London Metropolis: Day 9 – London’s Lies

5 Belgrade Road, Hampton, England

          London is such a liar.

          First of all, we were told that London was a rainy city. Like, really rainy. More rainy than we’ve already experienced, if that’s even possible. It didn’t rain one drop, today. Not that I’m complaining, or anything, but that’s the first example of London’s lies.

          The second example is later. And that one, unfortunately, is not so fortuitous as the first.

          We started off our first day in England at the London Eye—a huge Ferris wheel, the biggest, I believe, in the world. Also, as I’ve heard, it is very expensive. Grandma had bought our tickets in advance, so we only waited shortly in line for us to retrieve them, and we were sent off to the 4D theatre. There was an introductory film where the audience “soared” over the Eye and other parts of London—Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Tower Bridge… Then, we went back in a line, where they looked through our bags and asked us if we had any pocketknives. Our answer, as I’m sure you’ve expected, was no. Finally, we boarded the wheel.

          I was later told by Will that it never, ever stops turning, so we were boarded quickly into the moving pod. After the doors closed, we began elevating, higher and higher. Then, we found the view. It was beautiful. We could see a full 360º around. I think my favorite sight was Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. There was just something about the golden edifices that kept drawing my eye back. We also spent a while trying to find Cleopatra’s Needle—the oldest thing in London, gifted from Egypt—which we later saw on our boat tour.

          Anyways, I was very sad when we had to leave. Luckily, though, we took lots of pictures. After we were off, we checked out the gift shop, and I bought two pins for myself; one with the Union Jack on it, and a pink one with a crown on it, saying “Keep calm and eat a cupcake.” I thought it was just too funny, I could resist buying it. They were only 1£, so…

          Next, we crossed the Thames (pronounced Tems, for those who didn’t know), and took a closer look at Parliament. Then, we went to scrutinize Westminster Abbey. Unfortunately, we didn’t go in, since the price was so high. We didn’t think it was worth it. It’s really too bad, though, because I was really excited about seeing Poet’s Corner and Isaac Newton’s tomb. Oh, well. We saw cooler things, later.

          We went to the docks, and, after having paid 50p for the “loo,” for Grandma, waited for our river cruise. Boarding, we listened intently to the guide explaining little facts and pointing out landmarks, such as the well-awaited for Cleopatra’s Needle. It was pretty small, actually. Maybe that was why I couldn’t see it from the London Eye…  Finally being pointed out the Tower of London, we arrived to the Tower Bridge, the “most famous bridge in the world,” according to the commentator. Leaving the boat, we were trying to decide what to do for lunch… when we fell upon this nice little Fish & Chips cart. I hadn’t had that since Fisherman’s Wharf, on Vancouver Island. Well, now we can say that we’ve had French food in France, and English food in England. After lunch, we retraced our steps for about half an hour, and finally came to…

          The Globe.

          That’s right, Shakespeare’s Globe. Pretty much the only reason I ever came to London. Okay, I’m kidding, but I was still pretty excited. And this is where we come to our second instance of London Lying.

          All eager about taking the tour, which the pamphlet and posters clearly stated was offered daily, as in every day. When we walked in, the receptionist was telling another couple that they were only offered in the morning, before midday, however. It was 1 o’clock. I was so, so disappointed. I’m sure I could’ve cried, although I didn’t. Sniff… We left. Pffft. London lied. Again. Pfffffffffffffft.

          Anyways, re-retracing our steps back to Tower Bridge, we once again boarded the river cruise, and this time headed for Greenwich. You know, the “W” isn’t pronounced. Why? I don’t know. Weird. It took us about half an hour to get there, which felt pretty long. We were on a bigger boat, however; it was very comfortable, and most importantly, indoors. Extremely tired, we didn’t really feel like staying long, because although Greenwich sounded like a nice place to have dinner, we were already engaged for the night. We stayed approximately 15 minutes in the neighborhood, checking out the market. It was actually pretty cool; indoors, and full of little stands selling just about everything, from food to clothing to little toy soldiers. Then, we left on exactly the same boat on which we had come.

          After the long train ride back to the house, we left for dinner with Briana and the boys, for Indian food. Mm… Butter chicken. I realized that I hadn’t had butter chicken for a year or so now, since Grandma is the one who often makes it, and I have been living in Washington. I’ll have to remind her to make it when I get back… Anyways, it was a wonderful meal, and after a bit of homework and reading, I went to bed.

          So, day 1 in the UK complete. Only one more day to go…

London Metropolis: Day 8 – Traveling, traveling… BRITISH ACCENTS!

On the train, near the Blois station, France

          Yeah, I know, we’re not really in London, yet. But we have another 3 hours of traveling ahead of us, so I would like to use this time to ramble about some random things that have been on my mind.

          The guy on the train just came to “composte” our ticket. He made three little holes in the paper with a hole-puncher. Huh. That’s all? Wow, we worked ourselves up for absolutely no reason. Oh, well. Grandma is peeling an orange. Mmh. Maybe I’ll go one to those random things now.

