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Currently
Reading: a lot of Margaret Atwood and Peter Carey.
Watching: the entire collection of Red Dwarf; Big Love, Lost and Battlestar Galactica have all returned.
Feeling: like snotty death, caught a sinus cold in London when I was there last week and have spent the whole week in bed in my smelly musty room.
So, I went to London last week to see Wicked (which was wicked by the way), and to catch up with some fellow Aussies, that is Brad and Pamela of Adelaide fame. Technically I had intended to go see Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London, as well as do some shopping, but came down with aforementioned cold, and instead enjoyed the hospitality – and English television – of Palmers Lodge Hostel for most of the ‘holiday’. To my credit, I did try once to go site-seeing: I made it as far as Picadilly Circus, got off the bus, ran into a Starbucks, threw up in their loo (it’s alright, I bought a hot chocolate to make up for it), and decided that maybe I was too sick to be trekking around in London weather.
I learned two valuable lessons on this trip:
1) If you are Australian, you do need a passport to cross into the UK from France, even if you have a Carte de Sejour (French temporary residents card). I realised I’d forgotten my passport about thirty seconds before the bus pulled into the Passport Control. Luckily they did let me through on a one-time-only deal, but only because I had a job in France, the Carte de Sejour, theatre tickets, and a return ticket for the following Sunday.
2) red wine is the same colour when it comes back up; and combined with half digested pepperoni pizza, makes your vomit look like splattered brains.
Yokkaichi-Astroboy (as I’m now calling him) got around also:
Pamela, Brad and Astroboy.
Pam's friend.
Their housemate.
The pubs/bars in London don’t exactly vary much from those at home: the place we went too could’ve been Mansions or New York’s – even the wine I was drinking was from South Oz.
Meanwhile, back in Lille, I’m reading about these record 44 degree temperatures back in Adelaide when I get up to open the blind to be greeted by:
Frosty tree in our yard.
Sub-zero temperatures froze the dew everywhere, creating a lovely white wonderland. This happened the other day, when I’d just come back from Iceland:
Trees and rooves covered in frost.
Look how magnificently clear the sky is. I love it when it goes sub-zero. No fog.
Frost patterns in the graffiti of a phone booth.
How gorgeous is this: graffiti scratched into the glass of a phone booth caught the dew and froze in crystalline patterns. It was wonderful.
Meanwhile, I have been slack talking about the Iceland trip, so here I go. Bear in mind there were something like 2000 photos and video footage.
Iceland (Part One)
Definitely here for the exchange rate, but hey, the nature's a bonus.
At least the Icelanders have got a sense of humour about their financial situation. If you weren’t aware, Iceland’s one of the great victims of the financial crisis: every single one of their banks collapsed and their currency devalued something like 400% in two years. One of Europe’s most expensive countries has suddenly become one of its cheapest. So I booked a ticket.
It’s still expensive in some ways: buy your alcohol at the airport, duty free, and bring as much food as you can carry back in Europe (no dairy or meat, though) and you’ve beaten two of the biggest expenses. Tours are reasonable priced, accomodation is pretty cheap and most sight-seeing is relatively inexpensive. Expect to go on a lot of tours or rent a car, however, as public transport is worse even than the US, and pretty much everything of interest is outside the city (there’s only one city, Reykjavik).
Reykjavik City Hostel
I stayed at the Reykjavik City Hostel, probably the best HI Hostel I’ve stayed in*, which is lucky, as its the only hostel in Reykjavik. It’s location sucks arse – it’s 40-minutes walk away from Downtown Reykjavik – and it doesn’t have a bar or a restaurant, so it’s not going to win any Best-Hostel-In-The-World awards, but it did have three kitchens, common rooms, facilities and so on that were pretty sweet.
Such is the food prices in Iceland that most guests eat in, cooking their own food.The kitchens were the best I’ve ever had in a hostel (second runner up would be Adelaide Hostel in San Francisco), due to a system where food can be stored in your own basket, with leftovers transfered to the ‘Orange’ basket when you left. I raided the ‘Orange’ baskets in all three kitchens, looking for things like butter, salt, spices, pasta, milk and so on. Similarly, the kitchens at the City Hostel were the main social hub of the hostel.
