Alright. It's time to make my last official entry related to specific trip happenings. I'm back safe in Canada now and it's nice to be home, where things are familiar and I can see all the family/friends I've been wanting to see. At the same time, part of me misses Europe already, misses the historical wealth of everywhere we visited, the exploration of new, often unfamiliar cultures, misses a whole bunch of little things like kinds of cheese, certain grocery stores, that café just down the street from our hostel. I'm already dreaming and scheming about the next trip (which won't be for a while, but hopefully sooner rather than later) - what can I say? I love to travel.
Here's a summary of the rest of our last day in Paris:
After the perfection of the Sacre Coeur picnic, Max and I had one final thing we had to do to make our Paris trip complete (and completely perfect). Once dusk began to fall, we hopped on the Métro one last time and made our way to the Eiffel Tower. Since early on in the week our plan had been to finish off the last leg of the trip with a bird's eye view of Paris at night, so that's exactly what we did. The line was long for the elevators, but once we stepped out and looked over the lights of the city from over 300m in the air, I didn't regret one moment of the sweaty sardine-can ride up to the top. Spread out below us, the streets formed a glowing work of art cut by illuminated rivers, their waters plied by brightly-lit boats that looked like shooting stars from our high perch. To make it all just that much more wonderful, the moon was almost full and it played peek-a-boo with clouds to paint us a dramatic night sky that crowned the sleepy city below.
Once we'd had our fill of the view, I waved a last goodbye to beautiful Paris and we again braved the crushing crowds to get back to the earth (we were thankfully able to take the steps down for the last part of the journey, which gave us an amazing view of the interior of the tower - it really is gorgeous in a sculptural, industrial way). On the way back to the hostel we both got some crepes from a streetside stand - mine was nutella and couldn't have been more delicious.
Then it was time to pack our backpacks one last time, check to see if any soccer was on, and go to bed. The next morning we got our last Parisian breakfast (I savoured the hot chocolate mightily), caught a train out to Charles de Gaulle airport and caught the plane that was to bring us home. The trip was long but mostly uneventful - an extended stopover in Montréal was a bit of a nuisance, but finally, after almost 15 hours of travel (well, 15 hours and seven weeks of travel, I suppose) we walked into the waiting arms of our happy parents and were each driven home.
And so the trip has ended, and what a voyage it was! Now that I'm back I can say without superstition that it went as close to perfectly as one could ever wish - we experienced no theft, our hostel roommates were all amazing (and some will hopefully become future friends), the Eurail pass worked well (with only that one Barcelona hitch, and even that was minor), and we both got back home in one piece and full to the brim with memories and stories to tell. I've decided that I can honestly say the trip changed my life, leaving me a more confident person, one richer in experience and ready to keep living life like I lived it on the road - fully and completely.
I suppose that should be the end of this blog, but I still have a few entries in me, one in particular about which French stereotypes actually exist, as well as another about how I fell in love with Paris. Feel free to stay tuned for those - they should be up in the coming week. After that there'll be a month's haitus, but then I'll begin posting photos in smallish batches - remember, drop me an email if you want to be notified when the pictures start to appear (jbbartram@gmail.com).
Thanks to everyone who read this blog - I had a great time writing it and I hope you found reading it equally enjoyable.
Ciao!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Dernier Jour
Dear Readers,
Here begins my very last entry of the trip proper (I think there will be one or two entries to come once I`ve returned and organized my thoughts - and photos - somewhat). I`d like to thank everyone who kept up with this journal for taking interest in my adventures and I hope you all enjoyed my attemts at giving this voyage a lasting written legacy. Before I talk about my last day in Paris, though, I`d like to post a little PSA:
If anyone is interested in seeing some photos from the trip, please either comment on this entry with your email, or just email it to me (jbbartram@gmail.com), as the photos won`t be up until sometime in August (and I don`t expect anyone to remember to check in two months). I`ll be putting up photos in order of trip sequence and I think there might be some neat ones (or I hope, at least).
Now that that`s over and done with, I can talk about my last day in Paris and the end of what`s turned out to be a glorious trip.
The morning was spent running some errands - I picked up a copy of Jane Eyre at a little second-hand bookshop over by Notre Dame to read on the plane home, then Max and I decided to take full advantage of the fact the city had given us an absolutely gorgeous day (sun shining, fluffy clouds from a storybook, streets bursting with life) and walk through the Tuilleries to the Champs Elysée. It was a treat being able to meander through the gardens in nice weather - last time we went through the clouds were looking ominous and it might even have been spitting rain, and a crowd of others (both tourists and natives) had had the exact same idea as us.
Other than the très cute ducklings swimming in a fountain, the highlight of the stroll was when a couple of women from Burlington struck up a conversation with us after sighting Max`s Canadian flag on his backpack. They were in Paris for a KISS concert (and I assume to sightsee as well), and they made our day when they said they`d mistaken us for a real French couple - quel compliment! It was mostly a result of our attire - Max was wearing his new scarf, quite à la mode in Paris right now - and I had on a dress I`d bought at a cute little (reasonable) boutique in Montmartre a few days earlier. Practically walking on those perfectly fluffy clouds that hovered above us and glowing with pride at our stylish ways, we walked through the rest of the gardens and up the bustling boulevard.
Stopping in at FNAC, the French equivalent of HMV, I fulfilled my vow to buy some French rap (I find it endlessly entertaining, as they still try to sound as hardcore as their American counterparts, but the beauty inherent in the French language makes even the most agressive `gangster` rap sound just a little pretty), and struck up a conversation with one of the employees that had me walking out with a rap CD as well as a few other pieces of great modern French pop - can`t wait to put them on when I get home and dream about my time in Paris.
Après lunch, which we had in a tiny café that had me thinking about Amélie the entire time (it even had walls the same shade of green as Jeunet uses!). The waitress was quite sweet, but the rhubarb tart I had for dessert was just a bit sweeter. After a rest at the hostel, we bought some essentials (wine, cheese and one baguette each) and had a farewell Paris picnic on the slopes of Sacre Coeur`s hill. It was the perfect way to say goodbye - everywhere people were frolicking and soaking up the sun, and I could feel the city`s pulse more than ever.
It`s time to go now, but I`ll be updating again once I`m back in Canada about the last hours of the trip and some scattered recollections and impressions from Paris and beyond.
Au revoir!
