The only trouble with going to Birmingham would turn out to be that there really aren’t any Youth Hostels there. I don’t understand it at all. But this means that I would have to either pay more to stay in a hotel or stay with people I don’t really know. I had two options that I knew of, the first being my dad’s cousin’s daughter, Christine, who by a slip in our family tree happens to be dad’s elder. Or maybe, though I wasn’t sure if they would like it, my brother’s best friend’s family who he knew twelve years ago. I tried to ring the latter, but the phone number was incorrect. By a stroke of luck, however, it was Sunday, and a friend of Fran’s came over to walk into Winslow with her. We got talking, and it turns out her sister’s family live in Birmingham. So that’s how I came to stay with the Tuckett’s for two nights, the 23^rd and the 24^th. Then I rang Christine, which I had been a little reluctant to do as I didn’t know if she would have room or if I would be too much of a burden. She was delighted, however, and so we agreed I would stay for the next two nights with her in Solihull.  

Getting to Birmingham was a mission and a half! Far out! This is how my day went… To begin: Winslow (bus) -> Buckingham Tesco; Tesco (bus)->Milton Keynes. That was all fine, even with all the stuff I was carrying. From Milton Keynes I wanted to get a train to Birmingham New Street. I couldn’t figure out the self-serve ticket machine so I asked a guy behind a counter. The ticket cost about twice the price that it had said online. I had ages to wait, so I sat in the cold station for a while and read my fabulous book about the Trickster archetype, eventually plucking up the bucks to get a drink. I got on the train and of course chose the worst seat possible, facing backwards with no window. But I didn’t get a chance to move. When I got off the train it was rush hour. The New Street station was thronging with people all hurrying in different directions with purpose and intensity. I got in everyone’s way. I carried my luggage up the stairs and wondered if I would need my ticket to get through the barrier. I checked my pockets and couldn’t find it. I checked the barrier and found I did need it. I looked through my bag about three times, looked everywhere – all I could find was the receipt for the ticket. But the men on the barrier looked grumpy, like those bus drivers who get mean about forgetting student I.D even if you look twelve. Anyway, I went back onto the platform, my heart in my throat, pounding like a frightened bird in a cage. The train was still there, and there was a round official looking guy doing the policeman stroll on the platform. I blabbered something about my ticket and he was not very helpful. He said I could go on, but I had to hurry because the cleaners were coming. At least, I think that’s what he was mumbling about. So I went back on the train, scared to death it would start to leave the station at any second. I didn’t recognize the seats. I was in the wrong carriage! Still dragging my luggage with my heavy pack on my back I squeezed up the aisle as fast as I could. The next carriage looked more familiar, and sure enough where I had been sitting, there was that flipping mischievous orange and white card.

Back up the stairs I found my way through the barrier. Fran had mentioned it would be a good idea to bring flowers to thank the Tuckett’s for letting me stay. I saw some and bought a bouquet, which I then had to try not to crumple. Then I tried to figure out where I was. It wasn’t the same as the website said it looked. I went up an escalator and found myself in a mall. With the place still swarming with people, I wandered along, needing the bathroom, needing to find the 45 or 47 bus, and hoping to find an exit sign, or someone to ask. As I headed towards a ‘Customer Reception’ sign, a young man with an earring and a ‘Love Film’ tee emerged, grinning, from the crowd. ‘Hey ma’am, can I have a minute of your time?’ I replied ‘I’m really not in the mood aye’ – the episode with the ticket had me close to tears, or hitting something, or both. Half hoping this guy would be able to help me I let myself be dragged to the stall. I was too spent to do much else anyway. As he was explaining about this DVD renting site I surreptitiously looked for an ‘exit’ sign. I caught the words ‘just enter your e-mail here’ and  saw him begin to disengage – I told him I was travelling, ‘No, no fixed address, but hey, can you help me?’ He pointed me in the right direction for the bus stand. Cheers bro.

It was drizzly outside. I found the right bus stand but the number of people waiting was worrying. How would I manage to stand, or sit in an over-crowded bus with my suitcase, my backpack and this sodding/sodden bouquet. When the bus came a trickle of people came off, and the crowd seemed to condense to get on. A kind man let me go on before him and even lifted my luggage on for me. I said ‘Single to Cotteridge’, with a £10 note to give the driver, since I didn’t know if it would cost £2 or £6. The driver was gruff, and grunted that it was no use putting that in as I wouldn’t get change. This did not comprehend. What bus driver can’t give change?! People were pushing past me to get on. I had the right change somewhere, but as I tried to explain I wanted to put my stuff down on the bus so I could find it, some really kind stranger leant over and put the change into the tin. It was so nice of him! I spent the next five minutes trying to find change to repay him, eventually realizing I had some in my pocket.

