Paris in July - Memories 3

Before we left Australia for the UK in '87, my Dad said we should try to do one of two things in Paris.... go to Moulin Rouge, or dine on the Seine courtesy of des Bateaux Mouches.  I cant remember why we chose the river, but we did and here's the proof. 

I have no recollection of what we wore (clearly I've been wearing black for a while) but I know we were very cold when the cruise finished and we were staggering out to find a taxi home.  I had a big coat but my husband was braving the Paris winter in his shirt and Reefer jacket. Somehow we negotiated the intersection of Pont des Invalides without being run over and I remember Peter confidently stepping out onto the road and flagging down a taxi;  we had had so much to drink that its a miracle we even remembered our address, and I know the taxi driver thought we were crazy tourists.  Which we were.  We had so much fun that night and it always made us laugh to remember.

Paris in July - Memories 2

Finally found the album from Paris and remembered immediately how it rained for most of our short time in Europe, Paris being absolutely no exception.  Our son was warmly dressed and undoubtedly the most comfortable since he was being pushed around in an umbrella stroller complete with sheepskin and all-encompassing weatherproof cover (no wonder he doesn't remember anything!!).  Of course he was only 6 months old......... I know, what were we thinking??? 

One day we walked all over the city and aimed to go up the Eiffel Tower, no matter what it cost, but we couldn't take the pram and neither of us would go without the other to share the view, so we stayed on the ground and looked up.  We also thought we would return and do it some other time, but it wasn't to be.  That's a lesson in seizing the day.

Later we walked further away and I was able to take the traditional photograph and since it was a cloudy day, maybe the view from the top would have been an anti-cllimax anyway.  This all reminds me of just how difficult some things were for us travelling with young children, not the least being my shyness combined with the need to breastfeed my son, and there seeming to be nowhere to do it outside of our room.  Apart from anything else, it was really cold, and I had so many layers on that the whole thing was just a bit unfeasible.  On the other hand of course we met all sorts of people who were charmed by our two families travelling so far from Australia, and they went out of their way to make things easy for us.  We got by with school french (me and my brother-in-law) and lots of gestures and smiles.

More pictures next time..... (and don't forget to join in)

Book Review: The girl who kicked the hornet's nest

Don't know which is more exhausted, my mind or my hands...this is a big book.  I have had this on my pile to read since early in the year and have been waiting for a long break from other things so that I could devote my time to it.  When I read the first two books in this Millenium trilogy I found myself incapable of putting them down except to sleep, and even then it was hard.

Within a couple of pages of this third book I was back in the darkness of the end of the second and all the nasty characters flooded back.  This book is so much more about Salander than before and a side effect of reading her story is my cancellation of several online memberships I joined when I was bored..... who knows who has been reading my hard drive now.  One of the telling aspects of this book was the obvious gap between the intelligence and understandings of the old guard and the realities of life in this technological web....the certainties held by those members of "The Section", as Blomkvist called them, are no longer certain; secrets can be unlocked in ways never imagined in the past.

This story is as violent and judgemental as its predecessors, readers being swept along with Blomkvist's convictions and morality.  I wanted the resolution of Salander's life to be what it was, and I expected Berger to make the decisions she did.  I have no knowledge of Europe in the Cold War except as a reader, but I suspect books give us only the tip of the iceberg - I am thankful to have lived in the distant South Pacific.  

This review is for me but still I have not revealed the storyline since others may well read my thoughts here.  I am driven to read books that swallow me into their story so that time outside the book ceases to exist; where did the last two days go?  That said, I think the characters can end here and I do not pine for a surprise find on a lost Larsson laptop.  These people, Salander and Blomkvist and all the others....they have had enough excitment in their lives and I'm not sorry their stories have stopped.  

Anything I read next will seem lighter by comparison.

Friday Fill-ins #183

1. When it's quiet I get suspicious.
2. I haven't cooked anything frivolous in what seems like a month.
3. My heart is not in it today.
4. I dont think I've dreaded a time of year as much as this July.
5. In the town where I was born its cold and wintery which is why I love it.
6. His sense of humour is something I really miss about my significant other.
7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to eating Thai, tomorrow my plans include a birthday party for a friend and Sunday, I want to eat poffertjes for breakfast!

Paris in July - Memories

Just after our son was born, we flew to London to spend Christmas with family and counted our pennies in the New Year to see if we could afford some time in Europe.  We ferried across the Channel in the pouring rain and landed for our big adventure: two brothers and their wives and three small children between us.  What we lacked in money (which was lots) we made up for in enthusiasm.....

In Paris we booked into a miniature pension and our room was not much bigger than the bed.  Somewhere we fitted a porta-cot, bags and baby stuff.  Our room was on the third floor and when we opened the long thin french doors our view was of the internal circular courtyard where every room had a wrought iron balcony decorated with little bits of washing. The outside walls were crazed and dusty grey, the iron was probably rusted, but it was like nothing I had ever seen before and I loved it instantly.

Listening to Eartha Kitt  "C'est si bon" and going to find the old photo album to see what pictures I took....

(Don't forget to check here and join in)

Bubbles....

"What is fame? an empty bubble:" so said James Grainger back in the 1700s.  But I like bubbles, especially on sunny days when sitting on the grass with children, bubble wands and bottles of soap suds in hand.  And fame?  I think the closest thing I'll come to it is my portrait which appears now in my profile here and elsewhere.  

I have learned that my friends are quite capable of conspiring behind me to reach this end.  My dear and distant friend Lisa, herself I suspect to be a card carrying crazy cat lady, hatched a scheme and roped in Debbie who asked Ali who checked with Liz who studied my cats closely.  The result is indeed a small treasure.  Haven't checked with the cats, but suspect that MrP will be unimpressed as usual, mainly because he doesn't have centre stage.  Basil will be disgruntled that he has to share my lap, and doubtless hoping the book doesn't get too heavy and begin to lean on him (as indeed books have in the past).

I hope many other pet-obsessed friends will follow the practice of imortalising the addiction by visiting the gallery of Susan Faye.  She was kind enough to interview me and the rest of the story is here.

Robins Egg Blues

Just back from surfing, following my nose from Electra to Jana and this blog caught my eye.  Lots of lovely photographs from Linda's travels, and some lovely french-inspired things to reward someone among her 600+ followers.  Go over and visit, and see what you think, and you just might win the collection of goodies too.