Tuesday, June 03, 2014
Au revoir came to soon
Forgive me in advance, I've been cautioned about posting holiday snaps on the blog, so if you are not a fan of holiday Kodak moments, look away now; I won't be offended.
Although a flight from Birmingham to Paris would probably have been quicker and more convenient, the Eurostar made a refreshing change to air travel and took just over 2 hours. Upgrading to Standard Premier affords you the luxury of a meal that you would usually get on a long haul flight and a guaranteed seat with extra seat/leg room; well worth the few extra sterling notes, however I was quite disappointed to find out that there was no WiFi, although as one Eurostar forum member put it, 'can't you live without the internet for 2 hours?'.
I don't think the next two images need a caption except to say that on this occasion I decided to evade the queues and take pictures from ground level rather than the top of these two iconic structures.
One day I will live in a house or apartment with large, ornate windows and balconies, and one day I will ride a moped around the streets of Birmingham.
Despite the very accessible Metro line, I walked for miles as I carried out my tourist duties; at least I expended some of those croissant, bread and dessert calories.
I've never eaten so much bread, I just wish they provided more whole grain options so that I didn't feel so guilty about eating refined carbohydrates every day - I couldn't resist the smells that wafted under my nose as I walked past the boulangeries. Good job the bakery in Asda/Walmart doesn't smell like that otherwise I'd have a real weakness for bread.
I feel so ignorant when I visit Europe, or any place for that matter where they speak a foreign language; it makes me wish I had paid more attention during my French lessons at school. Although I can relatively easily get by from day to day, just uttering the few words of the native language I can recall, I always consider what my holiday/break away from the UK would be like if I could fluently converse with the tour guide, waitress or shop assistant. My latest, last-minute trip to Paris is a case in point where the waiter struggled to understand that I wanted my eggs scrambled and not fried. After a minute of hand gestures and altering my dialect to try and clearly describe 'scrambled', my eggs arrived……..fried! I thought the whole incident was comical although it left me in a state of rumination about my non-existent bilingual skills and whether I should resume French lessons in the little time I have spare – anyway, I later found out the French translation for scrambled eggs is ouef brouillés.
It was interesting to read that the lady who put the first lock on this bridge now regrettably feels responsible for the 'monstrosity' she has created. I don't think it is a monstrosity at all - I think it has all been done in good taste, as long as the tradition stays confined to this bridge.
The image above reminds me of the streets of the Caribbean for some reason: senior citizens basking in the sunshine, selling their wares.
So cliché I know - guilty........
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