Here begins my very last entry of the trip proper (I think there will be one or two entries to come once I`ve returned and organized my thoughts - and photos - somewhat). I`d like to thank everyone who kept up with this journal for taking interest in my adventures and I hope you all enjoyed my attemts at giving this voyage a lasting written legacy. Before I talk about my last day in Paris, though, I`d like to post a little PSA:
If anyone is interested in seeing some photos from the trip, please either comment on this entry with your email, or just email it to me (jbbartram@gmail.com), as the photos won`t be up until sometime in August (and I don`t expect anyone to remember to check in two months). I`ll be putting up photos in order of trip sequence and I think there might be some neat ones (or I hope, at least).
Now that that`s over and done with, I can talk about my last day in Paris and the end of what`s turned out to be a glorious trip.
The morning was spent running some errands - I picked up a copy of Jane Eyre at a little second-hand bookshop over by Notre Dame to read on the plane home, then Max and I decided to take full advantage of the fact the city had given us an absolutely gorgeous day (sun shining, fluffy clouds from a storybook, streets bursting with life) and walk through the Tuilleries to the Champs Elysée. It was a treat being able to meander through the gardens in nice weather - last time we went through the clouds were looking ominous and it might even have been spitting rain, and a crowd of others (both tourists and natives) had had the exact same idea as us.
Other than the très cute ducklings swimming in a fountain, the highlight of the stroll was when a couple of women from Burlington struck up a conversation with us after sighting Max`s Canadian flag on his backpack. They were in Paris for a KISS concert (and I assume to sightsee as well), and they made our day when they said they`d mistaken us for a real French couple - quel compliment! It was mostly a result of our attire - Max was wearing his new scarf, quite à la mode in Paris right now - and I had on a dress I`d bought at a cute little (reasonable) boutique in Montmartre a few days earlier. Practically walking on those perfectly fluffy clouds that hovered above us and glowing with pride at our stylish ways, we walked through the rest of the gardens and up the bustling boulevard.
Stopping in at FNAC, the French equivalent of HMV, I fulfilled my vow to buy some French rap (I find it endlessly entertaining, as they still try to sound as hardcore as their American counterparts, but the beauty inherent in the French language makes even the most agressive `gangster` rap sound just a little pretty), and struck up a conversation with one of the employees that had me walking out with a rap CD as well as a few other pieces of great modern French pop - can`t wait to put them on when I get home and dream about my time in Paris.
Après lunch, which we had in a tiny café that had me thinking about Amélie the entire time (it even had walls the same shade of green as Jeunet uses!). The waitress was quite sweet, but the rhubarb tart I had for dessert was just a bit sweeter. After a rest at the hostel, we bought some essentials (wine, cheese and one baguette each) and had a farewell Paris picnic on the slopes of Sacre Coeur`s hill. It was the perfect way to say goodbye - everywhere people were frolicking and soaking up the sun, and I could feel the city`s pulse more than ever.
It`s time to go now, but I`ll be updating again once I`m back in Canada about the last hours of the trip and some scattered recollections and impressions from Paris and beyond.
Au revoir!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Buddha`s Intestines in Paris
Since Max and I set our breakfast delivery time to 7 a.m. and then forgot to change it back, we were woken up at the crack of dawn (to us, at least) for the third day in a row, something not even delectable French chocolat chaud can make painless. The fact neither of us got to bed that early didn`t help, so today wound up being a pretty simple one. We climbed the Arc de Triomphe (this is what our cards are good for - I may not have done that normally, but it was on the list and this was our last day of using them) and got a view of the biggest roundabout in the world (apparently) and all its spokes stretching out through the city, then descended and walked up the Champs-Elysées toward the Centre Pompidou. On the way we`re pretty sure we saw President Bush`s convoy driving dramatically up the road - he`s doing some kind of European tour and flew in today according to a newspaper we found in a nearby café.
The Centre Pompidou is an anomoly in downtown Paris, sticking up defiantly among the stone structures and holding its own against the beautiful 19th century apartment buildings that surround it. Going up the escalators that run through the glass tunnels along the front of the museum gave us a great view of the city, all the way over to our beloved Sacre Coeur up on its hill. Once in the galleries, walking through room after room of contemporary art, I began to remember how so much of the work created between the 1960-70s to now leaves me a bit cold - until I rounded a corner and saw a flock of vultures tugging at a Buddha statue`s silk intestines. It was shocking and visually interesting and certainly prompted a response (as stuffed/mounted vultures eating Buddha`s entrails are wont to do), something a lot of the other stuff on that floor failed to do for me. When we discussed it tonight at dinner, we decided it might have been a statement about the way people in Western culture pick at Buddhism for the bits they want to use without understanding the actual meaning of the philosophy.
The second floor of gallery space had work from 1905 until the 40s or so, meaning Matisse, Picasso, Picabia, etc. I was happy to come across a Modigliani (I love the way he plays with human proportions, especially the neck and eyes), and a display of art magazines produced by various groups in the early 20th century appealed to my love of graphic design. There was also an interesting room based around a painting/manifesto by DeChirico, who, in 1919, called for a return to the methods of the old masters. The space was full of portraits, all recalling some sense of classical portraiture, but with modern tweaks. My personal favourite piece was by André Derain, a simple painting of a nude woman sitting in front of a vivid green background.
I left the museum before Max, and as I descended into the Métro station to head home for a nap, I heard the strains of Vivaldi floating up the stairs. `How could this be?` I thought - `this sounds like a whole ORCHESTRA!` Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, I realized I wasn`t far off - packed into a nondescript corner were nine violins, two double bass and a cello, playing beautiful music for a crowd of surprised commuters. It was amazing to see how many people stopped to just listen, taking a moment out of their day to marvel at the slightly surreal sight of so many instruments making a concert hall out of the station.
So my day was full of surrealism both in and out of galleries, something that apparently exhausted me because I proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon in my bed, napping happily. Tomorrow Max and I have planned a bit of a sleep-in, then who knows what`ll happen, as we`ve left the day open for adventure.
The Centre Pompidou is an anomoly in downtown Paris, sticking up defiantly among the stone structures and holding its own against the beautiful 19th century apartment buildings that surround it. Going up the escalators that run through the glass tunnels along the front of the museum gave us a great view of the city, all the way over to our beloved Sacre Coeur up on its hill. Once in the galleries, walking through room after room of contemporary art, I began to remember how so much of the work created between the 1960-70s to now leaves me a bit cold - until I rounded a corner and saw a flock of vultures tugging at a Buddha statue`s silk intestines. It was shocking and visually interesting and certainly prompted a response (as stuffed/mounted vultures eating Buddha`s entrails are wont to do), something a lot of the other stuff on that floor failed to do for me. When we discussed it tonight at dinner, we decided it might have been a statement about the way people in Western culture pick at Buddhism for the bits they want to use without understanding the actual meaning of the philosophy.
