The Giant Oat

I woke this morning to the bluest, most lovely sky I have seen in a long time. I thought I had slept way in to the morning, but it was only nine ! I did what I am best at doing this vacation: I slept some more.

After a lunch with my cousin, I met a fellow named Peter on the subway. Peter is from Vietnam-America, and is an older gentleman. We walked together for a bit and chatted, adn I ran into Fr. Borys from Ukraine-America, with whom I worked many summers ago in Ukraine. Small world, eh? With my new friend and bumping into an old one on the street, I felt I was in the very right place.

I headed for the Vatican Museum, where I had my first really good experience with an audio guide. I learned a lot about the art and artefacts in the museum, especially the Sistine Chapel. the Chapel, while impressive (the commentary kept saying this is the best work of art in our history…which I failed to see), did not have the sacred feeling I felt at Notre Dame, or at Angkor Wat, or at the Pecherska Lavra. Perhaps it was all the tourists, or the guards shushing us. Lucky for me, it is still low season, and the halls were not packed. When I left the museum, I took a wrong turn, but followed the wall, not realizing that it went ALL the way around the Vatican, practically. I enjoyed the lost walk, though, especially the smells of palm trees and sweet flowers and grasses. When I rounded my way around to St. Peter,s square, I was just in time for a mass with the Pope in commemmoration of John Paul II,s death.

 I was moved to tears, inexplicably, as I watched two young girls present the gifts to the Pope. I am not a pope fanatic or anything. Actually, I felt supreme loneliness watching the liturgy unfold. Like I didn,t really belong there, among my fellow Catholics. I didn;t belong there or anywhere, I felt. Very strange and lonely it was. It is hard to be lonely among so many people.

What I have been seeing in my mind has been just as interesting: my dreams have been vivid, velvety, beautiful, featuring a more vibrant me than I;ve seen in a while. They also feature friends from home I;ve been thnking of often. Last night, a young boy was combing my hair and washing my face for me, and it was beautiful. I felt like a figure in a Degas painting. Velvety red.

They aren;t all so lovely, though. Last week, I dreamed of a lady carrying a baby through airport security, and said she had to change her baby,s diaper. I knew she was hiding a bomb in the diaper and alerted the police about it. So…exploding babies, and boys combing my hair. Interesting.

 I am off to Assissi tomorrow. This one is for you, Kim.

I am in Rome. A full day of flying, starting with arriving at the airport far too early. I ate a REAL English Muffin with butter and jam, which used to be my favourite thing as a kid. The muffins here are much bigger than the wonderbread variety sold at home.

I haven,t much to say here about Rome yet. I arrived, got on the train, and am now with my cousin. I have yet to find a place to stay, and it is already dark and raining to boot. Tomorrow I will head off in the least rainy direction. I have not yet bought a new sim card for my phone, for those of you wanting to get in touch. Will do so tomorrow.

The hostel search begins…

After deciding on my plans yesterday, I was left with a bonus afternoon in London. After fulfilling my objective of eating fish and chips (with beer, in a park), my superfluously generous host took me out to the theatre to complete my London experience. I do not have the name of the play with me, but it was about five Irish sisters, their priest-turned-shaman-ish brother, and one son. Needless to say, it was easy to draw parallells to my own sisterly dynamics.  The orderly one, the romantic one, the one who does all the work, the lunatic… The Old Vic was a beautiful theatre, our seats were supreme, and I had a splendid time.

One last night in London, and I was off for Rome. I was worried that a certain American President,s arrival would throw my plans off, but all went well. He seems to be following me around. He was in my home town just before I left. I won;t be surprised to see him in Athens.

Well, I’ve spent the last gruelling two and a half hours in this internet cafe having my heart ripped out by the sappiest songs all about loneliness and love.

 BUT I did manage to make a decision (yay!) and am heading for Italy. A quick stop in Rome to drop off a pile of stuff that I don’t ‘need to carry around with me, and then I’ll be headed south. I plan not to wear my longjohns again. They’ve been on me since I arrived in London.

My unsuspecting cousin will hopefully be able to meet me for a bit tomorrow. This is the first leg of total solo and blind flying travel, heading into the South of Italy, no less. I’m scared in a very excited kind of way. HOpefully internet connections will be easier to find there!

And tonight, one more blesssed night in beautiful London with the loveliest Sam of all time.

I would suggest that an internet cafe is not the place to be playing songs like Lean on Me and What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?. I’m bloody well teared up in decidedly unemotional London. Actually, to be fair, I’ve noticed a lot of warmth and friendliness in genereal amongst Londoners. But still, I think crying in public might be crossing the line.