Next time I’ll talk about the glacier walk and other exciting things, but for now I’m too fucked.
Seeya.
_________
* ‘the best HI Hostel I’ve ever stayed in’ – note this isn’t particularly a big call, as most Hostelling International Hostels are, well, as exciting as an extended stay in hospital. I generally avoid them like the plague if I can.
Lille Markets
Gare Lille Flandres
Gare Lille Flandres
Bon Noel! Well, thousands of Brits flock to Lille every year for its Christmas market. The medieval style marche de noel which flourish in the Benelux region (that’s BElgium, NEderlands, and LUXembourg, by the way, a cultural group in which I somewhat include Northern France and parts of Germany, as they share many cultural similarities) are worth a visit if only for the joys of mulled wine and vin chaud (hot wine).
Marche de Noel entrance from Grand Place.
Marche de noel from above.
Supposedly, these markets are supposed to be filled with local produce, art and crafts. In truth, most of the markets I visited seemed to feature the same goods you can find in the stalls of daily suburban weekend markets (i.e. for those back home, the Central Markets). After the fiftieth stall featuring Made-In-Some-Poor-Asian-Country beanies and scarves, I gave up on finding anything interesting to send home as gifts, and went to visit the mulled wine stand again. I also took the time to ride the Ferris Wheel, sitting in a carriage with two excitable German tourists who took great amusement at my pulling out The Pink Tripod* to take photos of the city.
Lille from above.
Lille from above.
Grand Place from above.
Ferris Wheel in Grand Place.
What I do adore about Christmas in Europe is the lights. Though now threatened by environmentalism, lights are strung in every main street as the days start to get short. They’re lovely, and distract from the foggy, dark, weather.
Building decorations in Grand Place.
Street decorations over Rue de Bethune (the Rundle Mall of Lille).
Australia!
I had been holding out for Australia, it’s now here. I went to see it in Brussels, a bizarre experience: while I was smiling in homesick glee, the Dutch and French patrons in the audience were completely confused. No wonder: I can now follow French subtitles (and Dutch is so similar to English, you can usually figure out what it says) and the subtitles were often completely wrong. Australian English just doesn’t translate, it appears. Nicole Kindling was appropriately wooden and Hugh Jackman appropriately yobbo, but the kid is actually really cute, and it is all so wonderfully silly in the way that Baz Luhrmann can only do, so I liked it.
Bruges (it’s in Belgium)
B for Bruges
So, after missing my train to Strasbourg (where I was to see one of the more famous Christmas markets in Europe), I went to another ‘famous’ Christmas market, in Bruges. I also came back a few days later, with Caro and family.
Marche de Noel, in the Grand Place in Bruges.
The markets there were better than Lille, but not because the market stalls held anything particularly interesting (more Made-In-Nepal Beanies). It was all about the chocolademelk (hot chocolate, duh) with Bacardi or Amaretto, which was h e a v e n. I keep telling myself that in such cold weather, alcohol is not a luxury, but a necessity.
Christmas markets in Bruges.
Grand place, Bruges.
Market stalls. Behind them is an ice-skating rink.
Bruges market fare: Bratwurst! Not your usual sausage in bread with a bit of onion and dead horse**. This was the bomb.
I liked Bruges the first time I visited with Caro back in 05, but this time around, I was somewhat more bored. It is a photographer’s city, but the weather was appropriately miserable and not suited to taking photos. So I spent much of my time there drinking hot chocolate at the market, and cheap red back at my hostel. I also went to see a movie (Brideshead Revisited), and ate a lot of frites, which I think explains those coupla kilos I miraculously gained while I was away.
Christmas cheer in a shop window.
Christmas decorations on traditional shops.
Sinterklaas / Saint Nicolas figurines in the German Christmas shop.
View across the red rooves of Bruges.
Town hall with Christmas tree.
Bruges is called the Venice of Belgium (it seems that any city with canals these days is referred to as the Venice of somewhere). The canals really are gorgeous:
Canals in foggy weather.
