Yeia sas, Greece!

 

Maybe it was all those good luck Greek Eyes I bought, or maybe Athena happened to be in a really good mood, but my week in Greece was just Mary Poppins-worthy – practically perfect in every way. 

My initiation to the culture began even before my plane landed in Athens. My neighbour, an Albanian-born Greek, chatted to me as we flew over the Adriatic Sea and promised to show me the best souvlaki house in Athens when we landed. Two hours later, that was fulfilled at Zaxos Restaurant: swaying palm trees, a cloudless azure sky and my first of many drool-inducing gyros. 
We laughed at how ridiculously good life was.

My hostel – randomly selected over the net – turned out to be located in the best part of Athens. Tucked in cosily between the gorgeous artisan shops and bustling taverns of the old city, Plaka, I was a marble’s throw away from every Athenian attraction, while avoiding the pollution, traffic, riots and prostitutes of the CBD. Phew. The only downside: mixed dorms. Boy, oh boy, do some men know how to snore.

That first afternoon, I also met a local Athenian, who offered to help me take a photo after he saw me struggling at Zeus’ Gate. He turned out to be a third year university student studying music (the Bach Chorales, to be exact) and history. So, naturally, we got talking. And walking. He showed me around Athens, explaining everything from the architectural design of the buildings to the political situation of the nation. I couldn’t have asked for a better photographer or tour guide!

From there, I spent my week taking full-day tours through the countryside, cruising around the Greek islands and exploring the ancient ruins and museums.

My first tour group consisted of two couples and eight girls, all backpacking alone, with whom I bonded very quickly. Strong, independent women out to enjoy life and explore the world. What’s wrong, boys? Scared? Go, girl power! Together, we visited the impressive man-made Corinthian Canal and the archaeological site at Mycenae. In between bites of soft Greek nougat and sips of coffee frappé (a local favourite during summer), we explored ‘beehive’ tombs and learnt the architectural significance of the Relieving Triangle in the Lion Gate. 

And at the healing sanctuary of Epidaurus, I discovered the real ‘reason’ behind my love of snakes. It is thanks to Asclepius, the most important healer god of antiquity, who carried a serpent-entwined staff – also known as the Rod of Asclepius – used today as the symbol of medicine. Aha! 

Buon giorno, Italy!

So apparently, Italy is now over $2.5 trillion in debt – a quarter of Europe’s debt total. If that’s not screaming “HELP”, I don’t know what is. But even though I can't do a huge deal about it (no, I’m not running for prime minister of Italy), I like to think that I did my part with my obscene pizza-, pasta- and gelato-loading.

First stop: Milano.

For a city reputed for being so beautiful and stylish, Milan left me a little underwhelmed. That being said, if I had had enough money to separate the ‘window-’ from ‘shopping’, my opinion may now be drastically different.

The highlight for me, literally, was climbing the Duomo di Milano (Milan Cathedral) and admiring its gothic architecture from the rooftops. Intricate sculptures, pinnacles and spires, and of course, the majestic yet delicate flying buttresses... If you only have a few hours to spend in Milan, spend it up here. Shopping can wait.

I also quite enjoyed the Castello Sforzesco – a medieval castle that houses many museums, including that of musical instruments, to which I devoted a few hours. I was also lucky enough to catch a medieval concert performed on traditional instruments. I may be a Baroque-Classical girl, but I actually adored the Gregorian chants. What can I say? Guess travelling really does open the mind.

Dear old Leonardo does get quite a big tribute in this city too, having spent his early working years here. I popped in to the Santa Maria delle Grazie Church to see his Last Supper and a collection of his inventions in the Art and Science Museum. Is there anything Da Vinci can’t do?

Oh, and the markets. They were intense. What do you get when you mix a few thousand Italian women and a kilometre-long market of cheap clothes, jewellery, bags and shoes? Flying elbows, angry mouths and sudden, overwhelming claustrophobia. And once you step in, it’s at least a two hundred meter commitment till the next exit. Not for the faint-hearted.

So all in all, a great start to my backpacking trip and a sweet first impression of Italy. But now, it’s time to say “ciao” for a while – I’m off to Athens!

Honey, I'm home!

Hello again, dear reader.

It's been a while, hasn’t it? Funny how time flies when you are holding a “Distinction” academic transcript in one hand and a Eurail Pass in the other.... But now, eight countries, fourteen cities and fifty days later, I’m finally back in Brisbane. And back to reality.

Yet, reality isn’t looking so bleak.