On the bus I stood close to the front, just where everyone had to squeeze by me, I would have moved but there wasn’t enough room for me and my luggage. I put the flowers down, and while holding my bags in place tried to figure out where I was and where we were going. I knew I should be on Pershore Road, and that I needed to get off at Cotteridge, near Cotteridge Park. I didn’t know if it would be a long journey or if it was that park that I just went by. I didn’t even know if I’d see the park from the road. I decided rather than go too far, I should get off on Pershore Road and walk. I got off just past a park, and found it wasn’t the one I wanted. I never saw the one I wanted. I walked and walked, for maybe half and hour, maybe more. Eventually I got to what I thought was the end of the road, it was drizzly grey and I was frozen and really needed the bathroom. I rang Cathy, and it turned out I was in the perfect place for her to come and get me.

I should explain a bit better, Cathy is Fran’s friend Liz’s sister, her husband is a chemistry teacher I think, her eldest daughter is called Lucy and studies maths in Durnham, their second daughter is currently having a gap year in Tanzania (yeah I feel like I’m bumming around on mine in comparison), and their son is still at school and plays cello. They were so kind to me, but with such a distant connection I felt like I had no right to eat their food and use their electricity. Dinner was a little awkward, lots of questions and trying to understand each other. I felt exhausted, I swear my answers must have made hardly any sense and as much as I tried I have a feeling I wasn’t at my best socially. As a small repayment I did the washing up, but they insisted I was their guest and I think I didn’t end doing it all. I did it the next night though. I think doing the washing up is the least I can do for people, and as it’s not the most enjoyable task people are usually pretty happy to let me at it. 

The capricious tiafish

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

I really enjoyed the Tate Modern, and learnt heaps and heaps. I always find modern art more difficult to understand than traditional portraits, and since there’s a lot I don’t know about modern art I wanted to take this opportunity to gain as much knowledge of it as possible. What a mission! It took the whole day to work through something like three floors of exhibitions. Some of it I had never heard of, like vorticism. I think fair enough that I hadn’t heard of that one though. By the end of the day my brain was buzzing and my feet were heavy. I felt drained and exhausted, and kind of giddy, like my brain had got drunk without me. I felt really satisfied though and was trying to keep these new thoughts from flying away, but they spilled out my ears and flew away like butterflies. They might come back, I hope they come back.

While I was in London I also managed to see the exhibition called ‘Michelangelo’s Dream’ at the Courtauld Gallery. There were some other exhibitions there which I also saw. Was Michelangelo gay? I think he was… But of course they didn’t out right say it, it was all kind of hinted at so I couldn’t tell for sure. But he wrote letters and poems to this ‘friend’ of his. And consulted him about lots of his artwork. Michelangelo’s drawings always look very… classical, and I’ve never really understood how. I don’t often draw guys, cause they’re difficult. I mean, I can never really tell if I should draw hip, lips or eyelashes even though I know they have them, but it looks wrong to include them. Anyway, I was comparing Michelangelo’s female drawings, the few that were shown, with what I draw, and his are muscular but quite chunky. There’s volume and solidity to all of his figures. I loved seeing his pen and ink drawings too – his cross hatching is so precise! I had a go later, but it’s not the same. Fun though, drawing male torsos haha my sketch book is definitely not a good impression of me. Lol! That makes me laugh, re-reading that sentence.

My last day in London was the 13^th, after which I returned to Fran’s in Buckingham. I was really lucky actually, she needed to come to London that day anyway so she picked me up.

On our way back to Buckingham, Fran showed me Quainton. This little village was home to my mum and Fran, my aunty Sarah and my grandparents. This is where my ouma is buried, in the churchyard in what used to be a grove of oak trees. Recently the oaks have been cut down, which is sad but I guess there must have been some reason for it. The church was built in the days of the Vikings, I think, a very, very long time ago. As Fran and I walked around the village she pointed out things from their past that I hadn’t known. Like the lane which they took to get to school, and the house of the couple they called their grandparents. I took lots of photos, and felt weird remembering things I had seen when I last visited in 2006.

From staying at Fran’s I managed to take day trips to see Oxford and Cambridge. It took about an hour to get to Oxford and I loved it. It is green and has a river, and sun shone on the stones of the old buildings. In the street there were buskers and a fire stick dancer, and some very kind people in the shops. It’s a university town, so there were lots of students, and it seemed like a cool place to be.

