Okay, so the main reason I went to Venice was for Carnevale.

What’s Carnevale? It’s, as I said before, the festival of excess, which leads up to the period of fasting that is Lent. Venice Carnival is one of the biggest in Europe, and probably the most famous; it’s origins are back in the days of the Republic of Venice – check out the Wikipedia page to get an idea.

Masks

Venetians, apparently, were known for getting up to some interesting and titillating things, hiding behind masks and costume, so much so that the Venetian parliament apparently banned the wearing of masks at times except during Carnevale and certain special events.

Venetian masks are a big deal, elaborate, hand crafted, and r e a l l y expensive. However most, these days, they’re mostly kitschy plastic cheap and nasties, which are imported from China, then ‘hand painted’ in ‘Italy’. I did intend to get one; but couldn’t justify the dosh, especially as towards the end of my Venice stay I had already burned through most of my budget.

But I took a lot of photos (of course!)

There’s, like, a serious amount of tradition and history in the designs of the masks, but I can’t be arsed telling you about it, just go look it up on Wikipedia.

Cheap masks for sale on a market rack.

These – cheaply made – ones ranged from 6euros ($12AUD) to 30 or 40 euros.

Handcrafted masks.

Then there were the artisan’s masks – sold in small, tiny shops all over the island, they were more elaborate and original, yet all following the same theme. The minimum I saw for one of these was about 15euros for a basic Columbina mask to up to 100euros for the plumed and decorated ones.

Minor movie moment: the masks for Kubrick film Eyes Wide Shut were made by a local artisan; he has three shops (two near San Sorvino pizza, so I walked past them frequently ‘by chance’, and one by Rialto) and offers mask making courses (which would’ve been fun to do, if I a) had the dosh and b) the time). I saw the artisan – Sergio Boldrin – at work in the tiny workshop in the Rialto store, the windows of which are plastered with production photos of Eyes Wide Shut. You can even buy a replica of Tom Cruise’s mask.

Model outside Boldrin's display shop, wearing a costume from Eyes Wide Shut.

Hand drawn characters on one of my favourite masks, which I saw in one of Boldrin's showrooms.

If I'd had the money, I would've bought one of these plume masks, they were awesome, but 50 euros each.

Cat mask in a traditional style I really liked.

Cat masks just didn't suit me.

Papier mache base for a really wicked mask.

Moulds used for casting papier mache masks.

Gold traditional style masks, absolutely freaking gorgeous.

These are the upper end of masks, and I saw some ridiculously expensive pieces. To get an idea: these, in this picture are all 75euros – thats $150AUD.

Plumed, gold metallic mask.

Some of the most spectacular masks were pressed metal; especially those utilising Swarovski crystals – I did take photos, but they didn’t turn out I will resume my search for them.

Mask using Murano glass. Very very expensive.

Okay, so that’s it about masks, next entry is the big one: the costumes that go with the masks.

One of the most awesome things about Venice during carnevale is walking around wearing these incredible masks in the most bizarre historical theme park of all time, amongst thousands of other tourists, also wearing incredible masks.

Sign on Pharmacist's door.

Just, not so good for the local pharmacy, which I expect is worried about robbery.

Beautiful Venice

Basilica of San Marco

Yes, Venice is gorgeous. Despite the graffiti and trash on the streets (and in the canals), it really is a piece of the past well preserved (despite a serious lack of funds and residents). As few as 60,000 people now live in a city which held more than 250,000 in it’s heyday. There’s no cars, no bicycles, and no streets – it’s all alleys, randomly placed squares and bridges. It’s a surreal world. It’s full of it’s own, independent, history: Venice was a semi-democratic republic for over a 1000 years with massive naval and economic power.

There’s not a terribly large amount of things ‘to do’, which was fine for me, as I’m really getting bored with ’sight seeing’. It’s a place to have gelati everyday and hang out. And get lost.

The only real place to ’see’ is the Piazza San Marco. The remains of San Marco* (Mark the Evangelist to us English speakers, one of the authors of the Bible) are interned in the Basilica here; he’s the patron saint of Venice, and his symbol – the lion – is seen everywhere.

Mosaics in the Basilica.

In the basilica, the best things are the floors: they’re tesselated mosaics, which Escher would have been fond of. Unfortunately, the curse of Venice – dampness and flooding – have made the floors wavy and is destroying the mosaics slowly – most of it is covered by damp-stained carpets. The rest of the church is lovely – I resented having to pay to view the treasury and the altar, though, as they’re barely worth it.

Skulls and bones ... ah! Catholic relics! Awesome and gruesome at the same time.

The treasury has some nice reliquaries but I’d seen better in Munich, so I was annoyed I had to pay $4AUD: I’d been told there would be crusader treasures in there, which sounded interesting, but it was pretty lame.

Doges palace.

The other major sight seeing thing in San Marco is the palace – the administrative centre of the old Venetian republic, containing prisons, parliament rooms and offices, as well as the Doge’s (the President) residence.

Famous cieling above the gold staircase in the Doge's palace.

View from the 'Bridge of Sighs' (which leads from the court rooms to the prison).

View towards the Bridge of Sighs from the bridge on the lagoon.

The ‘Bridge of Sighs’ is the bridge leading from the courtrooms in the Doge’s Palace to the prison next door – apparently newly convicted prisoners would ’sigh’ after taking their last look at their beloved lagoon on their way through. The Doge and the Prisons are being renovated and the blue walls to either side of the bridge of signs is advertising for one of the sponsors. Ordinarily, it would be much more spectacular.

The secret itineraries tour of the palace is worthwhile for doing as you get to see the hidden prisons in the roof; and where Casanova apparently escaped from. Did you know Casanova was, besides being a bit of a cad, a spy? I’m reading his autobiography at the moment, it’s actually pretty interesting for something 300-400 years old.

Island with church that you can see from San Marco.

