And so that was Christmas

Merry Christmas to you all! Our much hoped-for white Christmas didn't eventuate. The weather in Paris has been very mild (around 10 degrees) and a little rainy. Luckily, we had a clear evening for Christmas Eve, when we climbed the Eiffel Tower.

It's Boxing Day today in some parts of the world but not here in Paris where many of the businesses in our local area were open as normal. In fact, when my niece and I went for a wander through the Marais yesterday (Christmas Day), many cafes and galleries were open then too. I guess that's what you do in a neighbourhood popular with the Jewish community and tourists. On our walk, we saw Jewish newly-weds posing for photos with a stretch limo, visited a funky group exhibition that featured recycled materials, and listened to a counter-tenor sing in Place des Vosges.

We are leaving Paris in a couple of days and there are so many things I could be writing about - our stroll around Canal Saint Martin, sitting in Renoir's gardens in Montmartre, visiting Versailles or the Musee Rodin. I'll save those for another time. As the Christmas season draws to an end, I thought I'd show you a little more of Christmas in Paris.

Over the past few weeks, Marche Noels have popped up everywhere. Some, such as the one in the church on Rue du Temple, are little more than secondhand stalls or craft markets. Others are collections of specially constructed huts, with stalls selling vin chaud every few feet, as well as souvenirs and local crafts.

We found this Christmas decoration at a Marche Noel near Notre Dame Cathedral. The market was specialising in handmade goods and food and was very small.

We also found a Christmas market at Sacre-Coeur - a little bigger but still a mix of craft, food, wine and souvenirs.

The Christmas market at Jardins du Trocadero is much bigger and includes an ice-skating rink. Not bad, being able to skate in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.

There are, of course, lights all over this City of Light. The Champs Elysee is probably the focal point for Christmas lights. We visited these on Christmas Eve, after climbing the Eiffel Tower and enjoying vin chaud from the Marche Noel on Quai Branly.

The hotels in the 8th arrondisement seem to be in quiet competition for best lights. Here is my favourite - I forgot to write down it's name but I think it's Plaza-Athenee on Avenue Montaigne. I think the combination of a panda (there is one on either side of the hotel entrance), fairy lights and a beautiful tree in the foyer is quite special.

But dazzling as the lights can be, my favourite Christmas images have been much more modest and often unexpected. When my niece and I were walking in the 19th on Sunday, we passed Cafe La Fontaine, which had a delightful display of miniature buildings, many moving, in its window.

Nothing, though, beats discovering this community garden and Christmas tree in Jardins Anne Frank. The garden is tucked away at the end of an 'impasse' (dead end) about 5 minutes away from us. When we first visited it, the garden was quite bare and the community vege patch was struggling. It must be lovely in spring and summer when the trellises are covered with vines. But when we visited on the weekend, look what we found: a Santa Scarecrow (or a Pere Noel Scarecrow) and a community Christmas tree covered in decorations made out of recycled materials such as plastic bottles and old cds.

Joyeux Noel et Bonne Annee!

The New Neighbourhood

Twelve days ago (I can't believe it!) we moved from the Left Bank to the Right Bank and into our new second-floor apartment wedged on the corner of a cobbled street on the northern edge of the Marais. We have a corner apartment - you can see it's windows at the top of the pic below.

The building is so old, it is moving - probably trying to fall down. Each year the windows have to be rehung to accommodate the slight shift in the building's walls. The floor slopes too - from the outer wall to the rock inner wall, which was most likely an outer wall at some stage in it's life.

The Marais has had a mixed history. It was originally marshland that became market gardens. The nobility moved in once Henri IV created what is now called Place des Vosges. The Knights Templar had their enclave a block away from us and, in the other direction, alchemist Nicolas Flamel had his house, conveniently on the edge of the cemetery, which was thought to have magical properties. For much of its life, though, the Marais has been home to migrant communities, including Paris' Jewish community.

We live in 'Bags' Ville', which happens to be the name of one of the shops on the street. Most of the street below us is filled with handbag wholesalers (no retail). It's a narrow one-way street, often blocked by delivery trucks who just stop and unload because there is nowhere for them to park. This is the view of Bags' Ville from our window.

The Marais is full of narrow streets like this. And full of wholesalers. A short walk takes you past jewellery wholesalers and Paris souvenir wholesalers too. You can buy shop fittings and display items and, at the moment, Christmas decorations in bulk. These shops seem to be run by the Asian community, so we have a street nearby full of Asian eateries - and what must be one of the last wooden buildings in Paris (Henri IV banned wooden buildings because of their tendency to burn down).