Going to Cambridge took over twice as long, and the bus stop was at the edge of a massive field that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. I found a group of shops which I took to be the ‘centre’ by following people who looked like they knew where they were going. I bought a top that was on sale, £7; sounds unnecessary but I really don’t have much with me, and two of my tops are stained. Cambridge is another university city, and groups of students were lounging on the grass when I went back to the bus station. As usual I had just missed one and the next was in half an hour. Despite this I ended up looking like a fool by running to catch it. Nowadays I don’t care so much about looking like a fool. Like when I’m looking lost with my heart patterned back pack on and lugging my red luggage case behind me, at one point I would have felt really stupid. Now I just don’t care, and I guess it could be worse. I could be dragging a vacuum.

Soon, though, I had to leave the comfort of Fran’s house, the place which now feel almost like home. It was so nice to have that week or so in Buckingham to revive and relax. London took all my will power and strength, and had left me feeling very tired, very anxious, very stressed. In that week I could sleep and eat and talk, all luxuries I hadn’t had properly for three weeks. But the time had come to move on, so I planned the rest of my adventure, which I hadn’t really attempted until then. 

Chaos awaits

tamarillo xoxoxoxoxox

4^th March, I visited Chinatown, Royal Academy of Art, and the National Gallery…

5^th March, I found the Natural History Museum and the V&A Museum, I forget what V and A were… Haha I almost went to the science museum, but was like, hey, I’m by myself and this is a place for kids with all those ‘hands on’ things. Maybe not. Just after that though I went into the Natural History Museum. Lol. There were heaps of kids on school trips, and for some weird and unimaginable reason, a fair few couples hanging out. Why would you …? Aye, I don’t understand it either.

6^th, having talked to mum on the phone I decided to find Dr Johnson’s House, then the Barbican and the Museum of London. Dr Johnson wrote the first dictionary which didn’t say things like ‘Black; a colour’ I didn’t actually see stuff in the Barbican that day, deciding to come back later, as it was full as when I got there. The Museum of London was pretty cool, although it took me till I was halfway through the first exhibition to realize it was a Museum all about London.

7^th, went to Petticoat Lane and Brick Lane. At first I felt like the area was really seedy and I really wouldn’t want to be there in the evening. When I went into the Brick Lane markets, though, I began to feel the cool vintage vibe, and could see how it would be a pretty cool place to be as a student. I loved that indoor market, sooo many cool things. The power went out though, so I couldn’t see it all, and found myself using my phone to light up things in the stalls and some people lit tea light candles, my kind of place.

I think I had a pretty lazy day on the 8^th, but on the 9^th I went to the Tate Britain which was pretty cool. I like portraits, and there were plenty to see there. I wrote some names of artists that I liked, such as Sargent Martin West, Leighton, Francis Danby, and George F Watts.

I saw the big Henry Moore exhibition too, don’t remember where that was. I never really connect with sculpture – the shapes don’t make sense to me and the textures don’t show me anything. I tried really hard this time though, since I’d paid a bit of money to see the stuff and I know Henry Moore is a pretty influential  sculptor. By the end I could at least appreciate the softness of the hard materials and the forms and ideas. Which is further than I’ve ever got before.

I was trying really hard to spend as little money as possible, and had only one saucepan. The combination of these things caused me to eat some pretty crap meals, which lead to some really weird dreams. I had two consecutive dreams in the early hours of one morning. The dream was a bit of a murder mystery, without the murder part. In that world everyone could change into a particular animal, and one person in the dream turned into a rat that attacked me. I awoke, turned over and fell back to sleep. In my next dream it was my seventeenth birthday, and I was at home, only we’d moved house. From our kitchen window, which looked onto a pavement beside a main road, I could see Auckland city behind the west harbour bridge. There was a bus stop, a hose pipe and an electric stand beside it, one of those ones you use for a caravan. As I watched two massive men came to use the pump. One looked Chinese, and the other looked like a Ninja Turtle. Back inside I was sitting in my bedroom choosing colours of long curling ribbon with lots of friends around me. I’m gonna name some names, cause this part is weird as, and you won’t get how weird it is otherwise. Well in my room with me was Natalie, Kate, Jess and Hannah, I think Courtney and Vanessa were there but they didn’t speak, and Harmony was there sitting on my window ledge. The window looked on to the roof, but we were all sitting on the floor and so couldn’t see out. We all got a massive fright when a bird came too close to the window and was eaten by the crocodile which was lying on the roof next to Harmony. 