View of Venice from the campanile - belfry - which overshadows San Marco.

Basilica of San Marco, seen from front.

Night view of Basilica.

The Basilica on the outside is gorgeous – all gold mosaic tiles and all.

Grand Canal.

Grocery deliveries, early morning. On a boat. No trucks in Venice.

There is actually only three canals – the rest don’t qualify. The Grand Canal, which my hostel faced onto, is big and the main traffic thoroughfare. There are only four bridges across the canal, with two very close to each other (at the bus station – Roma – and at the train station – Ferrovia). The other two bridges are Accademia and Rialto.

Rialto Bridge - shops and crowds.

Rialto is, like the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, a bridge lined with shops. It’s the oldest bridge across the canal – and was for hundreds of years, the only bridge (the Venetians used gondolas to get around, mostly). Unfortunately it’s grotty and filthy, and looks better at night:

Rialto from the canal at night.

Shopping street leading up to Rialto, lit up for carnevale.

A tunnel near my hostel, sagging, held up with a beautifully decorated pillar in the middle.

The Ghetto.

Another really interesting area, which I briefly visited, was the Ghetto. This is it – the real deal – the original ghetto (the word comes from either the Venetian word for ’slag’ – the area was used for slag processing – or the word for ‘borough’). The Venetian republic forced all it’s Jews to live on this one island, in this one area. In these buildings are concealed synagogues, which you are able to visit today. This is a residential area now, apparently quite bohemian, where kids were kicking balls around and parents were strolling with their babies. The buildings here are more compact, with windows closer together than the rest of Venice – it reminded me of the tenement buildings in Manhattan.

Wall plaque.

There is a wall memorial with some touching bronze plaques, which I really liked.

Murano glass chess set.

However, this chess set was the funniest thing I saw on the whole trip: Catholic bishops (with the Pope as king) against Jewish Rabbis. Where’s the Islamic set?

Murano

… is the home of Murano glass (duh). You’ve all seen Murano glass, or at least cheap Chinese imitations of it, usually as large glass pendants: coloured handblown glass, swirled around, often with flakes of gold or silver foil worked in. I’d wanted to go visit Murano since buying a tonne of the jewellery at the Florence markets.

On the boat trip over, I stopped at the San Michel cemetery island: it didn’t cost me anything, so I figured I may as well. As far as European cemeteries go, the ones in France are far more interesting, mostly because this one was mostly modern graves (old graves are dug up after 12 years and reinterred in smaller boxes). Napolean told Venice to build this cemetery as it was clearly unhygenic to bury their dead on the main island.

Tomb in San Michel cemetery island.

Tomb I really liked on the cemetery island.

I really liked this tomb, the sculpture is really effective, when viewed from a particular angle: however, it’s a pity the soot and pollution has dirtied it so.

Murano itself is nice and very romantic: most interesting was the glass sculptures around the city, made by the local artisans. If you plan on buying any Murano glass products while you’re in Venice, make sure you go to Murano first, rather than buying them in Venice. I found a lot of original pieces in Murano, made by resident artists: I even got to see some of the artists at work. I didn’t do much else on the island except spend every last euro I had on me (luckily they don’t like credit cards in Venice, otherwise I would be very very in debt right now). I love Murano glass, sooo much.

Sculpture and belfry in Murano.

Murano's own leaning tower.

Sample case of Murano glass, a century or so old.

The glass museum was dull and basic – it wasn’t worth the money. It was a little interesting to see how they make glass seed beeds, and how the jewellery I’d seen everywhere was made, but other than that?

I’m off: lunch time calls. Finally, next blog entry I’ll write about the carnevale.

_______________________

* Apparently two Venetians nicked the remains of San Marco from Muslim Alexandria in the 800s.

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.

It’s early morning 6:30 am in Brussels. It’s about minus 4 outside, but cosy in here. Didn’t sleep at all because of some Spanish girl who had too much last night and kept half the dorm room up. Waiting for breakfast, then I head to Paris to get my flight to Iceland. Where it is around 5 degrees and pissing down with rain. Only in my worst luck could Iceland be warmer than the Benelux. 

Spent Chrissie with Caro and family, had fun, froze, and drank far too much wine which her brother in law brought back from Vietnam. Strong stuff with an acetone taste that left a not-quite-hangover. Now I’m going to have a snooze before breakfast is served, and will be in contact again after Jan 5th.

Bon noel, bonne annee, drink one for me.

Saw Australia last night – what a nostalgia fest. I almost burst into applause everytime I saw another Aussie face. Who else spotted John Jarrat at the end.  I’ve been away from home for too long.

Reading: Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris (a little bit of tacky vampire-ness which is the inspiration new Alan Ball series True Blood); Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (but, the more I read it, the more I’m sure I’ve read it before).

Watching: True Blood (Alan Ball created my favourite TV series of all time, Six Feet Under, and this is his newey – it’s a more grown up version of Buffy or Twilight, but still quite silly; it stars Anna Paquin, of Piano and X-Men fame. If you’re not expecting much, it’s quite good.); Heroes, of course; and Mad Men, a big hitter in this year’s Emmys, is brilliant – it’s a drama set in the high-strung world of Manhattan advertising in the late 50’s to early 60’s).

Doing: Knitting a scarf and a pair of socks; drinking Beaujolais Nouveau, a fruity, watery red wine that causes excitement every November amongst the French, but I just drink it because it tastes nice – and isn’t as nasty as some of the ‘award winning’ French wines (which could fill a goon bag no problem); overcoming a serious addiction to TV series – I don’t think I could survive without my Hiro or Dexter.

