emlyn of carmarthen

Today, while taking a new route to the City Centre, I ran into Emlyn of Carmarthen.

I first noticed Emlyn, a short, sturdy man probably in his late 60s, more than a year ago as I walked to work near the University of Cardiff, his tiny Yorkshire terrier trailing slowly behind him.

Our walking paths coincided irregularly and we started up conversation, usually around his Yorkie, Toby, whose little legs were aged and tired, but persistent. Emlyn himself, in my mind, is how I've come to see a Welshman of the Valleys: not tall in stature, but bull-like and physically strong, with twinkling eyes and a friendly laugh and banter. His name in Welsh, so the Internet tells me, means: 'around the valley.'

It was always a joy to see them.

Then, about a year ago, I saw Emlyn walking by himself. He looked lost without Toby, who had passed away. I said, 'You need to get another dog. It will help.'

Six months ago, I ran into Emlyn again, with a new, young Toby trotting along beside him, passing his youth as if by intravenous into Emlyn, whose own gait was sprightly again. We chatted and exchanged names. He was from the small town of Mountain Ash in the Valleys, and he and his wife weren't living in Cardiff but were from Carmarthen, travelling to Cardiff once a week or so to take care of an aged uncle.

And I hadn't seen them since today, while taking a new sidestreet. I met his wife, who is a good match for him and whose eyes dance like his. Emlyn had the new Toby, dressed in his winter coat, in his arms as they got into their car for the return to Carmarthen.

One day, hopefully, I will have my camera with me when I bump into Emlyn and Toby and capture a little of that love of life.

review and roundup

I thought I should give more consideration to 2012 and round up some of my reflections and observations:

I now know to open my windows in the winter to get rid of the condensation inside (from cooking, laundry, breathing, etc). Even though originally it seemed to go against common sense, I have found that the fresh air and circulation dries the indoors out and thus actually keeps it warmer when I turn on the heat (and my walls aren't dripping wet!).

I am always finding better places to shop (though prices on basics such as eggs, bread constantly rise) -- a seesaw battle.

Megabus is a fantastically cheap way to travel to London (£7 one way for a three-hour trip). Travelling the London Tube, however, from the coach station to the St. Pancras train station is exorbitantly high (almost £5 for a 15-minute ride). If you want to travel by train in Europe check out the amazing site 'the Man in Seat 61' -- it helped me learn about the Eurostar and showed me how to pick a seat and will probably answer any question you have about rail trips on the continent.

I obtained my Key to the Castle, a passcard available to anyone working or living in Cardiff and which allows free entry into the Cardiff Castle grounds, discounts on food, beverages and the gift shop. I really enjoy this as the grounds are lovely and quiet and the grounds are open to exploration with the audio phones. Last year they opened a tunnel depicting a World War II bomb shelter and it is eerily evocative with benches along the walls and music and bomb sounds echoing the hallways.

I discovered Chapter Arts Centre. Unfortunately it is on the other side of town (an hour's walk); if I lived closer I would be there all the time. I've never seen anything quite like it. Paul Harris had mentioned it before, but not until I picked up one of their free monthly magazines did I realize that it was the place for which I had been looking. It is open seven days a week, until late in the evening, has an excellent bar and cafe, art museum, cinemas, live theatre, gaming and jazz nights (free) and a neighbourhood vegetable garden. It is always buzzing with children and families, older people like me and creative types of all ages. The air is charged. It is a good place to meet people. I went one Sunday to sit and read and enjoy a stout before taking in a discounted film. Weekends are probably not a good time to go there to read. Table space was at a premium and by mid-afternoon I was enjoying the company of two strangers who asked if they could join me. A couple of hours later and the number had increased by another two people who were friends of the original pair. I received a tip about a possible vacancy at the tourism bureau (not quite right, but it led to my application for the ticketseller job at the castle) and had a thoroughly engaging afternoon.

If you read Yann Martel's Life of Pi, don't give up on it. It is quite slow-going in the first third of the book, but it opens onto the whole universe and is full of beautiful writing. I began to read the book by the Canadian Booker Prize winner not realizing it was being made into a film by Ang Lee. I saw the film on this New Year's Eve just passed, and it recreates the novel quite exceptionally and in some small ways improves upon it.

I found out how very, very painful corns on your feet are. It is one of those truisms that if you've never experienced something you probably cannot imagine it properly. I'd gone almost 60 years without a corn and often thought people were exaggerating the pain that they caused, imagining them to be like hard blisters or calluses. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It is like a hot needle being twisted into your toe and they are very difficult to get rid of, considering a person is generally walking all the time. They appeared rather quickly, one on each foot between my fourth and fifth toes, one in particular forming a corn on top of a corn on top of a corn. I walked around Paris and can attest that cobblestones are not helpful when trying to pretend your foot is not on fire. It has been several months and the last corn is almost gone. I'm so glad that they are not permanent. I was afraid they would be.

