Ritual

I'm still reeling from the surprise that is Padua.  It was so different in 2009 that I hardly recognise it now, except for the familiar sense that here in Padua all is well.  It's a very surrounding and enveloping town, cosy like a warm blanket and welcoming like an old friend.  Below are two photos taken looking each way down the street from the window of our apartment, early this morning.

A huge part of the community here is made up of university students, as Padua is an old university town - the University of Padova was founded in 1222.  The young people provide colour and light to this old town and their laughter and joy is apparent.  How could anyone be sad, in this town which offers so much?

It appears that today is graduation day for some of the students; further, it appears that there are some interesting rituals which take place on this special day.  After the official ceremony, students parade down the main street to the piazza (public square), wearing a wreath of bright green laurel leaves and bells around their necks, so that everyone can easily identify the students out of the general throng.

On arrival, their friends and family form a kind of guard of honour for them and the student runs back and forth through this, while being slapped on the back.  At this point, they are still wearing their graduation outfits, but soon thereafter the family surrounds the student and another set of clothing is dragged out for them to change into; this second outfit has been put together by their friends and might be a superhero costume, a great big nappy, funny hat or another strange costume of some kind (one boy we saw was dressed only in his jocks, with a beak on his face - more of this later...). 

A pedestal is erected and the student must stand on it and recite a long funny poem about his life which has been written and transcribed onto a huge scroll along with a large caricature of the student, by his friends; in the meantime, the mates spray him with shaving lotion, pour water and flour on him, throw eggs at him, squirt tomato sauce or any of a number of other concoctions at him in order to distract him from the reading - if he makes a mistake while reading, or hesitates, he must take a swig of the(reasonably alcoholic) beverage which has been brought along for him.  By the end of the poem, the student is generally covered head to toe in a mixture of all the things he or she has been sprayed with.

The aforementioned student wearing only jocks, was covered in something very sticky, followed by a pillow-ful (?) of feathers, so that he looked like a 6-foot chicken.

All of the swigging is of course accompanied by chanting and laughter and it's all great fun to watch.  There might be a limbo stick or the local fountain to be contended with, too - all with great hilarity, of course! When it is over, the graduand is wiped down and tidied up enough to be able to put his proper clothes back on, then everyone goes off to a big celebratory meal elsewhere.  The theory behind the ritual is that this is the fun part at the end of the studies and before the serious part of real life begins. Good theory.

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In Padua

We visited Padua in 2009 and thought it was a really pretty little town, with a great deal to offer compared with larger cities, and being only 25 minutes from Venice means that it is readily accessible to the "big smoke" if the mood strikes one.  Last time we were here, we spent three days and didn't see a lot, because it rained on each of those days - we made a day trip to Venice on one, a day trip to Verona on a second and spent a soppy wet day in Padua itself on the third.  Nevertheless, as I said, we could see that it had the potential for a future longer visit, so here we are, and this time for an entire month.

We arrived by train exactly on schedule at 5:11pm, having made the trip from Paris to Milan, changing trains and journeying on to Padua.  The arrangement was that we were to phone the lady who owns our apartment when we arrived at the station and she would meet us at the apartment if we caught a taxi there.  That went very smoothly, which is always nice when you are making arrangements in part-English, part-Italian, by email from Australia, 10 months prior. 

The apartment is an absolute delight;  it is about three times larger than the one we rented in Paris, with a large separate (fully-equipped and pantry part-stocked) kitchen, bathroom, separate toilette and MASSIVE living room which includes a king-sized bed, two big white leather couches, a wall unit with TV, wardrobes, desk and chairs.  The huge window looks out over the cobblestoned street, and as I write, we can hear the sounds of people walking downstairs (we are on the first floor), cyclists riding by, laughter and general chatter.  The street is closed to cars, so there is no annoying vehicular noise drifting up.  Beautiful shops line both sides of the street and we have noticed a really big change in Padua since 2009 in that there are lots of designer-label stores and the shops seem to be more "upmarket" than we recall.  Nevertheless, the community feel is still very much evident and we find Italy more down-to-earth and easygoing than other places we have visited.  Again I remarked to David within 10 minutes of being here, "It just feels like home, that's why I love it here."