Back in Adelaide, while I hide out overseas, my uni-mates are protesting, striking and marching all in hope of fair pay as teachers. I come from a family which doesn’t respect teachers (which makes it even more hilarious that I became one), so I do hear a bit of ‘they’re lazy, they have more holidays than everyone, get over it, they’re paid more than the average person, what are they complaining about’. The attitude at home has changed a bit, however, with the latest round of strike action – the government ruled the education union’s last strike illegal at 9pm the night before, causing chaos the following day as all teachers arrived at school with nothing to teach, and only a third of the students turning up. People are starting to become aware that a) teachers in SA are the lowest paid in the country and b) the government (including the increasingly unpopular Premier, Mike Rann) are doing some nasty shit to get out of paying them a fair wage. Or at least, that is how it’s seeming.

Education’s been deplorable in Australia since the Howard government took office and decided that the lower classes didn’t deserve the same oppourtunities as the middle and upper classes (because, hey, who’s going to work our factories, orchards, and shops if everyone becomes educated?), and I admit, there are a good array of teachers who, after years of overwork and low salaries, have simply given up and are hanging in until retirement. But there are plenty who, inspired by a need to make a change where it matters most, still do give it their all, and they’re in the majority. Does 60 hour weeks, with additional hours spent at home, with constant verbal and physical abuse from students and parents, after a minimum of four years (but more likely 5 or 6 years) of university study for about the same salary as an unskilled factory worker sound like an attractive job/career for anyone?

So anyway, I think a lot about the reputation that teachers have, and how they are not taken seriously – by the working or middle classes – mostly because I am one, and I’m very tired of being told it’s a secure, well paid glorified babysitting job with lots of holidays.

Part of this is because I sense many people think of teaching as it was presented in The Simpsons - take away the ‘Teachers Guide’ and we’d be lost – that teaching can be done straight out of a book. Admittedly, this was the case in Japan where thousands of human-harddrives are trained every year – god knows what those teachers thought they were doing, but it wasn’t teaching and those kids certainly weren’t learning.

Back on Facebook, some of my uni-mates have complained about how the teacher’s union isn’t doing a good enough job in terms of PR – I agree with them, in that if the public had any idea how difficult the job is, perhaps they’d be more sympathetic towards our strike actions.

So I was glad to see the following article. Teachers haven’t been ‘fact-transmitters’ for several years now; well, at least in South Australia. It’s definitely more important to teach students to evaluate for themselves the implications and issues of Nazism and fascism than a list of useless dates of battles and events. Yet, there’s still so much push for a return to history and English teaching methods of the 1950’s in the public – and the government – because they themselves simply haven’t figured out that kids today don’t need these ridiculous lists of dates, figures, facts that was taught when they themseves were students. Hell, it can even be argued that kids in the fifties didn’t need to learn poems by heart, grammar and figures then.

Here’s the article – and here’s for making people realise that teaching methodology has changed; now kids are actually learning instead of just memorising. The next step is for people to realise that teaching learning is complex, requires high levels of skills, and far more difficult than teaching facts. And that the job of teachers is a lot more difficult than many give credit for.

Google generation doesn’t need rote learning

NEWS.com.au

December 02, 2008 02:38pm

Morgan Pozgar, 13, of Pennsylvania, competes in the National Texting Championship in New York last year / AFP

SCHOOL children no longer need to memorise facts and figures because everything they need is just a mouse click away, an internet educator says.

It would be better to teach children to think creatively so they could interpret and apply knowledge they gained online, said Don Tapscott, author of the bestselling book Wikinomics and a champion of the “net generation”.

“Teachers are no longer the fountain of knowledge; the internet is,” Mr Tapscott told Times Online.

“Kids should learn about history to understand the world and why things are the way they are. But they don’t need to know all the dates. It is enough that they know about the Battle of Hastings, without having to memorise that it was in 1066. They can look that up and position it in history with a click on Google,” he said.

But Mr Tapscott said he was not rejecting education.

The ability to learn new things was more important than ever “in a world where you have to process new information at lightning speed,” he said.

“Children are going to have to reinvent their knowledge base multiple times. So for them memorising facts and figures is a waste of time.”

Mr Tapscott, who coined the term “the net generation”, based his observations in his latest book, Grown Up Digital, on a study of nearly 8000 people in 12 countries born between 1978 and 1994.

He said the prevailing education model was designed for the industrial age.

“This might have been good for the mass production economy, but it doesn’t deliver for the challenges of the digital economy, or for the ‘net gen’ mind,” he said.

He suggested the brains of young people worked differently from those of their parents and said “digital immersion”, in which children may be texting while surfing the internet and listening to their MP3 player, could help them to develop critical thinking skills.

Brighton College headmaster Richard Cairns told Times Online that a core level of knowledge was essential:

“It’s important that children learn facts. If you have no store of knowledge in your head to draw from, you cannot easily engage in discussions or make informed decisions.”

Randomly surfing through YouTube I found a few clips about McCain supporters. I knew there was a racism issue in America – that’s clear – but the extent … I’m pretty sure this kind of insanity is limited to hicksville (when I visited the states I only encountered it in one little old lady in Juliette, Georgia), but it does give us – who are on the outside – some clue to how Dubya got elected in the first place.

Check some of these out.

Particularly this one, because it’s an outsider’s view of what’s going on. And hey, the guy holding the kid talking about a wolf in sheeps clothing: he so is the preacher out of There Will Be Blood!

Al Jazeera English: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIY5lqi0eXQ&feature=related

Hey, white people being trash is one of the great discrimination issues of our times! Totally overshadows the brutality of slavery, colonialism and suffragettes any day.

But some others:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZvPJOQhXrak&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgwiFOid0gA&feature=related

It’s not the economy that worries them – it’s ‘the socialists taking over the country?’. WTF?

But then again, what is one to expect of certain parts of America:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XRumTCCoJw

Name a country that starts with a U … What religion are Buddhist monks? … Who won the Vietnam war?

Man I miss the Chasers. Onya fellas.

Final Paris post from the Toussaint trip. Paris is best done on foot, and I was poor, so I was avoiding the metros. Luckily I did have a few half days of decent weather. This post is those random other places I visited, usually after wandering around.

