the names of all the places we went or all of the stories she regaled us with, but some of note include the Notre Dame, the Love Lock Bridge, and the Louvre. I had a good chat with quite a few people on the tour, and at the end arranged to meet up with two of the girls under the Eiffel Tower at 9.30pm. I wrote down all the instructions but I was not convinced I would actually be able to get to the right place by the right time.

It was time to go back to the hostel and check in and possibly collapse from exhaustion. I google maps'd my way back (sensing a trend here?), gathered my things and went and stood in the express queue. And waited. And waited. I was sweaty and exhausted and mumbled something under my breath about the expressness of the express queue, which inspired the gentleman, Anthony, in front of me to strike up a conversation. We had a bit of a chat while we waited (and people in the non-express queue were being served), and figured we'd catch a drink down in the bar if neither of us were doing anything. And so I started to make friends :)

So with my nap foregone, I quickly showered, became acquainted with my room (a very nice hostel, to be fair, little curtain on the bed and everything) and made my way down to the bar with my phone and charger in hand. I perched myself up at the power station, which basically became the place to be to meet people. Shortly after there was a small group of us all gathered near the power and we got to chatting, double shot vodka red-bull waking me up nicely. I told them of my plans to try to figure out how to get to the Eiffel Tower to watch it at night and, they not having plans, decided to join me. 

With Angus and Rick in tow (that's actually not true at all - I had zero idea where we were going and was actually the one in tow) we jumped on a couple of tubes and popped out near the Eiffel Tower. We needed to get some wine first, and so we walked out near the moment and rounded a corner. I stopped dead. And gaped. And stared. I peeked at my watch - it had just turned 9pm. I was the closest I had been to the Eiffel Tower and not only was it all aglow with yellow, but right at that moment, the sparkling lights had begun. It was beautiful and left me speechless. I was able to stand and stare while Angus grabbed some food.

I dragged myself away, knowing we would be coming back here shortly. We found a bottle store, purchased a few bottles of cheap vino, a bottle opener and some plastic cups and set off back towards the Eiffel Tower, stopping periodically to take pictures at various angles. The moon was perfectly round and partly hidden behind a cloud, and the whole scene was breathtaking. Somehow Rick understood my instructions to meet the girls at the "grassy bit where people aren't allowed to go" and we walked towards, then underneath, then out the other side of the Tower. To my shock I saw the girls, Rose and Kay from the walking tour this morning, waiting at a corner and gave them both a big hug, all of us surprised to have actually worked out where to meet without any kind of contact details at all.

Kay and Rose had the foresight to bring a picnic rug (or more accurately, Rose's blanket off her bed) and together we shared bottle after bottle of red wine, rose and champagne and delicious cheese and bread under the spectacle that was the Eiffel Tower at night. Soon our party numbered 6, as Anthony from earlier joined us and we continued to eat, drink and be merry. On the hour, every hour, the Eiffel Tower began to twinkle in the perfect stillness of the night. We photographed and selfied, and drank and talked. We purchased more wine from the travelling liquor salesmen for grossly inflated prices.

Soon after midnight, it was time to leave as the Eiffel Tower had sparkled one last time. We gathered our things and made our way back to our respective hostels (to be entirely frank, I get a little hazy around here, I think there may have been a taxi ride, some standing on the street for a while and a strange guy that kept talking about bears). And thus was my first night in Paris - I was initiated.

The wonder of travelling alone is the people you meet. This was my first time entirely alone and it was rather daunting for me and, even though I don't have any problem talking to people, I get unsure if people want to continue talking to me. So if those folks I met that night in Paris are reading this, I want to thank you and wish you all the best with your onward travels. If you're ever in London-town, hit me up for a bevvie.

Til next time.

xx

Pity about the graffiti, but still enjoy this picture.

Love Lock Bridge 

Simply stunning

But first, just let me take a selfie..

Cheap vino! And it was delicious! #jokersmile

Stahp being so pretty.

Gatherings.

Part 2 - Je ne parle pas français

Caroline and I had already discussed keeping to our sides of the bed, yet I woke in the morning and my sheets were untucked. I apologised to Caroline if I had tried to spoon her in my sleep. We started the day with a spot of shopping as we made our way to the local shopping mall. We found a pastry place for breakfast (Caroline expertly ordering for me in French), scoffed it and some terrible black coffee and then began perusing the shops. C-line did very well for herself, making a few purchases, and I at the last minute grabbed a pair of lurid pink and orange sunnies for the wine tour we were going to embark on that afternoon.

