Europe, episode 1: La Tour Eiffel

Naturally, we had to start our entire sojourn in France doing something completely touristy and cliched.  Rebecca (or Bear, as she hates me to call her) really wanted to see the Eiffel Tower and when in Paris, how can you not?

I have a love-hate relationship with Paris.  I adore French (obviously) and I think it is a beautiful place but people have been less than kind and after my friend got pickpocketed and I was stranded there without money in a blizzard for three days, I've developed a sharp phobia of something similar happening.

So Paris and I, we haven't spoken in a few years.  This time, armed with my baby, present-tense-only, French and a dose of optimism, my goal was to make amends.

We put our bags down at the apartment where we were staying and had lunch at Trocadero - goat's cheese for me, a croque madame for her.  (Goat's cheese is my poison in France.  One of the best meals I've ever had in life was a goat's cheese salad in Cannes that almost made me cry.)

My old friend, Marie, met us at the cafe and we strolled down to the tower together.  The Eiffel Tower is not pretty, or particularly historic like some of the Roman monuments we saw.  I'm not sure I'm even that fond of it.  But there's something about it.

Each time I see it, almost-rosy, almost-faint against a sky heavy with grey clouds, I feel a strange sense of longing.  I don't know what this pull is but standing at Trocadero, looking across to the tower, it came over me again.  We were finally in France.  Together.  Having planned this trip for a year.  

We went down the steps and crossed the fountains before deciding to complete the tourist experience doing something I'd never done before: climb the tower.

As part of my friendship-making effort I lingered underneath the tower, admiring the symmetry and structure of the lattices, the curlicues under the arches - delicate in something so huge.  We also people watched; under the giant Roland Garros tennis ball that had been strung up for the French Open, we saw groups of men with souped-up bicycles ride past, their bells making the cold air tingle.  Tourists posed for photos while their children ran, waving, among the pigeons.

Eventually, we drifted over to the base of the stairs, bought 5euro tickets, and crumbling macarons from Carette (highly recommended!) in our mouths, started upward.  The weather was perfect, gusty and chilly and it was easily the most comfortable climb of the trip.

We stopped on the first level and I bit back my fear of heights and stood on the glass viewing platform for a good five seconds.  (Mind you, not two nights before that moment, I'd heard news of Chicago's glass viewing platform cracking so I thought my fear was well-placed.)

Thus refreshed (or frightened), we finished the last four hundred or so steps with a little whining (me) and laughing (Bear).  Now I've never really been seized by the need to climb the tower before, but I really enjoyed the view on the second floor and the wind buffeting my face.  We could see the (arguably less exciting) Tour Montparnasse, Notre Dame and other church spires peeking over the tops of the slate-blue roofs for which Paris is so famous.  Below us, people swarmed round a giant screen showing the French Open.

Up close, we could see the squat, pyramid-shaped lights that make the tower glitter at night.  

On the second-floor mezzanine, I stood and watched a very enthused tour guide tell stories about the tower in French and fought to understand snatches of words on the wind.  (This became my favourite hobby of the trip, Bear got very used to me grabbing passing waiters and asking them what things meant, or making her look up advertisement words on the Metro with her fancy iPhone app.  For instance, with some help, I could understand that the plaque below was a tribute to some crazy dude who had walked a tightrope between Trocadero and the second floor of the Eiffel Tour.  And no, I didn't cheat by looking at the picture.)

Above the ground, my breathing started to slow in the cold and by the time we were ready to descend, I felt calmer, more alive.

I suppose we all did.

We capped the evening by people watching and then walking along the dusky Seine until the urge to pee kicked in.  I ended up hopping desperately on my toes outside a mechanical loo that kept yelling "DOOR CLOSING... DOOR CLOSING" in French and spraying water on itself as I tried to get in and Bear laughed helplessly by the side.

Oh well.  So much for the city of romance!

And now back to your regularly scheduled programming

It's weird to plunge right back into regular work after thirty days of waking up at ten thirty and padding to croissant breakfasts in our pajamas, of glorious, endless, aimless walking, getting lost and feeling found.

But it's been wonderful.

As much as I love my job, my home and my family, seven months of nothing but the grind was beginning to get to me and I was starting to do one of those headspace-downwards-spirals that can make you forget how much more there is to life than work.

I came back feeling energised, excited about life and mentally and emotionally, well, clean.

Rebecca was the ideal travel companion - comfortable, unfussy and with the best sense of humour.  And of course, we took hundreds and hundreds of pictures.

In our own separate ways, we're really looking forward to sharing them.

