A sleepy stroll through Paris

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Paris, postaday2015, tourists

   
    
   
Believe it or not, I took these pictures during the same leisurely stroll from one arrondissement to another. The sky was in a state of flux, the dark sky fighting the sun for primacy and the sun was winning for the most part, aside from a brief half hour of light showers.

August is a great time to walk around Paris because half of Paris is on vacation and as you can see the streets are much less congested. I am blending in nicely with all of the other tourists. lol

Jet lag is better today, I had my first pain au raisin, a tiny little one, so delicious, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s at breakfast time. My hotel offers a lovely breakfast included in the room so I know another one is going to be there waiting for me.

Daily Prompt: Tourist Trap

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memories, postaday2015, tourists

What’s your dream tourist destination — either a place you’ve been and loved, or a place you’d love to visit? What about it speaks to you?

The top picture is of Carro, France, I didn’t take it, I got it off the Internet. I have so many fond memories of this tiny town deep in the South, I just wish that I had more pictures of my cousin’s place. My sister and I spent at least 6 weeks there during each of the 3 summers back when we were growing up and it was such an idyllic time. The Mediterranean Sea was our backyard, literally right at the back of the house and we spent morning and afternoon swimming like fish, we slept like the dead from all of the water activity, we also ate like kings.

The bottom picture is of Hydra, Greece another place that I have lovely memories of, not only of the place but of the company I kept at the time of my visit. I was lucky enough to have spent my time at Hydra with my summer roommate at University of London, Cindy and our friends that we made in the dormitories, Charlene and Rita. I felt such a connection to the island, much more of a connection than what I had felt in Athens or Aegina; maybe it was the simple life that was evident everywhere; there weren’t any cars allowed on the island, everything was transported by donkey and cart, the open markets, the family run cafe and the larger restaurant also family run, the small boutiques and the very hard working people, who after hours played just as hard.

It was very nice to write about these two special places, it warmed my heart and soul to remember walking down the streets in both places, the special meals that I had shared with, either my family or friends, in the restaurants and in my cousin’s house, swimming in the Mediterranean at each place and how it was both the same sea and yet I saw different colors and had different swimming experiences. In Carro, the waves at times were so strong and in Hydra the water was calm, almost like glass.

These past few days have been tough, but with memories like these, it helps keep me optimistic and strong because winter is but a season and before we know it, the sun and warmer temperatures combined will make this winter but a distant memory.

A day at the Museum of Natural History

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blue whale, culture, Museum of Natural History, postaday2013, tourists

The baby girl and I went into the city today specifically to visit the Museum of Natural History. When I proposed the trip to New York City initially, I wasn’t thinking of the Museum, this was the baby girl’s idea, she was excited to revisit the Museum to refresh her memory from previous visits when she was a little girl.

The Museum is really amazing; one of the biggest reasons why the baby girl wanted to go back to visit was for the blue whale, the same blue whale that amazed me when I was a little girl. After we went to see the whale and took our pictures, I turned to the baby girl and said “the whale never gets old”. Before the blue whale, we did go to see the Tyrannosaurus Rex because he’s another old friend that needed to be seen once more. As we were going from exhibit to exhibit,we got to the Native American River plains Indians section and while we were walking through the dimly lit corridor, my baby girl jumped, spooked by something, a very nice security guard came up to us apologizing for scaring us. My baby girl told her that she hadn’t scared her, that she thought that she had seen one of the Native Indians move. That launched our security guards into regaling us with ghost stories that happened at night at the Museum. My baby girl reminded me that there was a very funny movie starring Ben Stiller called the Night at the Museum based loosely on the Museum of Natural History and when we passed by a few of the Native American Indian mock ups of their various huts, the baby girl said “remember in the movie when at night all these little figurines came to life” I could see how anyone with an active imagination could scare oneself into a tizzy between the movie Night at the Museum and the normal creaks and noises that get amplified during the quiet night-time hours.

I noticed that when I went through my pictures on my cell phone, I had neglected to show an evening shot of the Triboro Bridge or as they now call it, the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge. It is one of my favorite bridges crossing the East River and the bridge that was right outside my bedroom window when I was little growing up in Astoria, Queens.