Backpacking alone across Europe was AMAZING, but forty days was enough to make me miss the one-to-one (and the only) bed-to-room ratio. Exploring a new city every few days was a dream-come-true, but after number fourteen, I was ready to settle in one where I could speak the first language. And although the local cuisine had me drooling like a St. Bernard, I started craving fruit and salad when my weight began to resemble our canine friend’s too...

And I’m actually extremely excited to get back into uni, exercise, study and routine. Ah yes, I can feel my OCD neurons firing up already. The promise of long hours of unpacking, arranging, rearranging, list-making and timetable-drawing is making me positively giddy with anticipation. And you think I’m being sarcastic.

In the midst of all that, of course, I will try to be more disciplined with my blogging. I have quite a few interesting stories to share with you, and even more photos – which luckily, I managed to save from a Venetian canal, but that is a story for another time!

So, stay tuned, dear reader. And stay dry.

Au revoir.

I’m not ready to leave yet. Not even close. 

I want to keep soaking up French phrases like a croissant dipped in hot coffee.

I’m not finished bathing in milk and honey. Not done sleeping in chocolate and wine.

I need to spend every weekend discovering operas, studying paintings, devouring literature.

I haven’t had enough of picnicking by a lake of swans, of lying under a warm Swiss sun, of cutting cheese for a fresh baguette.

How does the rest of the world function without infallible public transport? Without a bank and pharmacy on every corner?

I already miss the sugar-dusted Alps, the meadows of wild poppies, the narrow cobblestoned paths...

They say home is where the heart is. Well if that’s true, then I guess another fragment of mine has just set anchor.

But a part of me also knows that leaving now is for the best.

I dived, fell and shattered, and Switzerland picked up my pieces and nurtured me back to health. She has given me nothing I could ever expect but everything I could ever ask for. A new solution to my Rubik life. 

Now, my time has come to be strong and independent. To face the world alone. And I am going to start with Milan...

My Switzerland.

Milky meadows. Misty mountains. Magnifique.

Yogurt. Yodelling. Y.

Snowy sidewalks, soft sunrays. Spirited swans, scintillating surface. Sereine.

Wind whistling, woods, winter. White, wonder, wealth. Wine, waffles, warmth.

Indépendante.

Tranquil. Translation. Taxation. Traditionnelle.

Zen. Zeal. Zeste.

Equilibrium. Efficiency. Excellence. Eblouissante.

Respectful. Religious. Reserved. Riche.

Live, laugh, learn. Lac Léman. Lausanne.

Awe. Aventure.

Neutral. Naturelle.

Distinction. Discipline. Dormant. Douce.

Bonjour, France!

Chapitre V: Paris II

April 30

8:30: Sunny, 23. Time to put on my new floral skirt and step out onto the streets of Paris! The thought gives me quite a buzz. 

9:00: Sacre Cœur. A beautifully serene start to my morning. The Place du Tertre...not so much. Caricaturists can be quite a persistent bunch! I much prefer a quiet promenade around Amelie’s streets. Unfortunately, I don’t manage to find Café des 2 Moulins for a crème brûlée, but I do find a maxi pain au chocolat. I’m sure this is meant to be shared between two, or five, but... Oh look, it’s the Moulin Rouge!

11:00: The Orangerie Museum. Words cannot express how much I love this place. Monet’s Les Nymphéas grace the walls of two oval rooms and a corridor of Renoir makes me weak at the knees. Why it is not on Paris’ Top Ten list, I will never know – and don’t tell me that not everyone is as obsessed with Impressionism as I am, dear reader. Trust me, I will remain saner in denial. 

13:00: “On se retrouve pour des escargots?” Yes, of course I’ll meet you for snails! I find my roommate in front of the Opera Garnier (I’m going in next time), and follow her to the bustling Chartier restaurant. The best place for snails in Paris, she proudly informs me. Oh, and mouth-watering crispy duck. I love my roommate. 

14:00: I’m not sure this much good art in one day is a smart idea. The withdrawal symptoms are not going be fun... But how can I resist? I skip through the doors of the Musée d’Orsay with my museum pass and gravitate toward to the Impressionism section. Cue instant goose bumps and tears (I’ve really got to stop this crying business). Degas, Lévy, Monet, Sisley, Renoir, Pissarro... Pastel tutus, alluring eyes, dancing lilies, endless paths, soft nudes, a corner of a garden... 

A woman sees me staring so intently at Monet’s London, Houses of Parliament (The Sun Shining through the Fog) that she pulls her son out of my way... Oops. I do immensely enjoy the other artworks in the museum too, of course, though that may be partly due to the fact that I don’t stumble upon any Picasso. I wonder what Corot’s landscapes are selling at... Maybe that will be my new incentive for becoming a neurosurgeon.

