Holiday snaps

Hello all! (All being the 3 of you who still read this blog. You're still there, aren't you?)

Well we're about half way through our holiday and having a ball but man, being on holiday can be tiring. I've done more socialising in the last week than I have in the last 6 months.
And I caught a cold. But that's OK, I'm surviving and it's great to be home.

The weather is great - as expected, warmer here in mid-Winter than Dublin is at the moment where it is mid-Summer. Our neighbours, who are travelling with us, can't quite get over it.

We spent the first 3 days in Cape Town and an old friend of ours was kind enough to play tour guide and show us around the place. He even stopped regularly so I could take photographs, although the temptation to disrupt my photography almost got the better of him outside the Brass Bell in Kalk Bay...

We hired a car and drove from Cape Town to Port Elizabeth, breaking the trip into 2 days so as not to overwhelm our Irish friends too much with the vastness of our beautiful country.

I was glad we decided on this. Normally Hubby would be in such a rush to get the 800km drive over with that there's no way he would have stopped for me to take arbitrary pictures such as this one...

But he did, so I could, and you lucky things are the beneficiaries.

Well since getting to Port Elizabeth we have been on the go non-stop. There are so many things going on I am not even going to scratch the surface of them now. To be honest I am sort of on auto-pilot right now, hence the fluffy photo post. It's about all I can manage but I sort of needed to do something to take myself away from reality for a few minutes. I'd forgotten how draining it can be to come home, sometimes.

We're going to see some lions tomorrow (hopefully) and this weekend we're heading off to a game farm where the lads will do some hunting and we gals will probably do a lot of book reading and nail painting. Aaah, some rest, at last...

:-)

Holiday, Portuguese style

I'm going to give you the abridged version of the Trip Report this time.

Portugal was Fantastic!!!


Hm, I guess I should say a bit more than that. OK, here goes...


The hotel was lovely. If ever you decide you want to nip off to a small, quiet-ish town in the Algarve you should try the Tivoli Almansor in Carvoeiro. The room was spacious, the food brilliant and the staff impeccably helpful. And you can only imagine the view from our room on the 6th floor...

HOTEL TIVOLI ALMANSOR, CARVOEIRO, PORTUGAL

We took it easy for the first couple of days, then did one or two things in between relaxing. Being a de facto Irishwoman, it would be remiss of me not to mention the weather: It was Great! Plenty of warmth and sunshine, just what we needed. It was tempered only by a chilly breeze on our last couple of days there but it wasn't cold enough to keep us indoors by any means.

To help us relax, on our second day there Dave had a full body masssage, while I decided to see what Reiki was all about. I had a migraine so I was desperate enough to try anything to get rid of it. Well I don't know if I would rush back and do it again but I must admit that lying in a room with only candles for light, with classical music playing while someone energises your shakras (is that right?) is a wonderful way to relax. And to be fair, a few hours later the migraine lifted so who knows. Perhaps it wasn't just coincidence.

On day 3 Dave decided it was time for us to get off our sun loungers and do something. So we went scuba diving. We were both scuba-virgins and I must admit I was a little nervous. We got a bit of a theory lesson, then squeezed into our wetsuits and plopped into the swimming pool.

SCUBA DIVING 101

It was really convenient to have the scuba-diving centre on the hotel premises where we could practise in the pool before heading down to the private beach and into the sea (once I had gotten my head around breathing while underwater, and moved on from a mild panic attack in the process). Dave, of course, took to it like he'd been doing it his whole life. And when we did venture into the sea, I loved it! There were still a few moments of angst but the instructor was so kind, he actually held my hand while we were underwater, which helped to reassure me.
I was truly touched at how kind and patient he was - would that there were more people like that in the world.

We did a bit of shopping while we were there, too. The little town of Carvoeiro has some great little clothing shops, but me being the bargain-hunter that I am, I waited until we went on a day-trip to the inland town of Loulé, where we spent a few hours wandering around a Gypsey market. I didn't buy any Gypsies, but I did pick up a beautiful dress, among other things.

SHOPPING AT THE GYPSEY MARKET

We also ate a snack from a caravan there, that smelled and tasted just like Vetkoek^[1].

On our second-last day the wind was blowing fairly strongly, not great for sunbathing at all. I wanted to walk up to the end of the cliff we could see from our room; it looked really inviting for some reason. So we did this, and ended up spending the whole morning on the cliffs, walking and climbing a bit, stopping to find sheltered spots to sit and stare out to sea and watch the seagulls, of which there were plenty. The way they played on the wind and squawked and cried to each other made me want to come back as a seagull in my next life. It just looks like so much fun!

LOTS OF CLIFFS TO WALK

And that was the sum total of our activity while we were there. Apart, of course, from our evening meals. I love going to a different restaurant every night, and the food didn't disappoint at all. There wasn't much other night life to speak of. We tried to have a big night on the Saturday night after our dinner, but the few bars and pubs that were open were pretty much empty, save a small number of golfers. I can't imagine why one would go to such a lovely part of the world and play Golf all day, and spend all night with your Golfing buddies. But then I'm not a man. Apparently beauty and romance are not high on their list of priorities.

FROM THE BEACH IN CARVOEIRO TOWN

So that, in a nutshell, was our holiday in the Algarve. It was the sort of place that I could happily have not come home from. Sunshine, friendly people, slow pace of life, great food and beautiful scenery - what more could a girl ask for?!

If you're interested in seeing more of my photos from the holiday, check out my Flickr photostream.

***

^[1] Vetkoek: A traditional South African food, basically a really light dough mixture that is deep-fried the way Donuts are. Yum. Yum. Yum!

the weird and the wonderful

PORT ELIZABETH - MY HOME TOWN

My week is almost up; tomorrow I head back home to Ireland. Strangely, it feels like I've been here much longer than I actually have, probably because I've done quite a lot this week - nothing constructive, mind you, just being a little social butterfly :-)

I've had a wonderful time.

I went shopping on Friday with my 2 best friends. They hadn't really spent time together before 'cos of not living in the same city and all so it was quite strange for me to have both of them with me for the afternoon. Strange, but in a very good way; I felt quite privileged.

Yesterday morning I went to the beach and had a swim in the sea (well, not so much 'swim' as get wet up to the hips then sploosh water on myself 'cos I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to waves!)... by 10:30 am I was hiding under a giant sarong though; how is it that I used to be able to spend a whole day in the sun as a kid but now I feel like I'm being BBQ'd after 45 minutes?!

Last night I got some of my old gang of friends together at a pub. It was just like old times - except now the conversation was more about kids & families than bikes & partying, and I was home just after 11pm, ready to hit the sack. (Last of the wild party-people - Not!!!)

I miss my Hubby an awful lot though and I'm kind of ready to go back to the cold now so I can be with him. Only 2 more sleeps to go... and one of those will be on an aeroplane

When will someone invent a magic transporter that can move us from one side of the planet to the other without the discomfort of sitting in cattle-class in a giant metal tube, bashing our knees on the seat back in front of us and trying to ignore the smelly stranger next to us who is snoring in our ear? And if anyone mentions Premium Economy, Business Class or First Class I'm going to smack them on the head because paying 3 times the price for a ticket is NOT an option - and I would still have to sit on me bum for 10 hours at a stretch and end up with feet & ankles that won't fit into my shoes for 3 days afterwards!

But I digress.

And now I've forgotten where I was heading.

So I'll leave you with a second picture instead.

SHARK ROCK PIER

from one extreme to the other

It's mildly disturbing to board an aeroplane in a climate of an icy 0 degrees Celsius, and emerge several hours later on the other side of the planet where it's 27 degrees warmer.

Very mildly disturbing.