Paris: Walking Around

Palais Garnier

Napoleon monument.

It was amazing how many things I saw this time around which I’d missed first time. And I’d thought I’d pretty much seen everything. I suppose last time I was dead-sick of monuments and churches, which meant I would’ve skipped places like La Madeleine (below).

La Madeleine

Inside La Madeleine

La Madeleine is much more like Italian basilicas than French eglises. I could’ve been back in Rome.

Random church near La Madeleine - I have no idea of its name.

La Madeleine is much like a roundabout, and down one of the streets I could spy an interesting looking church. It was crammed between two streets at an intersection, clearly not on the usual tourist path. I thought it looked ridiculously French and perhaps a little more recent (!) than some of the other Parisien eglises. I did find out the name – it was something like ‘St. Jean Paul’ or similar; let me know if anyone does know.

Interior of unknown church.

It was very Roman Catholic inside, basilica-esque like La Madeleine, but seemed to be made of more modern materials (?) I could be totally wrong. There was a lot of art-noveau style embellishment.

Fixtures in mystery church.

Crepe baby.

I did have my first savoury crepe – check it out, I was so hungry I took a chomp before I took the photo. It’s wicked to see these guys making these.

Promenade Plante.

A new site I’d not heard of before was the Promenade Plante. It’s a mile long linear garden – thats three stories in the air. Built on what appears to be an old railway bridge or aqueduct, the promenade was tourist free, and lovely for lunch. Kids on rollerskates, business people on smoko, couriers on bike – they all hiked it up the steps to commute amongst the flowers and garden.

Place de Vosges

Another site I’d seen on tv, and was glad I stumbled upon, was a square bordered by identical symmetrical townhouses (one of which was the home of Victor Hugo), hidden near Bastille. It’s the Place des Vosges, and isn’t well known to tourists, but is well loved by Parisiens. It is somewhat bizarre in there, as the buildings are identical and symmetrical on all four sides; as is the garden. It’s difficult to show the effect in 2D photos.

Monument of the Bastille.

Nothings left of the Bastille now except a really big roundabout. In its place is a monument, which looks remarkably like every other monument in Europe – green with a gold angel of some sort on the top. What is marvellous, though, about all this gold is that it shines even when the sky is as grey and purple as you can see above. It absolutely shines. In Lille, I always notice how luminescent the gold of the beffroi in the old town no matter how shitty the weather.

On my way to Pere Lachaise I cut through the gardens of the national natural history museum, and was really taken by this sculpture:

L'oiseau (1994) Vincent Barre.

It was one of a serious of sculptures with an endangered animal theme – but I immediately spotted that this represented the near extinction of whales and I thought the juxtaposition of harpoon and orca tail was clever. Around the base was the phrase:

Le bonheur n’est pas departi equalement a tous les etres sensibles … BUFFON.

Which I (very) tentatively translate as ‘happiness is not distributed equally amongst all intelligent/sensitive beings’ (please correct me, French speakers). Buffon was a natural scientist, I believe, who played a role in the founding of the museum. I feel strongly about whale hunting, as most Australians do, so this sculpture really stood out.

Paris: Near Eiffel Tour

Eiffel at night.

I spent way too many cold nights sitting in the gardens trying to do time lapse of the Eiffel tour. But seriously, it looks so cool all blue and shiny. Check out the strobe at the top. Once again, I declined to climb it – too poor, too tired and most importantly, it was too fucking cold.

Eiffel at night 2.

Eiffel with Sparkles.

I waited for half an hour in 3 degrees for the above shot. Feel the pain, my friend.

Hows this for doors.

The Sandeman free tour I went on took us past the Petite Palais, an exhibition hall (which is directly across from it’s sibling, surprise surprise, the Grand Palais) built for the same world expo which showcased the Eiffel tour. Of course it was ridiculously gorgeous, but the doors took the cake. Check out the little girl in comparison to the height. Not sure if they’re real gold, but wouldn’t be surprised.

Speaking of gold …

Invalides.

While heading towards the Eiffel tour, I did see Invalides again, or, in particular, the chapel at the back. Beneath that wonderfully golden dome, Napoleon lies in a massive red marble coffin. It seemed no matter where I was in the city, if I could see far, I could see this bright luminescent gold dome – from Montmatre, and especially from the towers of Notre Dame (see pic below).

Paris: Near the Louvre

I didn’t go to the Louvre this time around, though the Sunday I was there, it was free. I was exhausted even thinking about trudging around that behemoth. I did trudge – through mud – around it, though.

Gardens of the Palais Royale

Bird shit, weird art and storm clouds in the Tuileries.

Tuileries is the garden which links the Louvre with Place de la Concorde.

Random tour near the Louvre.

I spotted this tower when I was rushing to the Palais Garnier for my tour. I’d never noticed it before, even though last time I stayed right near here. It was gorgeous. From memory, it is the tour of the jesuits or something similar.

Painter on the pedestrian bridge near the Louvre.

Shakespeare and Company.

The famous Shakespeare and Co bookshop – I’d heard a lot of things about it, but had never managed to find it. It’s in the Latin quarter near St. Michel (so not strictly near the Louvre, but anyway). Is this the actual shop? Is there ‘branches’ (that seems against the spirit of the place, but, you know …) It’s all English books – I did have a good look for a second hand book to read but the cheapest I found was 6euros, and that was out of my impoverished budget. However, they had pretty much every decent English book ever put out for sale – it’s a booklover’s paradise, an anal-retentive’s nightmare: stacks and shelves of randomly tottering books, hairy hippys running about and snobby professor-types. If I need a book next time I’m in Paris, I’d probably go to one of the cheap chain stores near St. Michel.

