Author: Isolde

We found ourselves in a queue of hopefuls on the pavement of a nondescript quartier of Paris, part of a line snaking untidily around the outside corner of a dilapidated 1980s era building labelled ‘Prefecture of Police: 17th arrondissement.’ Underneath our feet, bits of torn and scrunched up newspaper clung to the dust, yellowing with age. No chic or bobo (bourgeois bohemian) shopping district, the area had nothing to recommend it, just a few small and poky grocery shops and the odd sad-looking and sparsely-populated bistro. The pedestrians were hurrying along on their way to somewhere else. What were we,…

Paris – the gastronomic capital of the world. City of fabulous and fabulously expensive restaurants, we sampled one and I will describe the experience. But you don’t need to spend a fortune to eat well, and among the thousands of simple bistros serving steak and chips with salad, there are also those that offer imaginative, well-priced food. I will tell you about some of those too. The first, Aux Lyonnais. A booking would be needed when times were good, but in the wake of the Global Financial Crisis, times were not good for restauranteurs either, and we didn’t need…

Along a bend in the Seine stand some unusual buildings, which if you look closely you will see are in the shape of tall, open books. This is the enormous Bibliothèque Nationale de France (National Library of France). Not only does it house huge numbers of books, print and digital media collections, the National Library is also the venue for summer talks on different topics, open to anyone who is interested. This year, the theme is ‘the interdependent economy.’ I happened on a session about a printing business employing the long-term unemployed. It sounded intriguing, and could shed some light…

I’m quite a frugal person. I re-use tea bags. And, after washing them, plastic bags and glad wrap. And apart from some underwear and my wedding dress, I haven’t bought any clothes since 1992. But with money from mum to buy a dress in Paris, and every clothes shop discounted, from the Marais to Montmartre, I made an exception. I was in Paris after all. For a reluctant shopper like me, it’s important to have boundaries to contain such an expedition. I had boundaries in time and space: I left at twelve and planned to be back at five, and…

Like the locals, we lounge a lot in the parks. The chairs scattered around ask to be lingered on, they are olive or mustard coloured, and either upright or slightly tilted back. We eat ice-creams in parks, bring our books. They are restful places, green and shaded. Other places to hang out are cafés, but cappuccinos are expensive – up to A$9. A similar drink without the froth, a ‘café crème’ is cheaper and more French, and I have that, but not every day. When I do, I linger over it in cafés near us, stringing one out for a…

If you come to Paris for a few days or a week, conscientiously or gladly doing the rounds from one museum to another, interspersing a cruise along the Seine perhaps, a ride up the Eiffel Tower and a meal at a nice restaurant, you will probably love it but leave without a strong sense of how people in Paris live. Where do they live? What do they do? To find out, Steve and I parked ourselves in the French capital for three months over the European summer. We observed everyday life, and to some extent, participated in it. Here are…

Where was I? That’s right, I was talking about miscommunications in Spain. But having no idea what the waitress was saying when she offered us a choice of desserts was one thing. Being clueless during a train changeover was quite another. This occurred during our last train journey in Spain, the ten hour ride from Santiago de Compostela in the northwest to Bilbao in the northeast. This is what happened. I was passing the time reading; enjoying the lush scenery and bright yellows of the snapdragon-like bushes that populate much of the lush north and northwest; and evesdropping on other…

Spain is a country neither of us had been to before and we were curious to experience it for ourselves, and to see how long we could keep a straight face in the presence of a language with so much in-built lisping (in Castilian, the letter ‘c’ followed by ‘e’ or ‘i’ is pronounced ‘th’). We kept it together for the whole month we were travelling, in fact developing respect for the subtleties of the language and its sound combinations, even when we didn’t always understand what was being said. As in Portugal, sometimes we were pleased with ourselves and…

We had settled ourselves into our seats for the train journey from Barcelona to Valencia, around seven hours. Equipped with books and ipods, we were all prepared for a relaxing day. The scenery was a pleasant diversion: after the outskirts of Barcelona and neighbouring small towns, there was farmland and rows of old olive trees, twisting their roots into the dry and sometimes rocky earth. Sitting opposite us were a teenage couple who got out their laptop and started watching a violent action-packed movie. Further behind was a class of Russian students and their teachers. After about half an…

It was pure coincidence that we arrived in Valencia in the second weekend of May during the preparations for, then the procession of, the Festival de la Virgen de los Desamparados (Virgin of the Forsaken), patron saint of Valencia. Smaller than the more well known Las Fallas held in Valencia in March over a whole week, the festival celebrates a 15th century legend whereby an image of the virgin was believed to have cured a blind women in a Valencian hospital for the mentally ill (hence ‘the forsaken’). It seemed like a festival that involved everyone, from the very young…