Mostly, though, it's fan-bloody-tastic!!!


That's right, Chickens, I packed in the Irish winter and am typing this from a brilliantly sunny and warm Port Elizabeth in South Africa.

I left poor Hubby behind this time. I hear our neighbours are taking good care of him, making sure he eats a meal occasionally and such like. It's weird being here without him - sort of like I have a limb missing. But by this time next week I'll be back in the Big Freeze that is Dublin, and safe in the arms of my other half again, because this is a short visit... no long leisurely holidays at my disposal. I wanted to be back in time to spend Christmas with Hubby and my sister-in-law in Ireland.

So for one week only I finally get to wear my strappy dresses & open sandals (the ones that have been gathering dust in my wardrobe for the past 2 years because Summer appears to have forgotten Ireland completely).

I went shopping with my mom yesterday and lunched with my friend the day before. Today I lunched again, with my other friend, in the neighbourhood I grew up in, under an awning to protect my lily-white Northern hemisphere skin from the hungry African sun.
I'm taking it easy and catching up with my Girls, refuelling my soul with the sights and sounds of the place I come from.

In fact this trip is kind of like a pit stop... I guess you could call it a service for my psyche :-)

The island with two names

This is my 4th attempt at telling you about our Greek island holiday in May. So what if it took me having a week off to recover from surgery to get the thing finished? The point is it's here. And it's long. You might want to get comfortable for this...

It was only the second week of the Summer season when we flew to Zakynthos... or Zante. Take your pick; both names apply. After a week on the island I was still confused; everything there seems to have an alternative name!
We landed on a Saturday evening and the place seemed deserted, from the shiny new mini-airport to the dusty streets outside. Arriving at our apartment complex in the town of Laganas (a.k.a. Lagana) did nothing to dispel that first impression. The bar was closed and the only person in sight was a guest who had been there a week. She kindly pointed out that the keys were in the doors and our room numbers were penned on our Welcome Packs, saving the small group of travellers that we were from spending the night on sun-loungers surrounding the swimming pool, under the stars. Only not stars really, since shortly after our arrival it rained, in the way that monsoons rain.

Happily, by that stage, we had settled in and headed out again and Hubby and I were comfortably ensconced at a bar just down the road. The further down the road we looked, the more obvious it became that Zakynthos was, in fact, not closed; it was just a bit early in the season and the unwashed masses had not yet arrived.
That would happen in a week or two.

Our plan of having a quiet drink that first evening drowned in a cauldron of beer, Sambuca and Gin. I had forgotten the way of the Greek Islands - whenever you buy food or drink, you get something back for free, i.e. buy a beer, get a free Sambuca. We had a great evening, befriending the young lady from Liverpool who ran the place. She was more than generous with her servings and when it was time to close the pub she had us join her two doors down in the night club run by her brother. I didn't do so much clubbing as sitting on a bar stool, yakking my head off with with the British ex-pats about what it was like living there. I was doing research, you see, for a book I was writing. OK so I haven't actually started writing it yet, but it's amazing how much people will tell you when they think they're going to be a character in a novel!
(And I really do intend writing something set in the Greek islands, I promise; I cannot lie to people!)

I have no idea what time we stumbled back to our apartment; I do recall being really glad we hadn't gone further down "The Strip" than we did.

I thought "The Strip" was a good name for the street we were on. It ran about a kilometer further from where our apartment was and ended on a beach that stretched for miles in both directions. We walked that street the next day - slowly, and stopping often for refreshment in deference to our hangovers. There was no shortage of places to eat and drink. Night clubs, bars, restaurants and fast-food joints jostled each other for position. Dotted in-between were clothing and curio shops, selling all the things that tourists love to buy - beach wear, sun lotions, insect repellents and trinkets made of shells. Not to mention jewellery, which is really reasonably priced in the Greek islands.

It probably should have taken us 15 minutes to walk to the beach. It took us half a day. We weren't in a terrible hurry since the previous night's rain had left behind a low ceiling of cloud so sunbathing wasn't really an option.

ONE END OF LAGANAS BAY

Once we got there, it took us the rest of the day to walk back the way we had come, stopping along the way to indulge in some KFC - great hangover food, indeed!

By dinner-time we were feeling human again and I was in the mood for some Greek food, which I love. The restaurant we chose did not disappoint. I gorged on Tzatziki and garlic prawns while watching the passers-by through the open shop-front. Surprisingly, considering the previous night's over-indulgence, I even enjoyed the wine, although I didn't have enough of that to mask the discomfort of my lumpy pillow that night. Well, we wanted a cheap holiday and I guess you get what you pay for!

The next morning we finally got the sunshine we had been waiting for, so we rented a 650cc Yamaha for the day and set off in search of adventure. The island is small enough that you can ride all the way around in a day, stopping along the way to see the sights. The bike rental place - one of dozens - supplied a map with a number of different suggested routes, depending on how long you wanted to be on the road.

Our first stop was the Damianos caves, set into the side of a mountain and reached by twisty roads through some old, run-down villages. Evidence of the last earthquake on the island, in 1953, was obvious by the many ruined buildings that were never rebuilt. The caves were, well, holes in the side of a mountain, really. The jury is out on whether they were worth the short hike to see them.
From the caves we followed the narrow road through vineyards, olive groves and stone walls to the bluest water on the planet at a place called Porto Limnionas.

There we sat on the mountainside and laughed - some people were filming what we presumed was a music video down in the cove; two men wearing bright pink suits were singing, accompanied by a guy on a trumpet, another with a guitar and a third with a tambourine. A handful of models were dancing and whooping and generally going berserk in front of the makeshift stage. Meanwhile we couldn't hear any actual music! It was really funny to watch the fake revelry going on in this beautiful place.

BLUEST WATER ON THE PLANET? YOU DECIDE.

Our mirth soon dissipated when we climbed back up to the restaurant above, only to find that said film crew had commandeered the entire inside of the place; duffel bags, clothes and various props were strewn across the tables, chairs and floors, forcing us to go elsewhere in search of lunch. You see, one can't just eat at any old place when in the Greek islands; one has to find a place with a view, or ambiance, or something special. Mealtimes are an experience. Being surrounded by skinny peoples' bikini tops was not the sort of ambiance I had in mind.

As it turned out, the Universe was conspiring with us for a change, that day. The Yamaha blasted effortlessly back up the steep, twisting road we had travelled and bore us quickly to the next stop on the map: The town of Exo Hora (or Exo Chora, whichever strikes your fancy!).
It appeared to be little more than a junction with a few houses; it's claim to fame was the oldest Olive tree on the island, at somewhere around 2000 years of age.

It turned out to be so much more. Opposite the tree (which actually had to be pointed out to me, believe it or not!) was a square containing the Taverna Cafe Bar "Dafnes" where the tomato and cucumber in the Greek salad exploded with freshness and flavour, the feta cheese made my mouth water for more and the effect was so good I was even tempted into eating a couple of the olives. (As it happens I still don't like them, but you get the picture.) Our 'meal freebie' turned out to be freshly sliced apple sprinkled with cinnamon, one of those perfect taste combinations - like bacon and egg, or coffee and chocolate.

Birds tweeted in every surrounding tree, Greek music played out of the café and only the odd tourist car or bike passed on the road, and as I sipped the thick, bitter Greek coffee after my meal a sense of calm and happiness enveloped me. I had found a place of peace.

Our bellies full and our souls rested, we set off once again on our journey of exploration. The roads were perfect - or rather, the bike we were on was perfectly suited to the roads. The engine burbled effortlessly as we practiced our motorized dance, leaning left and right as we dove between olive groves, cypress trees and stone walls, negotiating the bends with care and gleefully accelerating on the occasional straight. Warmly pressed up against my husband's back on a motorcycle as we adventured through the unknown made me about as happy as I can get.