In the Marais, the past and the present collide. A few doors down the cobbled street (which is mercifully restricted to traffic other than motor scooters most of the time) is a public school. All the schools in the Marais have a plaque like this on their walls.

Eleven thousand children were deported from France by the Nazis between 1942 and 1944 - 500 of them from the 3rd arrondisement which the Marais straddles. Many buildings around the neighbourhood have plaques noting the deaths during World War 2 of the people who live in them.

The Marais is on the move. The Centre G. Pompidou and the outrageous mechanical fountain in Place Igor-Stravinsky (less than 10 minutes walk away) and the beautiful symmetry of Place des Vosges have brought tourism to the area.

So the Marais is changing. There are lots of galleries and you can be walking down a narrow street and suddenly find yourself amidst hip clothing shops, including one we found that provided clothing and other essentials for your dog and cat. And across the road from us is Hotel Jules et Jim, one of the hippest of the Marais' new boutique hotels (according to Time Out Paris) and named for Francois Truffaut's classic film. But you still have to get your designer luggage down a very narrow street to reach it.

PS I owe all my knowledge of the history of the Marais to Andrew Hussey's Paris - The Secret History, a copy of which I have unread at home. But someone very kindly left another copy in the apartment. It's riveting.

Christmas in Paris

Christmas for us began with a visit to Paris Disneyland a couple of weeks ago. Every evening, the Disneyland Christmas Tree is lit, somewhere between the Disney Parade and the Disney Dreams grand finale. And although it was our first taste of Christmas, I was told by a sales assistant in one of the many Disney shops that they have been lighting the tree since the end of August. He sounded a tad weary.

The Paris Disneyland Christmas Tree, 2012

Christmas has been hard to ignore ever since. Men have been hanging lights across the streets of the 6th arrondisement from mid-November. Here are just two of the results.

Rue de Buci

Rue de Saint-Peres

Everywhere we go, trees are piled outside the doors of the florists, the marches, and in Monoprix too. We are getting used to seeing folk carrying their trees home on their shoulders, or under their arms, or balanced precariously across the top of strollers, small children hidden beneath trees, blankets, and wet weather protectors.

The florist on Rue des Saint-Peres

It seems that everyone in the 6th gets into the Christmas spirit. The boulangerie, the candlemaker, the pistachio shop, all decorated. But the seasonal celebrations aren't limited to Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Across the river, the Champs Elysee hosts a large Christmas market, claiming to have over 200 stalls. We walked along it last Sunday, amongst a swarm of people, unable to really see the stalls and too early for the lights. But we did see Santa's sleigh getting ready for the big night (I hope he picks up his speed).

Santa's sleigh flying over the Champs Elysee

The guidebooks recommend a visit to the Grand Magasins (the big department stores) to view their Christmas windows. So on Tuesday we walked from our new apartment in the Marais to Galeries Lafayette. The windows were sponsored by Louis Vuitton and were full of dancing bears, penguins, ostriches and handbags. Not sure what they have to do with Christmas but they were entrancing.

Christmas windows, Galeries Lafayette, 2012

The highlights, though, were the Cinderella carriage, sponsored by Disney, and the crystal Christmas Tree, sponsored by Swarovski, sitting beneath the stained glass dome at the heart of the store.

Cinderella's carriage, Galeries Lafayette, 2012

Swarovski Crystal Christmas Tree, Galeries Lafayette, 2012

We've been to see our first Christmas movie, Les Cinqs Legendes (The Rise of the Guardians), in English with French subtitles. Miles has two advent calendars on the go and, when we remember, we are lighting the advent candle.

Yep, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. All we need now is snow.

Horse Riding with Miles

On Saturday, Miles had a horse ride in the Luxembourg Gardens. It was his first time on horseback so we made a little video as the ponies were lead around the park. We've added it to his blog - hopefully it will inspire him to do some more blogging.

To watch the video, click on the link to Mileage on the column on the right. And the video is much better if you leave it small - it was made on the phone so the resolution isn't great.

The Love Locks of Paris

There are 37 bridges crossing the Seine. I don't have plans to try to cross all of them - although we have already managed to cross a number of them many times.

My favourite this week is Pont des Arts, which I hadn't crossed until Monday when we decided to visit the Louvre. It's a pedestrian bridge linking the Institut de France (located at the top end of Rue de Seine) and the Louvre's back end. And it twinkles like a disco ball.

It twinkles because it is covered in 'love locks', padlocks locked onto the bridge in honour of the one you love. According to Wikipedia, love locks began to appear on European bridges in the early 2000s. Some months ago, I read an article about their appearance on the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The Mayor of Paris would seem to have succumbed to the inevitable and, after trying to remove the locks in 2010, has let them stay. The bouquinistes (second-hand booksellers) on the banks of the Seine even sell padlocks.