          First of all, thanks to Script Frenzy—you know, that challenge where you have to write a play in the month of April?—a girl has come and shed a light on my past. After having thought about it for a while, a sudden realization helped me learn more about myself and who I am. I suppose it all started on the Script Frenzy forums.

          Now, I could spend hours on those forums. I start talking to people, and I just can’t seem to stop. Anyways, I met this really nice girl named Isis—that’s not her actual name, of course, it’s her username—and she told me that she was a synesthete.

          I remember from Ms. Conlin and her crazy English classes last year what synesthesia is—it’s when the senses overlap and sort of meld together. A book with a lot of examples of synesthesia is The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Well, I thought that was pretty cool. Then, she asked me if I was a synesthete. And I didn’t know. So yesterday morning, while Grandma was out on one of her walks, I took a test on the Internet. I wasn’t sure of its effectiveness, but it said that I was 83% synesthete. Then, I started thinking.

If I were a synesthete, it would explain a lot about my past and about who I am in general. You see, synesthetes tend to associate colours with days of the week or numbers. For example, when I was little, I separated my classmates into groups of colours; blue, purple and red. I would look at them and say, “She’s blue,” or “She’s purple.” It was mostly for girls, but I did it for guys, as well. Then, in elementary school, certain school subjects had their colour; I didn’t choose them, they just were. French was red, Math was green, Science was blue… Also, numbers. They all have their irrefutable colours, as well. 1 is black, 2 is yellow, 3 is blue, 4 is green, 5 is red… and it goes on and on. I had never realized that that was what I did, I just… did. But now that I’ve figured it out, it all makes so much sense. I told Isis, and she assured me that the test wasn’t always that effective, but that she was sure that I was a synesthete, after hearing about my past experiences. Saying that she had a test that worked for all synesthetes, she sent me a list of seemingly random questions. Apparently, most synesthetes are left-handed, are girls, like the performing arts, have a really good memory, and so on. Other than the whole left-handed thing, the description fit me perfectly, and adding up all of my colour-association, we came to the conclusion… I am a synesthete.

So comment and tell me: Are you a left-handed girl who has a good memory and likes the performing arts? Are you a synesthete?

Okay, that’s enough of my ramblings. I’ll be back, after my arrival in London.

~

5 Belgrade Road, Hampton, England

King's Cross Station

          I am in England! I’m so, so excited. Just being on a bus surrounded by people speaking with British accents makes me all tingly. I can’t believe I’m really here. I’m so lucky; it’s just been so much fun. Anyways, let me start from the beginning.

          Actually, arriving here was not so much fun. The Tube was totally crowded, it was just insanity. Before that, we had to go through customs before going through the Chunnel; Grandma forgot our tickets at a table, and I, all tired as I was, had to run all the way back through the line to go get them. My shoulder is also hurting me; I had to carry Grandma’s black bag up and down all of the stairs in the metro. It’s really heavy. I’m so glad all that’s over, now. In the actual train (you know, we were only underwater for about 20 minutes, which was a bit disappointing), I began memorizing Romeo and Juliet—really fun—but the ride seemed quick. It was over so fast, and we had to struggle through the (British!) crowds to get to Mark and Briana’s. We’re finally here though, which is nice. We had a very good dinner, but I have only heard a few seconds of Will’s guitar when we first walked in. More to come…? I really want to hear Callum on the violin, as well. Mark’s gone to Dublin, which is too bad.

          Tomorrow, we’re gone to explore London, with the help of a river cruise! Can’t wait!

          After doing some more research on synesthesia, here is some extra info about it:

          Only about 1 in 23 people are synesthetes. (Ooh, I’m unique!) There are different types of synesthesia: I have graphemes à colour synesthesia and graphemes à personification synesthesia, which means that I associate colours and personalities to numbers, letters, days of the week… Yeah, personalities too. That’s how I learned my numbers, when I was little; 1 was good, and so was 2, but 3 was evil. Tori Amos, Billy Joel and Marilyn Monroe were all synesthetes, but had different forms of synesthesia. Oh, and synesthetes also have a more visual memory and had trouble with left-right and arithmetic when they were little… more ways of defining myself.

          Well, that’s all for today. More British-ness to come!

Tours Metropolis: Day 7 – Da Vinci and Amboise—aka more Chateaux

Hotel Ronsard, 2 Rue Pimbert, Tours, France (Last Day!)

          Today was our last day in Tours, but tomorrow, we’re going to London! I’m super excited, but let’s concentrate on Tours, first.

          As I said yesterday, we were to visit two chateaux today. So we hopped into Patrick’s van (Unfortunately, Michael was nowhere to be found) and headed for Amboise, a small town home to two chateaux; Clos Lucé, and, well, Amboise…

Flying Machine with Clos Luce in the background.

