Paris & Amsterdam Trip 2012 Day 3: From Paris to Amsterdam

Day 1 and Day 2 of the adventure can be found here and here.

The following morning we packed our bags and checked out of the hotel. We took the Metro to Anvers in Montmartre.

The place was heaving with tourists, backpackers, and traders. Traffic was zooming about everywhere. Our confidence of the previous night evaporated as we walked about in bewilderment, first searching for the Sacre Couer to orientate ourselves, and then looking for somewhere to buy some breakfast.

Eventually we found a small but inviting patisserie nestled amidst the madness. As we were both loaded up with bags we decided it was best if only one of us went into the shop, and as the one with the better French I had to step up to the challenge. My husband's only request was that I got him the creamiest, most ludicrous looking pastry I could find. The array of sweet treats in the patisserie was dazzling, and much of it looked excessively creamy. I was spoilt for choice. Eventually my eyes settled on a chocolate eclair, which I deemed good enough for me, and then I spotted the perfect pastry for my husband - a large choux bun with a smaller one on top of it, covered in chocolate sauce, purporting to be a religieuse. I ordered these in my broken French, along with two coffees, and then proceeded out of the shop clutching the two little cardboard cups, several sachets of sugar (the woman behind the counter obviously thought we must have a sweet tooth), and the paper bag containing our breakfast, my heavy rucksack wobbling on my back, my camera swinging around my neck. I couldn't have looked any more touristy if I'd tried! Well, maybe I could have worn a 'Paris' baseball cap on my head, but thankfully that's not my style!

My husband was delighted at the sight of the religieuse, and was even more pleased when he bit into it and rich chocolate cream oozed out of the middle. My eclair was equally tasty. I'm amazed we didn't spend the rest of the day with chocolate smeared all round our faces. Perhaps the rain washed it all off, for as on the previous days, the miserable drizzle continued to linger.

We considered taking the vernacular railway up to the Sacre Couer, but the queues were long and we hadn't bought Metro tickets that would cover the cost, so we chose to walk up the stairs of the Rue Foyatier. It was hard work with our luggage, but I suppose it was a good way to burn off those cream calories!

The Sacre Couer sits at the highest point in Paris. On a clear day the view must be fantastic, but fog once again sat like a veil over the city and we were unable to drink in much at that point in time, so we turned our attention to the basilica itself.

Like Notre Dame on the previous day, there were tourists absolutely everywhere, although there was much less of a queue to get in. There was also a bit more space to move around inside. There was a mass taking place, which you could join, or otherwise you were free to wander around as long as you didn't take photos or make noise. Of course we respected this, but I did see some excellent photo opportunities that I was disappointed that we had to miss. The art and architecture were simply breathtaking. The fact there was a mass taking place added to the very peaceful and solemn atmosphere. There was some beautiful singing, and I felt my mind instantly ease from the busyness of the city outside. It was also less stressful to wander around than Notre Dame had been as people were much less tightly packed together.

For a few euros you can buy a joint ticket to go up the tower and into the crypt, or just an individual ticket for one or the other. Although we would have loved to have seen the view from the tower, considering both the limited visibility outside and the weight of our bags, we thought it best not to go clambering up spiral stairs and instead opted just to go inside the crypt. This was even more tranquil, especially in the inner chapel, as very few tourists seemed to bother with this element.

Once we were back in the outside world, the fog had cleared enough for us to admire the view. The top of the Eiffel Tower was still hidden, and you couldn't see as far as you can on a clear day (I assume), but we stayed for several minutes gazing at the hundreds of rooftops, and pointing out famous landmarks that we recognised. It seemed to a fine way to finish off our stay in the city.

We then made our way towards the Gare du Nord for our journey north-east, stopping in a boulangerie to buy a couple of scrumptious filled baguettes for our lunch.

Before long we were settling into our comfortable red and purple seats on the Thalys train to Amsterdam. We spent the journey doing puzzles, practising snippets of Dutch from the phrase book we had, looking up places to go in our Lonely Planet guide, and admiring the view as the train zipped through the French countryside and on into Belgium where the sun was shining brightly. I inwardly shook my fist at it for its marked absence in Paris.

