26/09/2010

Y.M.C.A

Thursday 23rd September

After the grandeur of Bordeaux and the old town charm of La Rochelle, Montpellier provided us with a perhaps more authentic French experience. Though slightly rough around the edges – exemplified by a rather grotty train station and the joyless, budget hotel-lined street that connects it to the city centre – it had plenty of energy and history to keep us interested.

One initial hurdle to overcome was our choice of accommodation. While we’d opted for cheap hotels on our previous stopovers, this time we’d reserved a room at the auberge de jeunesse on the northern edge of the historic centre. Though conveniently located, it was inconveniently shut when we arrived to check in at 1pm. It seems the staff here were not going to let the needs of a couple of weary travellers stand in the way of their early afternoon siesta so we were forced to seek refuge with our luggage in a local café while we awaited their return. Things went rather more smoothly after that, though we’d probably been a little spoilt by our earlier hotel experiences and weren’t especially enamoured by the long trek to the nearest shower facilities and public toilet strength light bulbs when we had to get up at the crack of dawn the next morning…

Like La Rochelle, the streets of the old town were mazy and narrow, but there seemed to be a younger, edgier vibe to the shops and cafes that lined them. At night, illuminated lanterns brought a whole new atmosphere to the place and we stopped off at a cosy tapas bar for a superb value cheese plate. The Montpellier crowd felt like it was comprised mostly of students and backpackers but the only person who made any real effort to engage us in conversation was a 20-something German man who, after I had told him where I was from, promptly proceeded to inform us of how much he disliked British “people, accents and culture”. For some reason, he still seemed very keen to talk to us (perhaps I didn’t fit the stereotype) but bearing in mind our early start, we decided to make a swift exit stage left…

Jonny

Red Red Wine

 Saturday 25th September

The eponymous heart of viticultural France, Bordeaux is definitely worth more than a good (cheap) glass of vin rouge.  We arrived with few preconceptions and came away much enriched. Stepping off the train, initial impressions are of a hot, crowded city, with too many dogs and their random bowel movements. However, upon closer inspection we found it quite a cool place, a mixture of grand, pedestrianised boulevards and narrow backstreets set back from the large, tidal Garrone river.

On our second day there the skies turned grey with rain so we took shelter in the city’s two main galleries. The Musee des Beaux-Arts is a nicely proportioned museum filled with a mixture of Euorpean artists’ works dating from around the Renaissance period to the present day. Some large-scale works from Bordellaise-locals from the mid-nineteenth century provided an interesting snapshot of the river trade and the expansion of the city. The persistent drizzle scuppered our walk to the Musee du vin so we ventured into the Musee d’art Contemporain de Bordeaux or CAPC. This modern art gallery was a very impressive space. Once Laine’s Warehouse, a bustling depot for spice traders and other exotic goods such as coffee and sugar in the C 19th, it was acquired by the city in 1973 and has since been a cultural centre for arte moderne. We were really impressed by a temporary exhibition by a contemporary American multi-media artist Jim Shaw. It was quite a surprise to see such an array of large-scale works that explore the darker side of American culture, in particular religious cults, mass consumerism, the culture of celebrity, and the corruption of power and politics portrayed via cyclical comic-type scenes. An array of religious pamphlets and record covers and gigantic cloth paintings of surreal dream-like images together created a bizarre yet amusing American utopia.

Holly

23/09/2010

By the sea

Thursday 16th September


For a few hours I thought that my residing memory of La Rochelle was going to be the moment when my beloved digital camera slipped in filmic slow motion from my (butter) fingers and straight into a rock pool on the coastal town’s principle beach. Fortunately, there were so many delights to behold here that I soon managed to put the shockingly ill-timed death of my trusty 4 mega pixel Exilim to the back of my mind.

The town, not quite a city, is a curious mix of old and new. The train station, whose grand façade wouldn’t look out of place in Paris, is immediately counterpointed by
its surrounding area, which is populated by modern office blocks and industrial facilities serving the harbour. But less than minutes’ walk from there, a pair of opposing lighthouses and the three famous stone towers that formerly acted as gateways into the town announce the start of historical La Rochelle, and this is where the you would want to spend most of your time as a tourist.

Set back from the harbour, the old town is a network of lanes and passageways, a world away from the bright boulevards of the capital. Occasionally, streets converge at little squares where tourists and locals alike gather for an early morning coffee or lunchtime snack. Our favourite people-watching experience was in the Place de Marche, a market square that teems with life every morning as stallholders and hungry shoppers exchange banter and fresh produce. Vast displays of fruit, vegetables, cured meats, cheese and seafood dominate and we wondered how shoppers could possibly choose between so many counters seemingly offering exactly the same goods. Perhaps it comes down to the vendors and who has the biggest saucisson…

A long stretch of bars, restaurants and cafes wraps itself around the far side of the harbour and when it came to the evening we were overwhelmed by the choice of potential dining establishments. A few were inevitably tourist-y but most provided excellent value with “price fixe” menus, offering three courses for around 15 Euros. After an hour of typical indecision we settled on a quaint little fish and seafood place called Bar Comedie, which served us a delicious meal that included a lovely buttery casserole of white fish and muscles and an enormous seafood platter that required some serious manual labour to de-shell the langoustines, prawns and shrimps.