The directions on the map became a little hazy at this point but we managed to stop off to investigate at least one of the old monasteries mentioned before finding our way to a viewing point atop a cliff overlooking The Shipwreck. So determined was I to get a photograph of the shipwreck on the beach about 300m below that I forgot about my heights 'thing' and stepped out purposefully onto the little metal platform to get the best view. It was little more than a gangplank with a handrail and I had only taken 3 steps when my mind and body almost parted company, one of them saying, "You're perfectly safe," and the other, "Aaargh!!!! I'm going to fall down there and die!!!"
Fortunately, whichever of the two was talking sense won out, saving me from utter panic and embarrassment before the bus load of German tourists who were all queued in an orderly fashion to take their turn at getting the same photograph I managed to take.

SHIPWRECK BEACH

I like to think the effort was worth it.

By 4pm the wind had picked up and we still had a long way to go. Dave was also a bit concerned about the petrol situation. The pumps in Laganas were dry, bearing paper signs reading "No Petrol. Strike On."
So instead of travelling the entire length of Zakynthos, we cut across the traversing mountain range. It turned out the Universe was still on our side for there, in the middle of nowhere, we happened upon a large gas station that had plenty of petrol - probably due to the lack of passing traffic! With the tank full we relaxed a bit and continued Eastwards through the endless miles of olive groves and the national park, loving the bendy bits that seemed designed purely for motorcyclists' enjoyment.

We were relieved to find it was warmer and less windy on the other side of the mountains. Having set out in warm sunshine that morning, we were wearing only light clothing, most unsuited for the stormy weather that was starting to brew along the West coast. Small villages and yet more olive groves flashed by, until at last we reached Zakynthos town (a.k.a. Zante. Why??!) Civilized sign-postage escorted us to the port, a small bay with a serene surface, where two large ferries and a couple of boats lay obediently at their moorings.

PORT AT ZAKYNTHOS

We rode almost to the end of the road and parked the bike. It seemed a long time since lunch. Vines crept up wooden posts and formed a roof overhead, casting a deep shadow on the slightly faded green and white checked tablecloths. A teenager with a shy smile brought our iced coffees and food: Gyros for Dave and hot apple pie with cream and ice cream for me.
Yum.
Yum.
Yum!

The fading light forced us back onto the bike and we set off back towards Laganas, detouring through Kalamaki to check out the beach there.
We never did get to see that beach. No sooner had we passed the point of no return than enormous drops of rain began to thwack! on our helmets. We abandoned the beach idea and found the turnoff to Laganas, making a mad dash along the long, straight road that joins the two resorts. Massive gusting wind stung us with sand as we raced the purple-grey sky that had appeared over the sea. Big, heavy drops started to pelt us as we returned the bike to the rental place and walked back to the apartment; we made it indoors just as the monsoon-style rain swept over our holiday once again.

The next two days were non-days. We did some shopping up and down the strip, in between rain showers, and spent some time on sun loungers next to the pool, where we made friends with a British couple staying in the apartment two doors down.
We had one particularly good meal at a restaurant called Sirocco. There was entertainment, too - we watched with amusement a couple across the road who were having an argument. We couldn't hear what they were saying over the music pumping from "Bar Code" but their body language said it all; she in a peacock blue bubble dress, blonde hair coiffed, one arm in a sling and her nose in the air as he apologised profusely and continuously for all he was worth. She was having none of it. Talk about high maintenance..!

We had booked another excursion for our last full day on the island and the Universe was once again our friend as we awoke to clear blue skies, at last. The sun was doing its best to devour the last of the night-time chill as we boarded a bus to Zakynthos port, where we were shepherded aboard a triple-decker tourist boat with, it was rumoured, a swimming pool on board. It took a full day to circumnavigate the island. It wasn't exactly a luxury cruise; we were packed like sardines onto rows of plastic seats but you know what? It was a great day, by the end of which we had formed a cameraderie with the people around us; the salt-of-the-earth middle-aged English couple, the couple from Eastern Europe somewhere (they were really wrapped up in each other and didn't actually speak to anyone else so their origin was something of a guess), the Irish family whose kids were naughty but completely lovable and the elderly couple opposite who reminded Dave and I of what we might look like a few decades from now.

I took dozens of photographs that day - there were just so many beautiful photos to take!

This proved reasonably difficult from a moving boat because really, a beautiful photograph is probably 85% viewpoint and it's difficult to maintain a viewpoint when moving and rocking.

We stopped a few times; twice for a swim in the cool blue water. The first swimming stop was at Shipwreck Beach, 300m below the site of my near-death experience (You call it exaggeration, I call it creative license!)

YEP, I STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THAT CLIFF TO GET THE OTHER PICTURE!

The golden sand and unbelievably blue water looked idyllic. Up close it was a different story; the water was freezing and the beach was made up of trillions of tiny pebbles that took great pleasure in prodding and poking the underneath of my feet in a manner that caused me to walk like I was balancing on a tightrope. Not my most elegant moment, but worth every stab of pain, when I eventually found a comfortable spot on my towel on the beach. The beach was deserted when we arrived, and within a few minutes our boat, and one other, had unloaded its passengers and there was barely enough room for everyone. Half an hour later we were back on board and the beach was once again pristine; I was most amused at this periodic human flooding of the beach!

We motored around, just off the coast, gawping at the many caves and how the landscape changed from one side of the island to another.

The captain took us in to see one or two of the deeper coves and then actually took us inside one of the larger caves.

(The picture is of the other boat doing the same thing - ours was roughly the same size & shape but obviously much cooler!)


We tried looking for turtles but it was still a little early on in the season. It seems the turtles know the water is still too cold there at that time of year, unlike unsuspecting tourists from Ireland.

It was a beautiful day all around; there's something terribly calming about being on the water in the sunshine and seeing so much beauty. Despite the long day we were well up for a meal out with our friends from the apartments, and after yet another mouthwatering Greek meal (can't get enough of that Tzatziki!) we all went clubbing. I may have looked like an old, floppy granny compared to the skinny young bodies that were dancing for shots on the bar counter but I didn't care. I'm sure if my step-children had been there they would have, but as it was I shook my bones and made like I was a teenager again!

Because that's what Laganas is about; it's like one big nightclub, a place of loud music, drink and debauchery at the southern end of what is otherwise a sleepy, ancient and beautiful Greek island.

Aah.... so the island with two names appears to have a split personality.
I get it now.

If anyone is looking for me...

I'll be here:


I don't care that my Winter ass doesn't fit into my summer shorts anymore or that my lily-white limbs will reflect enough sunlight to speed up global warming.
I need a holiday.
I need sun.

I'll tell you all about it when I get back :-)

Be good!
xxx

At Last! My New York experience...

I thought I'd be landing in a snowy landscape. We flew in over Canada, you see, then headed South. I had a window seat and I could see the land below covered in white. It was really pretty. But about 5 minutes before we landed the snow went away and the landscape around Newark was really just brown and gray. I wasn't paying too much attention, though - I was too busy pointing Hubby's camera out the window at the skyline in the distance.

VIEW OF MANHATTAN DURING THE LANDING

Customs was tedious - it seems there are a lot of people who want to go to America. After a minor glitch where the fingerprint on my right hand went missing for a short period, we were waved through. We travelled into Manhattan on the Newark Express coach, which took us safely from the drab, flat landscape of New Jersey through the dark, narrow Lincoln tunnel, to emerge onto a different planet; one of towering buildings, neon lights, manic traffic and crowds of people always on the move. Bring it on, Baby! The energy of this place is palpable.

