Paris in Springtime – A day in Paris, Part 1

Adventures, France, Paris, , , ,

5am, coming in to land at Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport. Paris. I try to remember what I know about Paris. Beyond the fairytale romantic city, it’s not much. Charles De Gaulle turns out to be a rabbit warren of an airport – up escalators, down stairs, airport-train then suddenly, unexpectedly, customs. I pass smoothly, easily into France. Luggage in tow, I change into something a little warmer and head towards the Metro station. The airport isn’t hugely well sign-posted. Nor is the Metro. I eventually manage to figure out enough to buy a ticket. I have no French and early in the morning in a new country, I’m not feeling particularly confident.

Luckily I have directions. A pleasant train trip with just one change to the Bastille Metro station. I proceeded to get lost trying to find my exit. Rabbit-warren transport hubs appear to be a theme in Paris.

I walk out of the subway Metro into an overcast morning. I’m glad of my coat. I’m standing at an intersection. In the centre, on a traffic island, is a tall tower, topped with a winged, golden statue (Colonne de Juillet at Place de la Bastille – a monument to those killed in the July Revolution of 1830 and possibly others). A lovely landmark to navigate by.

I sit at a café near the Metro exit and order a café au lait. The waiter, thankfully, understands English and asks if I’d like a croissant with that. It’s 8am. I’m sitting in a cafe in Paris eating an excellent croissant, drinking hot coffee and people-watching. I wish I could describe the people. There were so many, in suits and coats and scarves and boots. Carrying cups of coffee and smoking cigarettes. Riding scooters and skateboards. Reading papers.

After a second coffee and a look at my guidebook, I head off to my hotel in the hopes of dropping off my bag. It’s still far too early for check-in but the person at the hotel reception takes pity on me (I later discover his family is originally from Senegal). I check in and go up a winding, narrow staircase to my room. The room looks out towards the back of the house, across rooftops and towards storey upon storey of old flats with wide, bay-windows, geraniums in pots and bicycles leaning against wooden doors.

The urge to collapse on my bed and fall asleep is powerful but I resist and instead pack the essentials into my daypack and set off exploring. The morning mist had burnt off and the sun is beginning to come out. I retrace my steps and then head across the intersection past the stunning Opera Bastille. A big sign advertises Bellini’s The Capulets and the Montagues. Sadly the dates are much later in April.

With a vague notion of heading towards the Eiffel Tower (because even one day in Paris should include a visit to its most famous landmark), I wander along the right bank of the canal (which I later discover is a marina). On the other side, trees are in full, pink blossom. Across a bridge, across a road, I catch a glimpse of a sign to the Notre Dame. As I am about to head in that direction, I noticed gardens up ahead. There is something special about gardens. I wander in.

I’ve accidentally found the Jardin des Plantes (a 24 hectare botanical garden). Did I mention it was spring? Rows and lines of flower-beds stretch away, bright with flowers of every colour, from tulips to poppies and daisies to lilac. The air is rich with the scent of flowers. I wander between the beds and stroll along tree-shaded avenues. Laughing children toss pink cherry-blossoms into the air, creating a snow of colour. On a bench, a woman sits, enjoying the sunshine and reading a book. Nearby, couple reads poetry to each other. I twist in and around, past greenhouses and signs showing the way to the Menagerie. Statues and old buildings sit amongst the trees and bushes. People sit sketching flowers and shuttered windows. It’s delightful – if I don’t leave now, I may never leave. I find an archway beneath a building and step out into the street, struggling for a moment with the idea that the last half-hour was real.

Up the road past university buildings, tripping through lilac blossoms scattered on the pavement, I reach the left bank of the Seine and head, again, in the direction of the Notre Dame. There are bits of Paris that are not pretty and romantic. I’m walking past university buildings and graffiti on the street. It’s gritty and real. This is why I walk – to see more than just the sanitised bits. Yet the river still sparkles and the trees rise gracefully. On the next corner I reach the Institut du Monde Arabe, where they are displaying the Orient Express. A modern glass and steel building, so different to most of the area around the river, but displaying an old, classic train.