Sight-seeing wise, there is plenty to occupy the casual tourist and dedicated historian alike. The three stone towers by the harbour each have museums inside and are worth visiting if only to read the graffiti inscribed in the inner walls from ancient mariners captured and held in the prison here. There are also some spectacular views to behold from the top of the Tour La Chaine, revealing a town of terracotta tile rooftops that you would never imagine from the cream stone buildings below. We would also recommend a trip to the Natural History Museum, which contains a vast collection of species both current and extinct displayed beautifully in glass cabinets. Unlike its London equivalent, it wasn’t overrun by hyper-active school children and tourists, and they even had a kiwi…

Jonny

20/09/2010

Paris is burning

14th September 2010

Since my parents had the ingenious foresight to buy a small but fully functional one-bedroom apartment in the sleepy suburb of Colombes almost ten years ago, Paris has become something of a home from home for me. Occasionally, other cities have threatened to topple it from its position as my all time number one, but each time I come here it’s quickly reaffirmed as the best. This time, we’re using it as a base from which to explore other parts of Europe before we embark on our big adventure in Kiwiland in October.

Summer doesn’t appear to have ended here. The temperature hovers around 22 or 23 degrees and the skies are a brilliant blue, almost completely cloudless. There are some signs of the impending autumn decay though. Crackling leaves line the grand boulevards and those still clinging to the trees that line the Seine are browning around the edges. And stalls with roasting chestnuts hint at even greater pleasures at Christmas… It’s a great time of year to be here.

We’ve both done the big touristy stuff before so the priority this time is to explore more off the beaten track. One little expedition leads us south west to the final stop on ligne 10, Boulogne Pont de St Cloud. In London, the end of a Tube line would be deep into the Home Counties but in the more condensed urban sprawl of Paris, we are no more than 90 minutes’ pacey walk from Trocadero and the Tour Eiffel. Our purpose here is to visit the little known Albert Khan gardens, a lovingly landscaped park inspired by the founder’s visits to far flung parts of the globe. In one garden, a series of ponds, waterfalls and bridges combine to evoke Japan, while another’s impossibly blue spruces suggest colder, Northern European forests. Later, we take a walk through Paris’s own secret garden, the vast Bois de Boulogne, which stretches right the way up the inner city’s western edge. Once a magnet for the seedier elements of Parisian life, the “wood” is now a haven for all of those who crave a bit of a wild, untamed countryside in the heart of the city.

A day on, and we stumble upon a secluded triangular square (if such a thing is possible) on the Isle de Paris, which momentarily transports us to some picturesque market town in the Dordogne or Loire. A few office escapees sit on benches, eating sandwiches or reading a paper, while the couple of cafe bars that have been brave enough to set up shop in such an un-touristy spot do thriving lunchtime business. Later, we brave the hour-long queues at Saint-Chapelle to marvel at the painstakingly crafted stained glass windows that decorate Paris’s oldest church. This really should be near the top of any Paris holiday-maker’s hit list – it knocks Notre Dame out of the water.

So, two days in and I already feel a world away from the stresses of boxing and packing that preceded our departure from England. And it feels great to be discovering brand new things in a city I felt I knew so well. Tomorrow we head south to La Rochelle for a very different French experience. Allons-y!


Jonny

12/09/2010

He’s leaving home

Sunday 12th September

As I counted down the days until my departure from the UK, the excitement I felt about my forthcoming adventures in Europe and, eventually, New Zealand was inevitably tempered by sadness towards the things I would be leaving behind. In these early days, it’s hard to know what I’ll miss most about the UK, England and London specifically. But, just for the hell of it, I’m going to make a list of the things I think I will. And in a while I’ll tell you if I was right or not…

Family, friends – obviously. Pubs. Pints. Phone boxes (the classic red ones, and maybe those cool black ones that pop up in Westminster – not those tacky new budget TARDIS versions). The Guardian. The music press, apart from Q. The BBC. Fish ‘n’ chips. Match of the Day. London buses, when they turn up. Early evening walks through Regents Park. Maida Vale – the place I told everyone I lived when it was actually the slightly grittier Maida Hill. The shopkeepers that knew me. The staff in the café near work who knew what “the usual” was. The diversity of people and colours and accents. Sheffield United and trips up north on East Midlands Trains (particularly the free biscuits in first class). Gigs. Culture on your doorstep. Walking across the Thames, a different experience from every bridge. A full English. The delight when a full English came with hash browns. The sense of humour. Rainy autumn days (viewed from the comfort of your living room). 6 Music. Five Live. The variety of cuisines. The handful of independent record shops that are left. The absurdity of so much of the politics.

I’m sure there are more. But I guess I’ll find out about them when I miss them. For the moment, I’m just excited about the new things I’m going to discover on my travels with Ms Miller. And to be honest, I don’t feel like I’ve really left home, just that I’m embarking on a rather lengthy holiday… and who wants to go home when they’re on holiday?

Jonny