It was twilight by the time our train pulled into Amsterdam Centraal, but the sun had clearly been shining all day in Holland too. I hoped it would stay, at least for the next day. Although you don't really need good weather on a city break I have to admit that I was growing desperate for a little sunshine!

Stepping out of the station onto the cobbled pavement, people milling here and there, trams rumbling past, we both felt a little more relaxed. Amsterdam was definitely busy but it just seemed less frantic and more chilled than Paris had been.

We took a tram to the Southern Canal Ring in search of our hotel, which thankfully was very easy to find down a quiet side street off of Vijzelgracht. We walked up to the desk where we were met by a friendly woman. I took a deep breath and said, "Ik heb een reservatie," to which she replied in an explosion of Dutch, grinning broadly. I mumbled my name, hoping that's what she had asked for, and then I started to laugh and quickly explained that I actually knew very little Dutch. She laughed too and immediately switched to impeccable English. Amsterdam is often referred to as a bilingual city, so we knew that speaking in English wouldn't be a problem, but as with attempting to speak French in Paris, we wanted to have a go at Dutch in Amsterdam! We would later discover that if you spoke a bit of Dutch the assumption would be that you could speak a lot of Dutch, which led to some interesting conversations in restaurants!

Our room was on the top floor. It was lovely and spacious, set in the eaves of the roof, with a shuttered dormer window. The decor was an array of bright greens, purples, and pinks, and the inviting large double bed was covered in soft white linen with little sweets on each pillow. The room in Paris had been adequate for our needs, but we were both pleased to now be staying somewhere that felt a little more vibrant and luxurious - and it was the same price for three nights that the room in Paris had been for two nights!

We unpacked and freshened up before heading to the nearby Utrechtestraat in search of one of the Lonely Planet Guide's recommended Indonesian restaurants, Tujuh Maret, where we were lucky enough to nab a table as another couple were leaving. We went for the rijstaffel - 'rice table' or Indonesian Banquet. A selection of tiny bowls was laid out across two food warmers, with the dishes organised in order of hotness. We started eating at the milder end, making our way to the hottest, by which time our taste buds had become accustomed to more spice! There was also lots of rice and some delicious side dishes that unfortunately I can't remember the names of. The meal was very tasty. We'd never tried Indonesian cuisine before but were eager to as Indonesian restaurants to the Dutch are what Indian restaurants are to the British! It was also another type of cuisine for my husband to tick off of his foodie list!

After dinner we took a slow walk back to our hotel via the canals. The arches of the bridges were lit up beautifully, and whilst my husband stopped to take some fancy photography I lent on one of the railings breathing in the still night air, and watching as a barge sailed past. This was relaxation. Paris had been great, but I had a feeling that I was going to like Amsterdam that little bit more.

Photo my own.

November Without NaNoWriMo

In case the title of this post isn't obvious enough, I am not doing NaNoWriMo this year.

Last year was the first time I had ever taken part in it, having thought it about for years but never having the courage to give it a go. And so it was that on 30th November 2011 I submitted 50,000+ words of my comedic fantasy adventure. I was really proud of my achievement. I have the best part of a novel that I have slowly been editing ever since. It's taking much longer than I hoped to complete it,but I am determined to finish it in the foreseeable future. Without the motivation of NaNoWriMo I would never have gotten so far with a novel. I spend a lot more time thinking about writing, than actually writing. And I discovered that having only thirty days to write 50,000 words is an excellent way to get your butt into gear!

I genuinely thought that I could do NaNoWriMo this year, until I was sitting at work during my lunch break at the end of October, my pen hovering over my notebook, open at the vague story plan I'd scribbled out the evening before. I stared at it, realisation slowly dawning on me - there was no way I could possibly write it in a month. Not this year anyway.

Firstly, the subject I had chosen required a significant amount of research before I could begin. Even if I had started writing it on 1st November I would have quickly become frustrated at my lack of knowledge in certain key areas. Unlike my fantasy novel of the previous year, where I felt I could have as much artistic license as I pleased, a hypothetical event in a historical context would need proper research.

