Mont Saint-Michel

I cannot remember the time I first heard of Mont Saint-Michel, but the image of a dreamlike castle emerging from the depths of the ocean is seared into my memory. A picturesque island steeped in history and rich in culture beckoned to me. And I could not resist. 

A train and a bus ride from Paris brought me to Normandy on a crisp March afternoon. Clean country air and the looming island commune of Mont Saint-Michel greeted me the moment I stepped off the bus. I was ready to go exploring. Armed with several empty memory cards and a fresh roll of film, I felt like a child at the gates of Disneyland. 

Up close, Mont Saint-Michel was everything I thought it would be: a place forgotten in time. The narrow street lined with small houses, shops and restaurants wound its way round the rocky island. Upward it spiraled with small twisting alleys branching off into secret places. And I followed the cobbled path like Dorothy followed the yellow brick road leading me to a magnificently preserved abbey at the top. The view was mainly the ocean or the sandy expanse revealed at low tide. Yet, in all its bareness, I thought it was refreshingly beautiful in its simplicity. 

I watched the sun rise and set on Mont Saint-Michel; watched the tide rise and recede. I stood there watching as lights slowly flickered  into life to illuminate the island against the pressing darkness. I fought through throngs of tourists in its cobbled streets and then I walked the same streets at night, devoid of life, with my own footsteps echoing back its solitude. And I could not help but feel that life is too transient compared to Mont Saint-Michel, that if its walls could talk, it would tell of great men and greater stories. Mont Saint-Michel may not be a castle, but to me it is a place that gives birth to fairytales and fantasies. 

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Happy New Year everyone!

Luxury Redefined

When I think of the French Riviera I associate it with anchored yachts, elegant people, and excessive luxury. It’s a world of flaunted wealth and hidden scandals, of gaiety and intrigue set in the backdrop of pebbled shores, blue waters, and a sun-kissed sky. My curiosity was piqued. With all that in mind, I wondered...what had Nice to offer to a simple traveler? 

          
It turned out that Nice is more than just a stop for the famously rich to soak in the sun. The old town center was a charming mix of twisting roads and colorful houses. A wonderful combination of European charm and Mediterranean flare. I even got to experience the luxury that the Côte d’Azur is so famous for. Now, I didn’t drive down the coast in a Lamborghini. And I didn’t party on a yacht. But I did walk along the Promenade des Anglais in the late afternoon sun. I did take a refreshing dip in the ocean and then I did get to watch the sun turn the sky in the softest pastel shades. As I sat there in quiet contentment I thought to myself: I did get a taste of luxury after all.

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A Stroll Down the Streets of Paris

When I travel I try not to be the perpetual tourist. I remind myself to walk the streets at a leisurely pace instead of rushing from one landmark to the other trying to reach it before closing time. I window shop. I sit on the steps of museums. I eat some good local street goodie while watching the life of the city go on in its usual way. I just want to breathe in the place. 

   
I took a stroll in the streets of Paris and the beauty of the city is captivating. There was such an effortless elegance that’s so unmistakably Paris.

     
These photos are quick snippets, stolen shots...captured moments. Those instances when a scene just moves you and makes you instantly raise your iPhone and snap! you’ve immortalized time in a frame. You’ve immortalized that feeling.To others these photos may mean little but to me, it transports me to that day, makes me feel that same way again...I relive moments. 

For more of the classic travel photos of Paris you might want to read this previous post. As for now, here’s my Paris, behind-the-scenes. 

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Antique Books, French & a lot of Guessing

 

It’s an understatement to say I like books. I love them - adore them! Passionately. So when I travel, I make it a point to buy a book in the country I’m at. I buy completely random books, known or unknown, new or second-hand, and from whatever genre. For example, I bought sci-fi (my first and only sci-fi book) and classics in New York, a cheesy chick-lit in Krakow, a children’s book in Frankfurt (yup! totally random), and a book of ballads in Paris. And it’s my experience buying that book in Paris that I will be blogging about today. 

I had just been to Notre Dame Cathedral, climbed to the top to enjoy the view of Paris with Quasimodo’s sidekicks, and soaked in the history through a guided tour. I strolled around a bit when I stumbled upon a roadside bookstand selling old books. I couldn’t resist. After half-dragging my sister to the stand, I went through those beautiful books. 

         

Ah! Paradise. 