I recently picked up a  box of 10 jigsaw puzzles that are well-made and not impossible to do and discovered that they were made in Canada. This was after finishing several puzzles over the course of the year that were more infuriating to put together than they were challenging or fun. I never realized before how badly some puzzles can be cut or made and maybe that is because most of the puzzles I've ever done must have been made in Canada.

OK, I think that's it -- I'm stretching now. I know I'll think of something more interesting later. Til then.

out with the old, in with the new

Whew! I'm looking forward to a fresh start in 2013 and not sorry to see the backside of 2012. It wasn't a bad year -- which is a lot to be thankful for -- but it was an awkward year, never quite reaching a comfortable stride. It felt full of false starts and flat stops and the highlights felt hard-won, whether they were or not.

A lot of the frustration was due to struggles on the job, often physical job-related ailments, one small but tedious strain after another, so that much of the year I never felt physically on top of things, or was always seeking pain-free effort. It did come for short intervals: aggravated elbow joints healed and sinus problems came and went and my speed improved as well, but it may be time to seriously look for work outside of the hotel industry.

The difficult year at work was eased with travel and visits-- in March my first trip to Europe with the cruise to St. Malo and St. Servan, in May a visit from my brother and sister-in-law, in July a trip home to friends and family in Canada and the U.S., in October my first visit to Paris, la belle cite, and shorter, local Welsh excursions scattered in between.

I'm hoping that 2013 unfolds with more grace and ease. I have been in Wales about two and a quarter years now -- almost at the halfway point of my five-year visa. I think I am a little frustrated at working so hard and playing so little, even though in many ways things are much easier than during the first year. No Olympics this year -- which is good from my workpoint view -- maybe less rain? (2012 was the rainiest year in 100 years in the U.K.), maybe another job? (I've currently applied to be a ticketseller at Cardiff Castle).

Definitely more travel -- one of the bonuses of living here in the U.K. is the five-weeks of vacation, which is wonderful. At the end of March I plan to go to Canada/U.S. for a week and then down to my stepmother's in Florida for a week (sunshine, yes! yes! yes!). I'm hoping my brother and sister-in-law return in May, but I haven't heard at this point. If not, perhaps I can see them in Europe. I hope to make a weekender to Amsterdam and see the Van Gogh and Anne Frank museums. And I plan to return to Paris for a day or two longer than my first short visit, because, well, Paris is profound in every way. I hope, that before I return for good to Canada, that I will come to know Paris well.

So welcome, 2013! Croeso and bienvenue!!!

Two nights, a day and a half in Paris

The street in Montmartre on which my hotel was so centrally situated

I find that Paris has left me speechless and struggling for words. My time there was too short, so I do plan to return some day. Paris is like no other place I have been. From my brief time there, I would say Paris is about beauty and a love of beauty. I'm sure Paris has an underbelly, and of course, its history is full of revolution and schemes, but the dominant impression it left on me was one of amazement and harmony.

As soon as I left the Gare du Nord, after arriving via the Eurostar from London at shortly after 6 p.m. on a Monday evening, I began walking north on Rue de Dunkerque and was struck immediately by the beauty of the old buildings with their wrought iron terraces. Many of the wooden shuttered windows were flung open as the weather was pleasantly warm. The sidewalks were narrow and people already filled tiny tables facing the noisy street. Motorbikes were everywhere, whizzing past or filling up the curbsides. People greeted each other. The energy was involving, inclusive, dizzying -- magnifique.

My hotel was in the centre of the old Montmartre district, about a twenty-minute walk from the station. There were cafes every other building, interspersed with open-doored specialty food shops selling meats, cheeses, chocolates, pastries, seafood. The narrow, cobblestones roads weaved uphill and down, bisecting and trisecting each other, yet all clearly marked.

I found my hotel. I didn't know what to expect as online the descriptions left by people were fairly polarized. As long as it was clean, I didn't really care about the five flights of stairs. It was cheap and in a fantastic location. When the proprietor began speaking to me in fluent French I realized how poor my language skills were. He slowed down. He also spoke some English. He explained to me that the first night I would be on the fifth floor and the second night I would be on the first floor. At first this irked me, but after climbing the circular stairwell, even with only my small nightbag, I realized that this change would be a good thing.