My last site of Free Day was l’Orangerie, an impressionist museum housed in an old greenhouse (hence the name). I wouldn’t pay to go, but it was worth visiting when I didn’t have to. I’m not terribly educated about art, but I do sort of get impressionism (though I don’t like it so much). I wasn’t expecting to be impressed by the l’Orangeries main fare – a set of Monet’s Waterlilly paintings – but I really was swept away by it.

L'Orangerie.

Basically, this set represents two scenes from Monet’s Giverny garden, which are then presented three times each – day, night and dusk – in a continuous series of panels around two custom built oval shaped rooms. The paintings were made for the building, rather than the other way round. There’s also another floor of other impressionist artists, but I wasn’t too interested in those. The Monets were truly lovely: you really did get the ‘impression’ of the light and colour in a beautiful French garden, even though the shapes are blurry and coarsely painted. Of course, it doesn’t photograph well, as individual sections outside the context of their entire panels just don’t convey the same feeling.

Layout of the Waterlillies paintings.

Waterlillies.

Waterlillies section.

Waterlillies section.

Paris: Île de la Cité

Beside the Seine - with the Pont Neuf in view.

The Ile de la Cite is the island which is the heart of Paris – it’s where the first settlers here set down, it holds Notre Dame and the Concierge and my favourite church, Sainte Chappelle.

Bird poo anyone?

Night looking towards the Ile de la Cite

Notre Dame night.

Last time I’d been far too churched out to appreciate Notre Dame. She’s lovely. I visited several times this trip; mostly because she is wonderfully free.

Notre Dame night 2.

Notre Dame day.

Notre Dame interior.

This was the frist time I’d made it to Notre Dame in the morning, on a sunny day. The interior was lit up with colour, as much Sainte Chappelle. Last time I’d been so disappointed, so this visit was a pleasant surprise. I also hadn’t realised how old she was – she was built in the 1100s, making her a good deal older than most other French churches of her type.

One of the famous Notre Dame rosettes.

Behind the altar was the best light shows.

Cieling behind the altar. How deliciously medieval.

Notre Dame gargoyle looks towards Eiffel Tour and Invalides.

Thanks to free day I climbed the Notre Dame tours (I recommend lining up from 9-9:30 if you’re going on Free day to do the tours, as I had to wait an hour and a half (on a six degree day!), and I arrived at 9:45 (it opens at 10); 15 minutes earlier I’d gone past and seen only six people waiting. It’s the best view in Paris besides Sacre Couer, because you can see all the landmarks as well as the gargoyles. In the above pick, the gold dimple to the left of the Eiffel tour is the gold dome of Invalides where Napoleon is entombed. Told you it stands out against the grey sky.

Just as old, but infinitely more beautiful is Sainte Chappelle. It’s my favourite church in the world – so much so, it is the header image of this blog (see the top of the page, duh). Due to free day (national monuments in Paris are free on the first Sunday of the month), I was very happy to return there. I ran into a couple of American women from San Diego – they’d heard there was a ‘pretty church’, and joined the long line without really knowing what it was about. Their jaws hit the floor when they entered. It really is lovely. What makes it so surprising, I think, is how normal it seems from the outside: the Paris government buildings (Palais de la Cite) has been built up around it, and Sainte Chappelle is only accessed by entering the courtyard of the government buildings. It is one of the oldest churches in Paris – 1200’s – and was built for use by palace personnel. It’s tiny and private; unlike other churches, it has two levels – one for the common nobility, and a magnificient upper level for royalty.

Vaulted cieling, similar to Notre Dame, in lower levels.

Sainte Chappelle, upper level.

Sainte Chappelle, upper level.

Sainte Chappelle, upper level.

Paris: Note to self …

Next time you travel to Paris, Karen, don’t book this train:

Yes, I took the L A S T train to leave Gare du Nord. Somehow I had mixed up the departure time with the arrival time: what in gods name was I thinking? Besides the fact that I had to sneakily camp out at my hostel until 10pm, hoping they wouldn’t notice I wasn’t staying there anymore (because it was far too cold to hang out at Gare du Nord), the train gets in after the last metro train has left (three minutes after, to be exact). It’s so wonderful walking 5km home at 1am in 3 degree rainy weather with my heavy daypack and a bag of groceries, and wearing nothing much more than a hoodie, jeans and soggy boots. Luckily, where it had been rainy and miserable in Paris, it was clear and pleasant in Lille (take that, Bienevue Chez des Ch’tis, the weather was better in Lille during Toussaint than in West France). But, hey, at least I wasn’t the only one: many people started running from the train, and when they missed the last metro, we all headed towards our respective homes together. Meanwhile, Hellemmes is lovely at 1am, very peaceful.

Paris: Montmartre, Sacre Coeur, Musee d’Erotique and Pere Lachaise

Amelie’s Montmartre

La Fabuleux Destin d'Amelie Poulin ... de Montmartre

The bohemian district of Montmartre in Paris is everyone’s favourite district of Paris – especially after we all fell in love with Amelie Poulain. Audrey Tatou as the devilishly adorable Amelie danced around Montmartre in her schemes and drew me to visit the district when I went to Paris three years ago.

Montmartre - Moulin Rouge 2005

Montmartre - Streets and Pigalle 2005

So this is the area back when I visited it in 2005; nothing has changed: I’m still far too poor to consider going to the Moulin Rouge (125euro a ticket, thankyou very much).

I was lucky enough to stay with a lovely couch host who lives on the edge of Montmartre, and from her place I was able to visit Montmartre on foot. I was surprised to find crystal blue skies for my photos.

Tomb in Montmartre Cemetery

I visited the Montmartre Cemetery for the first time – somewhere in there lies Alexandre Dumas (author of The Count of Monte Christo and The Three Musketeers) and a few other French old school celebs. I was more interested in the cool, filtered sunlight and pleasant and beautiful surroundings in which to rest my feet and eat some soft cheese on baguette. That same camembert stunk up my bag for the rest of the day – note to self: soft cheeses not so brilliant for all-day sightseeing unless you have a refrigerated bag.