After checking in and freshening up we headed out to a nearby diner, where we met Anne for dinner. The steak was juicy and the company was excellent :-) For those of you who know Anne (some of you may remember her from her old place), you will be pleased hear that she looks great - living in New York obviously agrees with her!

Our stomachs full, we took a stroll in the rain to Times Square which is not, as one might be forgiven for thinking, a square. It's more of a very large intersection of indeterminate shape. There's not a lot to see there, at night. That is, there are lots of lights and people and traffic and neon signs - flashing and not - and some shops... perhaps I was beginning to tire, or perhaps it was the fact that it was freezing cold and raining, but I had no desire to hang around there for very long, so we retraced our steps and went for a couple of beers in a pub instead.
It was cosy inside the bar, with Salsa music leaking out of the jukebox and a bunch of young men speaking Spanish with the gorgeous, busty barlady who brought beers to our wobbly round table with a smile. The lighting was reminiscent of that '80's classic movie "Cocktail" (way back when Tom Cruise was still, uh, sane) and all in all it was a pleasant, mellow evening.
I thought we did quite well to stay up until 11pm, considering our bodies were still on Irish time which would have made it 4am the next morning!

Fortunately we had the most comfortable bed in the world in our hotel room so we slept a solid sleep and awoke refreshed and alert. OK, perhaps alert came after we'd had coffee from the dinky little coffee machine in our room.

VIEW FROM OUR WINDOW

Tuesday was my birthday and Hubby announced that we would spend the day exactly as I wanted to. What more could a girl ask for??!
So after breakfast we picked up a pamphlet in the lobby that contained a map of Manhattan, including subway stops, and ventured into the murky depths of public transportation. Considering we got on the right train heading in the right direction - uptown - and got off at the right stop, I thought it went pretty well. On exiting the station we asked a policeman which direction we should head in, having emerged into daylight with absolutely no sense of direction between us. It turned out he was in the same predicament but fortunately one of his buddies (for some reason there was a whole herd of cops hanging around) knew exactly where he was. Our first stop was the Lincoln Centre, home of the New York City Ballet, where we purchased tickets for that night's performance.

From there we wandered a block or so east and crossed the road to enter Central Park. I would like to see it in the Summer months; in January all the trees were bare and dead-looking and even the grass didn't look too happy, unlike the squirrels, who seemed to be enjoying the dry weather immensely.

We walked, and took photographs, and enjoyed the peace and quiet, and eventually found the Wollman Rink, situated in a slight depression and thus sheltered from the wind, which was quite icy when it blew.

And there, we skated, and I had the most amazing time...
For one thing, the boots were comfortable - they were of the leather lace-up variety as opposed to those horrible plastic moulded ones you find in Dublin that make your feet cramp and blister within seconds.
As for the rest of it, it seems the Gods were smiling on me on my birthday because no sooner had I strapped on my boots than the sun came out, revealing a bright blue sky and removing the cutting iciness from the air. Being mid-week, the rink was not terribly crowded so I had plenty of time and space to get my balance without being pressured to move along quickly or get out of the way or get run over. The music echoing over loudspeakers was happy music - old stuff like the Buttercup song from the 60's, or that classic ice-skating song, Wham's "Last Christmas".
And so we spent about 2 hours at the rink, me on the ice for most of it. By the end of that time I was whizzing along like a pro (well, it felt like it anyway) and there have been few times in my life when I have been as unconditionally happy as I was then.

Luckily for Hubby the rink closed around 2pm, so we had to leave then. We walked around the park a bit, past the pretty but rather smelly horse-drawn carriages, and bought hotdogs from a street vendor. Without wanting to offend anyone, I must be honest and say I've tasted better... also, they were not terribly filling so after walking a few blocks down 6th Avenue we found a place to get lunch, where we could sit on chairs, inside, at a table, and choose from sandwiches or subs, or pizza or pretzels or sweet things.

It was a long walk back to our hotel in Midtown Manhattan, but we enjoyed looking at all the people and the giant buildings and feeling the general buzz of the place. Once back at the hotel, though, we were feeling tired so we settled in for a short nap that lasted over 2 hours.

We awoke with just enough time to freshen up and take the subway all the way back to the Lincoln Centre to catch the NYC Ballet's final performance of Romeo and Juliet. The ballet was beautiful and our seats were spectacular - front row center on the first tier. I was quite pleased to see that Hubby seemed to even enjoy it a bit, not being a huge fan of the ballet while I, of course, simply love it.
Afterwards it was sort of too late to go out to dinner but not yet late enough to go to sleep. Neither of us were particularly interested in clubbing or going out on the lash either, so we picked up some fruit salad and an enormous muffin, plus a smoothie each, from a deli near the hotel and sat on our giant, comfortable bed munching what turned out to be a really tasty ad-hoc meal and catching up with some world news on the big flat-screen TV.

The next day was ear-marked for Doing Things. Our first stop was the Empire State Building, a block away from our hotel. After being shredded for cash at every turn to get to the 86th floor - and there were a lot of turns along the way! - we braved the clear, freezing skies to view the world from above.
And yes, it was quite a view, although I'm not sure it was worth $18 each plus another $8 for a map of what we were looking at, a map we were told we really should have since there were no guides up top there so we mustn't forget to ask the cashier for one when we pay for our tickets... not realising until after she'd given us the thing that it would cost extra.

From the top of the world we went down to the depths - back onto the subway that took us all the way to South Port at the tip of Downtown Manhattan. From there we hopped on the Staten Island ferry, snapping dozens of photos of Lady Liberty as we passed and yet more of the most famous skyline of them all.


The ferry was free, which made us feel a lot better after our expensive trip up the Empire State Building. We also bought coffee and a pretzel on board, which we ate on a bench in the sunshine on Staten Island before taking the ferry back to Manhattan half an hour later.

We spent the rest of the day downtown, wandering up to Wall Street past the massive bronze "Charging Bull" sculpture, to the site where the World Trade Centre used to be. There is not much to see there, just a big hole that is a construction site, surrounded by makeshift wooden fences. There are no tour guides here, no postcards on sale and no souvenir stands, just thousands of names on a section of wall around a small booth displaying a couple of artists impressions of what the place will look like when it is rebuilt.
It was the only place in the city that seemed quiet, somehow.

In the afternoon we attempted to do some shopping in Century 21 which is a big department store. I found a pretty handbag and some sunglasses but I'm ashamed to say the sheer magnitude of clothes available inside intimidated the hell out of me and we left and went back to our room overwhelmed and beaten.

After yet another nap (I could seriously get used to this lifestyle!) that lasted into the early evening we were rudely awakened by the sound of sirens outside our hotel. I was hungry, Hubby wasn't, so we compromised by going downstairs for a smoke and to see what all the noise was about. We couldn't see much - just a heap of police cars and fire engines blocking the intersection at the end of our block... and not a fireman in sight, much to my disappointment. The only uniform in evidence was one of New York's finest, leaning against his patrol car and munching a donut. I found this particularly funny :-) He must've been the one they told, "You wait here and keep an eye on the vehicles, Chuck..."

Having still not quite decided if we wanted supper or not we walked around the block and stumbled across none other than an Irish Pub. Naturally we had to go in. The place was dark but cheerful, a long, narrow room filled with an after work crowd, the music - of the U2 / Goo Goo Dolls ilk - just the right volume so it would have me humming along but not so loud as to drown out the conversation.
When Seamus, the barman, heard we lived in his home country he proceeded to try to kill us with kindness... a number of really heavy G&T's and Brandy & Cokes (more Gin and Brandy than Tonic or Coke) later we stumbled back to the hotel and slept the sleep of the dead in our wonderful giant bed.

