Paris Pooch of the Day (2)

Spotted these lads outside the Pompidou Centre, on our way to dinner. They were running around happily, so it was quite difficult to get this shot. They were also in shadow - had to do a little photo editing here.

Paris in the Spring

We woke up bright and early this morning, thanks to our body clocks still operating on Singapore time. We walked out to find a boulangerie for breakfast and found a cosy little place on Rue St Martin, just round the corner from us. The interior décor theme – medieval knights, with a gentleman in full armour in one corner. The proprietress invited us to go down into the basement to take a look, which we did. The medieval theme continued indeed, but to our surprise there was a Korean food menu in one corner. Indeed, the place transformed into a Korean restaurant downstairs at night, when, one assumes, the boulangerie was shut. It must be slightly surreal eating Korean food with a knight in shining armour peering over one’s shoulder.

The small little side street next to the boulangerie, Rue de Montmercy had one of those little historical signs up. That’s when I found out that it was supposed to house the “oldest house in Paris”, Nicholas Flamel’s house. Nicholas Flamel (as every good reader of Harry Potter knows) had a reputation as an alchemist in the middle ages. Today, his house is a restaurant. (We would be going there a few days later for dinner.)

We walked around the area, passing interesting sights along the way, such as the Defender des Temps, a clock featuring a man defending the clock against various mechanical beasts, and the Tour de Jacques, a beautifully restored tower which apparently is the only remaining portion of a larger building.


Finally we got to our destination - Notre Dame de Paris. It is a much cleaner, more beautiful church than I remember when I saw it as a student, almost 20 years ago (perish the thought). This time around, I spent far more time wandering the cathedral itself than climbing up the towers. But the crowds in the cathedral were still very considerable. It is difficult to get a sense that one is in a holy place whilst jostling with the rest of the people attempting to take a nice photo of the rose windows. However, what helped was the choral performance which was going on.

Thinking about it, it is much nicer on this second visit to Paris than it was the first time round. Of course, one has far more money (being a working adult as opposed to poor student) to shop, eat and also to fund a much nicer apartment than the 3 pax in 1 hotel bedroom which I remember so well. But it also means that one does not feel pressured to go and take a look or climb the Eiffel Tower, view the Mona Lisa and so on. You do what you want out of choice rather than of the compulsion that one must cover certain sights when one is in Paris. So rather than exhausting myself climbing up to the top of the bell tower of Notre Dame, to get a few photos of gargoyles, I could sit, rest, and enjoy the choir singing – a moment of peace and tranquility in the bustle of a big city.

We left Notre Dame for the nearby flower market and passed by the Hotel Bon Dieu. This is actually a hospital, one of the oldest in Paris. It was still very busy, and in fact as we walked past we could see some paramedics doing a spot of resuscitation in the lobby. The flower market is apparently one of the few left in the centre of Paris. The flowers are gorgeous – I loved the colour and the variety.

It was relatively quiet though – not that many tourists were walking around. We followed this up by lunch at a riverside café - a quite forgettable quiche and crepe (covered with what was probably nutella). We spent the afternoon discount shopping at Rue d’Alesia (a lot of stock shops). We needed a rest after all that shopping, so we went back to the apartment before heading out to dinner at Café Beaubourg, outside the Georges Pompidou Centre. It was relatively bright, at 8pm plus (it only started getting dark after 9pm whilst we were in Paris). There were still a number of people sitting on the large square sloping down towards the Centre, taking in the last rays of sunshine. Others were walking their dogs (Parisians love their dogs) around the area, and having dinner in the many cafes and brasseries about the place. Café Beaubourg is supposed to be one of those trendy places to go to, according to my guidebook. It is indeed inhabited by waiters in sharp suits, who were certainly better dressed than people like myself. Had a risotto with prawns, pleasant enough but I think I did a better job with mine :-)

Still trying to get network connection. Now I can’t even find the hotspot. All the wireless networks around are security enabled. Don’t want to inadvertently use the police system!!!

As always, more photos here.

(Note: This note was written on 20 May but only posted on 2 Jun. Thanks to not having an internet connection.)

Paris Pooch of the Day

Spotted at the newstand between Les Deux Magots and Cafe de Flore, on Blvd St Germain.

The French love their dogs.

My stay in France

At last, we were in France, arriving there bright and early on the morning of 19 May. I'd been anticipating this visit for some time - the atmosphere and elegance of Paris, the glorious sunshine of Provence. Now at last, we were at Charles de Gaulle airport and bang smack in the middle of somewhat poorly organised immigration queues. There were no signs or notices just people directing the crowds (in French) to tell them which queue to join. Nearer the immigration counter itself, no one was directing people to individual counters, leading to some queue-jumping. This irritated one highly proper Frenchman who started yelling instructions to those in front to hurry up and go to the proper counters quickly to pre-empt the queue jumpers.