Scenes of Nice

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architecture, France, Nice, pictures, postaday2012, tourists, travel

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As I sit here in my room listening to the rain falling down, soaking my garden below, which needs it very much I might add, it is almost hard to believe that I was walking through the streets of Nice less than a month ago. It has been feeling a little like autumn these past few days, the nights are definitely cool and so it is hard to inhabit the Laurie who was perspiring all day and all night in the South of France, to correctly describe the feeling I had while I was taking those pictures.

It was glorious, the views from up on the Colline were breathtaking, the Chateau was of the time before France was consolidated into one country as it is known today. Nice had been a bone of contention between the French and the Italians, Nice is so very close to the Italian border, the restaurants are either French or Italian or both. Either way, the bounty from the sea and the produce from the hills makes for a cornucopia of delicious food regardless of the culinary influence.

The baby girl and I preferred walking around old Nice rather than new Nice. Old Nice has the historical feel due to the twists and turns of small narrow streets built long ago. New Nice has wider streets, perfect for pedestrians to flit from side to side browsing the many boutiques.

I didn’t think of taking any pictures of the Tram which flowed its sleek body through the Place Massena, I can’t remember why, but the Tram fit in beautifully despite being a sleek 21st century design, amidst old monuments and buildings. It is reminiscent of how the good civic planners designed the Tram in Bordeaux, making use of modern design to accentuate the beauty of  the past.

All in all I am happy that I made the decision to visit Nice with the baby girl, it served well as the stepping stone to Monaco and to my old friend’s house in Mandelieu. It is also a beautiful city right there on the beach of the Mediterranean, how can a summer visit get better than that? It can be done, but how? A challenge perhaps for the next trip.

Carcassonne, the walled city

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Carcassonne, France, pictures, postaday2012, tourists, travel, walled city

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I have to say that I don’t think my little cell phone pictures did the Cite de Carcassonne the justice it deserves. Walking up to the entrance of the old Cite from the Ville basse, the new city of Carcassonne, I really felt as if I took a step back in time. It truly is a remarkable monument of stone and manpower. The manpower that built the fortified Cite is a gift from laborers throughout hundreds of years, the Romans, the Visigoths, the Franks and the French. As I was reading up on the history of Carcassonne, I was surprised and impressed that even though the national government was intent on demolishing the old Cite because of its horrendous state of disrepair, an architect took it upon himself at the behest of the local federation of preserving monuments to restore the Cite of Carcassonne to its former glory. A side note that I found to be faintly amusing is that the architect, having spent a great deal of time up North, replaced the crumbling roofs with cone shaped roofs not quite suitable or climate appropriate in a region that is snow free. From what I have read, that was the sole critique and it has long been swept aside given the impressive nature of the restoration.

I think that the pictures, even if they aren’t the best in quality, are all that is required to whet the curiosity of future tourists. It should be on everyone’s to do list of travel destinations. I did find that week in August to be overbearingly hot and I would recommend visiting Carcassonne either in May or September when the air isn’t as oppressive. However the heat gave us an excellent excuse for ice cream breaks, never a bad thing especially when you see the tremendous array of flavors all beautifully presented such as peach, passion fruit, caramel beurre sale, mango, coffee and I can go on and on.

Carcassonne is within the region known for the classic dish called Cassoulet, a stew made with white beans, smoked meats, duck confit and sausage. I have never had it and I know that it is a dish that many rave about, but it is hard to build up an appetite for something that makes me think of cold winter days when I am walking through the cobble stoned streets of the Cite of Carcassonne and it is almost 100 and sweat is beading up everywhere. I think that for me I will try to make a cassoulet during this winter just to see if I like it. The cassoulet is famous as a classic example of French cuisine so it must be good. I know that I’m not a huge fan of beans but who knows, I love beans in my hubby’s chili, so there is a good chance that I would like beans in a cassoulet.

Overall I was enthralled by the history and the mystery that envelopes the Cite of Carcassonne, it remains a testament to the respect that the French have for their legacy and its enduring importance to the nation as part of its character.