The idea is that you write the name of your love on the lock, attach it to the bridge, and throw the key in the river below. Tres romantique! Miles, ever practical, wondered what happens if you stop loving the person on your lock. Well, many have got around that by using padlocks with combination locks. I suspect some people throw one key in the river and keep a spare.

Locks are now dedicated to families and are spreading up the lamp posts too.

And as we were crossing the bridge on Monday, there was more than one couple plighting their troth with yet another lock, and recording the moment on their cameras.

Ah, Paris, city of love!

Outside Our Door

This is our door - our blue door. The door is squashed between a spectacles shop (there are lots of those in the neighbourhood) and a menswear shop (lots of those too).

The three windows above our blue door belong to our apartment.

If you look out our windows, you can see the wonderful candle shop across the road, Cire Trudon. It's glorious ... but I'm a bit scared to go in. We are in a very expensive part of town and they have been making candles since the 17th century. But it's very tempting. Yesterday, they changed the windows to get ready for Christmas. But you can still see the candle rainbow in the back of the store.

If you stand on the street with your back to our door and look diagonally across the road to your right, you'll find our favourite boulangerie and patisserie in the whole of France - Gerard Mulot. The tarte citron is delicious but last night we ate 'sortileges' - a charm or spell or, in this case, a ball of chocolate-coated, chocolate mousse on a teeny tiny layer of vanilla sponge! The window display is also tres charmant!

Now, keeping your back to our door, turn your head to the left. Voila! C'est Senat - and behind that big building is the Luxembourg Gardens.

And if you walk towards the Senat, take the first street on your right, turning at the pharmacy. Voila! Saint Sulpice, whose church bells we can hear on Sunday mornings.

PS The pharmacy keeps us up-to-date with the temperature (see the green cross in the top right corner above). 10 degrees on Thursday, quite balmy. Yesterday it barely reached 7!

Rankin, Rebus and Irn-Bru

I'm feeling a little bit haunted by Ian Rankin and particularly by Inspector John Rebus, the character for which Rankin is most famous.

Rankin appeared at the Cheltenham Literary Festival (the one I missed - see earlier post) and was quoted in the papers talking about how comics are the most difficult form of literature to write (apparently he wrote one after 'retiring' Rebus). But when we reached Edinburgh, Rebus was everywhere. Well, more accurately, the places Rebus goes in Rankin's 'tartan noir' crime novels were everywhere.

'Hey, we're in the Grassmarket!' I said on our very foggy Edinburgh walk.

'What's the Grassmarket?'

'No idea - but Rebus used to go there.' Of course, I couldn't remember whether he went there to have a whisky at the end of the working day or to investigate a crime when he shouldn't have been. There are a lot of Rebus books to carry in your head.

As we drove through Paris from Gare du Nord to our apartment, the word 'Rankin' kept catching my eye. It was on advertising posters on the Left Bank, seemingly everywhere. For Ian Rankin has just released his new Rebus novel, Standing in Another Man's Grave - which brings Rebus together with Rankin's new character, Malcolm Fox (of whom I'm growing rather fond).

Nothing, though, inspired thoughts of Rebus as much as discovering Irn-Bru - pronounced 'Iron Brew' as I learned at Loch Leven, where I also discovered Irn-Bru gelato. Pale, pale apricot and tasting like sherbet.

Irn-Bru is the drink Rebus always turns to when he's had too much whisky the night before. So in the spirit of culinary adventure, I decided to try some (note that I also ate black pudding and mussels (for the first time in about 25 years)).

Here it is - it's hard to believe that this violently orange soft drink has been Scotland's number one soft drink for decades.

According to the label, it's been 'Bru'd in Scotland to a secret recipe for over 100 years'. The ingredients include: carbonated water, sugar, citric acid, flavourings (including caffeine and Quinine), preservative (E211), colours (Sunset Yellow and Ponceau 4R), Ammonium Ferric Citrate.

Sounds delicious, huh? But please note that 'Sunset Yellow and Ponceau 4R: may have an adverse effect on activity and attention in children'!

This picture doesn't quite convey how outrageously, artificially orange the drink is. It looks to me like something you'd find in the mad scientist's laboratory, so much so that I had to work myself up to drinking it. It took a couple of days before I convinced myself to buy it - we were in Arbroath by that time.

And when I did finally drink it, Irn-Bru reminded me of something. Not oranges, or Fanta or any other soft drink you've ever tasted. What could it be? Jim had a taste. Yep, reminded him of something too. I had a bit more, and a bit more, and then I got it.