I did find this gorgeous little shop – Pylones – which sold everyday items in bright unreal designs. Very stylish, funky and Parisien – and like all things Parisien, too expensive. I’ll revisit it, I think, for Christmas presents. It’s near Sacre Coeur, down one of the side streets.

Teeny tiny cars outside Pylones.

Wallets, purses at Pylones.

Tres jolies parapluies!

Musee d’Erotique

A serious museum essentially dedicated to old school porn. One of the few museums I was prepared to shell out an admission fee for (back, early in the trip, when I still thought I had enough money to pay admission fees – didn’t last much longer than that). I had expected more Ron Jeremy, but instead got more Betty Page; if the Musee d’Orsay displayed porn, it would be like this. Quite tasteful, and taken seriously, it didn’t provide much in the way of explanations in English, so some of the more interesting stuff, I just didn’t know what it was.

Particularly interesting was the pornographic objects from ancient and distant civilisations. Now, hide your eyes if you’re sensitive:

Demons and devils - with women in various stages of ecstasy and undress - featured often in some of the statuettes

Peekaboo Japanese buddha statue

Some of my favourite pieces were the Japanese statuettes with little … surprises underneath them. Now, I deliberately chose this photo out of those I took because what’s in the little mirror is not clear … imagine just what the young girls are up to underneath his cloak. These statues were brilliant – so very Japanese: respectful, elegant and composed on the outside, absolutely fucking kinky on the inside.

The museum also covered the history of Montmartre as the home of legalised brothels in Paris. Some of the porn from this 19th to early 20th century era are on display – including films. And you thought they were prudes back then – good to see girl on girl action was going strong even in 1910.

Sacre Coeur

The main attraction in Montmartre – besides the Moulin Rouge, porn shops and general charmingness – is Sacre Coeur – the white Roman Catholic basilica built on the highest point of Paris in the late 19th century.

Sacre Coeur

Cheesy outstretched arm photo

Okay, so it was seriously bright. That’s why I look like a chipmunk in this photo.

View from Sacre Coeur

Sacre Coeur is on the Montmartre ‘butte’ – the highest point of Paris, so it is actually, I think, the best view in Paris. The only thing is that the Tour Eiffel is blocked by some trees (but if you ate in the restaurant that’s next to the Furnicular, I’m sure you could see it.)

The fella who makes puppys from pipe cleaners.

Now, this guy was here last time I was at Sacre Coeur in 2005. He’s still there, still attracts a crowd, making little dog keychains out of pipe cleaners. I don’t know his story, why he’s in a wheelchair, and how he came to make les petits chiens with pipe cleaners near the steps of Sacre Coeur, but he’s good at what he does. I had promised myself as I began the climb that if he was still there, I would buy one of his petits chiens – I got one in blue and black to match my backpack:

Mon petit chien! Tres mignon, n'est ce pas?

Actually, if any Parisiens read this and can tell me more about him, I would be keen to know.

I went back to Sacre Coeur my last night (it was near Gare du Nord – the train station where I was to catch the train back to Lille), to take night shots. The sky was magnificiently clear, and you could quite clearly see for miles.

View from Sacre Coeur at night.

View from Sacre Coeur at night.

View from Sacre Coeur at night.

My little pink tripod (I still have it Meggie!) with its retractable legs garnered a bit of attention from a teenage kid who quite excitedly watch me take these shots. It is my most valuable travel possession – there aren’t many tripods that stand a metre tall and can fit in a handbag.

Sacre Coeur at night.

It really is a beautiful church, from the outside anyway. The interior is a little dull. The approach, with the green grass and curved steps is magnificient. Watch out for the hawkers and con artists on the gardens leading to it, and make sure it’s on your Parisien to do list.

Pere Lachaise

Main entrance to Pere Lachaise

This is currently holding first place for my favourite place in Paris (with Saint Chappelle a close second). It is the largest and most famous cemetery in Paris: founded by Napoleon in 1804, it holds Edith Piaf, Moliere, Abelard and Heloise, Maria Callas, Collette, Chopin, Jim Morrison, and, most importantly for me, Oscar Wilde.

The whole intention for coming to Paris during these school holidays was a small suggestion I’d read on a forum somewhere – go to Pere Lachaise on Toussaint (1st November, All Saints Day, a sacred day on the Catholic calendar with origins in pagan holidays like Samhain / Halloween, where the devoted visit, clean and ‘flower’ the graves of relatives). The weather was dreary, but every visit to Pere Lachaise is a good one. This time I wasn’t famous-visiting – I was more interested in the general ambience. The only celeb I was interested in visiting was Oscar Wilde, who I’m a big fan of.

It hasn’t changed since I was there in 2005:

Pere Lachaise when I visited in 2005.

Pere Lachaise trees, 2008.

In France, on Toussaint, graves and tombs are cleaned and laid with flowers by relatives. Arriving earlier in Autumn than I did in 2005, I saw such beauty in the cemetery. Here are some of the better photos:

Door of Rossini's tomb decorated with (fabric) flowers.

The sea of flowers before the memorial to the dead.

Steps leading to above the memorial for the dead.

Towards the chapel.

Tiers of Pere Lachaise near the chapel.

Paths.

Red rose and Moliere.

Flowers on a well-visited woman's tomb. Im not sure who she was, though.

Paths through Pere Lachaise.

Beautiful mosaic on a tomb.

After a good hour of solid wandering, I went towards the general area that Oscar is at.

I wasn’t the only tourist visiting that day – there were crowds around him all day:

Tourists aplenty await.

I had been taken by the tomb back in 2005 – particularly by the outpouring of admiration for the writer:

Oscar Wilde's tomb (photos from 2005).

And the tradition of leaving a red kiss. I love this.

Even the matron in the tomb neighbouring Wildes gets a kiss.

And the angel too.

I shouldve bought some red roses to lay here. Next time.