I cross another of the beautiful bridges and find, half-way across, a clear view of the Notre Dame. I turn left and walk along the edge of the island, enjoying the pretty old multi-story buildings as I walk by; buildings that could come from novels and stories with their double-doors and their balconies and their attic rooms, with flowers growing in pots. As I reach the end of the island and prepare to cross to the next, a man is playing an accordion across the road from the Notre Dame and somewhere in the distance church bells are ringing noon, filling the air with the mingled sounds of the romantic accordion and the classic church-bells. The sounds of Paris.

The sun is shining and there is a gentle breeze scattering blossoms as I walk into the grounds of the Notre Dame. The Cathedral is stunning, from its gothic lines and gargoyles to its spring flowers and rose windows. I walked right around it, wanting to see it from every angle. I don’t try and go in – there isn’t time on this day but also the queues are ridiculous. As I pass the western end of the cathedral, with its majestic square towers, and walk towards the Charlemagne Memorial, the bells ring out from the towers above me. Behind me, birds are singing soaring melodies from the trees. I can only relish the moment. A little further along the side of the cathedral, pink and white blossoms artistically complement the grey stone.

By this stage, I have been won over by Paris, completely against my better judgement, and given up being sceptical of the clichés I seem to be walking through. As someone pointed out when I described the day, you reach the point where you have to wonder who is stage-managing this experience.

I cross the river, enjoying the relative quiet of side-streets after the tourist-crush at the Notre Dame. Across the river I find probably my favourite building in Paris, the Hôtel De Ville. Hôtel De Ville is the city hall of Paris. It is a vast, beautiful building, rebuilt, according to my guidebook, between 1874 and 1882 in neo-Renaissance style and decorated with 108 statues of notable Parisians around the outside. I stand on the square looking up at this incredible facade, with its statues, and right above me, below the clock, the words “Liberté. Egalite. Fraternité.”.

Fountains, Hotel de Ville, Paris

Joburg Zoo

Adventures, bus, Johannesburg

It felt good to wear my boots again; to slip into jeans and boots and a loose T-shirt and set off with my camera and my bag. Of course there have been plenty of other places in between but I haven’t set off on a local adventure, an adventure close to home, like this in a long time. It’s how I used to adventure in Korea. The familiar anticipation of discovery coupled with the joy of being outside and walking and being alone. Which is not to say, at all, that I do not enjoy exploring with others, but this is how I first learned to travel alone.

Today wasn’t a complicated adventure. I finally decided to buy a new camera. I’ve been using my cell-phone recently but using a cell-phone as a camera runs down the battery and is rather inconvenient. So I picked up a new camera this weekend. It’s nothing fancy – just the sort of basic camera I like, but I thought I’d better get in a little practice. I’ve also been meaning to do some exploring in Joburg. I have a super-convenient set-up – living within a few minutes of the shops, from where I catch a train to within 5 minutes of work. It’s great, but it means it’s very easy never to leave this comfort zone. And that doesn’t make for very good stories.

So, on Sunday morning, I put on jeans and boots and packed up my camera and set off to the Joburg Zoo. I’d been torn, initially, about whether to go to the Joburg Zoo or the Pretoria Zoo (So much choice!). Pretoria has the added draw-card of possibly, maybe, seeing okapi but there were other things that needed to be done during the day, so the shorter trip to the Joburg Zoo won the day.

It is a short trip – around 15 minutes. I got the bus from the Rosebank Gautrain station at about 10:15. The route goes through Parktown North and then towards Emmerentia and around Zoo Lake. As we rounded the lake, I saw the fountains and people walking around the lake and it looked so much like Suseong Mot (Lake) in Daegu, Korea, that I nearly got off the bus at the next stop and gave up the Zoo entirely. I decided not to, at the last minute, deciding instead to try and visit the lake next weekend. The leaves have begun to change and there is little as lovely as wandering gently around a pretty lake surrounded by autumn trees.

Next stop: the Zoo. The bus stop is on Upper Park Drive, near the main entrance. I joined the queue, wryly aware that everyone else was buying tickets for family groups (“two adults and a baby”) or couples. I didn’t care. Ticket in hand, I went in. Some tourist attractions are well sign-posted. This one was confusing from the start. I bought a map, which helped some, although it was also a little confusing. On a related side-note, what is it that makes the makers of tourist maps assume that people can’t read proper, at-least-vaguely to scale maps, so that they feel compelled to create not to scale pictures that, while pretty and interesting are not actually very helpful?