The second floor of gallery space had work from 1905 until the 40s or so, meaning Matisse, Picasso, Picabia, etc. I was happy to come across a Modigliani (I love the way he plays with human proportions, especially the neck and eyes), and a display of art magazines produced by various groups in the early 20th century appealed to my love of graphic design. There was also an interesting room based around a painting/manifesto by DeChirico, who, in 1919, called for a return to the methods of the old masters. The space was full of portraits, all recalling some sense of classical portraiture, but with modern tweaks. My personal favourite piece was by André Derain, a simple painting of a nude woman sitting in front of a vivid green background.
I left the museum before Max, and as I descended into the Métro station to head home for a nap, I heard the strains of Vivaldi floating up the stairs. `How could this be?` I thought - `this sounds like a whole ORCHESTRA!` Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, I realized I wasn`t far off - packed into a nondescript corner were nine violins, two double bass and a cello, playing beautiful music for a crowd of surprised commuters. It was amazing to see how many people stopped to just listen, taking a moment out of their day to marvel at the slightly surreal sight of so many instruments making a concert hall out of the station.
So my day was full of surrealism both in and out of galleries, something that apparently exhausted me because I proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon in my bed, napping happily. Tomorrow Max and I have planned a bit of a sleep-in, then who knows what`ll happen, as we`ve left the day open for adventure.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Les Impressionistes et les puces
Second entry time (I`d hold off until tomorrow, but then you`d all be facing an actual blog-novel and who wants that?), covering the Musée d`Orsay and today`s adventures. On y va...
After the morning at the Louvre, Max and I fortified ourselves at a wee café just off the beaten path (in other words, one that wasn`t stupidly overpriced) and plunged onwards into more great art. Once again our Museum Cards allowed us to skip the line and waltz right into the gallery feeling like vertitable V.I.Ps.
The Orsay`s collection is spread out inside a former train station, a location that somehow fits the eclectic crowd of objets d`art that fills the building`s walls. From miniscule daguerrotypes depicting solemn Victorians to strange Symbolist paintings that look almost too tacky to be living in a famous museum, the Orsay`s labyrinth of galleries tosses something different in the viewer`s face around every corner. The main hall makes the original purpose of the museum obvious - a glass ceiling letting in lovely natural light and the big clock now giving the time only to tourists and a group of statues that dot the huge floor. The rest of the major galleries reside on the second and fifth floors, twisting and turning and quite confusing in layout.
The second floor gave me a huge, glorious dose of Art Nouveau furniture and other assorted household objects along with the aforementioned weird Symbolist stuff that was entertaining, if not actually the kind of painting I like. The fifth floor was where the real magic is though, as Van Gogh, Degas, Toulouse-Lautrec, Renoir, Gaugin, Matisse, Monet, and a few other BIG name Impressionists (and Post-impressionists) were there on the walls. I rediscovered my love for Van Gogh`s gorgeous colours and free brushstrokes, and I wished I could stand in front of `La Nuit Ètoilée, Arles` or `Eugène Boch` for hours just absorbing the life present in those paintings. The Pointillism room also reminded me that I only really enjoy the style when the dot-images are rendered in crazy technicolour, like the paintings of Henri Edmond Cross, as the bright rainbow shades remove a certain rigidity born from the technical use of those millions of dots.
After a full half-day of art viewing, Max and I split up and explored the city a bit on our own. I didn`t see anything particularly noteworthy, just enjoyed the beautiful apartment buildings and pretended to be a real Parisian for a few hours. After a bit of a nap (we`d gotten up at 7:00), we had some dinner and walked up to Sacre Coeur. I had major Amélie flashbacks the whole walk up, and the golden evening light even made the city look a little like Jeunet`s version of Paris. Once we`d reached the top I turned around to see the whole city spread out under the setting sun and it was one of the most wonderful things I`ve ever seen.
This morning I`d made plans to go to the Saturday flea market (marchée des puces...or de puce, can`t recall), and so I set off to conquer the Métro all by my lonesome since Max wasn`t quite as excited about dusty antiques. I actually went to the market at the age of seven, and as with most places one revisits, it seemed much smaller this time around. Once I`d waded through a throng of men selling fake designer sunglasses and knockoff Prada bags, however, I still had fun looking at all the strange items at the stands (want a stuffed and mounted snarling badger? No? How about a slighty racist kid`s book from the 40s?). By the end of the visit I`d also managed to purchase an Art Deco pendant and some late 19th/early 20th century postcards, so it wound up being a perfect morning after all.
The next item on my day`s itinerary was another Métro ride across the city to the aquarium (also on my Museum Card - I`m intent on getting my money`s worth). The outside of the building in which the fish were housed was quite grand - an Art Deco façade entirely covered in colonial reliefs (by this I mean images of Africa that included both elephants, tribal natives and lots of white explorers in pith helmets) that were quite impressive. It was a bit of a surprise then, when I walked through the door, to be directed to the basement of the building and a smallish room of medium-sized tanks. The aquarium was pretty good despite its slightly budget appearance, as they had a varied selection of both tropical standards (clown fish, etc.) and some bizzare creatures like electric eels, elephant fish and the impossibly strange white unicorn fish (yes, really, it, unlike its namesake, exists).
I finished off the sightseeing portion of the day by wandering around Montmartre and enjoying the cute little shops on the Butte, which vary between chic clothing stores, boulangeries and places that specialize in antiques and curiosities like old printer`s letters and doll hands.
Quite a day today - it feels good to get all caught up here. Maybe next time it won`t take me almost two hours to update (excuse me as I fantasize about my North American keyboard that allows me to type fast).
À demain!
After the morning at the Louvre, Max and I fortified ourselves at a wee café just off the beaten path (in other words, one that wasn`t stupidly overpriced) and plunged onwards into more great art. Once again our Museum Cards allowed us to skip the line and waltz right into the gallery feeling like vertitable V.I.Ps.
The Orsay`s collection is spread out inside a former train station, a location that somehow fits the eclectic crowd of objets d`art that fills the building`s walls. From miniscule daguerrotypes depicting solemn Victorians to strange Symbolist paintings that look almost too tacky to be living in a famous museum, the Orsay`s labyrinth of galleries tosses something different in the viewer`s face around every corner. The main hall makes the original purpose of the museum obvious - a glass ceiling letting in lovely natural light and the big clock now giving the time only to tourists and a group of statues that dot the huge floor. The rest of the major galleries reside on the second and fifth floors, twisting and turning and quite confusing in layout.
