(no subject)
So, as to France. I was good this time. I wrote things down.
Now seems like a opportune moment to clean them up and post them:
We spent a week and a half in Paris, and a bit over a week in Cahors, which is to the south of France-- four hours by train.
Paris. Paris. Paris on my terms. On our terms.
We found ways of making the trip stressful, of course. We injured ourselves. We walked too long in too cold weather. We ate too much butter. We ate an unscrupulous amount of butter. We couldn't avoid it. It was everywhere. For the life of us, we could NOT find plain white rice. Despite this, everything was beautiful.
We saw the bones.
No flashes allowed. No tripods allowed.
They didn't count on Tristram Savage and his IR flash!
<3 <3
The most significant discovery I made was learning my favorite way to board in a strange land. Hotels cost too much, and stress me out. Hostels at more palatable, but often require much thought and stress themselves (are my things safe where they are? How far must we travel to get to the next hostel? so on). We spent the first few days in a decent hotel-- whatever. The last few were spent in a tiny apartment near montmartre. It was inexpensive, outside of the tourist-thronged area, and it had enough of a kitchen that we could, at last, fend for ourselves.
Bliss, I name it!
The gypsies played three-card monte out in the open. The 'innocent bystanders' gave utterly lackluster and entirely unconvincing performances. Tourists swarmed, hookers tricked, crepes were folded, and bracelets were aggressively tied around wrists by tricksters.
Not ours, of course.
It was one of our last days there, when we decided to see the botanical gardens. Covered in recent frost, they were certainly not at their most lush; but worth a look nonetheless.
We followed a path which spiraled up a large hill in the park. It looked like it had been there essentially as long as the city. We wound upwards, gaining perspective on the old metropolis. As we neared the top, a splitting, shrill and slivering sound came rolling and echoing off the well aged buildings-- an air-raid siren. More sirens sound their voices, and now they're coming from all over the city. I had a shock of historical vertigo-- while i stood in the old gardens hearing with amusement this cinematically cliched sound, I imagined somebody standing just where I was, hearing just that sound, and having their blood freeze inside them.
It was a nice sensation.
Part two: Cahors. Coming up.
As always, more on flickr:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/djinnphotography/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/djinnphotography/sets/72157623331298859/
Now seems like a opportune moment to clean them up and post them:
We spent a week and a half in Paris, and a bit over a week in Cahors, which is to the south of France-- four hours by train.
Paris. Paris. Paris on my terms. On our terms.
We found ways of making the trip stressful, of course. We injured ourselves. We walked too long in too cold weather. We ate too much butter. We ate an unscrupulous amount of butter. We couldn't avoid it. It was everywhere. For the life of us, we could NOT find plain white rice. Despite this, everything was beautiful.
We saw the bones.
No flashes allowed. No tripods allowed.
They didn't count on Tristram Savage and his IR flash!
<3 <3
The most significant discovery I made was learning my favorite way to board in a strange land. Hotels cost too much, and stress me out. Hostels at more palatable, but often require much thought and stress themselves (are my things safe where they are? How far must we travel to get to the next hostel? so on). We spent the first few days in a decent hotel-- whatever. The last few were spent in a tiny apartment near montmartre. It was inexpensive, outside of the tourist-thronged area, and it had enough of a kitchen that we could, at last, fend for ourselves.
Bliss, I name it!
The gypsies played three-card monte out in the open. The 'innocent bystanders' gave utterly lackluster and entirely unconvincing performances. Tourists swarmed, hookers tricked, crepes were folded, and bracelets were aggressively tied around wrists by tricksters.
Not ours, of course.
It was one of our last days there, when we decided to see the botanical gardens. Covered in recent frost, they were certainly not at their most lush; but worth a look nonetheless.
We followed a path which spiraled up a large hill in the park. It looked like it had been there essentially as long as the city. We wound upwards, gaining perspective on the old metropolis. As we neared the top, a splitting, shrill and slivering sound came rolling and echoing off the well aged buildings-- an air-raid siren. More sirens sound their voices, and now they're coming from all over the city. I had a shock of historical vertigo-- while i stood in the old gardens hearing with amusement this cinematically cliched sound, I imagined somebody standing just where I was, hearing just that sound, and having their blood freeze inside them.
It was a nice sensation.
Part two: Cahors. Coming up.
As always, more on flickr:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/djinnphotography/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/djinnphotography/sets/72157623331298859/