London – September/October 2011. Roll number 3 with the Diana Mini captured the last of the summer light. I love shooting film, but I’m not sure how committed I am to the Diana Mini. It might be time to pull out the Canon AE-1, and get a sturdier satchel (I have my eye on a Cambridge batchel) to carry all my crapola round with me.
A majestic building in Bloomsbury.
An alternate view of Marble Arch. (I always get the sublime Jeff Buckley in my head when I hear those words.)
A flat white at Flat White, Soho. Good coffee is hard to come by in this city (country?). All the best places are run by Aussies & Kiwis, which is not that surprising.
A day trip to Oxford feat. The Queen.
I adore Hyde Park’s deck chairs in the summer… But goodbye to all of that for now!
August, 2011. Images of a black and white Paris, shakily shot through my Diana Mini.
As you can see, I didn’t do a very good job of exposure or winding the film on – but I like the ghostly quality of all these images. Roll 1 down, many more to go.
London so far: Polish beer and lipstick / free information, stacked high on the street for commuters to pluck / museums, museums, museums / summer fruits / wise advice in Shoreditch / a pint or three at the Ten Bells (Jack the Ripper’s stalking ground) / riding a (double-decker) bus home from Sean’s Smashday party in Bethnal Green…
Repeat after me:
It’s football, not soccer.
It’s football, not soccer.
It’s football, not soccer.
It’s football, not soccer.
It’s football, not soccer.
The game was football, Chelsea versus West Brom at Stamford Bridge. Security and hopes were high. A first I didn’t really know what was going on, but thanks to the man behind me, who had the crackled voice of a market seller, I kept up with the plays. And the players, as he graciously named every one – “COME ON DROGZ!”
The final score was 2-1 to Chelsea. Everyone in blue went home happy, and I must remember to always call it football.
Finally home. Which is what I’ll be calling London for the foreseeable future. Right now I am crashing at my brother’s house in Surrey Quays – until next week when I move East into a cute little house with a warm kitchen, a back garden, and a tube stop.
Above is the view from one of the said quays; the buildings are far beyond on the other side of the Thames. And if you walk a little further, you’ll get to a boat called the Wibbly Wobbly – it’s a floating pub!
Marsh Gibbon aka Swamp Monkey is a tiny village nestled in the English countryside somewhere close to Oxford. I oohed at thatched roof cottages, played pétanque, wandered through a churchyard, got to make friends with several nice ponies, ate at some cozy pubs, and whiled away the summer days…
Food, food and more glorious food at a market in Bastille, Paris. It was very early in the morning (thanks jet-lag) and we got there just as all the vendors were setting up. There was nothing to do but buy a nutella crêpe and perch on a bench waiting for them to open. It was the first time I tried nutella. Or ‘noooo-tella’ as the girl making it said. (As she I couldn’t help but think of Amélie, imagining records being made with a crêpe rake.)
Eventually the market jolted to life, and we bought as much cheese, bread and fruit as we could carry. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the intoxicating scent of fresh yellow pears, stacked high to the stall roof.
Bastille Market - Sundays
Boulevard Richard-Lenoir, Bastille, Paris.
Bonjour! After a car ride, 3 flights, one RER and a metro trip later, I arrived in Paris. All in all it was 28 hours of travel – and that’s doing it fast (just a brief touchdown in Kuala Lumpur).
Photos from: one of the Seine bridges, Port des Champs Elysées, Ladurée and life around the 10e. I think I’m almost fluent in breakfast French! Full reports on this aventure intéressante soon…
I am still enjoying the virtual travel lark. Here are some of my former residences in Auckland – from childhood to just last week. We moved around a lot, so there are quite a few far-flung addresses. I was feeling a little sentimental, and wanted to revisit some of these places, but really, who has the time?
My favourite picture is of Vermont St, Ponsonby; a big rambling flat next to a mosque. My favourite home? The one not on street view…
A little virtual tour of the world, courtesy of Google maps. While some of the mystery is gone from travel, the wonder is still there. Downtown, Omaha, Canal Saint-Martin, Buckinghamshire, Southbank. Look at the shadow of the London Eye – amazing!
(Hmm, I am starting to reconsider the 500px width of this blog…)
Paris Syndrome or Syndrome de Paris is a temporary psychological condition suffered by some visitors to Paris. When great expectations meet the gritty reality of Paris life (e.g. dog poo) severe culture shock can set in.
Most victims are Japanese women their 30s, who after being fed a lifetime of highly romanticized images (Amelie, À bout de souffle, Love in the Afternoon – and other top films to see Paris on the silver screen) cannot not handle the gritty reality of Paris life. As Paris Syndrome affects about 12 Japanese tourists a year, the Japanese embassy has a 24-hour hotline in place and can offer help in case of hospitalization. Discovered by Professor Hiroaki Ota, a Japanese psychiatrist working in France, it is similar to Stendahl syndrome.
As the the BBC said in its discussion of Paris Syndrome, “[m]any of the visitors come with a deeply romantic vision of Paris [but the] reality can come as a shock. An encounter with a rude taxi driver, or a Parisian waiter who shouts at customers who cannot speak fluent French, might be laughed off by those from other Western cultures. But for the Japanese – used to a more polite and helpful society in which voices are rarely raised in anger – the experience of their dream city turning into a nightmare can simply be too much.”
If you’ve been to Nippon, the Japanese’s romantic vision of Paris will come as no surprise – Tokyo is awash with French brands and pâtisseries - you’ll even spot an Eiffel-inspired lattice tower on the skyline. Viz, my buddy Richard & I near the Tokyo Tower in 2007:
Can you say baby-faced? Anyway, I’m sure I will be in full control of my psyche and expectations when I land at Orly, Paris in just 26 days… but it’s best to be prepared!
Hello friends! I’m very excited to say that in August I’ll be moving 18331 kilometres (or 11390 miles) away to London, England with my fancy new visa.
The next little while will be busy – I have to finish up at work, have my tonsils removed, pack up my life (into a 30 kilogram baggage allowance no less), and have one last fling with Auckland. Oh, I’m stopping in Paris for a week first to to “recover” from jet lag with cheese and wine, before zipping to my final destination on the Eurostar.
Gosh oh gosh I will miss my loved ones, but I’m really looking forward to this new adventure.
During our trip to the Far North we left Omapere/Opononi, where my grandmother lives, and drove 20 minutes to the next town, Rawene, for coffee. Aside from the Boatshed Cafe, the cross-harbour vehicle ferry, and the dairy/post office, there’s not too much happening here.
It was so very quiet, but it’s kind of reassuring to know that some places never change, and are always how you left them. Even the chocolate fudge cake recipe hasn’t changed from 2009 to 2011!