Messages flying and plans laid, Caroline and I wandered to the Strasbourg train station to meet Lina and to make our way to Colmar, a little town about an hour out of the centre of Strasbourg. At the station, Caroline brushed up on her French by purchasing me my train ticket to Paris, fluently. I was very impressed. We grabbed a salad and drink for lunch and soon, collected Lina and the three of us boarded the train. Despite our efforts to get on the train quickly, we still managed to be the last few and found three spare seats with another girl. There was a jumper (or sweater or whatever from wherever you're from) on my seat and we asked the girl if someone was sitting there. She indicated "no", and so we assumed that someone had left their jumper on board.

Not 2 minutes later, a man come up to us and motioned towards the jumper and spoke in French. Lina and Caroline feigned ignorance, while I didn't have to feign anything and gave him my best stupid face. "I was reserving that seat," he said, and we said "Oh." Flustered, the train was full, we wouldn't get three seats together, we didn't make a lot of effort to move, and so he grabbed his jumper from me (and in hindsight he did have a half eaten sandwich there too) and found another seat (along with about 14 pieces of luggage). We started to feel bad, but seriously, you can't save a seat on these trains. He must have ducked out for a ciggie. Anyway, karma was about to bite us (me, first) in the butt. The train pulled away, I grabbed my salad, pulled off the lid of my mustard dressing and proceeded so upend the entire pot all over my dress. "Fuck." I exclaimed. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." No point sugar coating it. This is precisely what I said. Probably a few more times, even.

This was typical. Thankfully there was a bathroom on board and so I soaked my dress and dried it as best I could under the hand drier. Didn't do anything for the mustard smell, but at least I didn't have wholegrains down my dress anymore. I returned to my seat and begrudgingly ate my pointedly dressing-free salad.

About an hour of me making a wet patch on the seat later, we arrived in Colmar and found Eve. The bike rental place was next to the train station and so we got our little basketed French bikes and I began to panic (and not to subtly, either. I tried to be stoic about my fear of riding the bike, but I failed. Miserably). I made a couple of test laps and soon we set off, myself bringing up the rear, white knuckled on the handlebars, squealing and cursing my way through the streets. I seem to have an uncanny habit of being able to pull into the curb or into cars exactly when I'm not meant to. I think my subconscious hates me. It was not long though before we were off the main roads (after a particularly hairy cliff drop and a crazy roundabout) and found our way onto a back gravelly road.

Slipping past the flimsy tape (what tape?) we bounced and jostled between the vineyards and emerged back on the roads. Soon we arrived in Eguisheim, voted the prettiest town in France. And it sure was pretty. It was gorgeous. Buildings painted bright blues and pinks and flowers of every hue, pinks and yellows and reds and purples. Dark wooden beaming and wooden shutters lined the streets, many houses built in dates beginning with  16 or even 17. We parked our bikes and meandered through the cobblestoned streets. We stopped at a sweets store and bought some macarons, many of which we devoured instantly, before making our way to the winery. 

We chose the 3 standard + 2 fancy wine selection, and settled ourselves at a table to chat and drink wine for the next couple of hours. It was a lovely way to spend the afternoon and there were many delicious wines to be tasted as I got to know Eve and Lina a bit better. The day was powering along, and so we decided we'd try one more town before heading back to Colmar to return the bikes. By now, I was a little tipsy and my bike riding confidence had grown exponentially. 

We rode through vineyards, blue sky above, green vines all around, sun shining down, wind streaming through my hair. I had a moment. I had one of those moments: giddy happiness. Riding a bike. Through a vineyard. After drinking wine. In France. 

Squee!

I stopped periodically to take terrible selfies and we all stopped for a few photo opps along the way too. It was an absolutely gorgeous day - we couldn't have had more perfect weather and the forecast had been threatening thunderstorms! We meandered through the streets and popped out on a main street, about to make our way to the next town when Even and I at the front were called back - there was a problem. Turned out poor Lina's bike had developed a flat tyre and so we about turned and began making our way back to Colmar, walking out bikes.

It was a reasonably pleasant stroll (although it turns out I am completely uncoordinated, and I continuously hit the pedal on my shin) and we made it back to the bike rental with a few minutes to spare. Exhausted, sweaty and happy, we organised our plans for the evening. Head into Strasbourg, shower, and reconvene for dinner (picking up a bottle of el cheapo vino along the way, my idea of course being the alcoholic of the group). Some ridiculous pictures later with our naughty meerkats, along with a few glasses, we were out and about and managed to squeeze in a last meal order at a local restaurant before their kitchens shut.

It was here we departed from Lina and Caroline, Eve and myself continued on for a rather deep conversation over a couple of ciders in the Irish pub (because there's an Irish pub everywhere!). We wandered through Strasbourg by full moon light and returned to the hotel (with a bed wheeled in for Eve), as I had a very early start to make my way to Paris on the morrow (or, as was closer to the case, in about 4 hours time...)

I will take this opportunity again to say thank you to Eve and Lina for welcoming me! And thank you again Caroline for inviting me, it was wonderful to see your face and the town I had heard so much about.