 I am supposed to be finding my way out of London, but it’s a bit difficult. First, finding internet cafes has proven to be a challenge. Second, I just plain like it here. It’s a cloudy day today, though, which helps me with the moving on.

 I’ve been really really lucky here in London. The sun has been warm and calming. My host and his roommate have been fabulously hospitable, showing me the town, lending compasses, maps, advice, time and drink.

I’ve eaten more meat here than I have in a very long while. We ate at an award winning gastropub last night, in our neighbourhood (I’ve moved myself in, I suppose), called the Garrison Pub, or Garrison House. There are many lovely pubs, restaurants and cafes to eat at, and for less than I would have expected in London.

I’m now in the process of deciding where to go next. Sicily, Sardinia and South France are current contenders. I tear myself away from London reluctantly, but know I will return.

Snippets of where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to (time’s running short so I need to hurry it up!):

Borough market on Saturday: lovely, tasty, likely a bit touristy market

Walking down the street I experienced dark clouds, light rain, and bright sun all at the same time. It impressed me and reminded me of days in Ireland and Halifax. Later in the day a little hail storm added itself to the mix.

I’m staying in an area called London Bridge. It used to be a warehouse area and is now turning around. Apparently everyone thinks that Tower Bridge is London Bridge, but it’s not. London Bridge is actually rather plain and I@m happy to report that it is not falling down.

I’m terribly impressed by London’s architecture…especially the new. It has such character and doesn’t clash with the old, which is a major feat. I’ve never noticed buildings as much as I have here. I will need to read up on it.

I’ve visited the National Gallery twice, and would make it a round third if I wasn’t leaving tomorrow. It is a beautiful gallery and somehow more appealing to me than the Louvre was. Perhaps it was less overwhelming. The collection of impressionist paintings is especially lovely.

Trafalgar Square, Picadilly Circus, Big Ben, the Queen’s front lawn and palace, as well as a good dose of the financial district were all visited by me today, some on purpose and some by accident.

I was delighted to sit down on green grass, look at fully bloomed daffodils, and watch others sprawl in the typical spring and summer fashion. It’s been warm, finally, and the season has changed for me in more ways than one.

There’s a feeling of familiarity here that I can’t pinpoint, but I would certainly live here if I had the opportunity. In some ways it feels like a much bigger, grander, exciting version of my Canadian city, which was built largely under British influence.

I’m thoroughly enjoying the banter and drinks with new friends here as well. My mind is waking up in a few ways, and it’s refreshing. Like a good spring cleaning, the windows of my brain are opened adn the dust is flying out while sweet new warm smells waft in.

Sorry for the randomness of this post, but along with all the lovely London experiences I’ve had, I’ve also been seriously lacking in sleep.

I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow, as I’m waitng to see where I can get the best flight deal to.

My trip from Paris to London was eventful. First, I missed the bus, because i failed to properly read all of my information. While the bus ticket OFFICE is located at St. Germain and St. Jacques, the actual bus STATION is actually outside of Paris!

 I eventually did make it on an afternoon bus, and for a mere 45 euro I was crossing the French countryside and into England. I found the French countryside flat and rather unremarkable. I had a brief moment of clausterphobic pannic when my bus inserted itself into a metal container, not unlike a shipping container, which would then zip us under the English Channel and deliver us to the other side a half hour later.

Im a lot too tired to get into all the specifics, but I found England to be immediately pleasant, lovely, and familiar. Sheep on rolling hills also helped.

That evening, my friend Sam and I joined some of his friends for a birthday outing including a pub, a club, and a houseparty.

Saturday morning, though beautifully sunny, was spent in the densest of fogs.

Another cold day in Paris, but today was full of interesting things, including a GIANT PLATE of CHEESE for dinner!

The day began, of course, with a sprained ankle, but after a few anti-inflammatories and the magic of frozen perogies, I set out again and headed for the Louvre. I spent five or so hours there, getting lost and stumbling upon such things as the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa, etc. I found the Appartements de Napoleon interesting (he never actually lived there, though). I especially liked the French sculptures, and the horses in particular.

I have a newfound appreciation for anyone who can remember the names of artists, art works, places, street names… I can’t remember any of those. I hope it doesn’t bother you too much.

I also enjoyed the Italian sculptures, and saw a few of Michaelangelo’s works. It’s rather humbling to think he was just 28 when he was commissioned to paint the Sistine Chapel. Really makes me wonder what the heck I”m doing with my life.