          Clos Lucé was Leonardo Da Vinci’s home, the great Italian artist, architect, inventor, and countless other things, as well. He had lived there in the last years of his life. A grand house surrounded by a park, the manor was, although slightly smaller (like, Azay Le Rideau-sized), very interesting and informative. I think the best part was Da Vinci’s bedroom. Well, I thought it was pretty funny, anyways. One of the first rooms that we visited, the bedroom housed a cat. Yes, a very alive, very cute cat. Walking in, I saw a family pointing to a ball of fur on the bed, and it was a cat, curled up and asleep, asleep on Leonardo Da Vinci’s bed. Well, I wish I were a cat. I suppose he was used to crowds staring at him and taking pictures, for he stayed asleep the whole time.

          The house was pretty cool; every few steps there was a Leonardo quote hanging on the wall. The coolest part was the basement, however. It was filled with models of inventions he had dreamed up, built by IBM from the sketches he had drawn all those years ago. There were also animated videos showing how they would work; it really gave the impression of how much ahead of his time the engineer was. There was a tank, a boat, a flying machine (obviously), a swivel bridge, and some things I had never even heard of, such as Archimedes’ screw, a machine for bringing water up. It was all very interesting.

          Finally, we toured the park. Filled with more, life-sized models of his inventions, the park was really fun. Grandma and I tried out one of the flying machines (unfortunately rooted to the ground) and the tank. We kept walking and walking, and regretfully decided to leave.

          Walking back towards the center of Amboise, we wanted to go check out a market that the town is famous for. In one word? It was huge. There was everything you could have ever wanted; clothes, shoes, food of all kinds.  There was a guy selling chickens—alive—and a charity raising money for animals, I think. They had two puppies sleeping in a box. About the chickens—why would people want to buy chickens, anyway? Were they bringing them home to kill them themselves?  Were they starting a chicken family? Did they want one as a pet for the kids? I don’t know, but if you ask me, I’d much rather buy my chickens already dead, thank you very much.

          Buying some Chinese food, Grandma and I sat down on a bench to feast. Unfortunately, the Har-gow (I am pronouncing it this way, correct or not) was cold, since it’s steamed and all and they couldn’t heat it up, and so was the lo-mein. I forgive them, however; they had good excuses. They did heat up some crab spring rolls and breaded shrimp for us (no, not tempura—breaded shrimp), though.

Amboise

          We finally headed for Amboise—the castle. After climbing up a huge hill, we bought our tickets and climbed up some more.  Amboise is at the top of an enormous cliff overlooking the city. For someone who hates physical exertion, I can say that the view was worth the climb. We could see for miles around. We took lots of pictures, and I couldn’t help thinking how inconceivably high we were. Going inside the castle—for yes, it is more of a castle than a chateau—we saw lots of suits of armour and more portraits, rooms, and old pieces of furniture. It was pretty cool, although there were even more stairs inside. The castle itself is beautiful. Just like Chenonceaux; something out of a fairytale. And it’s just as amazing from the bottom looking to the top of that cliff.       After visiting the castle, we stopped by a chocolate store and bought—wait for it—six chocolates. Grandma made me order. She chose a “craquant,” a milk chocolate “chenonceaux” filled with caramel and other good things and a pralines one. For me, I picked a dark chocolate caramel, a dark chocolate chenonceaux (I like dark chocolate) and a truffle. They were so good. One thing I will give to the French—they make good chocolate.

          A short summary of my chateaux-experience: For a wedding and photos, Chenonceaux; for photos in the gardens, Villandry; for living, either Villandry or Clos Lucé; and for a palace, Chambord. My favourites were, I think, Chenonceaux and Amboise.

          Anyways, to get back to Tours, we had planned on taking the train. We had to cross the Loire River on a bridge—it was loooooong. It’s a pretty large river, separated in the middle by a thin strip of island. We were there two hours early—we spent one outside and one inside of the station.

          We bought the tickets and sat down. There was this machine that said “Compostage de billets.” Grandma, assuming that compostage=composting, thought that it was a great idea. When someone left the train, they could throw away their tickets in there, instead of, say, throwing it on the floor. Then, people started coming in and placing their tickets in the machine. It would then make a buzzing noise, and they would take it out. Um, it wasn’t composting at all. This is what she wrote in her journal:

“Given there are so many tourists coming to France, you would think that clear information would be given to tourists. For example, there are little yellow machines at train stations that say ‘compostage de billets.’ I thought it was for composting your used ticket. Now I know they are not for that. What does ‘composter’ mean? Validate? I don’t care, I am not going to composter my billet.”

          After having pointed it out to me, we laughed so hard. Whenever someone would show up and “composte” their ticket, our laughter would resume. I have to admit, it was pretty funny. Despite her assurances that she would not “composter” our tickets, and reading at the top of said tickets “BILLET a composter avant l’acces au train,” she finally gave in, and buzzed the machine. All it did was stamp the date at the top. We didn’t really see the point of it, since it already said “Validé” at the bottom. Meh. French people. They never explain things properly, do they?

          Getting back to the hotel after the uneventful half-hour ride, we relaxed for a while—I was on the computer while Grandma went on many walks. Finally, we went out for dinner at a Japanese place—they didn’t serve Chinese rice, although Grandma said it tasted weird. They just can’t get it right, can they? I had my usual kappa maki with miso soup, and Grandma had some grilled salmon, tuna and shrimp. All very good, except apparently, the soup was too thin. Now we’re back at the hotel. I’m so excited for tomorrow, although we’ll mostly be traveling. It’ll be my first time in England!