Early this morning David ventured out before I was properly awake, to get some breakfast food and milk.  In his absence I located the coffee-maker and some ground coffee and had that in train for his return.  We ate to the sound of Italian breakfast radio and planned how we would spend our first day here.  David said that while he was out, he had seen the market stallholders setting up, so we decided that we would head out and stock the fridge with vegetables, buy cheeses and prepare supplies for (at least) the next few days.

There is a huge piazza containing the fruit and vegetable market, just 100 metres from our apartment; you can also buy all kinds of nuts, seeds, rices, spices and fresh herbs there; behind it in an old building are the delicatessens, butchers, fishmongers, bakers and so on.  Just around the other side of that building is another market selling clothes, tablecloths, handbags, homewares and other necessary items.  Another 100 metres along is the supermarket, where you can buy all sorts of wonderful things that we can't get at home!  I would love to be able to transport the whole lot to Glenferrie Road, but alas...

No shopping trip is complete without stopping for coffee (cappuccino is only drunk in the morning - if you ask for milk in your coffee after noon, everyone knows you are "just" a tourist) and coffee is not coffee without a small pastry to accompany it - David enjoyed a custard pastry of some delicious description and I have no idea what was in mine, but it was damned good!  We also think that Italian coffee is far superior to French coffee, but I guess it's a personal choice thing.  I don't think you can go past the dense crema on top of an Italian cappuccino - absolutely divine.

Now we have returned to the apartment and it is 1:30pm.  David is preparing a light lunch of panini filled with all sorts of treats, while I write this and contemplate an hour on the couch reading and possibly napping (the shops are closed over lunchtime, and anyway I bought two shirts, a scarf and a cardigan this morning at the market and that should be enough self-indulgence for me today).

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Paris...pffft - we're gone

We closed the door to our small Paris apartment for the last time - it was 6:30 am and the streets of the Latin Quarter were dark and wet, the clatter of the wheels from our bags the only sound to be heard as we made our way to Cookie's hotel, followed by a brisk walk to St Michel station.

Tickets purchased, the train arrives and we all get on, Cookie headed for the airport and all of us holding back, knowing that the last goodbye is only minutes away.  Debbie and I get off at the next stop and we see Cookie looking out from her window seat, tears held back by everyone as she disappears into the tunnel and we head for our train to Milan and on to Padua.

We are now flying through the French countryside on a TGV (translation: very f...ing fast train), the morning mist and cloud hang over the land like a blanket, lakes and rivers flash by; the first stop comes and goes and we go on deeper into the centre of France, ever closer to our change of trains at Milan.

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Musee d'Orsay

First you take an old railway station on the banks of the River Seine in the heart of Paris, the kind of railway station we have all seen in old black and white movies - hundreds of metres long and eight or ten platforms wide with a high curved, glass panelled roof. Then you undertake a restoration, renovation and re-modelling exercise to create a building that becomes a work of art in itself, a massive central sculpture gallery with three levels of salons  and smaller more intimate galleries devoted to the major art themes and artists. Finally you fill these spaces with the works of Rodin, Manet, Monet, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Lautrec, Degas and many others, exquisite period furniture, clocks, mirrors and chandeliers, and you create a viewing experience that is beyond comparison with any other museum or art gallery I have ever been in.  This is the Musee d'Orsay. Outstanding!

On the other side of the River Seine is The Louvre, and there are at least a thousand people waiting to get in, all standing in the cold Autumn breeze, and not knowing what they are missing.

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A Special Event

Last Wednesday morning (yes, I know, I'm running a bit late with recording this), David and I were looking to fill in time before we met Cookie, who was due to arrive from Copenhagen around the middle of the day, so David suggested we go in search of a couple of the old synagogues in Paris to see what they were like. 

In 2009 we visited the synagogue in Siena, Italy and found it very interesting.  It had been built at the end of the 18th century and we had a chat with a lovely woman there who showed us through, telling us that they were proud to have added a new member to their congregation following the recent birth of a baby to a young couple who lived in Siena.  She advised that this brought the total number of Jews in Siena to 22.  The synagogue was in some disrepair and quite modest in appearance. 