Not that I should really complain – it doesn’t seem to stop me finding my way around fun places like this. I started with a bored looking gorilla, some lively monkeys and a Howitzer. The Joburg Zoo, as well as backing onto the SA Military History Museum, includes a few moments, one of which is this Howitzer, commemorating the men of the South African Heavy Artillery who fell in the Great War.

Near the canon was one of my favourite spots, the meerkat enclosure. These adorable, if rather unpleasant-smelling creatures may have been the cutest of the day. Although they would have to compete with a red panda who just about turned itself inside out trying to climb down from a tree and a decidedly inquisitive ratel (on the other side of glass – or would’ve been less enchanting).

The Joburg Zoo has a wide range of animals. Some are fairly predictable, especially the big draw-cards like the lions, the rhinos, the hippos and the elephants. Although I imagine most visitors don’t expect to see the female elephant with her lunch on her head – yes, really.

Joburg Zoo 059

But there are so many others. From the scimitar-horned oryx and waterbuck to yellow- cheeked gibbons and the laziest of chimps. The yellow-cheeked gibbon pair had a young one, who – delightfully – kept racing along the fence to look at the people before rushing back to his mother. The other gibbon family, white-handed gibbons I think, also had a couple of young ones, one of whom was obliging enough to do that silly gibbon walk. There were also polar bears and brown bears and chimps and cheetahs and zebras and a camel.

But I think my favourite part may have been the birds. There are so very many birds. The wetlands area is home to flamingos and pelicans and so many ducks. Wild loeries and crows and hadedahs add their voices from the trees. Throughout, every pond was populated by beautiful waterbirds. The zoo also has two walk-through aviaries, one which was the quietest, most peaceful part of the day. The trouble with places like zoos, for me, is that they tend to be popular with families with young children, with whom I do not particularly enjoy sharing space and time. The birds, however, hold none of the fascination for small people that elephants and lions do. The second aviary, the Sasol Wing, is home to a range of birds, from parrots and cockatoos, to hornbills, swans, vultures and eagles. I stumbled upon it (again with the poor map) and found myself wandering around the edge, looking into every enclosure and really just enjoying the quiet beauty of birds. This was before I even realised it was possible to go inside. I’m glad I took the time – what a lovely part of the day.

There was another ubiquitous member of zoo life who I’m pretty sure wasn’t there on purpose – squirrels. I didn’t know there were squirrels in Joburg. I always think of them as belonging to the Western Cape. So, I was taken a little bit by surprise when I noticed movement in the grass at the edge of the Nyala enclosure and a squirrel sat up and started eating a nut. I’d not be surprised if they knew there were intruders, too – I swear I saw another, later, trying very hard to pretend it was a duck.

On my way out, I met some black spider monkeys, some ring-tailed coatis and a last few owls, before making my way back to the bus-stop. I know there are people who feel that zoos are cruel just on principle. I don’t agree with them, partly because I’ve met the reality of a creature like the okapi’s natural habitat and recognise that some species will never survive without zoos, partly because of the educational value and partly because I think it is important for humans to be able to spend time around great and tiny beasts. Joburg Zoo has a pretty good selections, but it’s also clear that how well-maintained a specific area is and now well-developed the programme around that animal, depends on the whim of the donors in question, which is not an ideal way to be. I’d like to see them make more effort to keep the whole place up to scratch, from taking a little more care to maintain the polar-bear enclosure to ensuring that the glass windows through which visitors view the animals are clean.

In spite of this, it was a great opportunity to enjoy the animals, to try out the new camera, and just to spend a few hours wandering along tree-lined avenues between ponds and streams and the open-spaces of large animal enclosures.

Joburg Zoo website: www.jhbzoo.org.za Entrance: R61 per adult. Bus trip: R20 each way. 