The second floor gave me a huge, glorious dose of Art Nouveau furniture and other assorted household objects along with the aforementioned weird Symbolist stuff that was entertaining, if not actually the kind of painting I like. The fifth floor was where the real magic is though, as Van Gogh, Degas, Toulouse-Lautrec, Renoir, Gaugin, Matisse, Monet, and a few other BIG name Impressionists (and Post-impressionists) were there on the walls. I rediscovered my love for Van Gogh`s gorgeous colours and free brushstrokes, and I wished I could stand in front of `La Nuit Ètoilée, Arles` or `Eugène Boch` for hours just absorbing the life present in those paintings. The Pointillism room also reminded me that I only really enjoy the style when the dot-images are rendered in crazy technicolour, like the paintings of Henri Edmond Cross, as the bright rainbow shades remove a certain rigidity born from the technical use of those millions of dots.
After a full half-day of art viewing, Max and I split up and explored the city a bit on our own. I didn`t see anything particularly noteworthy, just enjoyed the beautiful apartment buildings and pretended to be a real Parisian for a few hours. After a bit of a nap (we`d gotten up at 7:00), we had some dinner and walked up to Sacre Coeur. I had major Amélie flashbacks the whole walk up, and the golden evening light even made the city look a little like Jeunet`s version of Paris. Once we`d reached the top I turned around to see the whole city spread out under the setting sun and it was one of the most wonderful things I`ve ever seen.
This morning I`d made plans to go to the Saturday flea market (marchée des puces...or de puce, can`t recall), and so I set off to conquer the Métro all by my lonesome since Max wasn`t quite as excited about dusty antiques. I actually went to the market at the age of seven, and as with most places one revisits, it seemed much smaller this time around. Once I`d waded through a throng of men selling fake designer sunglasses and knockoff Prada bags, however, I still had fun looking at all the strange items at the stands (want a stuffed and mounted snarling badger? No? How about a slighty racist kid`s book from the 40s?). By the end of the visit I`d also managed to purchase an Art Deco pendant and some late 19th/early 20th century postcards, so it wound up being a perfect morning after all.
The next item on my day`s itinerary was another Métro ride across the city to the aquarium (also on my Museum Card - I`m intent on getting my money`s worth). The outside of the building in which the fish were housed was quite grand - an Art Deco façade entirely covered in colonial reliefs (by this I mean images of Africa that included both elephants, tribal natives and lots of white explorers in pith helmets) that were quite impressive. It was a bit of a surprise then, when I walked through the door, to be directed to the basement of the building and a smallish room of medium-sized tanks. The aquarium was pretty good despite its slightly budget appearance, as they had a varied selection of both tropical standards (clown fish, etc.) and some bizzare creatures like electric eels, elephant fish and the impossibly strange white unicorn fish (yes, really, it, unlike its namesake, exists).
I finished off the sightseeing portion of the day by wandering around Montmartre and enjoying the cute little shops on the Butte, which vary between chic clothing stores, boulangeries and places that specialize in antiques and curiosities like old printer`s letters and doll hands.
Quite a day today - it feels good to get all caught up here. Maybe next time it won`t take me almost two hours to update (excuse me as I fantasize about my North American keyboard that allows me to type fast).
À demain!
Art I
The last day and a half have been chock full of intense sightseeing - yesterday Max and I went to the Louvre and the Musée d`Orsay, then had dinner and wandered up to the Sacre Coeur in our own neighbourhood for sunset (it`s just up the street from our hostel). The Louvre was, of course, majestic. Walking from the busy street into the courtyard was like entering another world, one where the traffic was completely muffled and the buildings covered in almost confectionary decoration. Among the flowers and scrolls that adorned the pediments and doorways it is possible to see a number of Ns peeking out, a legacy of Napoleon`s ego popping up all over the exterior.
The pyramid that caused such a scandal when first built wasn`t unpleasant to my eyes - it provides a welcome contrast to the exuberant architecture that`s all around, as well as creating a beautiful, light main hall from which to access all the galleries. I don`t have my list of highlights with me right now, but I can say that my favourite exhibits were those of Medieval painting and sculpture, as I continue to be fascinated and inspired by the way the artists depicted figures, and an interesting melding of modern art with Renaissance painting from Northern Europe. The artist Jan Fabre was invited by the Louvre to choose a gallery and integrate new and already created works of his own art in with the permenant exhibit. The result was appealingly jarring as a new, weird dialogue weaved itself through the staid old paintings hanging (perhaps a little nervously?) on the wall.
The confrontational nature of Fabre`s contribution was introduced from the get-go. When I got to the top of the escalator, I was shocked to see what appeared to be a man squashing his face directly into an Old Master (a painting, not the master himself). It took more than a few moments to notice the blood pooling at the man`s feet, then (with relief) the fact he was actually a dummy, a model of Fabre himself set up to look as if he`d shoved his face violently into the painting, giving himself one hell of a nosebleed. His strange creations were placed throughout the gallery, and I found they encouraged me to not only take a closer look at the new works, but to spend more time on the Renaissance materials, trying to figure out exactly how he was trying to form connections. I actually think I`ll go back for another look tomorrow, as I didn`t get quite as much time as I would have liked (we bought these Museum Cards that give us unlimited access to various museums until tomorrow night - very good investment).
I seem to be running out of time (this is a strange Euro-keyboard and I type much more slowly than usual), so the Orsay and today`s adventures shall have to wait until this evening. Until then!
The pyramid that caused such a scandal when first built wasn`t unpleasant to my eyes - it provides a welcome contrast to the exuberant architecture that`s all around, as well as creating a beautiful, light main hall from which to access all the galleries. I don`t have my list of highlights with me right now, but I can say that my favourite exhibits were those of Medieval painting and sculpture, as I continue to be fascinated and inspired by the way the artists depicted figures, and an interesting melding of modern art with Renaissance painting from Northern Europe. The artist Jan Fabre was invited by the Louvre to choose a gallery and integrate new and already created works of his own art in with the permenant exhibit. The result was appealingly jarring as a new, weird dialogue weaved itself through the staid old paintings hanging (perhaps a little nervously?) on the wall.
The confrontational nature of Fabre`s contribution was introduced from the get-go. When I got to the top of the escalator, I was shocked to see what appeared to be a man squashing his face directly into an Old Master (a painting, not the master himself). It took more than a few moments to notice the blood pooling at the man`s feet, then (with relief) the fact he was actually a dummy, a model of Fabre himself set up to look as if he`d shoved his face violently into the painting, giving himself one hell of a nosebleed. His strange creations were placed throughout the gallery, and I found they encouraged me to not only take a closer look at the new works, but to spend more time on the Renaissance materials, trying to figure out exactly how he was trying to form connections. I actually think I`ll go back for another look tomorrow, as I didn`t get quite as much time as I would have liked (we bought these Museum Cards that give us unlimited access to various museums until tomorrow night - very good investment).