On Wednesday we sought out two synagogues here in Paris, one on Rue Pavee which had been consecrated in 1913 and the other on Rue Notre Dame de Nazareth, consecrated in 1852.  The former was very run-down, sadly, but we spoke to a gentleman there and were made welcome.  Due to lack of language skills, we weren't able to discover anything about the Jewish community, but it was nice to see the inside of the building.  The latter, older, synagogue was actually more ornately decorated and seemed to be in better condition than the former. 

Afterwards we walked around the local area and noticed there were a few Jewish cafes and shops and other evidence of Jewish life.  We had a little morning tea at the Korcarz deli on Rue de Rosiers and can highly recommend the poppyseed strudel next time you're in Paris!

Today is Yom Kippur, the highest holy day in the Jewish calendar.  For Jews all over the world it is a day of fasting and deep self-contemplation, a day when we ask for forgiveness for any wrongdoing over the past year and ask G-d to look after us in the year ahead.  Cookie and I wanted to observe this day despite being away from home, where one would normally attend the local synagogue and say appropriate prayers, including one called Yizkor for departed loved ones (parents, specifically).  My cousin Linda in New York had told me that she once spent a Yom Kippur in Paris and had gone to Notre Dame and said Yizkor there.  After seeing inside Notre Dame earlier this week, the idea of doing this struck me with such strong emotion that I decided it was the perfect location for Cookie and me.  I don't know a lot of Jewish prayers off by heart so I did a bit of research last night and prepared something for us to recite.  Now I have no idea whether it was the "right" thing for us to do, but it was certainly right for us.  Although the prayer I put together was not exactly what would have been said in a synagogue, I didn't think that really mattered. 

This morning, my darling girl and I sat in the very back row of the Notre Dame, huddled together, and whispered first the Kaddish (prayer for the dead), then Yizkor in Hebrew and English then (my favourite) the 23rd Psalm ("The L-rd is my shepherd...").  We were both quite teary and I am absolutely certain we will remember the event for the rest of our lives.

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Food, Tickets and Versailles

This morning began with meeting Cookie at 8:30am for breakfast at a nearby bar/cafe.  These "institutions" are very common in Paris and are really warm, cosy places for people to meet for coffee, an alcoholic drink or a small meal.  We have been into many and we always observe how good it would be if these existed at home in Melbourne.  Individuals, couples and groups gather through the day to enjoy company and good food in a very relaxed atmosphere.  We often see workers (some in suits, some in overalls) laughing and chatting together, while drinking a round of espresso, then moving on back to their jobs.  The "bartender" is often part of their jolly conversation and it's clear that these guys are regulars, well-known to him.

A few days ago, after Cookie had arrived and we'd checked her into her hotel, we stopped at a bar for a snack because we were all famished.  We asked for cheese and bread - this ended up being a basket of fresh, crusty baguette slices and sweet French butter for the table, with each of us being presented with our own plate of three cheese wedges.  Together, we had nine completely different cheeses!  The milky coffee and delicious food were virtually "inhaled" in double-quick time, before we stepped back out onto the street to continue our day.