My room was small but perfectly fine, with a firm bed, good sheets, a desk and chair and a sink with a towel and soap. I had a window, with no screen, that opened onto an enclosed well of internal walls, with the sky above covered with a net to keep out any vermin and flying objects. The cleanliness impressed me. I work in an international hotel as a room attendant, so it is an occupational hazard I suppose, carrying my work with me as a guest. There was not a hint of dirt, even in the window casings.

Evening darkness arrived as I did, and after dropping off my bags, I went back into the streets of Montmartre to get my bearings. I never felt unsafe -- the streets were bristling. Parisians eat late and many of the cafes and restaurants don't open for dinner until 7 or 8 p.m. I was intimidated, as a potential lone diner, by the intimacy of the tiny, circular tables so close to each other on the sidewalks. I stopped at an open air fruit and vegetable shop and remembered my Lonely Planet guide instructions not to touch the merchandise -- a hard habit to break. I thought the price of fruit high, the price of meat not so high, the price of cheese and chocolates welcoming.

My little Lonely Planet book was full of invaluable guidance. Because, as it says, Paris is made up of mostly single, often cramped, households, the people commune in the streets and cafes. Because of this also, I discovered that though much of Paris is fodder for tourists and some tourist traps, not everything is disproportionately priced because the locals live in the same Paris. So, next to restaurants catering pizza and American food to the visitors are shops where working people stop in at the end of the day and buy a takeaway. But this is Paris, so the takeaway shops are full of fresh baquettes, impressive arrays of quiches and patisseries, for a good price. I stopped in one, waited as the proprietor chatted genially with a regular customer getting a baquette filled with thinly sliced reams of ham, and then pointed to a huge slice of salmon quiche, as by this time, tired and overwhelmed, my little bit of French was leaving me tonguetied.

I happily exited the shop with my wrapped dinner in my hand, looking for a bench in a well-lit spot so I could enjoy eating in the midst of people enjoying food and each other's company. Only a block away, I was mistaken for a local by a delivery man looking for directions! It was the only time during my short stay that I didn't have a map in my hand. 'Je visite,' I said, stunned. He immediately found someone who was a local and was able to help him.

I found my bench in the Places des Abbesses and enjoyed my quiche in the open air.

The next morning I awoke in my room with a headache brought on by the previous day's travelling and overexcitement and a rough night's sleep due to the flushing toilets in the hotel, which sounded with the fury of Niagara Falls down the circular stairwell. When I booked, I had not expected an included breakfast, so the fact that the hotel supplied one was a very welcome surprise. Most of the other guests in the hotel were of a similar age and economic background, all a little stunned and sleep deprived because of the thinness of the rooms' walls. But the proprietor's wife was genteel and warmly efficient as she served each of us a hearty croissant, a roll of bread with butter and jams, an orange juice and one of the best coffees I have had in a very, very long time. It must have been perked. It reminded me of the coffee my mother used to make and it washed away the headache and set me on my way to discover Paris in a day.

The plan was to meander through Montmartre, to see -- just around the corner -- a house owned by Theo Van Gogh where Vincent had lived with him for three years, and then to Lapin Agile, on my way to the Basilique du Sacre Coeur perched on Montmartre's heights, before walking downhill to the Seine and the famed sights of the Louvre, Notre Dame, and of course, le Tour Eiffel.
 

Les Abbesses Metro station, one of the remaining 1900 art nouveau entrances



Misty morning in Montmartre



Rue de l'Aubrevoir in Montmartre -- a beautiful street



Lapin Agile



Clos Montmartre -- a vineyard across the street from Lapin Agile



Le Clos Montmartre



La Basilique du Sacre Coeur



Le Place du Tetre screams 'made for tourists',
but still charming, near Sacre Coeur



A drinking fountain next to Sacre Coeur

It was almost noon when I sat on a bench at the top of Montmartre and planned my descent to the Seine. I fortified myself with some oat crackers, apples and water I had brought with me from the UK the day before. I tried to find a relatively direct route and chose Rue des Martyrs leading to Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, which would bring me close to the Louvre, in probably about an hour, and which streets I remembered Lonely Planet recommending for food shops.

And the shops were indeed there, mouth-watering and tempting. It was lunch hour and the Parisians were beginning to hit the cafes, empty tables set with wine and water glasses, waiting for them. When I reached the back of the Louvre, I stopped quickly without thinking to take a tourist photo, and turned to see a male Parisian businessman giving me an earned disdainful look as I blocked his way to the Metro.