Thursday was shopping day. Our hotel was located smack in the middle of the Garment District so we didn't have far to wander. We shopped, and the shopping was good. It was so good, in fact, that we went back to the hotel half way to drop some bags in order to start again. I could have shopped even more but there was just no more space in our luggage.
Lunch consisted of coffee and donuts. We needed the energy.
That evening we took the subway all the way to Brooklyn where we met Anne, again, for dinner. We met in a South African establishment, the Madiba Restaurant. It was recommended by Dawn, who we had hoped would be able to meet us there, but unfortunately this didn't pan out. I did get to have a nice long chat with her on the phone though. We'll catch up with you next time, eh Dawn?
The decor in the restaurant is distinctly South African - very shebeen-like, with a chandelier made of coke bottles that Anne was most impressed by. The menu contained dishes like bobotie, and samoosas. I had the spare ribs which were simply yummy, and a Dom Pedro for dessert. While we were eating, the snow was cascading down outside and I had hopes that I would see the place covered in white before we left. It was not to be, though; the snow didn't settle. It was just damn cold and wet. Inside, meanwhile, we were entertained by a folk singer (apparently someone famous but I'm embarrassed to say I don't remember the lady's name... 'Mama' something, I think...) and the staff doing some gumboot dancing between the tightly packed tables. It was all very festive and, um, crowded.

I was disappointed to be leaving on Friday. We packed our bags and checked out, leaving the luggage in the custody of the hotel porter and his trusty key. With a few hours to kill, we headed back to Brooklyn. I had a bridge to see in daylight.
Brooklyn is very different to Manhattan - it's quieter, less rushed and the buildings are much shorter too. There was no sign of the snow from the night before so we had a lovely stroll through the streets, along the Brooklyn Heights Promenade and onto the Brooklyn Bridge itself. I got my photographs, so I was happy.

DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN, FROM THE BROOKLYN HEIGHTS PROMENADE

BROOKLYN BRIDGE

Back in the vicinity of our hotel a couple of hours later we wandered around the Manhattan Mall, which was a couple of blocks over. Our hearts weren't in the shopping - we couldn't very well buy any more, since our bags were already packed. But we did have a really good lunch in the food hall on the lower level - some sort of sweet and sour pork dish from a Cajun take-out place. If you asked me what I thought about Manhattan I would say two things:
One: Nobody is likely to starve there. There are eateries every few steps and the variety is just fantastic.
Two: The people are really nice. I was surprised at just how friendly they are. And helpful - you don't even have to ask for help. Just looking lost is enough to prompt someone to stop and offer assistance.

There seems to be a "live and let live" attitude about the place. There are so many people from so many places, cultures, creeds, and walks of life that nobody looks out of place. Yet it doesn't seem as cold or, quite frankly, rude as London, for example. For all the mad traffic and fast pace, it's actually quite a laid-back place, somehow. We were really impressed.

So impressed, in fact, that I really didn't want to leave, although I don't think I could live there either. It just would've been nice to stay just a little longer...

Capricornus Adventurous

Just one more day at work and I'm on holiday again!

Having hosted Christmas at my house I thought I might need some time to relax afterwards - and I was right. Although I wasn't working over the festive season, I didn't exactly get a lot of downtime. I feel like I've been in a never-ending cycle of cooking and cleaning up. I'm sure there are other wives and mothers out there who know what I'm talking about. This week it has been my mission to get to the bottom of the laundry basket. I'm almost there, after what feels like dozens of loads of clothes, bedding and towels... and now I'm out of fabric softener but I will not fail! A quick trip to the supermarket after work tomorrow should sort that out.

Because, you see, it has to be done by the end of the weekend.

Because next week I won't be here to do it. Next week, I'm taking my well-earned holiday and taking a bite of the Big Apple.
And when I get back the laundry basket will once again be full. But I won't be thinking about that when I'm exploring New York City with Hubby. Nope, laundry will be the furthest thing from my mind.
We'll be shopping, and snapping photographs, and ice skating. And did I mention shopping?
;-)
You see, it's my birthday next week and I decided that this year I want to go ice skating in Central Park for my birthday. I don't much like birthdays - never have. I don't think I ever had an actual birthday party and I have no particular inclination to break that tradition now.
I have, however, acquired a taste for doing something slightly different around my birthday. A couple of years ago there was the Ski Trip. OK the skiing itself wasn't all that successful for me, but I had a great time anyway, just being there. I liked celebrating my birthday somewhere different and I want to do it again.
Plus, it's a great excuse to not have to organize something here at home - people have a habit of finding out when one has a birthday and insisting on going out for drinks or something and I'm just not really into that idea.

Nope, I'd much rather be out discovering the world and ticking off another box on my "Things To Do Before I Die" list.

So look out, America, I'm coming!!!

*****

And on a completely different note I thought I'd give you an update - remember my old friend from way back, the one I emailed back in December to congratulate him on becoming a father? Well some of you asked so I thought I'd tell you that yes, he replied and even sent a photo of him with his bundle of joy. He hasn't changed a bit in the last decade, from what I could see. So there you have it. I'm not a crazy stalker-woman after all :-)

older and wiser

I was chatting with a couple of colleagues this morning - the conversation went something like this:

[Terri] "Hey, L, can you give me the name of the people who did your attic conversion? They did a great job and we're thinking of getting ours done."
[L] "Sure, it was (xyz) - they have a website so you can look them up. They're very professional."
[W] "You know, ladies, this is a very middle-aged conversation you're having, hahaha!"
And we all laughed.
And then I asked (still chuckling), "OK so what is middle-aged, officially?"
[W] "Well I suppose mid- to late thirties."

Uh, back up here. Are you trying to tell me I am officially Middle Aged???! When da hell did dat happen?!
I suppose the fact that young Cinderella turns 17 tomorrow should have given me a hint. That and the fresh crop of grey hairs over my right temple (why only the right?!) which I've been steadfastly convincing myself are actually blonde, not grey. Ahem.

However, I cannot really complain about growing older, as my wisdom apparently has no bounds... [insert raucous laughter here]...

Hubby and I decided that since this past weekend was a long weekend we would take a drive down to County Cork. You may recall we have made numerous trips to Cork to visit our good friends in the past. Well those good friends went back to SA a couple of months back, but as if on a relay system, Hubby's sister and her family have taken the plunge and moved over to Ireland - County Cork, to be precise.

Welcome to Ireland, guys!!!

So on Friday evening we packed the car and after several false starts ("Forgot the camera!", "Forgot my phone!","Forgot the directions to their place!") we hit the long and winding road to Cork.
Some of you may also recall that last summer, on our famous (though as yet un-written-about - sorry 'bout that!) bike trip around Europe, we occasionally took a wrong turn. This prompted Hubby to declare that life was not complete without a handy little Sat-Nav / GPS thingy. Having bugger-all imagination when it comes to gift-giving, I bought him one for Christmas. My position as Family Navigator had been usurped but who am I to argue? Even I must admit defeat; after all, Paris and Brussels are indeed nowhere near each other.

So there we were, happily driving along on the big N8 road down to Cork, and Mr SatNav in all his wisdom decided that we should take a left. Personally, I would've elected to go straight but sure, it's a clever little piece of equipment, right? Perhaps it knows something we don't. Besides, we weren't heading for Cork City, but for a (much) smaller town on the coast, east of the city.
The roads narrowed, then twisted. We didn't mind - it was really pretty and we had made good time so far. We were happy to take the road less travelled. It began to rain, but we weren't too concerned, after all, life is an adventure, right?