Irn-Bru tastes like BEROCCA! Did you know that Australians were among the first to claim Berocca as a hangover cure (the things you learn on the web)? Seems the Scots may have got there first with Irn-Bru - no wonder Rebus drinks it the morning after.

PS I tried to get a photo of the Rankin posters but by the time I thought to do it, this was the face decorating Paris - and the back of this week's Hello magazine. Recognise him?

Brad Pitt for Chanel No 5
 

Dinner at Jamie’s or How I Missed the Cheltenham Literary Festival

Sunday evening. Our attempts to find accommodation at Gloucester (after first humming the Harry Potter theme in the Cathedral cloisters) had failed. In some English towns, finding even the town centre is like working your way through a maze. So we drove onwards, ever onwards, looking for the next town.

A winding country road, hedgerows, failing light, and then the sign ‘Cheltenham 6 miles’. I knew the Literary Festival was closing that night. I’d deliberately avoided Cheltenham for that reason. Too crowded and what would Jim and Miles do while I queued to listen to Ian McEwan, Ian Rankin, Alexander McCall-Smith, Nigella Lawson, David Walliams … who wasn’t going to be at the festival? But we were tired, it was getting dark, so we took the turn in the road and found ourselves at the Queens Hotel.

Across the road, the festival tents glowed white in the twilight. The festival bookshop, run by Waterstones, was in full swing and a queue was starting to form for one of the final sessions. And I didn’t have a ticket!

Instead, we went looking for dinner. A long walk through a dark town centre - always a pedestrian mall. A man in his sleeping bag in the Debenhams doorway. A Pizza Hut with teenagers queuing. Miles and I both tired, hungry and a little dispirited. And then, around a corner … Jamie’s Italian. Suddenly, the evening took a turn for the better.

We were lead up a winding staircase to the court room of the old County Courthouse. We were ushered into the Press Box, seated in a row, looking across at other diners seated at the Judge’s table. A children’s menu for Miles - with pencils. Menus for Jim and I. Drinks order taken. 

Our Albanian waiter ran through the menu -  no lamb, no bream, no fritto misto, and no pork belly advertised on the chalkboard on the street. But they still had pasta and the other special of the day, pumpkin risotto.

Jim was thinking of leaving. Thinking very loudly of  leaving. We'd eaten a lot of Italian lately - how much pasta can a man take? I was in no mood to leave - too tired, too hungry, and determined to have a ‘Jamie’ experience. Miles was just happy to have spag bol (again). So we stayed. Jim ordered ‘Funky Chips’ - here’s what he got.

The waiter was embarrassed - embarrassed that so many things were off the menu. He sent the manager to have a chat with us. He wasn’t at all embarrassed and couldn’t rustle up a single serve of lamb, pork belly or fish. He was grumpy and probably a little fed up - it was, after all, the end of the festival. What did we expect?

We soldiered on. We laughed (slightly hysterically). The chips were ‘funky’(doused in garlic) - and definitely a ‘side’. The risotto, though, was delicious and Miles begged for a second helping of the spag bol.

And our Albanian waiter proved to be an angel - he was so embarrassed, he convinced the manager to charge us for our drinks only, turning a potentially awful evening into a highlight of the trip.

As for the Literary Festival, this is what I saw on Monday morning.

But I did buy a signed copy of Alexander McCall Smith’s new Isabel Dalhousie novel from Waterstone’s, a momento of the festival I missed.

Galloping Around the South

It's Monday evening UK time and today we drove from York to Edinburgh. Many adventures, many miles covered (over 1200 now), many erratic internet connections. Both Miles and I are way behind with our posts. But we'll catch up. In the meantime, here's a post I prepared earlier.

 

We are now heading north, to York and Scotland. But we have already managed 600 miles or so around the south of England. Here are a few highlights.

Colchester

We got off the boat and caught a train to Colchester, England’s oldest recorded city and the closest place to Harwich to hire a car. The taxi driver who picked us up from the station was adamant that there was nothing to see in Colchester. Except for … the castle … and the Seige House still full of holes from shot … and maybe the new arts centre that nobody wanted … oh, and the old hotel, the oldest in Colchester, he took us to.

 

Banbary Cross

 

‘Ride a cock horse to Banbary cross …‘

We stayed two nights at Banbary Cross. It’s a lovely town on the edge of a canal. The canal boats had been gathered the previous weekend for a festival and a few were still docked, waiting for their turn to move off. We didn’t see a lady on a white horse and the cross turns out to be the Banbary crossroads. But we stayed in a wonderful hotel which had been visited by James II, Shakespeare, and Swift, who wrote at least some of Gulliver’s Travels in Room 52. We were in Room 41.