I seem to be running out of time (this is a strange Euro-keyboard and I type much more slowly than usual), so the Orsay and today`s adventures shall have to wait until this evening. Until then!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Gargoyles (et les autres choses)
Quick summary of the rest of my time in Switzerland/avec les Bernoullis:
In Bern I fell in love with the beautiful and often strange wooden statues that stood in the middle of the quaint (a word that`s entirely unavoidable in la Suisse, I fear) cobbled streets. My personal highights among the many colourfully painted figures were a monstrous man devouring babies and a bear dressed as a soldier. Bern was also exciting because I finally got to see/eat at Daniel Bernoulli`s lovely restaurant, something I`ve been waiting to do for a while. We also had lunch with Felix and Emmi B. out in the Swiss countryside near Bern, a great meal where we were plied with much delicious wine and amazing hospitality.
After Bern came Neuchatel, where we met Anne B., who looked after me for three months when she came to Canada twenty years ago (when I was a wee thing of three years old), and who I hadn`t seen for almost 12 years. It was fantastic to meet her children and get all caught up with her as an adult myself, plus she heaped the most fabulous generosity upon us in the form of food, wine and conversations full of laughter (and French practice for me). It was difficult to leave after only two nights, but Paris was ahead of us so we hopped on our last train of the trip and waved a sad goodbye.
Now we`ve spent our first full day in the City of Light and thus far I`m absolutely smitten. Some people tried to tell me about how dirty Paris is, how the streets are full of either tourists or angry residents, but really - what city doesn`t have those elements mixed in with the good stuff? Despite some seedy underbelly moments, I maintain that Paris deserves its magical reputation - there`s just something in the air here, floating around with the Vespa exhaust and scents of croque monsieurs, something embedded in the brick of the magestic buildings, the Art Nouveau Métro signs, something unique and absolutely thrilling.
Max and I tackled yet another subway system today with more successful results, getting ourselves to the Cité stop to see Notre Dame first thing in the morning (for us that happens to be 10 a.m.), after our breakfast of croissants and chocolat chaud was delivered to our room (yes, we`ve found ourselves in another full-service, fully awesome hostel - again). Thank goodness we did, since the tourists were thick on the ground by the time we`d exited the tower.
Seeing the grand cathedral was incredible - the stained glass rosettes were delectable, and getting to spend some time with the flock of gargoyles gracing the tower`s edge couldn`t have been more enjoyable. I said hello to my old friend the pensive monkey (you know, the really famous one), but took more joy in discovering an elephant, a bear and a creepy crouched garg who`d lost his face to the weather and now squats like a ghoul from a horror film over the city`s rooves.
After Notre Dame we made our way clear across the Métro to the bottom of the Bois de Boulogne (spelt wrong, I`m sure) to see Sex and the City: The Movie in a theatre that was kind enough to play it in English with French subtitles. I shan`t insert a review here, but for those of you who might wonder, yes, it did the show justice. I also learned some new French slang/swear words thanks to the subtitles.
That was momst of our day today - we sat in a few cafés and just soaked up the fact we`re actually here, in Paris. I plan to savour every moment.
In Bern I fell in love with the beautiful and often strange wooden statues that stood in the middle of the quaint (a word that`s entirely unavoidable in la Suisse, I fear) cobbled streets. My personal highights among the many colourfully painted figures were a monstrous man devouring babies and a bear dressed as a soldier. Bern was also exciting because I finally got to see/eat at Daniel Bernoulli`s lovely restaurant, something I`ve been waiting to do for a while. We also had lunch with Felix and Emmi B. out in the Swiss countryside near Bern, a great meal where we were plied with much delicious wine and amazing hospitality.
After Bern came Neuchatel, where we met Anne B., who looked after me for three months when she came to Canada twenty years ago (when I was a wee thing of three years old), and who I hadn`t seen for almost 12 years. It was fantastic to meet her children and get all caught up with her as an adult myself, plus she heaped the most fabulous generosity upon us in the form of food, wine and conversations full of laughter (and French practice for me). It was difficult to leave after only two nights, but Paris was ahead of us so we hopped on our last train of the trip and waved a sad goodbye.
Now we`ve spent our first full day in the City of Light and thus far I`m absolutely smitten. Some people tried to tell me about how dirty Paris is, how the streets are full of either tourists or angry residents, but really - what city doesn`t have those elements mixed in with the good stuff? Despite some seedy underbelly moments, I maintain that Paris deserves its magical reputation - there`s just something in the air here, floating around with the Vespa exhaust and scents of croque monsieurs, something embedded in the brick of the magestic buildings, the Art Nouveau Métro signs, something unique and absolutely thrilling.
Max and I tackled yet another subway system today with more successful results, getting ourselves to the Cité stop to see Notre Dame first thing in the morning (for us that happens to be 10 a.m.), after our breakfast of croissants and chocolat chaud was delivered to our room (yes, we`ve found ourselves in another full-service, fully awesome hostel - again). Thank goodness we did, since the tourists were thick on the ground by the time we`d exited the tower.
Seeing the grand cathedral was incredible - the stained glass rosettes were delectable, and getting to spend some time with the flock of gargoyles gracing the tower`s edge couldn`t have been more enjoyable. I said hello to my old friend the pensive monkey (you know, the really famous one), but took more joy in discovering an elephant, a bear and a creepy crouched garg who`d lost his face to the weather and now squats like a ghoul from a horror film over the city`s rooves.
After Notre Dame we made our way clear across the Métro to the bottom of the Bois de Boulogne (spelt wrong, I`m sure) to see Sex and the City: The Movie in a theatre that was kind enough to play it in English with French subtitles. I shan`t insert a review here, but for those of you who might wonder, yes, it did the show justice. I also learned some new French slang/swear words thanks to the subtitles.
That was momst of our day today - we sat in a few cafés and just soaked up the fact we`re actually here, in Paris. I plan to savour every moment.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Oui, Paris!
Sorry for the long break between entries there - I was quite busy being coddled by a number of lovely, hospitable and oh-so-generous Swiss folks. The rest of the stay at Mary`s home included French practice pour moi, more incredible food and much interesting conversation. On Monday we hopped on a train bound for Bern, where we were to meet Felix Bernoulli, an old friend of the family. After we found him, the intense visiting began - I hadn`t seen any of the Bernoullis (we`re friends with most of the large extended family) since I was 12 or so, which meant we had a lot of catching up to do.