And then as the road steepened and narrowed even more as it climbed a mountain I confess I had no idea existed, the windscreen wipers sort of ground to a halt.

We stopped at a lay-by to see if there was anything obvious like a loose wire and of course while we were staring blankly at the Audi's engine compartment a Local in a van pulled up and with a smirk at our smart car and blank faces, asked if we needed a lift. You could see he was thinking, "Eejit Townies, stuck out here in the back o' beyond and not a clue how to fix their fancy car."

THIS IS WHAT THE BACK-OF-BEYOND LOOKS LIKE
FROM THE TOP OF A MOUNTAIN
IN THE RAIN

We smiled and said no-thanks, shut the hood, smoked a cigarette and continued along our not-so-merry way. The road continued to worsen, as did the rain. I left the radio off - somehow in the gloomy, misty half-light in what can only be described as Deliverance country, music seemed out of place.
I was making like the co-pilots in the rally cars... "Sharp left in 5-4-3-2-1... Mind the sheep!"

Eventually we neared civilisation again, I turned on the radio and the rain lightened up. And the car screamed at us in it's peculiar electronic voice, causing me to almost dive for cover. Hubby grinned and pulled into another lay-by, confidently telling me that he'd been expecting this.
"This" turned out to be a low-on-coolant situation but being the boy-scout that he is, he had a jerry-can of water in the back. Apparently the water-pump has a minor (?) leak.
So we topped up and set off... and about 2km down the road the windscreen wipers suddenly creaked back to life. By the time we reached our destination they were working as if nothing had ever been wrong.
El-GPS, however, had been well and truly abandoned for a good old-fashioned paper road map, which yours-truly used to ensure we stayed on main roads for the rest of the trip.

Pah! to these new-fangled electronic gadgets, I say!

And on the subject of weather - this is what our Irish summer looks like from the side-mirror of our trusty (?!) Audi...


Sunscreen, anyone?

back to reality

Oddly enough I was actually not devastated to come home to Dublin this time. That is not to say I didn't howl like it was the end of the world when we said goodbye to my Mom and stepson at the airport on Friday evening because I did. So much so that I set Cinderella off too... and I could've sworn I even saw Hubby's eyes well up. Hardly surprising, I suppose, since he had his two favourite girls sobbing on his shoulders at the same time in the departures lounge.
But once I'd recovered from that, I was OK. In fact I was actually glad to be back in our own house again (and my back was most pleased to see my own bed). I may not have exactly skipped off to work yesterday morning but I didn't want to stick a poker in my eye over it either. Perhaps getting to ride my bike again helped. [Insert Cheshire cat grin here.]

So what can I tell you about the holiday? The weather was fantastic - sunshine and blue skies for all but 2 days of our 3 weeks there, and warm enough to wear T-shirts. Except at night when it actually got quite cold and the houses in SA wouldn't know double-glazing or central heating if it hit them in the facias. But it was certainly an improvement over our Irish summer (53 consecutive days of rain, so I've been told!).

In some ways it was like we had never left, after just a couple of days there. In other ways it was like a flashback to a previous life. And somewhere along the way something settled in my soul. It's really difficult to explain but it's as if something has been resolved inside of me, something that was causing conflict before; I am now genuinely OK with not moving back there. It feels good.

We partied with our friends and yes, karaoke was involved. You can check out the evidence over at Oodlesofnoodlesoffun.
We had a highly entertaining (and rather extended) lunch with both the aforementioned Buddess and another blogger, Katt, with whom some of you may already be familiar.
We ate braaivleis (BBQ) and seafood until we were hankering for no more than a sandwich.
We sat in the sun at every opportunity and I'm pleased to say I no longer look like a corpse.
I even read a book from start to finish.

I also took a couple of hundred photographs which I will be sorting and uploading along with the promised pics from my latest Paris excursion shortly... Just as soon as I've managed to catch up on some blog reading.
It's amazing how much you people manage to write in 3 weeks!

lets do the time warp!

I think I may have entered a time warp. Two weeks back in my hometown and it's like I never left. It's really relaxing to be in a place where you don't have to think so hard about everything... you just know, because your surroundings have been there your whole life. I don't have to choose my words carefully to make myself understood to people. I can go to the till and ask for some potato salad in a bakkie, just enough to take to a bring-and-braai, and the lady behind the counter knows exactly what I'm looking for (as opposed to asking for about 500grams (?) of potato salad in a plastic container please, to take to a barbeque).
It turns out, too, that I haven't forgotten how to drive a manual car and I don't have to plan my journeys - I know exactly where everything is in this town and how to get there.
I'm still trying to figure out where all the people are though. We have these great big wide roads here and hardly any traffic; the Irish could take a lesson there somewhere, teehee.

Earlier this week we drove out to a little seaside hamlet called Cannon Rocks to visit our friends, who have recently returned here from their own stint in Ireland. Are there beaches this beautiful anywhere else in the world?
Take it as a challenge, I dare you... and I want photographic proof, 'kay? *

I know I've been harping a bit on how wonderful it is to be home and all but as much as I'm already dreading having to leave again next weekend, this visit has also reinforced our decision not to return permanently. This place, and the people in it, haven't changed much and I guess we haven't either, except... we've moved forward and coming back would be like moving backwards again. I know I'm going to be an emotional wreck when we leave but I also know that my life is not here anymore.
Onwards and upwards, as my good buddy Buzz would say.

And on a completely different note may I just add that I'm really missing my blogging buddies a LOT - I'm afraid blogging by dial-up is just not a viable option. It takes ages to load any of the pages and I'm awfully conscious of my poor Ma's phone bill. so I guess I'm going to have stacks of catching up to do when I get back to Ireland.

~

* OK so this challenge has lost some of its impact as a result of me not being able to get the photo uploaded. Yay dial-up. I'll try again tomorrow. Pfft!

I'm Home

I'm home.
I have such a mish-mash of emotions raging inside at the moment that I don't know where to begin.

Friday was a disaster. Well, that's not entirely true - I got everything done at work that I was supposed to and left it all in readiness for my boss's return on Monday. By the end of the day, though, I was a wreck from working late on Thursday, in early Friday till late again and flatout all the way. I had to take an emergency break in the ladies' room at one point to avoid a tearful outburst from pure stress. The upcoming trip probably didn't help things as I like to have time to prepare for a journey; you know me - I have to have lists of things, and lists of lists of things in order to feel prepared. I had nothing; Cinderella and Hubby jumped in and took care of the household and shopping stuff and all I had to do was pack my suitcase.

I thought a good night's rest would see me feeling better on Saturday morning but the stress was still there. I was taught as a piano wire and my sense of humour was nowhere in sight. The check-in queue at Dublin airport was beyond ridiculous and even though we were there well in advance, we only just made the flight with no time even to stop for a spot of duty-free shopping. My family and friends in SA would just have to do without their Butlers Irish Chocolates this time.

I castigated a bloke in the queue who asked us to keep his place while he dashed to the loo because he left his bag behind in our care. In this day and age, with all the airport security, how stupid can some people be??! Cinderella and Hubby stayed well back and I pretended not to notice them laughing at me while the Irish all around looked mortified at my nerve in having a, er, quiet word with the guy when he got back. He's damn lucky I didn't get airport security to remove his bag and have it blown to bits just in case!

Two young lads who were jangling while we were waiting to board got the fright of their life when I barked at them for pushing each other until one of them stepped on my foot. They ran off to their parents then, who gave them a proper tongue lashing.

Is it wrong that I felt better for having growled at strangers? Because I tellya, it did help lower my stress levels.
A bit.