The airport bus took us into Paris and then we got a cab to take us to the small office of Apartment Paris (the apartment rental company) where we then left our luggage. There was no one actually in the office. All we had were our explicit written instructions - leave the money and pick up the key after 5pm. So the day was ours to do with as we wished.

We went first to Gare du L’Est to deal with administrative matters - purchasing our Carte d'Orange (weekly metro pass) and settling our reservations for our train journeys. To our horror, the TGV trains were far more popular than we had imagined. We had to take a later train to Avignon than we earlier planned. As for the return journey, there was no direct train available. We had to transfer in Lyon for the train to Charles de Gaulle airport. And the journey would take place in 12 days' time! When I thought of the confident assertion by the travel agent that no reservations were required.... I could only be grateful that our kiasu natures had prompted us to make all our reservations at once.

Much shaken, we went to the St Germain-des-Pres area in Paris, to drink coffee and have a light lunch in one of the celebrated cafes of the area. The famous cafes – Les deux Magots, Café De Flores, Brasserie Lipp and Le Procope - are where the intellectuals of Paris used to come and have a little café whilst saving the world. Today, they are still supposed to be a good place to spot a celebrity or two but frankly they are filled more with tourists (like us) trying to get a feel of the authentic Paris café experience.

We went to the café Les Deux Magots for a café and a spot of lunch. It was not cheap, with the bill for two people coming up to some 32Euros! A cup of café crema cost over 5Euros, sans tip. So we sat in our cosy corner and watched the world go by. Somehow much of the world (bar a dog-walking Parisian or two) looked like tourists taking photos of famous cafes. Deux Magots derives its name from the statues of two Chinese traders which are within the café. But we were too busy watching the world go by and forgot to go in and take a peek.

We then walked a little around the St Germain area. First stop was Louis Vuitton, right next to our little café. But in the area (not that we went to all of these shops) are Dior, Sonia Rykel, Agnes B and more mass market places such as Sinequanone, Kookai, and so on. I suppose they are all taking advantage of the tourist traffic in this area… Our one and only purchase was at Pierre Herme, to pick up some macrons.

We also visited two churches – St Sulpice and St Germain. St Sulplice was very large, but in the process of being restored, so we did not get a good sense of what this church looked like. Inside, it was surprisingly active. The organist was having a practice session and there appeared to be an art class going on inside – students with large sketch pads sat in clumps around stately sculptures or even near the main altar, hard at work. Around the church are some little shops selling religious artefacts – painted icons, statues and the like.

St Germain, by contrast was more quiet, with all the activity – café life, shopping, going on around it. There is a small close next to the church with a children’s playground inside – peaceful, quiet. St Germain is reputed to be the oldest church in Paris (built originally 542 by King Childebert), rebuilt around the 11th century and heavily restored in the 19th century. The majority of the surrounding church buildings were apparently destroyed during the French revolution. What these walls would have seen...

We finally picked up our luggage and checked in our apartment around 6pm. Our little home for the week is situated in the Rue Aux Ours, in the Marais area of Paris. It is on the fourth floor of an apartment building with a travel agency, Turkish restaurant and little sandwich shop at the bottom of the building. (Kebabs for dinner last night). Facing us, is the Hotel de Police du 3eme arrondissement. That would be the police station, yes. Did I say there was no lift? Lugging our bags up was tiring; and the downward climb at the end of the week is the most likely dampener on any shopping expedition now.

But the apartment itself is charming. There is a living/dining area with attached kitchenette, furnished in warm woods (cherry?) and green, with a vaguely African theme (there are bow and arrows décor on the walls). There is a small little toilet, which has to be entered from the main corridor – a good thing considering that there is no separating door between the bathroom and the little bedroom.

But it is extremely central, large enough for the two of us to get around without falling over each other, and a CD player with CDs provided. We listened to Ravel and Rachmaninoff whilst sipping our tea and eating macarons. Highly civilized.

Problems, however, with getting my internet connection. I do appear to be in some hotspot but the homepage is in French and I need to register etc, I think. Not sure what to do next.

More France photos here (and more to be added in coming days).

(Note: this post was originally written in Paris, but thanks to my lack of internet connection, only managed to post it on my blog on 1 Jun - date still appears earlier as Blogger now has the backdating feature :-) )

Closed forms: Villanelles, Sestinas, et al

Ok, I've been reading ahead and not doing poetry exercises. Into closed forms now, which are defined by their strict structures and rules.