Tours Metropolis: Day 6 – Grand Chateaux Day

Hotel Ronsard, 2 Rue Pimbert, Tours, France

          Fine, waking up early wasn’t that hard…

          Leaving early to catch the bus at the Office du Tourisme, we had a very good plan: seeing two chateaux today and four tomorrow. I know what you’re thinking; “Four? Isn’t that a lot of castles in one day?” Well, that’s what I was thinking. But you see, chateaux are more like really, really big, castle-shaped houses. So they’re not like grand palaces. Most of them, anyway.

Villandry and its gardens

          Before I go on individually describing my chateau-experiences, I would like to announce my real goal, I mean, other than visiting cool old places. You see, last year when I went to Switzerland with Dad and Connie, we went into a castle: Le Chateau de Chillon. Immediately falling in love with its beauty, I made a major life-changing decision. There would be where I got married, one day. Granted, that was, at the time, the only castle I’d ever seen. So my final goal is to find an even better (if that’s even possible) location for a wedding.

          Our first stop was Azay Le Rideau.

          My first impression was that it wasn’t that big. For once, I was right.

          It was like a big, castle-shaped house. I definitely could’ve lived in there. It was about three stories high, and only about as large as the central staircase running through it. There were a few rooms on either sides, but nothing more. A dining hall, a kitchen, and a few bedrooms were the main rooms.  The house was also surrounded by “gardens”—that’s what they called them, anyways—which were really actually patches of grass and a nice little pond. I’m sure the experience would have been more enjoyable if it WASN’T RAINING AGAIN. Okay, it wasn’t that bad—a light drizzle made it just uncomfortable enough for us to pull our umbrellas out. After going around, we hurried back to the van of seven other people waiting for us—we were the last ones, and late.

          As I said, it would be a great place to live in, or even to stay for a while. To get married in? Not so much.

          Next, we headed for Villandry.

          Now, that is a place I would love to live in. In was built to be an actual house, you see, so it’s not as cold as normal, abandoned buildings. It was lived in by the Carvallo family in the early 1900s, and it was beautiful. They had actual gardens this time, and personally, I believe that they could’ve been the main attraction. They were separated into sections; there was a vegetable garden, a herb garden, an ornamental garden, even a water garden with fountains. There was also a maze. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much of a chance for wandering around, because we wanted to hurry as to not be late again. Inside the house, we saw the bedrooms, all of them (they had had six kids). I think our favourite room was the Oriental drawing room—the ceiling was simply magnificent. It had been brought in from the Maqueda ducal palace in Toledo, and it is part of a four-piece collection—the three other pieces are “housed by prestigious, international museums.”

          I loved Villandry, but to live in. Certainly not for a wedding, though, although the gardens would make a nice backdrop for photos.

          Heading back for the van (We were not late!), Patrick, the driver, asked us if we could do the two other castles today, and only do the two tomorrow, instead of four. (Hence the title, Grand Chateaux Day) We agreed, so instead of heading to the Office du Tourisme, we headed, oh right, to the Office du Tourisme.

          Patrick told us we had 15 minutes to find a lunch. Needless to say, we hurried. Finding a little sandwich shop, we quickly bought me a Panini, and Grandma a sandwich. We came back to the van and prepared to go to Chenonceaux, our next destination. It was a long drive—about an hour—so I dozed off while Grandma chatted away with Michael, the American man sitting next to her. We’ll probably be seeing him tomorrow, since we’re not finished out tour, yet, and neither is he. Pulling into the parking lot, I finally caught a glimpse of the infamous Chenonceaux, Grandma’s favourite chateau, apparently, and… I fell in love.

Chenonceaux: fairytale castle

          The castle… It seemed to have jumped straight out from the page of a storybook. Something out of a fairytale. I could practically see Snow White (although I don’t like Snow White, she’s such a wimp) pulling water out of a well, and Cinderella (she’s better) sweeping outside.  There were more, breathtaking gardens. What really amazes me is the organization—they’re all in specific sections, symbolizing specific things. Only the French, right?

The inside was nice, as well; lots of bedrooms, once again, and a great hall out back. It had been used as a hospital during the World Wars. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Reception location! There was also a chapel, when, you know, the actual marriage could take place. Although I’m not religious, so a chapel might not be obligatory. Either way, you’re all invited to my wedding at Chenonceaux (airplane tickets must be bought by yourselves)!

          And our last destination was Chambord.

          Now, Chambord is a beautiful castle… But the inside was, well, empty. I mean, it was more of a museum than anything else, and I was hoping for more information on how people lived, and less people. I mean, it was completely crowded. I think it was also just a little bit too big. The outside was still amazing, though. Really, really pretty. It was just huge… The main attraction was the central staircase, which wound up and up and up, till you finally get to the roof. That was nice, though. We had a really nice view of the little town, from up there. Getting bored, we strolled back to the van, stopping for ice cream (vanilla, from a vanilla bean—best vanilla ice cream I’ve ever had).