 

 

 

Stratford-upon-Avon

 

I just love this town! But it’s changed a lot since I was last here, driving into the little carpark in front of the theatre to see Ralph Fiennes (before he was famous) in King Lear. The carpark has gone and the town has expanded but the heart of the town is as gorgeous as it ever was and a stroll along the Avon, past the canal boats, the theatre, and to the church to view Shakespeare’s grave is still my idea of bliss.

 

Hay-on-Wye

We seemed to drive miles to Hay-on-Wye, which has one foot in England and one in Wales. Its claim to fame is having over 30 secondhand and antiquarian bookshops … but it’s a long way to go for a bookshop and on a Sunday, a number are closed. In the 1960s, creating a town of bookshops was a deliberate strategy to revitalise a failing market town living in the shadow of a crumbling castle. The castle is still crumbling and now, Hay-on-Wye seems to be marketing itself as a Kindle-free-zone. I kept my Kindle locked in the car.

 

Bath

 

It was pouring as we drove into Bath (on the second attempt) so the only thing to do was spend the afternoon in the Roman Baths. It is an even more incredible experience that it was 20-odd years ago, with much more of the site excavated and available to view. Miles was completely into it, with a kid’s audio tour to listen to (I was the one who got tired of listening to the very nice voice on the audio).

Stongehenge

 

‘Henge’ is an old, old word for ‘hanging’ so Stonehenge really means ‘hanging stones’. I took far too many photos of the stones, as you do, but didn’t take a photo of the woman dressed as a druid - who wasn’t there as one of the custodians of the stones. She was, I think, a druid or perhaps just thought she was a druid?

Hardy's 'Temple of the Winds' lived up to its reputation. The sun was shining but the wind was blowing a gale - as you can see by the photo below. Do I have any hair?

The Legoland Experience

WARNING - Sharing this post with small Lego-lovers may inspire envy and result in years of nagging, for which I take no responsibility.

Travel Tip - Legoland is best to visit when you are at least 90cm tall but even better when you are at least 120cm tall. The taller you are, the more rides you can go on.

The Legoland experience begins even before you reach Legoland. We took the train from Copenhagen to Velje, which is about half-an-hour from Legoland. As the taxi drove us through the Danish countryside (very flat, remarkably pretty), we began to see giant Lego bricks gathered in twos and threes on the verge. By the time we reached Hotel Legoland, we were primed.

Hotel Legoland is part of the whole experience and shouldn't be missed. The hotel welcomes children, really welcomes children. There are kid zones dotted throughout, where giant tubs of Lego bricks are available to play. Lego cartoons are screened in a red bus near reception. There's a games room with Nintendo DS's and Wiiiiis to play with and giant Lego characters dotted around the corridors. Each day, you can enter your Lego build in a competition and there's a treasure hunt too. All this before you even get to your room.

We stayed in a Kid's Room on Space Street, which overlooks the Star Wars display in the park. Could that have been more perfect for our little Star Wars lover? A small Lego gift was waiting on the pillow and the room also comes with boxes of mixed Lego and Duplo bits to play with. We arrived on Saturday afternoon and had plenty to keep us busy while we waited to go to the park on Sunday and Monday.

The hotel has two restaurants and the family buffet was the big hit with Miles. Apparently, children all over the world eat spaghetti bolognase, chicken nuggets, hot dogs, peas, cauliflower, broccoli, corn ... and chips shaped like Lego bricks.

The park itself is a mix of Lego builds and rides, separated into different themes (Adventureland, Pirateland, Legoredo, Polar Land, Lego City). We easily filled two days exploring, riding the Lego trains and monorails, trying out the many rides and repeating some.

October proved to be a great time to go. The weather was very variable, sunny one second, raining the next but (as Jim is sick of me saying) the Danes have fantastic wet weather gear and just keep on going - so we did too, breaking in the Aldi snow jacket. But in October, the crowds were minimal. The park was busy but we didn't have to queue long for any ride.

Another warning, a number of the rides have little roller coasters. I went on the Dragon, thinking it was a bit like a ghost train and ended up so scared, I cried. I'm sharing this because if I don't, Jim and Miles will. I HATE roller coasters but did very well on spinning barrels and rocking pirate ships.

And of course, there's the Lego builds themselves - minature towns, wonders of the world, Pirate scenes and pyramids and all sorts of things.

All this, and Miles got his Legoland driver's licence too (but you have to be at least 7 years old to do that).