I`m going to cut this entry short here, since this keyboard is even stranger than the other European models I`ve encountered thus far and I`m almost out of time. I mostly wanted to let everyone know that I`m finally in beautiful Paris, happily ensconced in my sweet little Montmartre room and so excited to explore the city. Expect a number of entries to come, one with more details on my Swiss adventures and the rest all about PARIS!
Au revoir pour maintenant!
I`m going to cut this entry short here, since this keyboard is even stranger than the other European models I`ve encountered thus far and I`m almost out of time. I mostly wanted to let everyone know that I`m finally in beautiful Paris, happily ensconced in my sweet little Montmartre room and so excited to explore the city. Expect a number of entries to come, one with more details on my Swiss adventures and the rest all about PARIS!
Au revoir pour maintenant!
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Barcelona (to Girona to Cerbere to Montpellier) to Lyon
Leaving Barcelona turned out to be quite the saga due to us getting ousted from our first train due to the indifference of an unpleasant ticket-seller (he told us we didn't need a reservation...he lied). We thankfully managed to keep our heads and catch one train from Girona (where we'd had to get off) to Cerbere, and from there to Montpellier, followed by a quick switch to a snazzy TGV (a high-speed beauty of a train) and onwards to Lyon. One of our main worries upon messing up the train schedule in such a way had been the fact our hotel's reception closed at 20:30 - and we weren't to get to the station in Lyon until 20:20! To our relief, the lovely lady at the desk took our panicked phone call from Cerbere and told us to pick up the keys at a neighbouring restaurant upon our arrival.
When we finally rolled into Lyon after over 12 hours (and four different trains), we first arranged our trip to Geneva, asking the teller if he was really, really, actually sure we didn't need a reservation (we definitely have some trust issues now), and then stumbled towards Hotel Iris. Our room was tiny, but beautifully decorated, with vibrant paint on the walls and a Cocteau print hanging across from the bed, perfect for our one night in the city. Once we'd dropped off our backpacks, we zipped around the corner to a trendy little bistro with a prix fixe menu (found via Max's guidebook). The decor was hilarious (and some might say quite French) - pinned to the walls were ziploc bags containing innumerable days worth of cigarettes, presumably swept up from the restaurant's floor (and now just the patio thanks to the smoking ban). Each bag had been carefully labelled with the date and year collected as if they were some kind of scientific sample, and I figured they might have been an artistic form of protest against the EU-wide smoking ban inside restaurants. The place offered more than just rebellious decoration, as the food was absolutely delicious, perfect French comfort food for two exhausted travelers.
The next morning we checked out and went off to explore the city. First we wandered down to the river, where we wound up in the middle of a small market. I was instantly seduced by a cheese stand that beckoned to me with promises of delectable fromage français. There was a beautiful selection of ripened goat cheese (chevre), and after much deliberation I decided upon three little rounds of Rocamadour and a gooey round of another chevre that was on sale and looked impossibly decadent (I have since eaten it and it was everything I hoped it might be). We devoured the wee Rocamadours atop some fresh bread while sitting in a park beside a statue dedicated to the glory of the Republic.
The train ride to Geneva was gorgeous, as we passed by solemn, precipitous cliffs, their heads shrouded in thick ribbons of mist due to the weather being decidedly grey (and the rain intermittent). It was a serene landscape despite the towering drama of the crags, and as it sped by outside the window I imagined the surrounding woods full of remnants of all the fairy tales of Europe, wolves and grandmothers and witches in soggy gingerbread houses were all there, hidden from me behind the thick leaves of the forest. The magical landscape endured as we passed over the Swiss border and clouds could be seen nestling in valleys like great white birds, their feathers soft and heavy with rain. The architecture began to change as we passed out of France, and I saw at least one little cabin that could have easily housed Heidi herself.
We met Mary (our host) at the train station without a hitch and took our first car ride in many a week to her lovely apartment near the lake. She has since been showing us around the city and cooking us gourmet meals (last night we had swordfish with lime, perfectly delicious). The weather continues to be grim, but I'm taking some time to just relax after all the intense traveling and that crazy Barcelona weekend - my body was basically demanding it.
Actually, I think it's demanding some more rest right now. Time to go read my book (I'll tell you more about Switzerland later).
When we finally rolled into Lyon after over 12 hours (and four different trains), we first arranged our trip to Geneva, asking the teller if he was really, really, actually sure we didn't need a reservation (we definitely have some trust issues now), and then stumbled towards Hotel Iris. Our room was tiny, but beautifully decorated, with vibrant paint on the walls and a Cocteau print hanging across from the bed, perfect for our one night in the city. Once we'd dropped off our backpacks, we zipped around the corner to a trendy little bistro with a prix fixe menu (found via Max's guidebook). The decor was hilarious (and some might say quite French) - pinned to the walls were ziploc bags containing innumerable days worth of cigarettes, presumably swept up from the restaurant's floor (and now just the patio thanks to the smoking ban). Each bag had been carefully labelled with the date and year collected as if they were some kind of scientific sample, and I figured they might have been an artistic form of protest against the EU-wide smoking ban inside restaurants. The place offered more than just rebellious decoration, as the food was absolutely delicious, perfect French comfort food for two exhausted travelers.
The next morning we checked out and went off to explore the city. First we wandered down to the river, where we wound up in the middle of a small market. I was instantly seduced by a cheese stand that beckoned to me with promises of delectable fromage français. There was a beautiful selection of ripened goat cheese (chevre), and after much deliberation I decided upon three little rounds of Rocamadour and a gooey round of another chevre that was on sale and looked impossibly decadent (I have since eaten it and it was everything I hoped it might be). We devoured the wee Rocamadours atop some fresh bread while sitting in a park beside a statue dedicated to the glory of the Republic.
The train ride to Geneva was gorgeous, as we passed by solemn, precipitous cliffs, their heads shrouded in thick ribbons of mist due to the weather being decidedly grey (and the rain intermittent). It was a serene landscape despite the towering drama of the crags, and as it sped by outside the window I imagined the surrounding woods full of remnants of all the fairy tales of Europe, wolves and grandmothers and witches in soggy gingerbread houses were all there, hidden from me behind the thick leaves of the forest. The magical landscape endured as we passed over the Swiss border and clouds could be seen nestling in valleys like great white birds, their feathers soft and heavy with rain. The architecture began to change as we passed out of France, and I saw at least one little cabin that could have easily housed Heidi herself.
We met Mary (our host) at the train station without a hitch and took our first car ride in many a week to her lovely apartment near the lake. She has since been showing us around the city and cooking us gourmet meals (last night we had swordfish with lime, perfectly delicious). The weather continues to be grim, but I'm taking some time to just relax after all the intense traveling and that crazy Barcelona weekend - my body was basically demanding it.