          Finally, after the long drive back, we came home.

          Then, we went out for dinner.

          There was a Leonardo Da Vinci restaurant that was Italian, but that also had some meat and other things for Grandma. We walked over and sat down. Grandma had some ravioli-type things (she hadn’t recognized the name)—I thought the whole point of going there was for her not to have Italian food, since she had been complaining, but no, she changed her mind—and I had something resembling spaghetti (I hadn’t recognized the name, either).

          Half-way through the dinner, I misread something on the wall, and of course, Grandma  had to seize the opportunity to tease me.

          “I think you need glasses,” she told me. I replied that I did have glasses.

          “No, I mean for up close.”

          Looking down at my tablecloth, I stated, “Well, I see the bread crumbs on my napkin.”

          A few seconds passed, then, “That’s not a napkin.”

          We laughed so hard that I feared that the waiters would comment on our giggling. I don’t know why we found that so funny, but we just couldn’t stop. It was great.  After deciding that we would just look at the dessert menu, but ending up ordering tiramisu, we headed home once more.

          So that was the grand chateaux day, but tomorrow is still a chateaux day, although not so grand…

Tours Metropolis: Day 5 – Arrival in the Loire Valley

Hotel Ronsard, 2 Rue Pimbert, Tours, France

          Time for Metropolis #2: Tours! That’s right, our location has now shifted to the Loire Valley, since this afternoon. Want to know how we got there?



          Grandma woke me up and left again, only this time, I actually got up while she was gone. There was a special reason, of course… She had promised to go and buy me a pain au chocolat, which I had been wanting since our arrival in France. It was so good, flaky, chocolaty… We hung out in the apartment, ready around one hour and a half in advance, and waited till 11 when Michael showed up.  Handing in the key, we went off to the Crowne Plaza to steal one of the taxis in the front. Unfortunately, despite Grandma’s reassurances, there weren’t any. Instead, we regretfully headed for the metro once more and carried our bulky suitcases down the steep stairs. Arriving at La gare d’Austerlitz, we tried to figure out where exactly our train was, but then realized that we were too early for the station to even know. We waited… and finally boarded.

          I don’t really know what Grandma did during the 2-hour ride (reading and sleeping, I suppose), but I did more Brand-New-World-ing. Tours was the last stop, and we disembarked. Grandma had printed out directions to get to our hotel room from the tourist bureau—only, we couldn’t find the tourist bureau. Asking for help from a nice man, we finally found the first street that we needed to turn on.

          “We’re looking for ‘Rue Pimbert’,” Grandma said. Okay, simple enough. “It’s on the right.”

          It was supposed to take eight minutes. We were walking for half an hour before admitting defeat and turning around.

          Right. Lost again.

          Walking in the opposite direction, we realized that we had simply missed the street. Perusing all of the street signs attentively, we kept going until we ended up right where we started. On top of that, it was raining again. I know, again. Tired, hungry (It was 4 and we hadn’t eaten lunch yet) and our arms sore from dragging our luggage around, we entered a coffee shop near the train station.

          “Nous sommes per,” Grandma declared to the waitress. Despite her incomprehensible accent, she understood right away.

          “Ah, vous etes perdus,” she answered, and promptly drew us a very clear map. Curse Google Maps! How were we supposed to know that Rue Pimbert was actually behind another street? How does that make any sense? Well, we have been thwarted by Google Maps, and plan to stop putting all of our trust into it. Our only option left? Mapquest.

          Before I go any further, let me clear up how the waitress could understand us (well, Grandma) so well. Tours is home to a school for learning the French language, welcoming students from all over the world speaking in broken French. Grandma and Grandpa had stayed there for a month the year my parents had gotten married to learn the language. So obviously, residents are pretty much used to hearing people speak, well, to say this nicely, with an accent.

          We finally found the hotel, camouflaged behind a very normal-looking door. We settled in to our room, and, taking our umbrellas, went out to explore the town.

Beautiful buildings

          It was still raining.

          We found this really cool pedestrian area full of restaurants and shops. The buildings were just beautiful (See picture 1). I immediately fell in love with their old, cottagey style. Going through a candy store, we bought sour candies and chocolate caramels. Also, we resolved to actually eat French food, tonight. For the first time.

          Well, it was only (only!) a quarter to seven, and none of the restaurants were open yet (I know; French people, right?). Going back to the hotel for half an hour, we asked the receptionist about the French restaurants. Cap Sud, Le Turon, La Ruche et L’hedoniste. Those were our choices.

          Leaving, we found the first three fairly easily; they were all on the same street. We never found L’hedoniste, however. After perusing all of the menus stationed outside, we finally decided that Cap Sud was most likely the most Danielle-approved. (I can be picky, for those who don’t know me well.)  And this is what we ordered.