Am I weird?

Tiafish xoxox

Wallace Collection, Royal Academy of Art, Science Museum, Harrods, Westminster Cathedral, Buckingham Palace, Tate Britain, Westminster Abbey/Houses of Parliament, National Gallery, National Portrait Gallery, Courtauld Gallery, St Paul’s Cathedral, Guildhall, Smithfield Market/the Barbican Centre, Brick Lane, Petticoat Lane Market, Tower of London, the Monument

Places to see in London – Southbank

Tate Modern, London Dungeon, Borough Market, Hay’s Galleria, Design Museum, Fashion & Textiles Museum, Flower Market, Garden Museum, Florence Nightingale Museum, Country Hall Gallery

Things that have made me smile

Spring flowers and buds on the trees, Little glittery cobbled ‘mews’, Watching videos from home, Irregular Choice shoes, Nun joke, Curious squirrel, Seeing my Godparents, Little boy on bus with pretty eyes, A gallery of small things, Little dog sneezing, ear bud sculpture, little places

Things which have made me sad

No one to hug, buses, Job interview – no one to ask how it went, spending too much money, walking past cafes wanting to go in but shouldn’t, worrying, hunger, a friend, no milk, no sugar, no bread, no food, too big, too much, too noisy, too crowded, too fast, too smelly, too hurtful, too ignorant, uncertainty, no one thanks bus drivers in London

Sometimes I get down. I have a pattern where I get used to something, somewhere, and I begin to enjoy seeing the sights and having something solid, and then I will see or hear something, or I have to move, and I feel out of my depth, out of my comfort zone, and totally alone. There are things which help me, my emails and facebook most importantly, and seeing or talking to people. Some days, though, I found that I didn’t talk to anyone until late afternoon, usually it would be ‘That’s £4.95, thanks’ or something similar.

I wrote in my diary/sketch book “People here call you ‘fresh’ if you’ve just arrived. Like being here toughens you up, makes you drink and smoke. Why do people want to fit in so much that everyone does this?” In London I went through being down, then feeling good and then feeling down again. Mainly I was adjusting to being by myself all of the time.

People keep calling me brave, to have come all this way. It wasn’t bravery. I just didn’t think about it. I was like, yeah I’ve stayed at home by myself for a week or two, and I’m a pretty independent person, I don’t mind going places by myself. That is nothing to what it is like being on the other side of the planet to everything I am familiar with. I wrote at the time, “I can’t believe how much I took for granted! It’s so good I’ve done this now, I realize now that you have to have people who love you around you. Otherwise the world is cold and unfriendly.”

That is one of the lessons I have learnt; anywhere you are can be ‘home’, if you are surrounded by those who you love and who love you.

Love love

Your crazy friend  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxox

I kept looking online though, maybe there was a long-stay hostel somewhere or something. I found this website that looked really helpful, and found a place that looked amazing for the price – £79. Not wishing to be a burden any longer than necessary, and wanting a proper shower, I decided to book two weeks – not as long as I was really looking to stay if I got a job, but enough to check out the place. What I didn’t realize was that it meant £79 per night. What a blow! By the time I realized it was too late to cancel or change it, no way I could get a refund. Just half of my money down the drain. I was very angry at myself, I mean how stupid am I to not even realize that the price I was paying was far, far more than £160ish. I hate being so stupid sometimes. Rather than beat myself up about it too much, as that wouldn’t help me in any way, I decided to look at the positives. For one, I would get to see a nicer side of London than I had so far, I would get to stay in a really nice place for a while, and I would have a place to call my own almost in the middle of the city.

The place turned out to be a tiny room with a loudly squeaking single bed, a bathroom where not only could I brush my teeth while sitting on the toilet, I could practically shower there too, and a tiny kitchenette beside the bed. There was a kettle and a microwave on a shelf above the two hot plates. The microwave’s plug was hanging down freely, and didn’t seem to have any way of being plugged in. The kettle I could either plug in on the floor at the foot of the bed, or on the wall while perched on top of the bed. I used the bin as a bed side table, and since there was no table or chair that was useful for a cup of tea while I ate dinner. Good times. I don’t know quite how many times I pushed the bathroom door open with my ass when I was getting dressed after a shower.