Then we flew to London's Heathrow airport... and the first thing we saw was a newsflash on a TV about the car bomb incident at Glasgow airport. 'Twas a good day to be flying, for sure. The already tight security was even tighter - we went through more security checks than I thought possible by the time we eventually boarded the flight to Johannesburg, which left late as a result. Hunger wasn't helping my mood any and then when I was finally seated in the middle seat in a cramped 'plane I felt I was going for meltdown. And I didn't understand why. And I was too tired to figure it out. So I spoke not a word, ate my dinner, watched a movie and spent the next 10 hours trying - rather unsuccessfully - to sleep.
The dude behind me who appeared to be on a mission to clean out the entire stock of Heineken on the flight did not help; the only person who thought he was amusing at 3am was himself and eventually the flight crew put him in their own quarters to sleep it off.

But after breakfast this morning I was feeling better... right up until it got light outside and we were on final approach to Johannesburg and I looked out the window and I saw the land of my birth, the area I spent my childhood in, in the days when my father was still alive and life was innocent. That was when it all came bubbling over and the pain in my heart would not be stilled and I started sobbing.
All the homesickness and missing my Mom and my family and friends that I have blocked off for so long emerged with a ferocity that took me by surprise, and it took some time for me to regain my composure.

Once it had had its say, my spirits started to lift a bit and the stress eased. I burst out laughing when I heard the first announcement over the PA while we were waiting, in that uniquely delightful flat Jo'burg accent, "Goood mawning laydeees and geentlemen..."
LOL! I was home.
The fact was hammered home by the chaos when we went to check in for the final leg of our journey to Port Elizabeth and the systems were down and the manual check-in process was being handled in the slowest and most disinterested manner possible... and all the passengers could do was make light of the situation and roll their eyes a lot.

The hour-and-a-half flight from Jo'burg to Port Elizabeth was passed in and out of consciousness (partly from only having had about 3 hours sleep in total at most, and partly from having taken a couple of good strong painkillers to deal with the headache brought on by lack of sleep). When I was conscious I struck up a conversation with the two chaps next to me who were both born and bred there, too. In fact one of them went to the same high school as me. Um, it's kind of a small town, hehe..! They were eager to catch me up on what had changed in my absence, and welcomed me home. PE is not called The Friendly City for nothing.

We landed in weather pretty much the same as what we had left behind in Dublin. The smell of salty sea air hit me as it always does when I stepped off the plane, and then there were my Mom and stepson and his mates, and Hubby's sister and her offspring all waiting with big hugs to greet us and it's been like the twilight zone ever since. Things have changed but it's still the same and I feel like I never left.
But I saw the Southern Cross star constellation for the first time tonight in two and a half years.
It's weird the things that you remember. The sounds and smells are the same and the view from my Mom's verandah hasn't changed at all.

I think I may be a bit jetlagged and the emotions are still running a little high, but it's not surprising, I guess.

Because I'm home again.

Heading South for the Summer

Now, I know most would head South for the Winter but anyone who's been in Ireland this Summer will probably agree that right now I have the right idea. It's been pretty cold in SA this week, in fact it snowed. Just before that, though it was 30 degrees. Gotta love that South African winter! And we're flying there tomorrow WOOHOO!!!
So now the question is... What to pack? Ah, right, I'll pack for an Irish Summer - should be about right.
I've had a week from hell so the break is just what I need. I'm hoping to get a chance to catch up on my blogging while I'm away - I feel like I haven't visited my blog buddies in months!
But there is Internet in Africa so I'll be making up for it.
Seeya from the other side of the world!!

My Paris

SUNDAY 3 JUNE 2007...
So here I am, back in Paris, enjoying the sunshine on a bench in the Tuilleries Gardens, which extend from the imposing bulk of the Louvre to the Place De La Concorde where traffic roars in its mad, unfathonable dance. This is one of my favourite places in the world, right here where hazy orange sunshine filters through deep green leaves on trees that cast peaceful shadow on this haven. Heavy air and massive cumulous clouds build up the promise of a thunderstorm. It is early summer and warm enough that Cinderella and I are wearing light summer dresses and pretty shoes that were a lot more comfortable when we left our hotel opposite the Sorbonne this morning. A couple of hours roaming the vast halls of the Louvre in search of the still unimpressive yet must-see Mona Lisa, and the more impressive Venus de Milo (which has been moved, by the way, since my last visit, causing us a great deal of unnecessary walking), have turned our pretty shoes into feet-eaters. So now we sit and rest on a bench in the shade. Cinderella has her eyes closed and is lost in the world of her MP3 player. I'm playing spy with my camera and giving vent to the need to write that always comes over me when I'm in Paris. I've seen all the sights here twice before so I'm in no hurry to move. Now I finally get to do what I want to do in this city: soak it up and allow it to inspire the writer in me.
For me the best part of being in Paris is this, right here, right now; and twenty minutes earlier when we sat drinking coffee at one of the outdoor restaurants in the gardens.
It is a myth, by the way, that French waiters are rude; a smile goes a long way here.

Paris has a magical quality, especially on an early Summer day like today. Elegant beauty wraps around madly impatient traffic; all around people go about their business - Parisians with purpose, tourists meandering aimlessly and a cocktail of both resting in the sun... being here in the midst of it all breathes life into my soul. Pigeons peck at unseen crumbs around our feet; children laugh and play on the jungle gym and tourists speaking every conceivable language amble past us - most of them wearing far more sensible shoes than we are, I might add. Across the emerald lawn from us a stylish mother is trying to entice her toddler to a donkey ride. The little girl dubiously consents, unsure as to what all the fuss is about.
Despite the ever-present drone of traffic in the background, there is a sense of peace here.


...

LATER THAT DAY...
Against all odds we made it all the way up the Champs Elysées to the Arc de Triomphe on foot, stopping at a pharmacy (remembered from similar circumstances during a previous visit) and a nearby park bench to ply our poor feet with blister plasters. The interesting shops appear to be closed this Sunday afternoon. Our budget probably heaved a sigh of relief!
However, it is my belief that one important requirement of a visit to Paris is to sip coffee at a restaurant along the Champs Elysées - the coffee and pastry were delicious but I do think €20 for the two of us was a bit steep - especially since we were both still hungry afterwards. Would you think any less of me if I confessed we then dined at MacDonalds?

Thus fortified with fake food we paid the ransom to board one of the open-top tour buses. These are a great way to see the sights, be educated about our surroundings through little earphones that plug into the bus, and rest our weary feet. We stayed on the bus all the way back down the Champs Elysées over the river Seine and along the winding, shady avenues until we reached the Eiffel Tower. Cinderella is 16 - she's not particularly interested in all the other buildings but the Eiffel Tower, well that's different.
One cannot fail to be impressed by its enormity and she, of course, wanted to go all the way to the top. The queue was diabolical, however, and after waiting probably half an hour and not moving much we decided to give it up and return tomorrow, earlier in the day. Shadows were growing longer - well perhaps not, since it stays light so late in Summer - but we had both had enough for one day.

The tour bus provided a convenient and scenic way to get back to our hotel. We hopped off when it stopped at Notre Dame and hobbled from there across the river and up Blvd St Michel to the Place de la Sorbonne, a little square opposite the university and just around the corner from where we're staying.
This is another little haven; Cinderella has an enormous glass of orange juice in front of her and my Earl Grey tea is really hitting the spot. In the centre of the tree-lined square, fountains provide background music. It was here that we had breakfast this morning, joining professors wearing leather-elbowed tweed jackets for coffee and croissant; in the late afternoon sunshine the professors have been replaced now by students writing essays, their pages of notes strewn across the tables and held in place by glasses or ashtrays to prevent the breeze blowing their knowledge away. I feel tired and hot, but when the sun breaks through to throw a warm glow on the beautiful setting around us, that magical feeling is as strong as ever.