Secondly, it dawned on me that it was the end of October. How had that happened? It had only been August the day before! Or so it had felt. I then thought ahead to November itself - two Bonfire Nights, First Aid training, a Fairtrade Fayre, other various church activities, a full-time job in an ever-changing environment, manic domestic and social commitments... Writing 50,000 words in those thirty days was beginning to look impossible. I know some people manage to write their novels despite all the busyness in their lives, but right now I am not capable of handling that pressure.

My SAD seems to be worse, I've had two colds already this autumn, and there is a lot going on that I need to think and pray about. Rather than looking forward to the escape of writing a novel, NaNoWriMo 2012 was suddenly looming over me like another stressful burden.

NaNoWriMo 2012 was not to be for me. But I am still writing. I am taking my notebook to work for when inspiration strikes so I can write during my lunch breaks. I'm working on a short story as a Christmas present to my in-laws. I have also officially become a regular writer for the church magazine. My writing continues, even if I am doing it less than I would like.

I miss those two days a week that I had to write at home, and I would love to have them back, but right now I am finding ways to fit my passion around the rest of my life without that luxury, like the majority of writers have to.

I also now have plenty of time, come what may, to prepare myself for NaNoWriMo 2013!

All the very best to those of you who are doing NaNoWriMo this year. You can do it!

Paris & Amsterdam Trip 2012 Day 2: Exploring the "Most Romantic City in the World"

Part 1 can be found here.

We woke up to another dreary day but we didn't let it dampen our spirits as we headed out to explore the city.

Our hotel was in the Opera District, and after my husband had consulted a map we made our way through a warren of streets towards the Seine, admiring the different shops and cafes dotted around. There was even a man sitting outside one of the cafes, wearing a beret and drinking a glass of red wine. At 9am in the morning. No, I am not joking.

We found a boulangerie near the Louvre where we purchased croissants and coffee for breakfast and went down to the banks of the river to eat them, admiring the view and trying to pretend that it wasn't raining. We then made our way across the Pont des Arts, a footbridge adorned with padlocks, down the road on the other side of the river, and across the Ile de la Cite until we reached Notre Dame. (Aargh, how do you add accents to letters on Blogger? Can't find a feature for it anywhere!)

The cathedral looked just as impressive as it had done when I was 13. With school we had only sailed past it on a boat trip down the Seine so this time I was determined to go inside and look around it properly. However the place was absolutely teeming with tourists. I guess like any major city in the world every season is peak season in Paris, so we shouldn't have been surprised! We joined the queue and eventually we were under the shelter of the grand stone walls. It was crammed with people inside, with more and more continuing to pour in, so that it was impossible to get close enough to anything, so we just strolled around gazing upwards. I often find in historical church buildings that my eyes are automatically drawn upwards anyway, and the ceilings and stained glass windows that you can see are usually the most impressive aspect, masterpieces of architecture and art that they are. Notre Dame is no exception to this rule. It is incredibly beautiful, and the windows, so full of vibrant colour, are of the most wonderful that I have ever seen. It was with some reluctance that we found ourselves back outside but neither of us are terribly at ease with large crowds. I would love to know a quieter time to go and visit it again in the future.

Outside there were even more tourists clamouring around the entrance, so we swiftly headed away towards the comparative tranquillity of the nearby Shakespeare & Company bookshop, a must-see recommended by a friend. It is in a fabulous old building, packed floor to ceiling with books. Downstairs was mostly full of brand new volumes sitting smartly on shelves and tables, from bestselling novels to various academic fodder with intriguing titles. Upstairs felt more olde worlde with ancient books mixed in with more recent publications. Crumbling chairs and softs sofas are scattered about, some tucked in alcoves, all surrounded by books, where you are free to sit and read for minutes or hours as long as you put your chosen book back where you found it. Had I ever studied in Paris this would have easily become a favourite haunt of mine. I would have loved to have stayed all day, but with the equivalent of one full day only left in Paris I had to tear my eyes away from the enticing dusty tomes and continue exploring the city.

The rain had stopped so we kept walking through a mix of quiet, narrow streets and busy main roads teeming with terrifyingly fast cars. They say Britain has the safest roads in the world, which I never believe until I am abroad and crossing the road becomes a game of luck more than a something you should expect to be able to do safely. We soon found ourselves in what appeared to be a university district, judging by a massive bookshop and the little places selling cool geeky merchandise from Studio Ghibli accessories to busts of Star Wars characters. I was tempted to start my Christmas shopping but then remembered that our bags were already bursting to capacity, and that travelling to Amsterdam the next day with extra would be something of a nuisance. So instead we found a little cafe for a croque monsieur. Glorified cheese and ham toastie it may be but I've always wanted to try one, and very tasty it was too.