Rant about crazies and cons in Paris

My previous visit to Montmartre was tarred by poor weather: this time it was tarred by ridiculously insistent scam artists desperate to sell me hand knotted wristbands and cheap, tacky and nasty Tour Eiffel keychains. Dodgy guys in Montmartre did drive me crazy this time around. I had been warned by various websites and Lonely Planet about the guys with their wristbands – they come up to you, speaking English, asking for your wrist, before tying a hand-knotted friendship band around it with cheap embroidery thread. Once done, you can’t get it off, and they demand payment. Back in 2005 I’d seen them but avoided them. This time, I was harrassed the entire way up the steps. What’s up with these guys? Even after I clearly told them to get lost, I was followed up the steps. T h r e e   f u c k i n g   t i m e s. Was a bit grumpy by the time I reached the top.

The night I went back to Lille I also dropped in on Montmartre. Been told not to walk around the area at night, especially as a) I clearly look like a tourist (not too many bespectacled, overweight, hoodie wearing French women, let me tell you) and b) the whole female walking alone in the dark thing; but there were still plenty of people around, admiring the view from the steps of the basilica, so I thought I’d be fine. To my utter delight, I was followed from the metro station (Anvers) right up the steps. I figured out what he was up to when I stopped at a shop to look at a scarf, and he stopped just a few feet away. I ended up going into another shop, turning around and staring at him and he went away. Prick.

I was a little on edge that day though – I’d spent the day walking around, and had been harrassed at every turn by people selling roast chestnuts (cooked on upturned trash can lids), a random crazy that followed me from the Louvre to the Orangerie asking me questions in English (major deja vu, I think I remember the same guy harrassing me in 2005!), and blokes selling marlboros in a metro station. It was a day for sketchy people. The crazy outside the Louvre was the worse. He stood at the top of the steps leading to the Pont des Arts (the pedestrian bridge nearest the Louvre), with a creepy smile, watching the tourists walk past. He yelled something out to me, I looked back thinking ‘what does he want?’, kept walking, then next thing I knew he was following me towards the Tuilieres Garden. The conversation went like this:

Crazy: Comment appelez-vous? (What’s your name?)

Me: Je ne parle pas francais (I don’t speak French).

Crazy: Vous ne parlez pas francais? Anglaise? You speak English!

Me: What do you want?

Crazy: Are you American?

Me: What do you want?

Crazy: Oh nothing! Nothing.

Me: Then go away.

Crazy: Are you Americain?

And so on. After a few more ‘get lost!’s he did. Went back to target some other hapless tourist. I actually don’t think he was crazy, he was just trying to sell something or had some con he usually plays on tourists.

So, this is a bit of a rant: I walked around at 2am, by myself, in New York and was never bothered. Sure, New York, Rome, London, they’ve all got their various sketchies hanging out on the streets. My favourite con is those dodgy fellas who think they can make a buck dressing up as a statue with cheap and nasty gold lame fabric, a Tutankhamen mask and a wooden crate – it’s like they saw some statue-busking-artists, saw they were getting coins tossed at them for ’standing still’ and thought it was an easy buck. Except, they don’t realise how hard it is to stand still for hours on end; especially when they have to keep an eye open for the cops. When you compare them with our gold man and white bride back in Adelaide, they’re pretty hilarious.

Yes! I found a photo of the exact same buskers I saw in Rome – I mean, who exactly is he kidding?

Dodgy statue busker, taken by TravelBlogger 'Steve'

This pic from: http://www.travelblog.org/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Rome/blog-282058.html

Compared with, (with a serious wave of homesickness here), our Rundle Mall bride?

The Rundle Mall bride, ah, doing the busker-statue thing properly.

This pic taken by a bloke named Nathan Adams, which I inappropriately borrowed from his flickr collection. Actually, he has some really lovely photos of Adelaide: http://flickr.com/photos/nathan_adams/2400239603/

Usually they’re harmless, but what is it with Paris and these bloody con artists? They’re just more … insistent?

Paris: Palais Garnier

Astro Boy visits the home of the Phantom of the Opera

When visiting New York last year, I developed a new passion: musicals. In the space of a week I saw Chicago, Les Miserables, Spamalot, Rent, and, of course, The Phantom of the Opera. I became fascinated with the story: I have read the book in English (and, kind of, in French); I have four or five filmed versions on DVD; and I went to Melbourne to see the Australian performance. So, the Palais Garnier – the Parisien opera house where the story is set – was high on my to-do list when I arrived in Paris.

Funnily enough, our tour guide was a young French version of Andrew Lloyd Webber – skinny, with thin eyebrows, mascara and a bizarre accent. I had researched the building for a French assignment, so I was fairly familiar with it; we saw Le Grand Escalier (as also seen in Marie Antoinette), the Ice-Lickers (!) foyer and bar, and the auditorium. However, what I (and many other visitors) really wished to see where the underground lake and the incredible backstage.

The Palais Garnier from Google Earth: its BIG

It was the home of opera in Paris from the 1870’s until the late 1980’s, when a monstrosity was built at Bastille. As you can see above, it is B I G. It swallows an entire block – however, only a fraction of that is taken up by the actual auditorium. To get an idea of what I mean, look at a model of the building (on display, apparently, at the Musee d’Orsay):

Model of the Palais Garnier

Compare the T I N Y auditorium, in the middle (red and gold) with the size of the stage: the stage area is as deep, and three times as high as the auditorium. A lot of space is taken up by the Grand Escalier, and the ‘intermission’ halls (the ‘Ice Lickers’ bar and foyer). The ‘lake’ is apparently under the stage. I’ve seen photos of the area, but it is closed, even to performers and technicians.

Main entrance, which faces towards the South

Tourists don’t enter from the main entrance (above); they go around the side, and enter via the ‘Subscribers Entrance’ – the private entrance of the rich.