          We had the choice to order one appetizer and one entrée. Grandma picked (I’m giving this to you word for word here, I spent about ten minutes—longer than it took me to eat it, Grandma says—copying this down afterwards for the sake of this blog. So you’re welcome.) “Dés de Thon rouge juste snaké, bouillon de thé vert et espuma de petits pois au combawa” as an appetizer, and “Quasi de Veau poelé, griottin de riz et de champignons, boulgour de petits légumes et raisins de corinthe, jus corsé.” Now, in nothing but the first course, there were three words that Grandma had to ask for a definition: “snaké,” which means lightly grilled, as in only for a second, “espuma,” which is a kind of mousse, and “combawa,” a Chinese lime. And that was only the appetizer. For my part, I elected the “Cannelloni de Magret de Canard séché et artichauts, chantilly de feves et huile de mandarine” as an appetizer, and “Filet de Carrrelet en croute de pistache sur un lit de petits legumes et emulsion de peche vervaine.” Obviously, I had no idea what I was ordering.

          Before serving us, they brought a little “aperitif,” lemon-flavoured mascarpone cheese (I didn’t like it) and lemon-flavoured whipped cream (Didn’t like it either).

          “I don’t think I like French food very much,” I told Grandma.

          The appetizers came; Grandma said hers was lovely. The only thing I recognized was tuna. Mine was inedible—Grandma found it lovely as well, however. I guess I don’t like French food. When I had ordered, the only thing I saw was the cannelloni; I have no idea how what was on my plate even resembled pasta. There was a sort of potato-y mash wrapped inside the duck—cold—but it really was not something I enjoyed.  I prayed that I would enjoy the main course, as I was starving from my lack of a lunch. In the meantime, I ate bread.

          When I had ordered my entrée, what I had seen was the fish and vegetables. And I was served fish and vegetables.

          And it was good.

          Well, maybe French food isn’t so bad, after all. The hard part is reading the menu.

          I’m mentally preparing myself for tomorrow morning. I’ll have to actually get up, now, to catch the bus. Grrrrrr.

Paris Metropolis: Day 4 – Last Day in the City of Art, Shopping and… the Japanese…?

15 Rue Jules Ferry, Paris, France (Last day—Noooooooo!)

    My goal today is for my post to be considerably shorter—yeah right, as if that’ll ever happen. Anyways, it is our last day in Paree, as tomorrow we’re taking the train to Tours to visit some castles. I can’t wait…

    …But for now, let’s concentrate on today.
    Grandma woke me at 8:30 and left to wander the neighborhood, expecting me to get up on my own. Um, yeah. Not happening. When she came back at 9, she was actually surprised that I was still asleep. Well, what did she think?
    We left almost right away after our banana-grapes-baguette-cranberry juice breakfast. We took a different route today, heading for the Champs Elysées. (Ooooh, Champs Elyséééééées… I know, I’ve had that song stuck in my head all day, too.) Upon leaving the metro station, we were a bit disoriented. As in, we turned around in circles for a while trying to figure out exactly where we were. In our defense, the streets were not properly labeled. But that could also just be a lame excuse.
    Finally realizing that The Petit Palais, our ultimate destination, had actually been standing in front of us the whole time, we went through the doors and security.
    The temporary exhibits were free (Yay!), so we wandered around there for some time. There was a beautiful display of vases blown from glass, and there was a furniture collection. There was also a room dedicated to Impressionism (My favorite!) and several statues. It was really nice. We stayed there for an hour or so, and escaped out into the (at last, no more rain) sunshine.

Petit Palais

    We walked along the wide street with no particular direction in mind. We knew that we would not be going into any stores, however; everything on the Champs Elysées is super expensive. Oh, you saw the title, did you? The shopping is actually later, but don’t worry. Remember, I said this would be a short post…

    We bought another umbrella today. 15 euros, instead of 5. And guess what? It never rained…

    We took the subway in the direction of a Japanese noodle place Grandma had found in the Paris book. Once again, we pretty much found it by mistake, as we did with the ice cream place yesterday. Just when we were wondering where it was, it popped up right in front of us. Places tend to do that, don’t they?
    There was a lineup, but we took that as a good sign. It must be good, then, right? We must have waited for about half an hour—I know it sounds really long, but it wasn’t. Finally reaching the front, we were escorted downstairs into the basement. Since we had ordered in advance while we were waiting, our lunch came quickly—two tempura udons, a Japanese beer and a “Coca” (European name for a Coke. Don’t exactly know how they would react if I ordered an actual Coke, but I’m not really sure I want to find out, either.). It was actually quite delicious. We slurped a lot, and I said that all of our slurping would drive Gaby INSANE (Sorry Gaby, if you’re reading this. Although I doubt you are…).
    We walked around the area for a bit after our lunch, and we noticed the number of Japanese places. We must be in Parisian Japantown… We went through a few grocery stores searching for Hello Pandas (for those who don’t know what Hello Pandas are, you’re missing out—they’re these little cookies filled with chocolate, I had been eating some in Montreal in the airport.), but we unfortunately couldn’t find any. Also, we weren’t really sure how to ask: “Est-ce que vous avez des ‘Hellos Pandas’?”
    We stopped at almost every window to look through. There were some really nice scarves. We walked into a store selling Samurai swords, fans and special socks for these wooden flip-flops elevated from the ground—geta, Grandma tells me they're called.
    Finally, we chose to begin our search for a metro station, prepared to go home. But that’s when we saw it.
    This is where the shopping begins.