Gay Paris, on the morrow.

xx

Eguisheim, gorgeous town

Stunning town, this was the winery

All aboard our bikes :)

Posing

Photo courtesy of Caroline: Actually riding the bike!

Meerkats gone wild.
(Mine is the one passed out in its wine,
Caroline's is gently humping the bottle)

Strasbourg. Is. So. Very. Pretty.

Part 1 - Je ne parle pas français

I had known for months that Caroline would be in France while I was in London - it was simply a matter of coordination (and hoping that Caroline would do most of the organising for me because, frankly, I'm pretty terrible at it). The day had finally come. Two of the three meerkats were to be reunited on the other side of the globe.

The night before, I realised I hadn't worked out how to make it to the airport. Gatwick, in this instance. I quickly jumped online and bought an overpriced ticket and then proceeded to pack my one bag allowed by easyjet. At the butt crack of dawn the following day - even though I wasn't flying until approximately 10am - I got up, got ready and made my way to the airport. This was 2-fold: 1) I'd rather be super early because something is sure to go wrong and b)I always forget how long it takes when one flies. I left cold London and made my way to sunny Strasbourg, France.

Alighting the plane with instructional directions in hand, I decided I would have an adventure and get the train for €4 instead of a €30 cab fare. I followed the crowd towards the train station and went to get myself a ticket. It didn't work. It spat out my coin. Other people tried. It didn't work. No one could read the screen. Giving up, I went to the platform where another ticket machine was situated.

Here a lovely French lady noticed my distress and helped me purchase a train + tram ticket. Boarding the train with the others, there was a beautiful lady opposite me. I couldn't stop staring. She had a pretty great rack. She smiled at me. It got a little awkward and I looked out the window. Finally it was time to get off the train, and when everyone else began to move, I figured I would too. I didn't know where I was but decided I'd work that out when I got there.

Thankfully, I'd arrived in the centre of Strasbroug. Small win! I saw the tram station I wanted and began walking towards it. About halfway there, I the seed of doubt was planted so I doubled round and went back to the station. No wait, yes, I had been walking in the right direction, and so I walked back out again and into Strasbourg. It was beautiful. A lovely sunny day, a canal, high buildings and green grass. A tram tracks crisscrossing their way across the roads, connecting the whole city. I found my way to the tram stop indicated on my piece of paper and sat down. The street name ahead of me looked familiar, so I quickly jumped online (oh yes! I had data! This would prove invaluable to me) and realised that I was seriously close to where I was staying and that I could continue walking there. About 5 minutes later, I was at the hotel.

I made my way inside, got the key without an issue and proceeded to pass out on the bed for a couple of hours while I waited for Caroline.

Our room was cozy and comfortable, and the bedding situation proved no end of amusement. Yes, it was twin share. Yes, we had separate beds. But they had been pushed together inside a double bed headboard and therefore all that separated us were our tucked in sheets.

I woke up desperately hungry and braved the streets for a snack. I couldn't find a snack bar or simple take away cafe so I settled on an icecream. "Je ne parle pas français," I began to say to the girl.
"German?" she replied.
"Oh no, English," I said, surprised she had chosen German over English as her first choice.

Not too much later, Caroline and her family arrived. They were utterly lovely, but it was time for us to now meet the young ones and go out for drinks and dinner. Caroline and I prettied ourselves up and met Eve and Lina, Caroline's friends from when she lived and worked in Strasbourg in 2012. It was really lovely being welcomed by them and seeing the old haunts they used to go to. We first went to a pub, grabbed some beers and Caroline, Lina and Eve caught up about past times and current times. It was fun watching them interact like they'd never been apart and learning about their lives here in sunny Strasbourg (which, I found out, is very not sunny in the winter). We grabbed some dinner, with the other ladies ordering in French, and we sat with a perfect view of the Strasbourg Cathedral.

After dinner, we decided to walk past the cathedral - a couple of selfies and photos later, we noticed some music began playing. I turned around, and a light show was beginning, played out on the facade of the structure. We had arrived just at the right time! Over the next 10 or so minutes, the history of the cathedral, all accompanied by incredible music, were animated across the cathedral. Colours and whirls, flashing lights and beautiful images - it was breathtaking. Once it was finished, we commended our great timing and made our way to a watering hole, where we picked up another of Caroline's old friends along the way.

The cocktails here were huge, but we were all getting sleepy so Eve and Lina made their way to their respective homes, with plans in the making for the next day. Caroline and I nosied our way around the backstreets of the city, pointing out this here and that there, where she used to live - with Caroline being very patient as I stopped to take random photos.

Returning to our room quite late, we crashed in our close beds with the promise of shopping, cycling and wine on the morrow.

xx

Two of the three meerkats reunited

Two of the three meerkats

Cathedral all alight

Giant cocktails! (The beer changes the perspective...)

Strasbourg by night