Today for breakfast we ordered "The Continental".  This comprised (for each of us) orange juice, a warm croissant, a huge wedge of fresh baguette, plenty of butter and a selection of jams, as well as coffee and hot chocolate.  Delish.  We then headed off to the train station to take the 40-minute ride out to see the Palace of Versailles, the well-known centre of French royal life from about 1680-something for about a century.  The train takes you to a point about 5 minutes walk from the front door of the chateau, which is all well and good, but there the stress begins - you obviously have to buy tickets if you haven't done so already, and this means queueing in snake-like fashion, around and around inside a building which houses the ticket office.  I volunteered to be "the one" today, who did the standing in line, secretly because it was quite cool and windy outside this morning and the ticket office was in a warm building. To be fair, I beckoned David and Cookie to come inside when I saw that the queue was long and realised that there were banks of cosy couches where people could wait for the poor unfortunates standing in line.  Anyway, I shuffled slowly forward for about 15 minutes to a point where an usher was calling out that if one didn't want to wait any longer in line, we were welcome to use one of the many ticket machines in another room, to speed things up.  Therein lies a dilemma, though.  Should I give up my place in the line (I was about 25 people from the desk) on the chance that the machine room was actually going to expedite matters? Should I?  Should I?  Should I? Would YOU have?  What if the machine broke down when I got in there and I wasn't able to complete the transaction and had to go back to the end of the queue?  I wasn't within eye-view of Cookie and David so I couldn't whistle one of them over to save my spot, otherwise that would have been the simple solution.  So I thought to myself, "Deb, you are SOOO not a risk-taker and you SOOO should be, sometimes" and so, filled with trepedation and with my heart beating way too fast, I left the comfort and security of my shuffling queue to go into the ticket-machine room.  Guess what?  Eight machines.  Two took cash, six took credit cards (I had cash).   There were already about 15 people waiting to use the machines.  Three of the machines had broken down and had "Out of Order" signs on them.  Do you think I was in a happy place?  Do you think I was starting to wonder if I actually really wanted to see the Palace of Versailles?

OK, moving on - we then had to go through a security check.  All very well, except that I knew I had put a super-sharp sabre-bladed knife in our bag because we were planning on having a picnic after our tour.  I knew we would need a sharp knife to cut open the fresh baguette we were going to buy.  We also had a plastic container of freshly-roasted chicken pieces, tiny baked baby potatoes, ripe red tomatoes, a bag of almonds, brazil nuts, fruit, a packet of cheese biscuits and a picnic cloth upon which to spread our bon repast.  What can I tell you?  I'm a Jewish mother - I need to feed my family!  Anyway, I confessed that I had a knife in my bag ("Excuse-moi, monsieur - I have a knife in my bag!" sounded really good, until I explained further).  I was fully-prepared to surrender the knife, if necessary, but it turned out not to be necessary.  We just checked the bag into the baggage lockers and David glared menacingly at the guy who took it, warning him that he had counted the chicken pieces and they'd better all be there when we returned... nah, not really, but that would have made for a good story.  The fact is that when you don't speak the local language, it's difficult to be funny with people in authority.

All of this serves merely as an introduction to saying that the palace was absolutely magnificent, lavishly rich and decadent in decoration and clearly a testament to a time in French history when no expense was spared in furnishing the homes of the nobility with the very best and most ostentatious extravagence.  Volumes have probably been written about Versailles and I've included a couple of photos below, but I do want to say that the crowds were overwhelming, even now in the so-called "off" season, and they spoilt the experience.  Enough said.  Oh, and the picnic was delicious, thanks.  David found us a lovely secluded park in the township, with lots of seats and well-guarded from the cool breeze; it was a great place to rest and collect ourselves before returning to Paris.

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Palais Garnier et La Tour Eiffel

A three-hour leave pass from shopping with the girls found me on the door step of the Palais Garnier (more commonly known as the Paris Opera), and for the first time a silent "wow" escaped my lips. This is truly a maginifent building where all the attention has been placed on the lavish interior. My only regret is that I was not prepared to pay the higher entry fee for the official tour which would have included the terraced balconies and the magnificent stage. Instead I chose the cheaper do-it-yourself tour for 9 euro, and whilst being overawed with what I saw, I can't help but feel that I missed a whole lot more.

With still an hour to go on my leave pass, and no desire to enter the throngs of people who were milling around the entrance to Galeries Lafayette, I strolled into Eglise de la Trinite and joined the lunchtime crowd who had sat down in this very old and run-down church to enjoy a free recital. A single violinist supported by a cellist performed for an hour, and the acoustics were amazing.

The early evening saw us navigating the Metro once again for a visit to La Tour Eiffel. This structure is always visible on the horizon during the day. I have seen it from the dome at the Pantheon, and I have seen it from the rooftop observatory cafe at Printemps, but to see it at night changes it from just being there to dominating the night sky. It is truly amazing and no real words can describe it. Also apparent was the very lengthy queue of visitors all lined up to purchase their tickets for the ride to the upper levels for the night-time view of Paris. We chose to stay on the ground, walked over to the Trocadero, and once again I revelled in the marvels of another Nutella and banana crepe - and once again I blame Cookie.