Canals lit up at night.
Churches lit up at night.
Bruges main ‘attraction’ is the Church of the Holy Blood. I did arrive while the ‘holy blood’ itself was being venerated (after a small donation, of course) by tourists. It seemed a little odd, the silent queue up to the platform where the vial of blood rests on an elegant cushion, watched over by a stern faced priest. I was more interested in the interiors which are absolutely stunning. Unfortunately they don’t allow photos (!) so I was promptly told off.
Interior of the Church of the Holy Blood.
On a minus, I had a flashback to the days when smoking wasn’t banned in bars – in Belgium, it’s still allowed. Drinking my wine with my eyes stinging and nose running in the hostel bar was definitely the lowest point of the trip. I even considered escaping to the terrace (-2 degree weather, by the way) to escape, which I thought was bizarrely ironic and unjust.
At Caro’s
I spent Christmas at Caro’s, with her family. Her parents, her parents and brother in-law also attended, and devilishly gave me a present each (I, of course, hadn’t thought of that). It was great to spend Christmas with friends, especially as I had such a miserable time of Christmas in Japan.We had turkey, bouche (log shaped christmas cake), and tortoise:
Tortue!
The year before they ate crocodile.
Last stop before Iceland – Brussels.
I stayed the last night in Brussels so I could catch an early train to Paris (for my flight to Iceland), and to go see Australia. Brussels was suprisingly quiet – I guess, being a major business city, it’s abandoned at Christmas. But what was fantastic was the light show in the Dexia tower:
The Dexia Tower (right) is fitted with dozens of LED lights as part of an ongoing light installation.
It was fascinating. Though you can’t see it, the lights variegated through purple, orange and blue. It wasn’t until I was nearer did I see the display – the lights were representing a video of a street. I think. Anyway, when I got back I did some research about it – it’s an ongoing installation that has taken many other forms over the years. Put ‘Dexia’ into You Tube and you’ll see plenty more.
So, anyway, next is the Iceland trip, if I ever get around to putting the photos together. Adios.
__________
* The Pink Tripod causes great excitement amongst tourists whenever I pull it out. Seriously. Everyone stops to stare and grin. It’s basically three television aerials built into a casing – I bought it at Bic in Japan, never seen one like it anywhere else. I think the excitement is because it’s pink. And it matches my camera, which is also pink.
** So my foreign readers are not alarmed: dead horse is rhyming slang for tomato sauce.
Before I get to the Iceland trip, I’ve got a few photos of some Christmas events in Hellemmes, Lille and Bruges.
Hellemmes welcomes Saint Nicolas
At the end of November, I saw Sinterklaas arriving in Antwerpen on a steam boat. Early December (the 5th to be exact), Saint Nicolas arrived in Hellemmes to much fanfare. December 6 is Saint Nicolas’s day, and like their Flemish neighbours to the north, those in Nord celebrate the saint himself as a seperate holiday, as opposed to the Coke-Cola Santa which, we in English speaking countries, consider part of the Christmas celebrations.
In Nord-Pas-de-Calais, it turns out that Saint Nicolas abseils down mairies:
Mairie of Hellemmes (Town Hall).
Mairie with fake snow and spotlights searching for Saint Nicolas.
There he is!
Halfway down.
I was supposed to go see Saint Nicolas abseil down the Arras belfry the following night, but slacked out – I really just wanted to stay in bed!
Confectionary stands and rides appeared all over Lille. These are outside the Hotel de Ville (Town Hall) in Hellemmes.
In France, and Belgium, community areas were suddenly filled overnight with confectionary stands and amusements. I meant to get stuck into a Nutella crepe but never got around to it 
There are dozens of these community events across the Nord; the biggest being in Lille, of course. Though, there was no Saint Nicolas climbing out of the Lille Belfry.
Fake snow flies in front of the Espace d'Acacias (community building), in Hellemmes. Don't believe the temperature - that thermometre lies, it's usually three or four degrees colder than what it says. The clock is fast too, which always make me believe I'm late for work.
Kids play in the fake snow.
Fireworks outside Hellemmes Mairie.