Side entrance (used for tours) - the green dome is above where the auditorium is.

Of course, I took an incredibly huge amount of photos on the inside. They have a yellow cast due to the light. The Subscribers Lounge is directly underneath the auditorium.

Subscribers Lounge

Subscribers Lounge

Floor of the Subscribers Lounge

The cieling rose of the Subscribers Lounge

Underneath the Grand Escalier

The Grand Escalier

From the Subscribers Lounge, we moved to the Grand Escalier, a very famous staircase. It is the foyer of the opera house, a place where the 19th century aristocracy went to see and be seen. It has been used in several films (especially adaptations of Phantom of the Opera), most recently Marie Antoinette (a little ironic, as she was very much beheaded before the Palais Garnier was built).

Scene from Marie Antoinette (with Kirsten Dunst) on the Grand Escalier

Moving up to the Grand Escalier

Grand Escalier

Looking up, in the Grand Escalier

The parents of this little girl took photos of her for a good ten minutes, so no hope of a clear shot of the stairs.

Balconies overlooking Grand Escalier

Cieling of Grand Escalier

A Wikipedia image of the Escalier just so you can appreciate the size and the opulence.

Seriously. But there is more to come.

The Auditorium

The opera house was commissioned after the bloody revolutions, by Napoleon III apparently, so the use of ‘Royal Blue’ (as was traditional in auditoriums back then) was out; so Eugienie, his wife, demanded an Italian style red and gold auditorium. This is the opera house which makes the Princess Theatre back in Melbourne look like the Festival Centre in terms of beauty.

Wikipedia image of the Palais Garnier Auditorium

Did I say the Palais Garnier was big? Well, remember how tiny the auditorium is in comparison to the rest of the opera house, and then look at the size of the auditorium in this pic. Damn.

I can assure you it is as opulent and well kept as it seems – apparently it underwent a major restoration a few years ago. But everything is still original.

The Phantoms Chadelier

This is the famous chandelier, which is still the original. It started out as a gas-light, and was converted to electricity in the 30s, I believe. The painting around the chandelier is from the 1970’s. Sorry, didn’t like it. Apparently noone else does either. This photo doesn’t show the scale of the thing – again, compare with the Wikipedia image above.

Balconies

Detail of plasterwork

Stalls and balconies near stage

The curtain (which is a painted canvas)

Balconies

(the box in the bottom left is the infamous ‘Box 5′ from the Gaston Leroux story).

The ‘Ice Lickers’ Foyer and Bar

This refers to the bar for intermission. I forget the French name, but ‘ice licker’ is the unfortunate translation, according to my Lloyd-Webber-esque guide.

These rooms – a circular bar, a long palisade, and a large foyer – can be seen to the left of the grand escalier in the model picture above. Huge, of course. And ridiculously opulent. I haven’t seen such overdone opulence since visiting Potsdam (near Berlin – the palaces at Potsdam aren’t much older than the Palais Garnier).

Dome of the bar, depicting Bacchus having a party

Statues and decorations in the bar

Beautiful entranceway

The intermission foyer, more amazing in real life.

This foyer runs across the front (southern side, as seen in the photos with Astro Boy). It can be seen to the right in the model cutaway above. It is magnificient.

Decorations in the foyer

Decorations in the foyer

And that was the last I saw.

I really did want to see the incredible stage, or the incredible underground vaults. Our guide mentioned them – he said the water is emptied and the vaults cleaned every two years – but they have not been accessible by anyone. The Palais Garnier coordinators should consider an ‘ultimate’ tour: I’d pay well more to see the vaults, the rehearsal spaces, the huge dance room behind the stage, the pulley systems which control the sets. Previously, the opera house housed the opera: dancers, stars, technicians, artists all lived within it’s walls (!). With the tour you only see a tiny percentage of the opera: after my research, I would kill to see backstage and learn more about the operation of the theatre. Its history is far more incredible than we saw on the teeny tiny tour.

The Good: The view from Sacre-Coeur; wonderful Couch-hosts, particuarly Rachel in Limoges; breaking open a pack of Fru-chocs when I got back.

The Bad: taking one pair of trousers for a 7 day trip, and not having a change of clothes after being stuck in freezing rain.

The Ugly: Do I look like a touristic victim? Why do all the bloody oppourtunists, beggars, scam artists and generally sketchy guys approach me  E V E R Y W H E R E  I go in Paris? Dude, I so could tell you were following me. And Other-Dude, I do not want your crappy embroidery-thread bracelets / glowing Eiffel Tour / imitation designer bags / chestnuts roasted on a trash can. Regardez! La police vient ! Now, G O   A W A Y!

For Toussaint vacation – 10 glorious days of no work – I was determined to go somewhere. The thought of camping out in my bedroom for those days was unbearable. I decided to risk financial risk a couple of weeks ago and bought a few TGV (French bullet train) tickets to Limoges and Paris: Limoges because, apparently, it has a big Halloween festival, and Paris because it’s on the way to Limoges.

Well, Limoges hasn’t had a huge halloween festival since the late 90’s (! – clearly the websites haven’t caught up with that – according to About.com, 40-50,000 people flock to Limoges every year for Halloween. Um, not really.) But the city’s quite lovely, I got to visit a World War II site at Oradour-sur-Glane, and I got to learn all about porcelaine. And I got to stay with the best couch-host (http://www.couchsurfing.com) ever.

Paris was Paris. Overpriced, crowded and full of the most beautiful buildings in the world. I’ve been before, of course, so this time around my focus was on walking around and seeing things I’d dismissed last time, or simply ran out of time to do. Also, I did everything I could that was free, due to my current poverty. Seriously, I was on 10euro a day ($20), which is miserable in a city when the cheapest lunch you can find is 4,50e ($9) for a yiros or a crepe, and admission fees usually range from 6e to 12e.

I have a lot to talk about, so I will work on several blogs over the next few days. Check back if you can.