Then it was more walking. We walked and walked. Along main roads, down passageways, by the river, through parkland. The Eiffel Tower was slowly becoming more and more visible as the morning's fog continued to lift, and it made from some very nice photo opportunities.

By this point we had reached a land of subterranean intrigue that my husband was eager to explore - the Musee des Egouts de Paris - the Parisian Sewers. I know, we're in the alleged most romantic city in the world, and he takes me on a tour of the sewers. Well, we are nothing if not adventurous! And I have to admit that, smelly as they were, I learnt quite a lot down there. Not about poo - ewww! - but about the history of Paris because there is a very good exhibition of how the city was formed and expanded over the centuries, and consequently how the water and sanitation systems have developed with technological advances from Roman rule through to modern times. I even learnt about the Great Flood of Paris in 1910, something I hadn't known about before. I should probably add that although this museum is above the modern sewer system, you are not actually having to wade through anything, or touch anything nasty. It's all clean and safe but it is a bit stinky in places!

After this we decided to continue our underground adventures by braving the Metro! The map was pretty easy to understand as each line had a number. Each line also has a colour, but a few of the colours are annoyingly similar, and without the numbers I would have got confused. The trains themselves were fine but I didn't like that we had to open the doors ourselves by bashing the handle. I prefer the automatic ones on the tube in London. It's like anything I suppose, you know what you're used to, and when you're faced with something different it always seems more intimidating than it actually is!

Anyway, we successfully made our way to Montparnasse where we intended to see the Catacombs. Unfortunately they were closed due to a ventilation problem, so we decided to go for a little walk. This was somewhat hindered by a very loud Confederation Generale du Travail (General Confederation of Labour) protest march taking place. There was music, shouting, and people bearing bright yellow and red banners for miles down the road. We eventually found some sanctuary in the cemetery. Had it been snowing, and had the nearby protest not been taking place, it would have been highly reminiscent of the cemetery scene in Phantom of the Opera. There were a vast number of mauseolea and elegant looking tombs packed closely together, bunches of flowers laid at various spots in memory of loved ones, a little spot of tranquillity away from the hustle and bustle of the city outside.

We took the Metro back across the city as the daylight was beginning to fade, and walked more, stopping to admire churches and grand buildings, window shopping, and people watching. Before too long it was time for dinner. We made our way back to Shakespeare & Company, as round the corner was a little restaurant called Le Ribouldingue, serving traditional French cuisine. My husband had chosen it thanks to an avid search on his mobile for Parisian restaurants serving offal.

The restaurant was small and cosy with a lovely intimate feel, although the very "Frenchness" of the place made us both a little scared. The waitress was incredibly helpful, explaining the menu to us in good English, although I think she was nervous that we may not have entirely understood what the 'specials' were referring to and that we could be in for a shock.

In the end I settled for the butternut squash soup, followed by the duck confit, followed by a chocolate and coffee pudding. My husband is the one who went for the offal, starting with lamb's testicles, followed by veal brain, but finishing with cheese. We also ordered a carafe of wine. Once we had chosen and sat back in our seats both we and the waitress began to relax. We might have been British tourists with a minimal knowledge of French, but we had gone to the restaurant with intention. And once my husband and I were both comfortable with our food choices and had taken a few sips of wine, we didn't feel so odd in the surroundings anymore.

The meal itself was absolutely delicious. I thoroughly enjoyed all of it, and the duck confit knocked the one from the previous evening out of the water. This was French cooking at it's finest (in my limited experience, although the restaurant does have very good reviews online). My husband also enjoyed his and assured me that it was exquisite. I tried the cheese but I was not brave enough to try the offal. He, on the other hand, is a self-proclaimed foodie, and therefore this was apparently an important step in his tasting adventures that he must take, and thankfully he liked it!