On the day I moved in to that new home, I had a job interview. It was at a shop called Tezenis, I think, it sold lingerie although not much of it was anything I would want. It was quite plain, and a lot of it looked like it was for pre-teens. Anyway… the interview went okay, you never really know if they’ve gone really well or not, but she hadn’t asked me to stay on like she said she might. She said she would get back to me by the end of the week. I kind of hoped I wouldn’t get it, since I was pretty much decided by now that London would be lovely if you were with a bunch of friends, but by yourself it’s not so kind. I never heard from the lady, so I decided I would just see London for the rest of the two weeks and then be on my way. I remember on my way back from the interview feeling suddenly very far from home. There was no one to ask how it had gone. No one knew I’d been. No one knew me. I guess that’s another negative to having found that place near Hyde Park; I didn’t end up staying in a hostel where I might meet some fellow travelers.

I spent that week and the next exploring inner London. I thought I might begin with Regent’s Park and Madame Tussauds. I ended up just going to the park, since the wax museum was over twice the price I would pay to see an exhibition in an art gallery, and I didn’t have anyone to take silly photos with. The park was really nice, although I obviously caught it before it’s best. The rose garden was all spikey thick stems without leaves let alone roses. But it was a beautiful sunny day, and I found my way to the edge of a pond where two swans were pompously twining and fluttering and being elegant. I sat on a bench and took out my diary and a pen. I began by writing some thing that had been circling in my head, one of them was a note about the smells of London, which can change so suddenly from cheap men’s perfume to the acrid choking stench of cigarettes. Then I did something I hadn’t done for a long time, I drew what I could see. I drew the path with the benches and people walking, and I drew the swans in the pond, and I drew the large tree that was right in front of me. I really enjoyed it, sitting in the sun drawing. Then I took out my book and read for a bit. I was there more than two hours I think. By then I was very cold, since the English sun is pretty weak, and doesn’t warm you up very much.

I have so many more things to say from my visit to London, and this is long enough already, so I will end here for now.

I found my way by train and underground to their doorstep, and was greeted by an unfamiliar face. This was Tom, the Polish guy who is studying and occupies the room on the ground floor of the house, next to the kitchen and dining room. Turns out I didn’t make it clear I was coming, but luckily Sam was there and it was all okay. They were just getting ready to go out and asked if I’d like to come along. Sam was going to play at an open mic night in a pub somewhere. It was pretty cool, I met another flatmate, Camillo, and his girlfriend and a Polish girl. I definitely would buy a CD from Sam, actually I might ask about that.

During my first week in London I stayed on that floorspace, explored a little, got my CV sorted, applied for a tax number and applied for jobs. I was still half hearted about finding a job. I hadn’t exactly realized how alone I would feel. I guess at that time I found it very difficult to be in a place I didn’t know with very little in the way of support. It was great though, being able to stay with Sam and Alan. They work very hard and are out rather a lot, but just knowing they were there was very comforting. Towards the end of that week I went out with Alan. The plan was to go to this Nineties Night at some club, but I never got that far. We had bought a bottle of bourbon on the way to Alan’s friend Charli’s. Charli is a fashion student, and I found her far more my kind of person than the girls I had been acquainted with so far. I love her shoes too! Anyway, after too many very strong drinks I was unable to make it to the club. I did have a pretty good time though, since getting to the club had taken so long, what with the fashion students all getting ready, that we’d already listened to many of the biggest hits from our younger years. Apparently I didn’t miss much anyway.

In the morning, or early afternoon more like, Alan and I headed over to the Portobello Markets in search of a £10 watch for him. It was a cool atmosphere, heaps of junk stalls, indoor markets with sparkling trinkets and jewellery, fruit and vegetables, clothes and a shop which sold cowboy stuff. Yeah I was tempted alright. Haha it made me laugh to think of the expressions on the faces of my greeters at the airport if I turned up wearing full on bright purple cowboy boots, or one of those tasseled jackets. Pity I couldn’t afford to see. That night I went out with my godparents for dinner. I had thought it might be a little awkward, I mean, I love my godparents dearly, but usually it’s mum and dad who do the talking. I don’t know them that well. I worried for nothing though, it was almost like talking with mum and dad, I really enjoyed seeing them again and didn’t have problems in making conversation.

On my second last day in Paris, I persuaded Fran to join me in visiting the catacombs. The tunnels started with a tight spiral staircase, which opened onto the remains of a quarry. There was a small space where someone had made a sculpture from the rock into a miniature city! What a way to spend your lunch break! The tunnels carried on and eventually we came across the walls of bones. Leg and arm bones were stacked head on, with skulls in lines creating oddly decorative patterns. I had thought this place would be creepy and have a strange feel to it, similar to what I thought Pére Lachaise would be like, but again I was wrong. The spirits were so long departed the skulls and bones were just part of the walls now.