The villanelle, for example, is a 3-line stanza verse form in which the first line of the first stanza concludes the stanzas of even numbered stanzas and the third line concludes the stanzas of odd-numbered stanzas; the first and third lines then form a couplet at the end. Stephen Fry credits a famous villanelle, Dylan Thomas' "Do not go gentle" as being the inspiration for him to write Ode, or rather his friend's contemptuous disbelief that a modern poet could be using archaic closed forms. Here's the poem and an analysis.

Another closed form is the sestina. Sestinas have six stanzas of six lines each. They end with a 3-line stanza. What is unique is that the last word of each line of the first verse must also be used as the last words of the lines of successive verses, except that the order shifts with each verse. For example, the last word of the last line of the first verse then becomes the last word of the first line of the second verse. Confused yet? The example below does illustrate.

Which brings me to the example. What prompted me to write this post rather than just pretend I was taking a long time on my poetry exercise was the serendipitous turning of the pages of Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors where I found that Gaiman had written a sestina. For those who do not know his work, Gaiman started off writing graphic novels with the most famous being The Sandman series. He then moved into fiction, collaborating with Terry Pratchett and also writing on his own, works such as Stardust (illustrated by Charles Vess and now made into a movie), American Gods and Anansi Boys. Smoke and Mirrors is a collection of short stories and other writings, including of course... a sestina.

Vampire Sestina
by Neil Gaiman

I wait here at the boundaries of dream,
all shadow-wrapped. The dark air tastes of night,
so cold and crisp, and I wait for my love.
The moon has bleached the colour from her stone.
She'll come, and then we'll stalk this pretty world
alive to darkness and the tang of blood.

It's a lonely game, the quest for blood,
but still, a body's got the right to dream
and I'd not give it up for all the world.
The moon has leeched the darkness from the night.
I stand in the shadows, staring at her stone:
Undead my lover... O, undead my love?

I dreamt you while I slept today and love
meant more to me than life--meant more than blood.
The sunlight sought me, deep beneath my stone,
more dead than any corpse but still a-dream
until I woke as vapour into night
and sunset forced me out into the world.

For many centuries I've walked the world
dispensing something that resembled love--
a stolen kiss, then back into the night
contented by the life and by the blood.
And come the morning I was just a dream,
cold body chilling underneath a stone.

I said I would not hurt you. Am I stone
to leave you prey to time and to the world?
I offered you a truth beyond your dreams
while all you had to offer was your love.
I told you not to worry, and that blood
tastes sweeter on the wing and late at night.

Sometimes my lovers rise to walk the night...
Sometimes they lie, cold corpse beneath a stone,
and never know the joys of bed and blood,
of walking through the shadows of the world;
instead they rot to maggots. O my love
they whispered you had risen, in my dream.

I've waited by your stone for half the night
but you won't leave your dream to hunt for blood.
Goodnight, my love. I offered you the world.

p.s. Gaiman also has a few other poems in this collection. Including another closed form, the Rondel (that comes in the next chapter of Ode).

Flying High

This week, I went up the Singapore Flyer. It was a corporate thank you event (I was a guest). I had fun! Anyway, here are a series of shots taken from the Flyer. The big wheel of the Flyer is in constant motion - you step into the capsule as it comes past and slowly, very slowly, you are transported up into the sky.

This shot shows the ground below the Flyer - we had not gotten very high up as yet. In case there are any concerns, the motion of the flyer is very slow - no fears of motion sickness.


The Flyer is a beautiful, vibrant blue. It stands out in the sky, against the dark background. This photo shows the next capsule as it approaches the top of the wheel.

In terms of taking photos, it is easier to do so during the day and you probably clearer pictures. However, it would probably be useful, especially for tourists if there were some references in the Flyer to the various landmarks in sight.



Having said that, the night view of Singapore is beautiful - as I hope this next picture shows! The river of light - the cars moving on the expressway, and the reflection of the bridge in the water were spectacular. There are some reflections from the glass of the capsule but it somehow adds to the picture.

All in all, a memorable trip into the sky!

Inspiring

It's been a while since I've worked on a poetry exercise. It's been a busy few weeks and let's admit it here, the exercises are getting tougher.

My mother suggested that I write something inspiring. Inspiring! My little talent does not aspire to such heights. When I read these lines from Blake, I know nothing I can do can compare:

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

- William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

Not exactly a wild flower (this plant is in my back yard) but the promise of the bud about to bloom seems to capture the meaning of these lines for me - the glory of creation, the miracle of life and the potential in every living thing.