Actually, I think it's demanding some more rest right now. Time to go read my book (I'll tell you more about Switzerland later).
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Gaudi´s not gaudy
Here I am, back to blogging and almost recovered from the weekend. My last two days in Barcelona have gone by too fast, but I managed to see almost everything on my mental list, so it´s all OK (plus the festival experience makes up for anything I missed).
Yesterday I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed by 10:30 (the Brits and I had stayed out until almost 4 a.m. at the festival wrap party that just happened to be around the corner from our hostel - much more fun dancing time was had), said a sad goodbye to my soon-to-be-former roommates and new friends, and met Max to head out towards the Park Guell. After a number of outdoor escalators and some grueling (for my tired legs and achey feet at least) steep streets we entered the park with a throng of other tourists. Like his other work, Gaudi´s design draws from nature to create grottoes, benches and buildings that blend organically with the surrounding flora. I walked in wonderment through strange halls of rusty rock that seemed to be growing roots down into the ground under my feet and that spread into weirdly liquid-looking flared columns as they rose to the curved roof above me.
Curves are everywhere in Gaudi´s work here, from the crazy Seussian house where he lived for the last 20 years of his life, to the wild and sinuous mosaic bench with its explosion of bright colours and mixed patterns. I finally got to ´meet´ Dragu, one of Barcelona´s most popular figures - its silly smiling face and spreadeagle, lizardy posture was everything I hoped it would be, and I loved seeing the statue, even if it was near-impossible to slip in and take a picture between all the other folks who were hanging off its colourful body.
The rest of yesterday (Monday) was mostly spent recuperating, though I did get to hang out with some fun Californian guys who were on their way to Paris this morning - I started talking with them when I butted into their conversation to elucidate them on the glory of crepes (they weren´t so sure whether they wanted to try them).
After almost catching up on my sleep (I´m sure there are still a few hours missing), I was able to properly sightsee today. First Max and I grabbed some churros (deep-fried, doughnut-like traditional Spanish pastry) for breakfast, and once we were fortified we headed out to immerse ourselves in more Gaudi gloriousness.
Casa Batllo came first, a weird and wonderful creation that sits tucked comfortably between some slightly more pedestrian (but still beautiful) apartment buildings. This is the house that looks a bit like a dragon has decided to land on the roof, its scales just the beginning of a structure that doesn´t look like it´s from this world. I really do wonder where Gaudi got his vision from - nearly all of his work, even the more subdued stuff, has this alien tinge to it, as if he was from another dimension where surreal spires were expected to pop out of rooves and interiors often reminded one of being under the sea.
Walking into Batllo is like sinking below the surface of a strange ocean where urchins do double duty as lamps, spines of giant whales curve themselves into bannisters, and ribcages of ancient, mysterious beasts become soothing white hallways. The water theme continues throughout the building, with cool blue and white counteracting warm wood doors and windowframes, and panes of rippled glass giving the illusion of waves as you walk up the central staircase.
Actually, maybe it´s more like being inside the dragon I mentioned earlier, seeing its watery insides and rising up and up through its body, past spine and ribs and entrails, until you emerge onto the roof and see its colourful skin sparkling in a rainbow of colours, its tail standing up as one of those fantastical spires.
We reluctantly left that magical house and made our way to the second neccessary Gaudi site, La Pedrera, an apartment building just up the Passeig de Gràcia from Batllo. This is the one with balconies that appear to be made of seaweed (again with the oceanic imagery) and an almost sensual concrete exterior that curves like plump flesh all the way up the building. Since it was just starting to rain we raced up to the roof, which happens to be the most incredible part of the building. The one apartment that´s open for viewing is gorgeous, designed with few right-angle corners and laid out in a circular design that allows you to flow through its main rooms and admire the immensely detailed design - like my beloved Charles Rennie Mackintosh, Gaudi was concerned with the minutiae of the interior, not just the grand architectural perspective.
But back to the roof. The moment I stepped out the door I was blown away by the fantasy world I´d somehow fallen into. Perhaps I´d gone through a rabbit hole and into Wonderland? The figures that stood all around me certainly looked as if they could be giant knights from a delirious game of chess, and a number of confectionary spires contributed to the surreal landscape before my eyes. I didn´t see any Red Queens or talking flowers, however, and when I looked past the edge of the terrace it seemed as if Barcelona was still laid out all around me, so I was forced to conlude that it was just another one of Gaudi´s delicious flights of fancy (frankly, I was a bit disappointed - I´d been looking forward to bantering with Humpty and playing some flamingo croquet).
Our souls all full of Gaudi´s genius, Max and I floated home to the hostel and are now packing (our train for Lyon leaves at 8:45 tomorrow morning) and have the supplies to make a delicious omlette (with tomato, avocado and cheese!) for dinner. Yum.
Speaking of food, I´ve recently fallen deeply in love with gazpacho. A cold vegetable soup, its pureed goodness is kind of like V8, but much thinner and based on cream and (from what I can tell) tomatoes and peppers, plus the seasoning makes it much more refreshing. So maybe it isn´t much like V8 at all, but that´s still the closest thing I can come up with to compare it to. I have plans to find a really good recipe and start making the stuff all the time, along with those baked croque monsieurs from Marseille. This trip is giving me a wealth of food ideas and I can´t wait to get cooking when I´m home again.
It´s sad to leave Barcelona, but Switzerland and PARIS await, as well as our upcoming quick visit to Lyon. Onwards, always onwards!
P.S: One more Barcelona tidbit - I had no idea how Art Nouveau this city was! Everywhere I look there are bits of glorious design that thrill me with their Art Nouveau beauty. I´m really going to miss this city, I feel it already.
Yesterday I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed by 10:30 (the Brits and I had stayed out until almost 4 a.m. at the festival wrap party that just happened to be around the corner from our hostel - much more fun dancing time was had), said a sad goodbye to my soon-to-be-former roommates and new friends, and met Max to head out towards the Park Guell. After a number of outdoor escalators and some grueling (for my tired legs and achey feet at least) steep streets we entered the park with a throng of other tourists. Like his other work, Gaudi´s design draws from nature to create grottoes, benches and buildings that blend organically with the surrounding flora. I walked in wonderment through strange halls of rusty rock that seemed to be growing roots down into the ground under my feet and that spread into weirdly liquid-looking flared columns as they rose to the curved roof above me.
Curves are everywhere in Gaudi´s work here, from the crazy Seussian house where he lived for the last 20 years of his life, to the wild and sinuous mosaic bench with its explosion of bright colours and mixed patterns. I finally got to ´meet´ Dragu, one of Barcelona´s most popular figures - its silly smiling face and spreadeagle, lizardy posture was everything I hoped it would be, and I loved seeing the statue, even if it was near-impossible to slip in and take a picture between all the other folks who were hanging off its colourful body.