The amount of bones was incredible though! Apparently they had been moved because the overflowing cemeteries close to the centre of Paris was becoming a public health risk. The work was done by night for years and years! It was dimly lit and the skulls gleamed like golden cobbles. It was strange, though, because I felt like I could touch the bones without feeling like an intruder or feeling bad in any way, but I felt like taking photos would be inappropriate. I took a few, to remember the place, photography wasn’t forbidden and other people were taking photos. But it didn’t feel right so I only ended up with four.

There was one area in the place which had apparently been used in sort of macabre events where poets and artists and musicians snuck in and held a private party in the spooky setting! In this part there was a pillar that had been covered in skulls, and the tunnel opened up into a reasonably sized space. Apparently the people who had let in the visitors had been sacked. Guts.

A shop I saw that same day caught my fancy enormously! Ever since I watched ‘Mirrormask’ and possibly even before then, I have been in love with the Venice carnival and its masks. They are beautiful! I love the style of them, not disneyfied (lol) or stylized in the normal Western way, but in their own mysterious Venetian way which seems to have much more history and enigma. I love them! Plus they use gold a fair bit haha. Anyway, back to the story, we came across an amazing shop filled to the ceiling with Venetian masks! There was glittery jewellery as well, and the room glowed with warm golden light, it was beautiful! The lady of the shop allowed me to take one, and only one, photograph. Right in the centre of my photo is a mask which hung from the ceiling, crowned with glorious black feathers exactly like one of the masks in that movie.

That evening was the late night of the Louvre, so we went back for me to visit the Napoleonic Apartments which I could not find last time. Gosh, what a rich guy! Every room was so ornate! There were numerous chandeliers, and the walls were rich colours of crimson or teal, some of them patterned with silky looking embellishments. The ceilings were lined with gold, as were the doorways and everything else, and each was painted like the Sistine Chapel.

When I got to the dining room I found myself behind a group of people. When I say dining room, it was one of many. This one had an enormous long table which must have sat at least fifty people. There was about three glittering chandeliers and golden pillars. The lady in front of me wanted her photo taken with the dining room in the back ground, so I politely waited for my turn to be able to see the room. The lady’s friend, however, had the brains of a flea, and could not figure out how to press the big, shiny button that takes the picture. You know when it says point and click, that’s exactly what it means! Ah well, eventually I got a chance to see the place, only to suddenly find someone back to back with me! I got such a shock and turned around; I was not expecting someone to be touching my back and ass right at that moment. When I turned I realized it was a woman. She was having her picture taken in front of the massive dining room. What the hell?!? I was in that flipping photo!? Why!? I could only imagine these women wanted to pretend they were rich enough to have such a massive dining room. Haha Yes, that’ll do me. ‘If you have a dining room like this, call the number at the bottom of the ad and I will come to you!’ Gees…women..

Before we left Paris on February 20^th, Fran and I visited the Orangerie gallery. The morning was gorgeous, with the Siene softly lit with pink and blue. The attraction of the Orangerie is Monet’s famous ‘Waterlilies’. Monet is one of Fran’s favourite artists, and since seeing him in the Musée D’Orsay, I now fully appreciate his genius. In this gallery there were two rooms on the top floor, each was circular with diffused natural lighting. Around the walls were Monet’s long narrow paintings. Each one worth five minutes’ perusal at least. His colour sense is just incredible! I cannot imagine what it must have been like to have his eyes! To see all the colours that he could… It would be amazing, although I suppose you can train yourself to see more colours than usual. Except these days I suppose Monet would have got a migrane rather a lot from seeing the colours advertisers use to grab our attention. If he looked so intensely to see the purples and ochres in white, imagine what it would be like to step into a supermarket…

It’s amazing when you begin to recognize the ‘hand’ of an artist. Some are really easy to recognize, like Van Gogh, but others are more difficult. I think Monet is pretty easy, but I was amazed by the ease of his hand. His lines are so energetic and yet gentle! Every one is like a lyric in a song, which links perfectly to the next and melts into the whole to create a masterpiece. And while working so closely, with such detail to the movements and colours, he still manages to step back and keep the lilies and reflections making sense and not getting tangled up in themselves.

In the lower section of the gallery were even more paintings, many works by Cezanne and also some by Soutine and other French artists. Ah!