Discovering DIY

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I’ve never been the DIY type. Well, perhaps occassionally decor bits – I can remember sewing a pair of curtains for a digs in Grahamstown years and years ago. I loved that digs – a delightful little cottage set in a garden and my first house. I’ve lived in many, many places since then. For the most part, my homes have been marked by impermenance. There was a little flat in Mobray, Cape Town where we decorated the lounge in bright colours and I bought new linen and curtains, but for the most part I’ve lived as though I might move on at any time. That song, old now I guess, “Life for Rent” has always struck a chord.

For some reason, the move to Joburg has been different. I suppose it is partly because I know I need to be here for at least two years to do the qualifications I’m hoping to do. Perhaps it’s that I’m getting older and feel the need to have a place that is both comfortable and beautiful. Whatever the cause, this move has seen me rent an unfurnished apartment, with which comes the excitement (or trauma, depending on when you ask) of buying furniture).

First off, furniture is expensive. Mutter, mutter, grumble, grumble. Second, furniture turns out to be quite a lot harder to find than I had anticipated. Okay, to be fair, this may be partly a consequence of living in a part of Johannesburg where most people probably have the time, money and/or interior designers to go in search of furniture outside of the areas where they live. The result is a remarkably limited number of furniture/home stores in the Rosebank/Sandton area (and an even more limited number with anything vaguely affordable).

Constrained by lack of choice, I braved the heretofore unknown world of flat-pack, DIY furniture. The first things I bought were a desk, a chair and a TV stand. It took me a week to make the choice and to get up the courage to place the order. I ordered them to be delivered (I live on the third floor, so paid manpower makes sense). They arrived, eventually (have I mentioned that I have a strong and growing dislike of delivery people), with the minor inconvenience that the first delivery included only two of the items, so that I had to leave work early for a second day running to receive the final piece.

For two days (well, evenings), I sat in my flat and looked at these boxes. It couldn’t be that difficult could it? Other people did it all the time. Gulp. Some of the things needed screw-drivers. I delayed another day so that I could buy a set of screw-drivers on the way home from work – what? I’m not a handy-man type.  I began with the chair. It’s an office chair with wheels and a seat-height-adjusting-thingy. I was expecting instructions. I took out each piece. There didn’t seem to be any instructions. With a deep breathe, I started putting things together. As I placed the final piece, I came across the instructions. I’m not sure they would have helped. I moved on to the desk and then the TV stand (this time with instructions). Apart from the fact that I ended with one more screw than I needed (which I gather from books and TV shows is normal?), I seemed to have succeeded. I had, with my own hands, put together a desk, a TV stand and a chair. I couldn’t believe it.

TV stand  Desk and chair - now with bookcase

It felt pretty good. I was pleased. But I wasn’t at all convinced this would be a repeat exercise. Oh, in between I’d also ordered a fridge, which came all put together already (although I somehow ended up with an extra screw for that too). So when it came to the great couch decision, I wanted to go for a ready-made, all-put-together couch.

Apparently this ideal was not meant to be. Couch ordered and paid for (multiple trips to Sandton later), arrived at my flat several hours after it was expected (delivery people – !). The two guys lugged it up the stairs, with difficultly, and along the passage to my front door. They took off the cushions and brought them inside. And then they tried to bring in the couch. And tried again. And again. It didn’t fit. The couch I had so carefully picked out – the comfortable, pretty couch I was so looking forward to collapsing down onto after a long day – did not fit through my door. I phoned the shop and spoke to the man who sold me the couch. “Don’t you have another door?” he said. My flat is small. Really small. And on the third floor. There are no other doors.

I sent the first couch back to the shop. What do you do when you’re now convinced that ordinary sized couches are likely to stick in your doorway and you do not want to have to go through the rigmarole of looking and ordering and waiting and being disappointed again? You buy a flat-pack sleeper couch instead.

The second set of orders (couch, barstool, bookcase) had similar delivery issues (delays in delivery annoy me so very much). Again, I spent a day looking at these boxes before I started the assembly process. I was a little more confident this time, although the couch was pretty intimidating until it was done.

Couch

It’s an odd feeling to think that the furniture you’re sitting on and using was put together by yourself. I’m still a little nervous that the couch might collapse when I sit down, but so far, so good. And on the positive side, I have a new set of skills I never anticipated having. Never again will I be stymied by the lack of suitable furniture selling shops; I’ll just do it myself.