The skirt Grandma bought me!

    There’s this European clothing company that Grandma really likes called Desigual, and we found a store for it. It was really, really cool. We spent a long time in there, but I don’t mind. Everything was so nice—although expensive. Extremely expensive. All of the dresses that I liked were above 100 euros, but the colours were so bright, and the designs so unique.  In short, if I were rich enough, I would’ve bought the whole store. Instead, Grandma bought me a skirt. Don’t worry, I’ve just finished reimbursing her—I gave her a looooooong foot massage a few minutes ago. She says it was good. Yay.

    Finding the metro, we metro-ed back home. Grandma had a bath and I gave her said foot massage.
    Then, we went Thai.
    The restaurant was only a few blocks away; we shared a pad Thai and a chicken dish—so good. When we walked in, the waiter asked us, “Vous avez réservé?”
    Grandma, not having understood the question, answered, “Yes, yes; we speak English.”
    ...
    Don’t ask me how she got “Do you speak English?” from “Did you make a reservation?” but she did, somehow. It was really funny.
    After dinner we stopped at the bakery and bought the last croissant of the day for tomorrow’s breakfast. I can’t believe tomorrow is our last breakfast in Paris. Time went by so quickly… Luckily, although our stay in Paris is over, the trip is far from being finished.

    When in Rome…

    …Do as the Parisians do. I would like to make a quick note about our stay: Grandma and I have been doing our best to wear scarves—just like real Parisian women! It’s true, they’re all wearing them. Grandma had found this video on a bunch of different ways to wear a scarf. We’ve been trying them out, but so far, the most interesting one is a style that looks like a braid… We’ve also been using them to keep warm on these windy, rainy days. Today was a beautiful one, though; I haven’t even had to use my brand-new umbrella, yet!

    Buskers on Metros

    Another note: we’ve been seeing quite a lot of buskers in the metro stations. Here’s a quick list of all of the musicians in and around the stations:

• Saxophone player on our first day. He was playing with a recording in the background.
• Many guitar players finger-picking throughout the stations.
• Around seven men singing and playing the accordion and other various instruments—we’ve seen them twice! They were there two days in a row, and who knows how many days they stand there playing and singing. They usually attract a crowd because of their size—I thought they were actually really good.
• There was a jazz saxophone player who was really, really good. He was on the metro today.

Paris Metropolis: Day 3 – Modern Art, Shakespeare and Ice Cream

15 Rue Jules Ferry, Paris, France

    While I try to type as quietly as I can, Grandma is fast asleep. Shhh… She must be worn-out from our hectic day. I should probably be tired, as well, but… No. I’d rather be sharing with the world all of my actions and thoughts! Wow, that sounded really creepy.

Centre Geroges Pompidou

    I woke up slightly later today, which was nice. You know, nine o’clock instead of eight. Of course, Grandma had already gone out and bought us breakfast: croissants. Maybe that’s why she’s so tired… After eating, we hopped on the metro, ready for a new day.
    Remember yesterday? Centre Georges Pompidou? Ring a bell? Well, I said we would most likely go check it out. Turns out, I was right. Psychic powers! (Be afraid, be very afraid.) Two metro-stops away was the modern art museum, and guess what? It was actually open today. Huh. Upon seeing the lineup to get in stretching across the square and onto the sidewalk, I was a bit discouraged. Grandma had the right idea, however; she decided to wait, and sure enough, the line moved quickly. Maybe those psychic powers only work for certain things, huh?
    We got to see some really cool exhibits. First were the works of Matisse, who contributed to the beginnings of modern art. What was interesting about him was that he tended to paint a same piece twice to examine himself and his work. I suppose a bit of introspection never hurt, right? It also makes for a pretty cool exhibit. His style is not really that appealing to me, though; I prefer brighter colours and for the line between abstract and realistic to be clearly defined. He tends to do a bit of both.
    Next stop was the history of video art, requested by yours truly. You know; television, radio, anything being filmed or recorded. If I could describe the display in one word, it would be… unique. There wasn’t that much information though, which I suppose could be considered as refreshing, but a complete lack of info was, to me, a bit disorienting. The exhibition was two large rooms teeming with old little television sets, sometimes with a pair of headphones plugged in, playing some kind of video. Some (actually, most) were really strange; there was one where a voice told a man to do something such as to take off his shoes, to show them to the camera and to say “I look shorter without my shoes on.” Another one was a woman undressing herself. I was kind of curious as to how far she would go, but Grandma and I were gone as soon as the underwear came off. But hey, that’s art for you.
    We finally took a peek at the normal contemporary art exhibit. I actually really like modern art. I recall a picture I saw once, most likely on facebook, that said “MODERN ART=I COULD DO THAT+YEAH, BUT YOU DIDN’T.” I’m not sure what a real artist would say to that, but to my young, ignorant brain, it’s pretty accurate.