After so fine a dinner, feeling merry with wine, we happily walked back to our hotel in the now torrential rain. I was on map reading duty and I am very pleased to say that despite my tipsyness I did not get us lost, hurrah!

We collapsed into bed, feeling as though we had now conquered the city. We were much less scared of everything, felt like we knew which direction was what, and were content that we had seen and tasted some very interesting things!

Photos my own.

Keeping It Up

The weather was gorgeous on Sunday as I sat on Bexhill seafront cheering for my husband as he competed in his first ever race - the Poppy Half Marathon in support of the Royal British Legion. The sky was a clear blue, the sun was shining, and the sea was calm but there was just enough of a nip in the air to remind you that it was definitely autumn.

My husband is now the proud owner of his first medal, a strong sense of achievement, and the motivation to enter more races in the future. I think he's a little bit crazy, but mostly I admire and support him for finding something he enjoys and wants to work at.

I wish I could run well. I wish I could run far. But the only "running" I ever do is "sprinting" through town because I am late for the train/bus/church/doctor's appointment. And I don't exactly relish those unladylike and mildly horrific moments in my life, which render me barely able to breathe or stand. Running is not for me.

Yesterday as I sat my desk at work, I watched the beautiful downland view become distorted by grey clouds and heavy rain. As it grew darker, and the office seemed to grow colder, I thought just how much I did not want to go the gym that evening. If only the weather had been more like it was in sunny Bexhill, I thought to myself. Maybe then I would be up for some exercise. Even though the gym is an artificially lit, uninspiring room full of mechanical machines and bodybuilders and svelte nymphs. What possible bearing can the weather have on that?

It was then that I knew that I had to go. That I had to brave walking in the freezing, lashing rain to get to the leisure centre. That I had to change out of my warm clothes into my gym gear and brace that initial blast of cold from the air con. That I had to work out between strangers who were fitter and more sprightly than me, whatever their age. If I didn't, just because of the weather, then I would risk falling into the trap of not going to the gym all winter. It would be a waste of money, and it would also mean that I'd given up too easily. And I am sick of my SAD enticing me to give up on everything all through the winter. Even though I generally keep going with all the things I've committed to, some things do suffer, and I knew that my gym sessions could easily become the first victim of 2012's Winter Blues onslaught.

No SAD, you have not won...yet. And I am determined that you won't. I will keep going to the gym. I may not run any marathons like my amazing husband, but I will keep up the cross trainer, the bike, the rower, and the weights, while I turn up the volume on my favourite music.

The gym isn't just a workout for my body, but for my brain. I get lots of thinking time in the gym so that when I leave my not only do I feel physically invigorated, but my head is clearer and I tend to sleep better, helping me to be a little more prepared for what the Winter Blues throw at me next.

My husband and his fellow competitors were blessed with a beautiful day for the Poppy Half. But had the weather been like it was the following day, they would have still run out, whether for personal achievement or just because they love running. If they can do that, I can keep going to the gym, come rain or shine, for personal achievement and just because I love the space it gives me in my head.

The above video is by Keane for 'Sovereign Light Cafe', filmed on Bexhill seafront. We got our pre-race teas from the cafe itself :) It's also a nice feel good tune, so thought I would share it.

Paris & Amsterdam Trip Day 1: Newhaven to Paris

Last month, courtesy of a generous tax refund, my husband and I took a short holiday to Paris and Amsterdam. We've both needed a holiday for a little while, and as we don't currently have a car we set our sights on Europe for this year's adventure seeing as public transport over there seems to be altogether cheaper and better connected.

So because it was a fab little adventure, I wanted to share it on my blog over a selection of posts starting, of course, at the beginning:

We woke bright and early to get the train down to Newhaven where we hopped on the ferry to Dieppe. The sky was grey and gloomy and it was drizzling miserably. Just the send off one needs for a trip abroad, although we left under the knowledge that this kind of weather front would most likely be dominating northern France and Holland as well. That's what you get for holidaying in October.

Feeling bleurgh

Anyway despite the fact it was somewhat breezy the sea was only slightly choppy. I enjoy travelling by ferry, and I've sailed in very stormy conditions before and never once been ill so I knew I would be fine. Except this time I wasn't. I felt incredibly nauseous for the entire four hour journey. I tried everything from standing out on deck in the chilly wind and rain to sucking on sweets to wearing those stupid travel bands - nothing worked.