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Madeleine, Montmarte (and Sacre Coeur)

On Tuesday, we caught the metro train to Madeleine station in order to have breakfast at Fauchon patisserie, a well-known and highly regarded location - although primarily a pastry shop it is also a delicatessen selling only the finest and highest quality smallgoods.  When you come up to street level from the platform, there are actually two Fauchon stores in close proximity to one another, both very pretty in appearance, being glossy pink, black and gold.  The pastries and coffee are probably not the best in Paris, but the experience of visiting the store takes away from any significance you might place on that issue.  The intricacy of the cake decorations and the presentation of the food generally, is beyond comparison with anything I have seen elsewhere.  Simply beautiful!

We walked from Fauchon down rue Tronchet, a wide tree-lined shopping boulevard which leads to the fabled Printemps and Galeries Lafayette department stores, although we purposely did not visit either of those on Monday, wanting to save the experience for a few days until Cookie joined us.  The metro from there to Montmarte is quite direct and that was our next destination.

We have been very impressed with the metro system - it is easy to navigate, cheap to use and we have not yet had to wait more than 3 minutes for a train or a connection.  Having said that, the stations are dirty and not pleasant places to spend time.  I know that you're not supposed to spend a lot of time at railway stations, but you only have to go to a country like Japan, to Austria or to Singapore to discover that it's actually quite pleasant to be in some stations.  Paris - not so.

Montmarte is quite a different area to the one where we are staying, in the Latin Quarter.  It doesn't have the same feeling, being known most famously as the location of Moulin Rouge, cabaret and a focus of nightclub life in Paris.  We have heard good stories and not-so-good stories about that area.  Our impression was that we were glad to have chosen the Latin Quarter for our 8-day stay - it is more central, the restaurant and cafe choices are better, people walking about seem well-dressed and elegant and the tone of the area is brighter and more vibrant.  It is unwise to form an opinion about a place without more evidence than a couple of hours spent there, but I think you do "get a feel" for where your comfort level lies and anyway people look for different things in their choice of location, and people feel differently according to their own experiences.  It would be a difficult and boring world to live in, if we all liked the same things all of the time.

We took the funicular railway up to Sacre Coeur; the ride is great fun and conveniently, you can use a regular metro ticket to access the little train.  Having eaten more pastries in the past few days than I have in the past few years, it's probably fair to say that I should have walked the couple of hundred steps up the hill to the monument, but let's not go there... 

Sacre Coeur is very impressive and very beautiful; the view from the area across Paris is a bonus highlight.  Paris rooftops are very different from Italian rooftops, the latter being mostly of terracotta and affording a different overall experience.  Both are beautiful, just in different ways.

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This blogging thing

It's very difficult, when all's said and done.  I am already two days behind in the things I want to write about, but we've been so busy and in the evening before retiring for the night we are so tired that it's hard to summon the wherewithall (sp?) to sit and recount the day's adventures here.  Suffice to say that if you are waiting with bated breath for the next instalment, please know that it will come, it just may not come in the next 12 hours or so because here we are with a brand new day about to begin and I haven't yet written about Montmarte, Madeleine, Sacre Couer and the arrival yesterday of our darling Cookie!  In a way it would be good if the weather was AWFUL and we had no alternative but to sit indoors and write, but that isn't the case - we have been exceedingly lucky with the weather in that (despite lack of sunshine) we have had what I consider perfect "tourist weather" - the temperature has hovered around 20 degrees and it has been a bit overcast.  Some of our photos show azure skies, but David tells me that's a bit of trick photography on his part and it sometimes depends on the angle at which the shots are taken.

I will write again later.  I promise.

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Nutella crepes...

...are the new love of my life. A crepe the size of a dinner plate, cooked on a hot plate right before your eyes, covered in Nutellla, loaded up with a fresh sliced banana, all folded together to form a neat fat triangle of rich wonderful taste...and I blame Cookie for introducing me to them.

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