...

SAME DAY, ALMOST MIDNIGHT...
There's nothing like a day of sightseeing to make a girl enjoy a quick hour's nap before donning her finery (well, her finest jeans, anyway) and heading out to dinner. Since our hotel is close to the Luxembourg gardens we stepped inside there for a few minutes while trying to decide which of the restaurants across the road was fit to feed us this lovely night. Like everything else in Paris, the gardens are really pretty with manicured lawns, bright flowers, heavy trees and perfect white statues.
The Luxembourg Café/Brasserie took our fancy for dinner and we seated ourselves at a small table inside.
Perhaps I shall take a moment her to explain about Paris restaurants, for those of you who haven't been.

It seems to me that on every wide, tree-lined boulevard, you will find restaurants, cafés and brasseries. You seldom see just one - they tend to be a few together. They all have both inside and outside seating, and there is a price difference (on drinks, at the very least) depending on where you sit. Outside is more expensive than inside; of course most people prefer to sit outside and enjoy the fresh air and atmosphere (let's pretend, for a moment, that exhaust fumes don't exist in Paris). We chose to sit inside this evening - although the front windows were all open so it was almost as good as being outside - as the air was a little too fresh and I'm not wild about cold raw steak.
Ah yes, the steak. The French chef's joke. The waiter always asks how I want it cooked. I always say "medium-to-well-done, si'l vous plais". The chef always sends it to me rare anyway. Still, it was very tasty, and the basin of chocolate mousse that followed was worth every minute of the almost 2 hours we spent eating it. Yes, I said "basin". Upon such a large chocolate mousse we had never before laid eyes! I did the female species proud :-)
Of course the sugar rush that followed had us both giggling like schoolgirls (OK, one of us is a schoolgirl, but I have no excuse!) and the waiters had taken an amused and slightly indulgent air towards to us by the time we left. (This happens to me a lot when I travel though I'm not entirely sure why.)
When at last we could eat no more (or in my case, there was no more to eat) we strolled back to our hotel. We have a new room tonight - last night they had us in a double room and because the hotel was full they couldn't move us until today. We're both thankful we don't have to share a bed tonight - I snore, and Cinderella hogs. The windows are open but the warm evening air barely moves in this still, beautiful evening. Sitting upright on my bed, my belly full and my soul at rest, I have a yearning to write a love story.
The yearning to sleep is stronger, though. It's time for bed now.

TUESDAY 5 JUNE 2007...
We were up not so very bright nor terribly early yesterday morning. My logic is that one cannot enjoy exploring if one is tired and ratty, so I allowed us to sleep in a bit. Choosing more sensible shoes this time, we made our way back to Notre Dame after breakfast, where we did not have to wait long for the familiar red bus to arrive. I had almost thrown away the tickets the previous night, until I saw that they were valid for two days, not just one as I had thought.
Bonus!
When the bus stopped at the Opera we jumped ship (yeah yeah, I know) as Cinderella wanted to see the Moulin Rouge and apparently the red light district is not on the tour bus route.
We found our way to Gare St Lazare, from where we took the Metro to Pigalle. From there it was just a short walk (with another short stop at a pharmacy and park bench to refresh our blister plasters) to the Moulin Rouge. Yep, that's right Cinderella, it's a big old fake red windmill... now I know she would have been more impressed had I taken her there at night when it is all lit up and the whole area looks less dingy (although just as seedy) but I wasn't keen on dodging pimps and prostitutes with a 16-year-old after dark. So she took a photograph and we headed on, stopping for coffee and a milkshake of indeterminate flavour before descending into the Metro station again.

We re-emerged into daylight at the Arc de Triomph and caught up with the tour bus there, enjoying being driven around in the open air with no real hurry to get anywhere or do anything which was a good thing, as the route to the Eiffel Tower from there was somewhat circuitous. After a quick munch on a rather chewy baguette we joined the queue for the lift to take us to the top.

We queued for the tickets.
Then we queued for the lift to the 2nd level.
Then we queued for the other lift to to the top.
I felt myself growing old, the queues were that slow. I detest queues. I get bored in queues, and when I get bored I have a tendency to get mildly dilinquent, much to young Cinderella's initial embarrassment, and then amusement. Sure, what else is there to do in a queue but annoy one's family members and laugh at the other tourists? There must have been a hundred or more people waiting for the lift to the top and the uniformed men (wearing orange ties - orange!) were only letting about five people onto the lift at a time. Finally our turn arrived to enter the glass elevator. Cinderella laughed with glee as we shot up the middle of the big tower, partly because she enjoyed the ride and partly at me - I'm not so mad on travelling in glass lifts at speed and I had my hands full trying to behave like a sane person instead of a madwoman on the verge of hyperventilating each time I peeked out of one eye from behind my hands. If you thought the Eiffel Tower looked big from the ground, try shooting to the top and looking down.

Yikes! Fortunately the viewing platform is well closed-in so I was able to look around instead of huddling in a corner in the foetal position crying for Mother Earth. Unfortunately it wasn't a particularly clear day but we snapped our photographs nonetheless.


And then we queued to go back down to the second level again, where we queued once more for the other lift to the ground. Our little excursion to the top of the tower and back again probably took around 3 hours in total - yep, not exaggerating about the queues!

It was late afternoon by that time and Cinderella announced that she had a mission to buy a birthday present for a friend of hers, so we took the bus back to the Louvre, for there are dozens of souvinir and gift shops around the area perfect for finding "typical" gifts from Paris. Except she couldn't find exactly what she wanted - the lass is a fussy shopper, to put it mildly. So we trudged from one shop to the next until I eventually put my foot down (gently, as even the comfortable shoes were hurting by this stage) and we chased another red bus to get us back to Notre Dame. An immensely strong coffee and chocolate-macadamia cookie from Heaven (actually, it was a Häagen Dazs) restored my humour to not quite its former glory and provided the energy to start on the walk back to our hotel. Meandering through the Latin Quarter, though, we got sidetracked into a small shop selling pretty dolls and shiny things, and the elusive gift was purchased. The planned trip back to the hotel was canned and we sat down for dinner at a small restaurant instead, where Cinderella adventured into the land of Coq au Vin and I supped on a meal of rabbit that took me back to my childhood, when my grandmother would cook bunnies for special occasion meals. We ate slowly and watched the world go by. Some of the world went by in the shape of some rather well-sculpted breakdancers; we weren't short on entertainment.

I had wanted to take a photograph of the Eiffel Tower all lit up at night but there was no way we were traipsing all the way back there that evening. Instead, we turned back to Notre Dame as it was only a couple of blocks away. We arrived in front of the famous Cathedral to find a group of young men entertaining the crowd with fire tricks in the square out front: flaming batons, poi and my least-favourite, the fire-eating, appear to be a great way to earn money as a street artist. I stood well back (facing two phobias in one day is a little much for my nerves) and thanked Fuji for the zoom function on my camera.



Eventually, the sky faded to deep purple and the lights came on; I got my photographs and we hauled ourselves back to the hotel where we fell into bed like wounded soldiers.

...

We didn't wander far from the hotel this morning and we spent a lazy time browsing in shops around the Latin Quarter before establishing ourselves at a table in the sunshine in the picturesque Place de la Sorbonne again. The coffee is good, the sun is shining and I am breathing in as much of this place as I can, trying to stamp it into my memory. I feel sad to be leaving. I'm glad, though, that I am with Cinderella, whose favourite thing to do is sit and be restful. It gives me a chance to say goodbye to this magical city that brims with life and love and beauty; my Paris.