18:00: Time to enjoy some macaroons and Lafayette-style retail therapy. Or just retail – no therapy needed on a day like today!

20:00: Off to see a little metal tower and some sparkly lights. I decide that going up alone is not the best way to avoid all the Siamese twins I am suddenly surrounded by, so I amuse myself by taking photos of the Seine instead. See? As pretty as any of the last twenty postcards I’ve been offered.

May 1

9:00: As we walk down the Champs-Elysées, my roommate becomes increasing distressed as she realises that none of the shops we pass will be opening at their promised time. It’s definitely mayday- I mean, May Day!

10:00: The real Arc de Triomphe this time. I am impressed, but certainly not by the tourists. One yells at me to move out of their photo while others tread over the commemoration plaques without a downward glance. Ugh.

12:00: One last walk around Paris – for the next little while anyway. Window shopping, I spy a puppy that steals my heart so fast that I nearly smack my forehead on the glass. Going into pet shops in foreign countries is a bad idea. But going into one back home could be even worse... 

15:00: Au revoir, Paris. Goodbye, France...

20:00: Back in Switzerland at last! Beautiful Switzerland. Home sweet home and bed warm bed.
Zzzzz...

Now that was one excellent holiday.

Bonjour, France!

Chapitre IV: Paris I

April 28

11:00: What is the first thing to do upon arriving in Paris after a three-hour train ride? Find a good crêperie to power up for the hours of inevitable walking and metro-ing ahead. According to my roommate’s travel brochure, Crêperie Josselin is a clear favourite. Well, if the crowd of locals fighting to squeeze into the cosy restaurant is any indication, we have come to the right place. Ham, cheese and mushroom crêpe accompanied by traditional cider, followed by blackcurrant and salty crunchy caramel gelato... I can already say Paris, je t’aime.  

12:00: I leave my roommate and begin my exploration of one of the most famous cities in the world. Having survived the crowds of hasty Parisians underground, I climb out breathlessly (due more to the endless metro steps than anticipation) onto Place de la Concorde. The view actually makes me squeal. I am face to face with the Obelisk, the Eiffel Tower standing nonchalantly in the background and the Arc de Triomphe in the distance to my right. If I turned and walked through the Jardin des Tuileries to my left, I would find myself staring at two of the largest art museums in the world. And that's just what I do.

14:00: Notre Dame. Majestic, yes, but I am more than a little disenchanted by the crowds of obnoxious tourists rushing around to get their “perfect shot”. It isn’t exactly easy to find serenity when I am being blinded by flashes everywhere I turn. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to hold back on the clicking, but I dearly hope that it will never be with so little respect for the sights I am capturing.

16:00: As I cross bridges of locks and play photographer to lovey-dovey couples, I feel the cold, bony fingers of Loneliness slide around my neck. But I hadn’t expected the City of Love to treat me too kindly this time around...

18:00: To escape the rain and the greyness trying to creep inside me, I seek refuge in the Église de la Madeleine, a Roman Catholic Church designed originally as a temple to the glory of Napoleon's army. I walk out an hour later. Smiling.

April 29

10:00: Obviously, I am not the only one who thinks that Versailles is a nice place to be early on a Friday morning. This is the line after tickets... Worth it? You bet.

There is quite a fascinating throne exhibition in the castle, from that of Emperor Qianlong of China (left) to King Rü Mfo of Cameroon (right). 

Jaw dropping ceilings, room after room. My neck suffers for a few hours, but how can you tear your eyes away from this? 

The Hall of Mirrors. No one should be allowed to be this rich! If he hadn't been such a benefactor of the French Baroque movement, Louis XIV would certainly not be such a Sun King in my eyes.

The gardens – finally, no longer just a picture in my Music History textbook. Cue Bach. Oh my, is that actu–? Of course not, silly me, just an old man with curly white hair.

16:00: The Louvre. Staring at the glass pyramid, a memory suddenly comes flooding back... I am nine years old, pouring over a page in my Chinese textbook, mechanical pencil in hand. I carefully underline three strange black characters on a pale yellow page, “卢浮宫”, with two almost equally strange words, “Louvre Museum”, written beside them. Now, ten years later, I am also about to discover the meaning of a third phrase: “Musée du Louvre”. 

22:00: I walk out of the now glowing pyramid in a daze. I feel as though I have travelled through several thousands of years in the space of six hours. However, being the Impressionism addict that I am, the best was yet to come...