The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays, which was fine with me as I was in Paris too short of a time to do museums properly. Even then I had bought beforehand a ticket to visit the Impressionist gallery Musee D'Orsay. I was thinking that this was probably too much to do, especially as the foggy morning had dissipated into a lovely, sunny day.

My plan was to take the Batobus, a hop-on, hop-off ferry on the Seine which stopped at all the major destinations and provided a cruise at the same time. I was exhausted and hungry and ready to do nothing but sit and see Paris from the river. It took me a while and a few enquiries to find a Batobus station, but when I did I settled in for an almost complete one-and-a-half hour cruise to the Musee D'Orsay.

The Batobus is enclosed, which was a real disappointment, as most of the other boats on the Seine are open, though I suppose they must do this or people would never get off of it. The plexiglass, with the sun shining through it, was not the best way to see or take photos. But, with a change of seats, the views were impressive and I devoured a peanut-butter and banana sandwich that I still happened to have, while watching Paris unfold before me.

Riding up and down the Seine is the best way to see the glories of Paris. My first view of the Eiffel Tower was from the water and I was amazed at how delicate and how much like lace the iron looked. After a thoroughly relaxing and reenergizing cruise I got off at the Musee D'Orsay, of two minds on whether I wanted to spend time indoors on such a lovely day. There were police and military everywhere and no sign of the infamous lines I had bought the advance ticket to avoid. Then I saw the banners and crowds and realized there was a political rally of some kind going on. Paris is famous for this! I walked through the flagwaving crowds to the entrance and on the door in front of me and other incredulous tourists and patrons, was a white piece of paper saying the museum was closed and being struck by the city workers rallying in the attached square.

I was a little miffed, as I was out 10 euros with no compensation in sight, and it was the only ticket I had bought in advance. But, I was also relieved, because I knew I couldn't have done the museum and Paris both justice in one afternoon.

So, I headed to the Eiffel Tower, planning to take the Batobus afterwards back to the Louvre for my walk back to Montmartre. I got a little lost going to the Tower because it disappeared from view for awhile and I wasn't following my map, just streets that I thought were going towards it. In the process I happened upon the Rue Cler, another street well-known for its food shops -- the glories of getting lost in Paris.

With the sun setting as I returned to Montmartre up Rue de la Paix, I passed Napoleon's Vendome Column and in Place Vendome all the high-priced retail real estate. Outside Tiffany's Paris, at 6 in the evening, the doors were being opened for a large, smiling group of Asian men. Customers or owners?

The back of the Louvre -- the Louvre Palace

The Louvre Museum

The hop-on, hop-off Batobus



Strikers closed down the Musee D'Orsay



The enchanting Tour Eiffel





Napoleon's Vendome Column

  

The Palais Garnier, famed opera house

Exhausted and starving, I dropped my bags back into my new room on the first floor of my hotel (so glad I didn't have to walk up five flights) and headed off to choose a cafe for my Parisian feast. If I'd had another day in Paris I probably would have felt comfortable eating solo outdoors, but I was too tired to try anything more adventurous.

It was 8 p.m. before I settled on the cafe directly opposite my hotel, the Cafe Burq, and it was a good choice. I ordered the three-course meal, with some scrutiny understanding most of what I was ordering: an artichoke appetiser, strips of duck for the main course, and a cheese plate for dessert, with a glass of red house wine. It was empty at 8 p.m. when it opened but diners came in as I ate and most of them were Parisians: a family with two teens, who began playing cards as they awaited their dinner, a bilingual couple with an American guest, two Parisian gentlemen. Faultless and sublimely good. I realized I hadn't had balsamic vinegar since I've been to the UK and it's on my grocery list now.

The toilets didn't cascade as loudly on the first floor of my hotel as they did from the fifth, and I was so tired it wouldn't have mattered if they had. My time in Paris was ending too soon. Another excellent cup of coffee with my breakfast in the morning and I was off to take a walk through Montmartre Cemetery before catching the Eurostar back to London shortly after noon.

Le Cemetiere Montmartre, the final resting place of famous and non-famous Parisians, was the first above-ground cemetery I have visited. I don't know if this is the reason I disliked it. I have never had a problem visiting cemeteries before, and generally find them restful, peaceful places. This cemetery is picturesque enough, but I forced myself to go through it. For some reason, beyond reason, I just wanted to get out of it as soon as I entered.

I didn't want my last memories of Paris to be dark ones, so when I re-entered the streets of Montmartre I had chocolate on my mind -- a darkness of a different kind. Two liquor-filled cherry bonbons later and the cemetery was out of mind. Determined to keep Paris with me awhile longer, I stopped at an open air baquette shop and picked up a lovely-looking sandwich for lunch on the train. More balsamic vinegar -- and the taste still lingers!