As we left I bought a pack of cards…

And then it was off back to England, and now to explore London! Exciting times await, but for now – Ciao! xoxox

So on the eighteenth I went and saw the most famous icon of Paris – the Eiffel tower. It’s funny, it’s not exactly central like you would think from all the pictures. To be perfectly honest I don’t really like heights that much, I kind of get this urge when I’m at the edge looking down to just end it all and jump. Which is weird cause I’m really not like that! I’m a happy person, thanks, and I really like my life, but that little voice sort of controls my limbs and balance as well. Then I feel like I’m tipping over even when I’m a meter away. Yeah I know it’s not right, so I don’t like to put myself in that situation. I didn’t go up.

That and it’s pretty expensive to just wait for a couple of hours in the massive long queues until you finally get to climb about a billion stairs to see a view of a city I wouldn’t really recognize anyway. It was crazy how many people were waiting though! One of the four legs was shut off, so the other three queues were extra long. It was a little cloudy as well, so the view couldn’t have been that great up there. 

What did kind of…spark my curiosity, was that there were armed guards wandering around under the tower among the crowds of tourists. When I say armed I mean they really had massive serious-looking guns! Who’s going to blow up the Eiffel tower? Or maybe they were expecting trouble cause of the part that was shut? Gosh, I have no idea it just seemed a little ridiculous to me. I hope it was an over reaction. Also roaming the crowds were a bunch of guys holding fairly large metal rings which had small Eiffel towers attached to them. I know you’re not supposed to catch their eyes or they go for you, telling you that a tiny tower is what you need to make your life complete. But the thing is, those little jingling towers were glittery, and I’m like a magpie when it comes to glittery things. Honestly, it was so hard for me not to turn every time I heard that tinkling noise. I get like that in hardware shops too. You know those buckets of nuts and bolts and nails and things…Yeah I love those. I can’t help it, they’re just so twinkly!

Right, now that those viewers who didn’t realize I’m crazy have gone, I’ll carry on hehe. I saw a horse drawn carriage beside the tower as well! Last time I saw one I was driving behind it trying to get to Devonport. Believe me, they can be hell to pass, cause you don’t want to scare the poor horses but you want to get past fairly quick. Awww and I also saw this really sweet little girl! She had a little black beanie on her head with a bright red flower on it, and she was feeding the pigeons while walking backwards, trying to get them to follow her. Personally I wouldn’t have wanted them following me, but it made this little girl giggle and laugh, aw she was so cute!

That day was also the first time I saw a building which has been made so that things grow on every part of the outside except the windows. I was stunned, it looks so strange! I’ve seen a couple more since but it made me laugh that it was a clever design thing. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t be hard in New Zealand, where if you leave your garlic for too long it sprouts green shoots and tries to find soil. I guess there must be a lot of hard work into making sure it doesn’t leak and that, but it looked like they just made the walls of earth and went ‘ta da!’, or rather, ‘e voila!’.

Since we hadn’t managed to get through the whole of the Musee D’Orsay before it shut a few days earlier, we found our way to it again. On the way we saw yet more golden statues adorning pillars and bridges and things. It was really cool though, we saw a beautiful rainbow. It looked like it was coming from a building too, I don’t know what the building was but it was very pretty, obviously as it was in Paris.

That’s all for that day, over and out J Lots of love to my lovelies back home,

Tia xoxoxox

There were many famous names in this place, most of which I didn’t know. Some I did recognize included Delacroix and David the famous French painters, although I didn’t manage to find their resting places. We did, however, find James Morrison; hearing it before we saw it as there were a group of stylish youths smoking and chatting. His grave was littered with cigarettes, thrown there as a token to his life like travesties of roses. Along with the cigarettes were many flowers in bright colours that seemed garish among the grey of everything else. We wondered on, not even seeing half of it as it was so huge. Before we left we saw the grave of Oscar Wilde, which if you’ve ever watched ‘Paris Je T’aime’, you will know is easily recognizable. A large monument with a modern, futuristic angel sculpted into it. The stone is covered in kisses. Pink and red lipstick and the waxy oily residue of lipstick that has since been washed away by the rain shows hundreds of people’s tribute to him. Some have written with the lipstick too, some drew the lips instead of actually kissing the stone. Roses lay at the foot of the statue. To be honest I haven’t read much if any of Oscar Wilde’s work, but reading some of other people’s comments has made me want to.