       

I knew exactly what I wanted but after a search I couldn’t find it.  There was only one thing left to do: ask for assistance. I approached the smiling salesman and with a friendly “Bonjour!” I asked him the only French sentence I knew: “Parlez vous anglais?” - I was asking him if he spoke English. I know. I know. I’m pathetic. But I’m pretty sure I got the accent down. I listened to the proper pronunciation and practiced online folks. I sound like a local. Ooo-k. Before you start thinking I’m delusional let’s continue with the story. As many of you might have guessed, the man said “No”...then he continued to speak in rapid French. I understood only the no part and smiled through everything else. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what he said. I assumed he was asking me what I was looking for, so with  confidence I said “Victor Hugo”. Then he said something in French again and looked up at me questioningly, waiting for my answer. I then assumed correctly for the second time that he was asking for which particular work of Victor Hugo, so I replied “Paris du Notre Dame”, careful to say ‘Pari’ - that’s how the French say it after all. He exclaimed something in dismay and handed me Hugo’s book of poetry instead. I think that by this time I got the man convinced I understood French, even if I didn’t speak it. Then pushing my luck, I asked for a book by Jules Verne. By ‘asking’ I mean that I raised my eyebrows inquiringly while saying “Jules Verne” as French-ly as I could. The man exclaimed “Oui! Oui!” and handed me a slab-sized leather-bound book. I took it with a majestic “Oh là là!” The little Frenchman was delighted and repeated my “Oh là là” several times. That book cost a staggering €200! Oh là là indeed! I handed the book back and paid for my book of ballads. We said our thank yous and goodbyes, and our roads parted. 

 I’ll probably never see that man again, but what I find so wonderful is that our roads did cross and that for a brief moment in time two strangers who didn’t even speak the same language connected, and a memory was made that summer afternoon that I will remember and cherish. That’s the beauty of traveling...discovering that in a world of differences and strangers, you can find something that you can both smile and laugh about. 

Merci Beaucoup dear reader!

Give Paris a Chance

I can still remember the exact day. It was November 15, 2001 when I watched the movie “Passport to Paris” and fell madly and hopelessly in love with Paris. I mean, have you ever seen such a beautiful city?! And apparently, it’s a city where dreams come true. In movies people meet the love of their lives in Paris, previously hungry artists become the next big sensation, and everyone gets inspired there. Hello?! I have got to go there. ASAP. I had to. I had to. I had to! So I packed my bags, grabbed my passport and credit card and took a taxi to the airport. I checked the flights and booked the first flight out to Paris. Done! Ha! I wished I could have! But alas, I am but a mere mortal. I did not have the money lying around in some fat bank account nor did I have time as a school kid. Plus, I was still underaged. Drats! So there was only one thing left for me to do. I waited. 

 
More than ten years.  

 
More than T-E-N oh-my-goodness-how-long-do-I-still-have-to-wait years. 

 
It’s strange how waiting can multiply one’s expectations. Over the years my hopes and anticipation grew until it was this huge mountain of expectation. I continued to read about Paris, continued to watch movies set in Paris, and I continued to dream of Paris. I had this picture in my mind of how Paris should be and of what Paris would do for me. Yes, dear reader. Paris had to do something for me, like give me the best day of my life and if possible I wanted this experience to be wrapped up with a bow.Then the day finally came. I arrive at CDG airport and my feet touched Parisian soil. I immediately set out to explore the city in hopes of experiencing the BEST day of my life. 

 
It didn’t come. 

 
It was a cold and cloudy July day that promised me rain instead of my movie-script experience. It promised me rain for the next days as well. Great, just great. I saw the Eiffel tower, had a stroll along their avenues, and went to a Parisian cafe. Although I hated to admit it, but at the end of that first day I was disappointed (like several people I know). Paris did not live up to my expectations. It fell short in every way...and I only had myself to blame. Against that mountain of expectation no city in the world would have had a fighting chance. Not even Paris. I realized that as I went to bed at night and I promised myself that I would give Paris a chance. Delete all those romanticized scenes in my head, dash out all those false expectations, and just try to experience Paris as Paris is.

 
I went out the next day with new eyes and just allowed Paris to enchant me in its own time and way. No pressure. No picture in my mind. No crazy expectations. And Paris surprised me and enchanted me and wooed me until I discovered the magic that makes Paris one of the top destinations in the world. On my second day I went up the Eiffel Tower, saw the great works of art at the Louvre Museum and walked up the Champs Elysees until I was at the Arc de Triomphe at midnight. This was my  “Midnight in Paris”. No novel or movie could compare to what I saw and felt that day. It was my Paris experience and because it was personal, it was infinitely better. 

 
So if ever you plan to visit Paris, give it a chance. Don’t compare it to some fantasy in your head and don’t expect it to fulfill your every dream. Let Paris be Paris and I am sure it will be more than enough. 

Here are some pictures of my second day in Paris. Enjoy!

Thanks for reading!