The Cafe des 2 Moulins in Montmartre, featured in the film Amelie



Cats at the Cemetiere Montmartre



Sales on a street in Paris



Paris is the most visited city in the world for good reason.



the city of light

1. La Tour Eiffel -- the Eiffel Tower
2. Une patisserie -- ummm, sublime
3. La Basilique du Sacre Coeur -- the Basilica of the Sacred Heart
4. The steps of Sacre Coeur Basilica
5. A door of the Louvre Palace, housing The Louvre Museum
6. L'Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel (a smaller Arc de Triomphe) in front of The Pyramid and the Louvre
7. Le Jardin des Tuilieries, with views of Le Place de la Concorde and L'Arc de Triomphe
8. Le Pont d'Alexandre III (bridge) in front of Le Grand Palais, both built as part of preparations for the Universal Exposition of 1900
9. Love locks covering one of the bridges over the Seine -- lovers throw the key into the river
10. La Cathedrale Notre-Dame de Paris -- Our Lady of Paris -- from the Seine
11. A gravestone in Le Cimetiere de Montmartre
12. Rue de l'Aubrevoir, Montmartre -- the most beautiful street
13. The Seine
14. On the Left Bank of the Seine

the porthcawl crawl



Elvis --and friends -- Live! in Porthcawl

On the Saturday of the last weekend in September, the day I received the phone call about my Paris trip being cancelled, I was in the midst of a wonderful day bus-hopping to festivals in nearby towns.

It was the first time I had used the day-long bus pass available in different regions of Wales, which allows you to get on and off buses and spend time in different towns. For only a bit more than £6 I travelled to and from Bridgend for the 'alternative' food Feastival there and on to seaside Porthcawl for the truly rockin' Elvis Festival.

It was a wonderful day. The sun shone, the bus rode through beautiful Welsh countryside, and a party atmosphere prevailed on the ride back from Porthcawl. The Elvis Festival begs you to become a part of it, to don silly clothes and rock, rock, rock! One of the most joyous town parties I have ever seen, with shades of Grand Bend, Ontario in its heyday.



Kids entranced with Punch and Judy at Bridgend's Feastival



Only in Wales -- a leek toss, or as it was called at the Feastival -- a leek lopping



By the sea at Porthcawl



Elvis' and entourages in front of the Grand Pavilion



The South survives



More sightings of The King





Countdown to Paris

First off, I want to wish everyone a happy, happy Canadian Thanksgiving!!! I had a chat with most of the family last night as they gathered for turkey and the trimmings at my niece Kate's place in Windsor, Ontario. I miss Thanksgiving and all that it stands for and believe Europe and the U.K. would do well to adopt this celebration. I am sad that, except for perhaps Octoberfest in Germany, I am not aware of any longstanding similar celebrations over here -- and Octoberfest seems to be more of a beer fest than a gratitude for the blessings in our lives.

On that note, after my group coach trip to Paris, set to leave October 19, was unexpectedly cancelled last weekend, sending me into an emotional tailspin, I am glad to report that I have been able to put together something at the last minute and that Paris is on the horizon.

After the cancellation, I was determined to spend time in Amsterdam or Paris and not waste my holiday sitting at home, but of course found that with my days off only weeks away, both cities were fully booked and if there were availabilities they were not in my cost range. But, after four straight afternoons online at the library, I have been able to sort out a plan and am now booked for two nights and a day and a bit in Paris!

I had to change my plan from the weekend to the Monday through Wednesday, but that was no big deal. I was looking forward to the coach trip because I would be travelling with and meeting new people, but I was not looking forward to what would probably be two interminably long bus rides. I'll be travelling on my own now, which doesn't prohibit meeting people, and I'm sure the coach time is cut to a quarter. I've also learned a lot about some of the options available out there.

So, on Monday, October 22 I will be catching a very cheap Megabus from Cardiff to London where I will then take the Eurostar train to Paris, arriving in the belle ville early evening. I have booked a single room at a hostel not far from the Eurostar station in the Paris neighbourhood of Montmartre. I know shockingly little of Paris, except for the standard tourist destinations of the Eiffel Tower, the Seine, the Louvre and Notre Dame. I will have all day Tuesday to explore the city and will be praying it doesn't rain!

Montmartre seems to be a good choice, being an old part of Paris and the site of the Moulin Rouge (home of the cancan), the Sacre Coeur Cathedral, and the famous cemetery where so many illustrious people have their last earthly resting place. Now, I just need to scour the charity stores for used travel books on Paris and a handy French-English dictionary.