Later on that day we stumbled across another small arcade. This one had a shining golden shop which caught our eye. The shop was entirely devoted to selling paper decorations. There were lots of beautiful paper flowers, which looked real dried flowers! They were all so delicate. As well as the flowers there were butterflies and plants, and the thing which caught my eye first, goldfish! They were selling little paper goldfish on sticks… it was so strange but they were gorgeous too. That arcade was another of those places where you step into another world when you enter it. There was a bookshop where second-hand books were stacked on tables outside, enticing you to pick one up and get involved in the story. I would have, but they were mostly in French. Saved by ignorance!

As the day grew dark we walked through the Tuillerie gardens to the Louvre which had begun to glow like a giant glass paperweight. A dream come true! I was in heaven wondering gallery after gallery of incredible work! The building itself was breath taking; many of the rooms were decorated richly from floor to ceiling, never mind the works of art. I greedily feasted my eyes on all the works I love best, returning to them time and time again as I inexpertly navigated myself around the shut off portion of the building. I did not manage to see it all, there was simply too much, but I saw enough to fill me with inspiration and a desire to find some paints as soon as possible to start on the long journey to attain a fraction of the skill of some of the painters whose work I saw.

I felt a bit silly though, because I only saw a few works of Raphael and da Vinci, and when I eventually found Fran again I said this aloud, and she said they were probably in Italy. Of course! How stupid of me! I hope at some point on this trip I will be able to see some of their other works, that would satisfy me…for a while at least. 

I would add a photo at this point, but last time it took aaaaaggesss! So yo can just look on my facebook, they’re all up there  

Lots of love 

Tiafish xoxo

I am not a morning person, and in that way Fran and I are totally well suited. After a lazy start, as usual, we trekked our way past the Louvre, when I glimpsed it for the first time! I felt extremely stupid, but I have to admit I had not realized they didn’t keep the whole gallery in the pyramid part. I’d never seen a picture close enough to show quite how big the thing actually was. I didn’t realize that was just the entrance! Heh, my bad.

From there we walked through the Tuillerie gardens, which were much less green than expected. Perhaps because it’s still not exactly spring yet? I don’t know. It made me giggle to see the birds sitting on top of their frozen pond haha! Poor things, though. Got me to thinking whether they ever slide about. Have you ever seen a bird take off on ice? Not that us in Auckland have much experience of these things. It would be hilarious to see though, no? Imagine that! I duck doing the kind of going-no-where run that you usually only see in cartoons! Bahahaha!

Gosh, they do use a lot of gold in Paris. It seemed trying to look rich and powerful was more than just a distraction, it was an obsession! As we left the Tuillerie gardens I saw a lamppost that had gold filigree running up it, and a model of a boat forming the arms where lamps were mounted. The boat was gold. Why do you need a golden lamppost?! All I can say is, if that was in Narnia, stuff going to war! They could have just taken parts of the lamppost and sold it back in England and made a killing!

We found one of the main fashion causeways and in doing so found ourselves in one of Paris’s many small but ornate arcades. In this one we found a simply amazing shop! If I could have I would have spent so much money there! It mainly sold prints and posters, but of so many things! Musicians, artist’s posters and paintings, of places in Paris, of cats or dogs or actors. There were millions! Tacked to the ceiling were upside down hats. Now that’s just cool. There was cheap jewellery glittering in the corners of the shop, and the walls were completely covered in posters. Tres cool.

As we wandered we also found a memorial that I don’t remember the name of at the moment. It recorded all the names of places where French soldiers fought and were killed. All the walls were covered in names. On the ground there was a continuously burning fire with garlands around it. Below it was an inscription which Fran translated to me, although it has also left my mind for the time being.

That day we also visited one of the main department stores. A department store like no other I remember seeing! On the ground floor was perfumes and beauty things, all in the centre of the building, and if you looked straight up you could see a massive domed glass ceiling. There was gold there too. Each of the other levels were mezzanine  floors around this massive space. The building was so beautifully decorated. It would be amazing to work in a place like that, for a short time at least. As it grew dark we found some other small arcades which Paris is so wonderful for. Each entered into a dream reality where life is stuck in some point in history and time has no sort of influence. You can tell that sort of thing by looking at the lights, you can see when they glow like that it’s not 2010 you’re seeing.

Lastly, I will tell you about this one florists shop which just made my jaw drop. I saw it at night two or three times, and each time was stunned. In the window was what looked like a white light box shining light into glass instruments that looked like fancy chemistry equipment. They were each filled with pink water, and each had a single pink orchid, except for one which had a white orchid. They glowed! It was incredible, so simple but so beautiful.