Although I wasn't actually sick at any point it was a great relief to finally arrive in Dieppe where the rain was coming down in buckets. Thankfully my sea sickness faded as we battled through the hostile weather under the shelter of my new umbrella that the wind kept trying to steal, to the town centre in search of a cafe to hide in, as we still had a couple of hours before the next leg of our journey.

Despite the foul weather we were still able to admire Dieppe's picturesque historical buildings. The town was lovely and quiet and we were able to let the remaining elements of tension disappear because we were finally on holiday, and come rain or shine we were going to enjoy it!

We were innocently wandering across the road at a pedestrian crossing when a musical yet alarming sound screeched into our ears. Both unsure of French crossings we thought that the traffic lights were emitting some strange alert but then we turned to see a fire engine bombing up the road towards us. We quickly got to the other side and watched, bemused, as this vaguely farcical yet serious sight tunefully zoomed past us. Because I work for the emergency services these bizarre sirens became a fascination of mine for the remainder of our trip, as we heard them frequently in Paris. My favourite comedian, Bill Bailey, describes it so well. We were in fits re-watching this when we returned home:

Anyway, after locating the station we found a nearby cafe and dived in for a coffee.* I nervously tried out my GCSE level French and realised that I remembered more than I thought, and that I could speak it correctly enough to be understood, huzzah!

Shortly after this we went back to the station to catch our train to Rouen, a rumbling monster complete with 80s style curtains at the window, and a slightly odd conductor who, whilst very jolly, would make loud train noises at random intervals throughout the journey. We sat back to admire the beautiful Normandy countryside. Stretches of fields, and numerous large farmhouses with shuttered windows flashed before us, making me nostalgic for my school French Exchange trips. I thought of Marie, who I had exchanged with, and the mildly terrifying but fascinating introduction to French life her family had given me. It was actually on one of these exchanges, when I was 13, that I first went on a trip to Paris, and I remember that I was distinctly unimpressed with this alleged "most romantic city in the world." I had found it grey and dull. And it was this that had made me want to return as an adult, convinced that I would appreciate it so much more through mature eyes and without being forced to visit the places my school teachers deemed the most interesting (translate: boring). This desire for me, combined with my husband's new interest in French cookery, helped us select Paris as one of our destinations for this holiday.

By the time we boarded our train from Rouen to Paris it was getting dark so there was far less to see but it wasn't too long before the bright lights of the capital city were before us and we alighted at St Lazare.

By this point we were both tired and hungry, and although we were glad to have finally arrived in Paris, we were a little overwhelmed by how busy the pavements and roads were. In essence it was just like London, but cars were driving on the other side of the road and we didn't know exactly where we were in relation to our hotel.

Clinging to each other, we got our bearings, and made our way through the busy streets. Even though all the shops were now closed there were still people milling about everywhere. It was with great relief that we found our hotel, a small place tucked away down a side street. My husband, who had been building up to this moment having never spoken French before, burst through the doors and bellowed, "J'ai une reservation!" causing the man seated behind the desk to leap up in surprise.

I nudged him for forgetting to say, "Bonsoir" first, but the man didn't seem to mind, and handed us our key card with a polite smile.

Our room was small but clean, comfy, and just right for what we needed. We quickly offloaded our luggage, freshened up, and then made our way back onto the busy streets in search of a restaurant.

We walked along a street of eateries, determined to find somewhere French, not somewhere British or American or Italian - there were a considerable number of recognisable chains, although as we were in a capital city I guess we shouldn't really have been surprised.

We eventually found a reasonable looking place that was busy enough to show it wasn't terrible yet quiet enough to hear ourselves think. We were able to practise more of our broken French, and let our brains stop whirring so we could plan our next day's excursions. After our delicious meals - duck confit for me, and steak tartare for him - we went for a wander along the streets, feeling much calmer once again and ready to face the rest of our trip.

We slept well that night ready for a big day of exploring ahead of us.

*I know I frequently blabber on about not being able to drink coffee. As a general rule this is true, but to be perfectly frank, the rest of Europe just has no idea how to make good tea, so when in Rome...