Bird + Dylan

Our colleague, Elizabeth is a consummate professional in front of the camera and takes regular outfit-of-the-day photos so Rebecca and I thought that it would be good practice if we did a couple shoot of her and her boyfriend.  Of course, it helps that they look like models!  

I have to say though, as couples go, they were so easy-going and fun to shoot (much like Ben and Amanda).  The day started off cool and got disgustingly hot as the morning wore on but Bird and Dylan were up for anything we asked them to do, including rolling around on a muddy river bank on a sticky picnic mat.  Their outfits also really made the photos pop, and I love the results.  Rebecca and I were amazed at how Dylan's face looked exactly the same in every shot no matter how tired or hot he was.  Modelling contract, anyone?

We took the first set of shots just outside one of the GB domes before wandering deeper into the gardens outside.  In fact, Bird and Dylan were so relaxed that we had time to break for brunch and enjoy pastries and pancakes before starting out again.

One of my favourite parts of that day was practising taking pictures into the sun using manual focus.  Clearly, the results are not always great but I feel like if I can just get the focus under control, I'll be there.  The colour of the picture is exactly what I want, so I suppose that's half the battle won.

We finished off by the Dragonfly Lake so that we could try getting a shot of their reflection in the water.

Apparently, Bird printed and strung some of the photos up into bunting as a birthday present for Dylan a couple of weeks ago, so I guess they liked them too!  Thank you so much for all the time and effort, guys!  It was a blast!

If you can't beat 'em...

Last month, in all the heat and rain, the garden was filled with little critters.  Rebecca was at my house when I took this photo of a rather sizeable grasshopper next to the fish trough.  At first, I'd recoiled - horny, bristly grasshopper are not my favourite animal - but then I grabbed my long lens and we pretended briefly to be Nat Geo photographers.

A few mornings later, as I was stumbling around getting ready for work, I saw a Lyssa Zampa the size of my hand chilling under the storeroom eaves.  (Singapore's been swamped with them of late!)  The long lens was still lying ready on the table so I blearily wandered into the dark to grab these.

Damn, nature!  You scary!

Tulipmania 2014, Part 2: Bigger

Apart from the macro shots I took at Gardens by the Bay this year, I thought I'd share some of the other ones that I took of tulips.  The colours were unbelievably vibrant this time round; the bed of creamy white juxtaposed with hot pink made my heart sing.

I can't tell how I feel about these furred petals.  I don't know if they're pretty or grotesque, but I can't stop looking at them. (Which I suppose is much the same way I feel about Nicholas Cage.)

These tulips though, are a big yes.  They are so deliciously purple they're almost black!

The cloud dome was misting when we got there, so we had a refreshing walk amid the orchids and ferns.  Everything was juicy, and dripping and green.

Aftewards, my brother, HS wanted to take some pictures at the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple so we slogged over in the blistering heat.  It was decorated quite prettily for a spring though, so the walk was worth it...

... and of course, more worth it because Maxwell Market and the best goreng pisang in the world are right across the road.

The uncle in the coffee stall made me a beautifully creamy iced latte (he was very embarrassed when I told him how nice it was) and we sat in the car and drove home with the air-con blasting, munching our pisang and inhaling our drinks.  What more could you want?

PS  I have no idea how some bloggers so easily take pictures of their coffee and their feet.  I took this one as an experiment and had to contort myself very uncomfortably while HS muttered and rolled his eyes at me.

Also, in the blurry background are my new Birkenstocks, probably my most expensive experiment ever.  I've been wanting a pair of good walking shoes that are somewhat orthopedic but don't make me look like I'm a nurse and so I bought these. 

I knew they would be uncomfortable at first so I've been aggressively breaking them in and I hope that as I'm traipsing around Europe right now, they're not giving me any trouble.  The arches still hurt a little but then, they probably always will.  Such is the curse of flat feet.

Is it bad that I love the way they look?  At any rate, at least I'm backpacking round Italy looking like a granola-eating, maxi-skirt wearing hippie.  Can't nobody put a price on that.

Just a pebble

So here's the plan.  Here's how I plan to tackle four countries over one month.  I don't think I've ever packed quite so light before (that's my regular-sized backpack right there) but I also think I could pack lighter still.  

Inspired by tales of people going 17 days with just a handbag, credit card and toothbrush, I decided to doff all the things I would usually include including extra sweaters and t-shirts, my laptop and dozens of stationery items.  In the words of my friend David though, I didn't skimp on underwear.

I feel a bit nervous, but also oddly free.  Maybe next trip, all I'll really need is the backpack.  I'll let you know.