From the Louvre, I moved on to Notre Dame de Paris. This church now joins my very short list of places on earth which I’ve felt to be divine. The others are St. Elias in Brampton (at Vespers and Easter morning), the Pecherska Lavra in Kiev, Ukraine, and the grand temple (Wat) at Angkor, in Cambodia. At Notre Dame, the first thing that sprang to mind as I entered the main part of the church was “Oh my God!”, and then the second thing was guilt for using the Lord’s name in vain, tisk tisk.

I then wandered about the Latin Quarter in search of a cheese plate recommended by my sister. I eventually just happened upon the street and the cheese shop itself. It’s called La Fromagerie 31, and it is at 31 Rue de La Seine. I took a photo so I’d remember the name.

I had a plate of seven cheeses, and was only able to eat half of it. I missed my typical dinner companion who would usually eat the other half. The cheeses were very tasty. Laura, if you’re reading this, I want you to know that I was fully aware that FitDay would score that dinner way off the charts!

I made my way home on the subway and caught my first glimpse of the city of lights in its best form…at night! The Eiffel Tower (which I have yet to climb) was all lit up and sparkling beautifully, which apparently it does for five minutes on the hour in the evenings.

It has been very cold here, but I look forward to London on Friday, where I expect it will be cold still, but where friends and pints and revellry await and will be sure to warm me!

I’ve been trying to attach photos but can’t seem to get the hang of it. Maybe eventually…

Paris is the most fashionable place on earth. Before I left on my trip, which aside from this first stop in Paris will be largely backpacking style, I thought I wouldn’t want to be shlepping around Paris in my hiking boots, so I’d better bring a nicer pair of shoes too.

I was wearing my nice pair of shoes (still sensible flats, but leather and nice), all dressed and ready to go to the Louvre this morning, when I turned my ankle walking down the stairs. Not cobble stones, not a chase by a mugger, nothing exciting or exceptional…just plain walking down the stairs.

Had I been wearing my ankle brace, which requires big fat shoes, like my hikers, I would have been okay. But I wanted to look as good as possible among the locals. I’m already not made up, not perfumed, and decidedly not haute couture (even the pan handlers on the street are wearing leather jackets, nice watches, lovely bags, etc.). In fact, I wrote a whole thing in my journal yesterday about how well dressed the Roma people (that’s gypsies, for you non PC-ers) are in Paris. So my vanity of wanting to dress nicely led to me sitting in the living room, foot elevated, with a bag of perogies bringing down the swelling. The polish lady I’m staying with didn’t have frozen peas, an ice pack, or even ice cubes.

I’ve passed a most marvellous day in Paris, speaking exclusively French, and I must chalk it up to the fact that I began my day with blue cheese and a croissant. Actually, I began the day by sleeping in, simply because I can. THEN I ate the cheese.

Despite the cold weather, I set out for a full day of walking about. My first stop was the Petit Palais’ free permanent collection. It was bite sized, and just right for my attention span. The building itself is impressive, with it’s huge and ornate doors, beautiful gardens and frescoes. Here, though, I learned once again of my low tolerance for guide books and other general information. Somehow, reading all about the artist, or the history of the place, doesn’t really add to my experience when I’m taking in beauty. Even on the streets, it seems every corner, obelisk, bridge and park has some historical significance. I’d have my nose in the book the whole time trying to keep up if I needed to read about it all!

One thing, the first, really, to move me was a sculpture in the Petit Palais called “Ugolin.” The knuckles and toes on this angry fellow had so much tension that it actually made me feel like I ought to recoil.

I moved on to Montmartre and found my favourite bit of Paris, so far. The place has a real character of its own, not to mention a very impressive church (Sacre-Coeur). I don’t know why, but churches here have a real spirit, like they are living beings themselves, that I find lacking at home. The view from the church out onto the city is amazing, and I managed to enjoy it, despite the large group of tourists singing that “ay ay ay ay….” Mexican song right outside the doors.

In the evening, I enjoyed an “Africain” hot chocolate, i.e. a melted pure chocolate “drink”, and very thick. I sat by the octagonal fountain at the Jardin Tullieres, and was enjoying the serentity of the sun set when a half Marseillaise, half Algerian fellow made himself comfortable beside me. We chatted for a full half hour, at least, all in French I’m proud to say. He found my Canadian accent amusing. It was a nice encounter with a pseudo-local. The first of many, I hope. I heeded the advice of a friend to “trust no one” (wink) and left before he could issue a dinner invitation and just after he felt my bicep when I told him I play soccer (???).

I had a few interesting interactions with phone store clerks, again all in my Quebecois French. They seeemed amused but still friendly with me.

I’m off to bed feeling like I’ve spent a very good day indeed in Paris. Tomorrow: the Louvre and the Musee D’Orsay, if all goes well!