    After searching to no avail for the exhibit about manga, we departed, and headed towards the Latin Quarters.
    I didn’t mention this yesterday, but we stopped at the Place Saint-Michel, the center of the Latin Quarters, on the bike tour. The neighborhood was named that way because it is the location of the Sorbonne, you know, the great French university, and people studying there would often speak, well, Latin to each other. Before, obviously. Now, it’s a nice little touristy area full of little bookstores and restaurants. Before I left for Paris, Mom told me about this little shop where, in the past, English writers could go and crash for the night when they had nowhere else to sleep. It sounded pretty cool. On top of that, it’s named after THE English writer of all time, and a personal favorite of mine. That’s right.
    William Shakespeare.
    Wandering around for a bit, we finally reached “Shakespeare and Company,” the greatest English bookstore in Paris. It was split in two, one half having obviously been added much later than the other. It looked pretty small from the outside, but I was quite, quite wrong.

Little alcove at Shakespeare and Co.

    It was… beautiful. (Tear rolls down my cheek.) The most amazing sight I had ever seen. It was more than just a bookstore. It was a store full of books. It was profuse with winding passages, books piling high up to the ceiling. It felt so private, not commercialized at all. It was organized in a disorganized kind of way. Or was it disorganized in an organized way? The shelves were made of wood, and fully covered every single piece of wall. A diagonal shelf climbed up the stairs; everything, every table, chair, shelf and spare inch on the wall was dedicated to books.
    The sound of a piano wafted (Can sound waft? It could there.) from upstairs, and we crept up the creaking steps. And there, we found (see 2nd picture)… this great little spot. It was a nice little bed which I would have enjoyed reading on, but I didn’t, and the wall behind it was buried under layers and layers of post-its and pieces of paper. People had signed their names and left their mark in the shop, and had I some paper in my pocket, I would’ve done it too.
    Regretfully deciding that it was time to go, I left my fragment of paradise behind. But mark my words (Seriously, write this down somewhere), I will be back. O, Shakespeare, how I love thee! Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? (No, I shan’t, for this becometh too weird.) We went off to find some lunch.

    After twisting through the narrow streets of the “Quartier Latin,” we were drawn in (quite literally) to an Italian restaurant. We ordered; I, spaghetti with tomato sauce (duh) and Grandma, a seafood pasta dish (not quite so duh, but still). Before our food had arrived, we were served some red beverage in a small glass. After the server had left, I whispered to Grandma, “What is it?”
    “I don’t know,” she said. “Why don’t you try it?”
    “I’ll try after you have.”  I know, it’s not nice to sacrifice your grandmother to test for poison/other unknown and dangerous ingredients, but there was nobody else around, and it’s not like I was going to do it.
    “What is it?” I asked eagerly, after she had taken a few sips.
    “I think it’s a Campari,” she replied.
    “Does it have any alcohol in it?”
    “A little.”  Okay, then.
    I took a small sip. “It tastes like fruit punch,” I said.
    There you go. The first time I had ever had a full glass of something that had alcohol in it, no matter how little. In Europe, and particularly France, it’s normal for kids and teens to have a glass of wine with their dinner. Fortunately, I’m not at that point, yet. Of course, Grandma just had to tell me stories about my mom when she was fifteen and they went to Europe.
    “I allowed them to have one glass of wine every night.” She was speaking of my mom, 15, and my uncle, 12. I don’t even like wine. I just tolerated the Campari, so I don’t see how I would like it. Besides, I’ve tasted it before, and it’s too strong. Meh.  It’s not like I want alcohol.

    I bought an umbrella. It was five euros. That is all.

    Anyways, after lunch, we headed over to an ice cream shop. It was said to have the best ice cream in Paris, and we found it quite by mistake. I said it was somewhere in the area where we were, and it just magically popped up in front of us. Grandma had a pralines, caramel and coriander-flavored ice cream, while I chose white chocolate. I did not enjoy it. Why in the world I ordered white chocolate when I don’t even like white chocolate I don’t know. I ate it, anyways.
    It was raining. I took out my brand-new umbrella. It was also windy. And my umbrella broke.
    Seriously. Never, ever buy a 5-euro umbrella. Flimsy, it flipped inside out after ten minutes of use. I flipped it back, but it just kept flipping over and over again. Finally, after a particularly strong gust of wind, the metal cracked, and I was left with a very broken umbrella. Stuffing it into a garbage can, we ran into the nearest metro, soaking wet. We were laughing the whole time.

    Arriving home, Grandma took a loooooooooooong nap (That’s what you get when you’re up at 5 am.), while I did more homework. She finally awoke, and we decided to go check out a store called Chez Pascal—we were told it sold nothing but frozen products.
    Well, we were told right. Walking in, we found a store lined with white, horizontal freezers. I bought a dinner of ravioli, Grandma bought “crevettes avec legumes et pates,” and we decided that, for a vegetable, a bag of peas was satisfactory.
    It took us a while to figure out the microwave, but other than that, it was good. Then, I did more banging-head-against-wall-reading-Brave-New-World. It was a pretty good day.

    That’s all, folks. For today, anyways.