The rest of yesterday (Monday) was mostly spent recuperating, though I did get to hang out with some fun Californian guys who were on their way to Paris this morning - I started talking with them when I butted into their conversation to elucidate them on the glory of crepes (they weren´t so sure whether they wanted to try them).
After almost catching up on my sleep (I´m sure there are still a few hours missing), I was able to properly sightsee today. First Max and I grabbed some churros (deep-fried, doughnut-like traditional Spanish pastry) for breakfast, and once we were fortified we headed out to immerse ourselves in more Gaudi gloriousness.
Casa Batllo came first, a weird and wonderful creation that sits tucked comfortably between some slightly more pedestrian (but still beautiful) apartment buildings. This is the house that looks a bit like a dragon has decided to land on the roof, its scales just the beginning of a structure that doesn´t look like it´s from this world. I really do wonder where Gaudi got his vision from - nearly all of his work, even the more subdued stuff, has this alien tinge to it, as if he was from another dimension where surreal spires were expected to pop out of rooves and interiors often reminded one of being under the sea.
Walking into Batllo is like sinking below the surface of a strange ocean where urchins do double duty as lamps, spines of giant whales curve themselves into bannisters, and ribcages of ancient, mysterious beasts become soothing white hallways. The water theme continues throughout the building, with cool blue and white counteracting warm wood doors and windowframes, and panes of rippled glass giving the illusion of waves as you walk up the central staircase.
Actually, maybe it´s more like being inside the dragon I mentioned earlier, seeing its watery insides and rising up and up through its body, past spine and ribs and entrails, until you emerge onto the roof and see its colourful skin sparkling in a rainbow of colours, its tail standing up as one of those fantastical spires.
We reluctantly left that magical house and made our way to the second neccessary Gaudi site, La Pedrera, an apartment building just up the Passeig de Gràcia from Batllo. This is the one with balconies that appear to be made of seaweed (again with the oceanic imagery) and an almost sensual concrete exterior that curves like plump flesh all the way up the building. Since it was just starting to rain we raced up to the roof, which happens to be the most incredible part of the building. The one apartment that´s open for viewing is gorgeous, designed with few right-angle corners and laid out in a circular design that allows you to flow through its main rooms and admire the immensely detailed design - like my beloved Charles Rennie Mackintosh, Gaudi was concerned with the minutiae of the interior, not just the grand architectural perspective.
But back to the roof. The moment I stepped out the door I was blown away by the fantasy world I´d somehow fallen into. Perhaps I´d gone through a rabbit hole and into Wonderland? The figures that stood all around me certainly looked as if they could be giant knights from a delirious game of chess, and a number of confectionary spires contributed to the surreal landscape before my eyes. I didn´t see any Red Queens or talking flowers, however, and when I looked past the edge of the terrace it seemed as if Barcelona was still laid out all around me, so I was forced to conlude that it was just another one of Gaudi´s delicious flights of fancy (frankly, I was a bit disappointed - I´d been looking forward to bantering with Humpty and playing some flamingo croquet).
Our souls all full of Gaudi´s genius, Max and I floated home to the hostel and are now packing (our train for Lyon leaves at 8:45 tomorrow morning) and have the supplies to make a delicious omlette (with tomato, avocado and cheese!) for dinner. Yum.
Speaking of food, I´ve recently fallen deeply in love with gazpacho. A cold vegetable soup, its pureed goodness is kind of like V8, but much thinner and based on cream and (from what I can tell) tomatoes and peppers, plus the seasoning makes it much more refreshing. So maybe it isn´t much like V8 at all, but that´s still the closest thing I can come up with to compare it to. I have plans to find a really good recipe and start making the stuff all the time, along with those baked croque monsieurs from Marseille. This trip is giving me a wealth of food ideas and I can´t wait to get cooking when I´m home again.
It´s sad to leave Barcelona, but Switzerland and PARIS await, as well as our upcoming quick visit to Lyon. Onwards, always onwards!
P.S: One more Barcelona tidbit - I had no idea how Art Nouveau this city was! Everywhere I look there are bits of glorious design that thrill me with their Art Nouveau beauty. I´m really going to miss this city, I feel it already.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Hallelujah Indeed
This entry is written in a state somewhere between awake and asleep, brought on by three straight days of musical insanity. The Primavera festival is over - final tally rests at 26 bands seen (plus a pair of DJs), and my thrill over managing to accidentally appear in Barcelona during this wonderful event is still soaring high.
The final day of the festival was beautiful - Max and I saw Rufus Wainwright and he sang his cover of Leonard Cohen´s ´Hallelujah´, which is possibly my favourite version of that song (after the original, of course), I danced with abandon to a number of sets, and the group of us that stuck it out to the very end wound up dancing in a downpour just before the dawn (which sounds like a song title, doesn´t it). This was probably one of the best experiences of my life and I can´t even start to record all the best bits - there are just too many.
Here are my top ten sets of the fest, in no particular order:
1. Rufus Wainwright
2. Holy F**k
3. British Sea Power
4. MGMT
5. Cat Power
6. Okkervil River
7. Animal Collective
8. Bishop Allen
9. Bon Iver
10. Vampire Weekend
Today was a write-off in terms of tourist-ing, seeing as we didn´t get into bed until almost 7 a.m., but we are planning on going out for dinner with our lovely roommates (they leave tomorrow, boo), and maybe check out the erotic museum that´s just down the street from us. Could be amusing.
I promise there will be more about the city itself here in the coming days!
The final day of the festival was beautiful - Max and I saw Rufus Wainwright and he sang his cover of Leonard Cohen´s ´Hallelujah´, which is possibly my favourite version of that song (after the original, of course), I danced with abandon to a number of sets, and the group of us that stuck it out to the very end wound up dancing in a downpour just before the dawn (which sounds like a song title, doesn´t it). This was probably one of the best experiences of my life and I can´t even start to record all the best bits - there are just too many.
Here are my top ten sets of the fest, in no particular order:
1. Rufus Wainwright
2. Holy F**k
3. British Sea Power
4. MGMT
5. Cat Power
6. Okkervil River
7. Animal Collective
8. Bishop Allen
9. Bon Iver
10. Vampire Weekend
Today was a write-off in terms of tourist-ing, seeing as we didn´t get into bed until almost 7 a.m., but we are planning on going out for dinner with our lovely roommates (they leave tomorrow, boo), and maybe check out the erotic museum that´s just down the street from us. Could be amusing.
I promise there will be more about the city itself here in the coming days!
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