You’ll love Paris; but not for the reasons you’re thinking…

The sights and the history in Paris are unrivalled anywhere in Europe, but the city itself probably won’t live up to your expectations.

I, along with the rest of Western civilisation, had a very distinct idea in my head about  Paris would be like. Largely due to modern cinema and romance novels, I expected to arrive in “gay Paree” where everything was in sepia, there was a constant piano accordion soundtrack, and men in cafes wore berets and drank red wine at noon.

I also thought the sheer romanticism of the place would sweep me off my feet; I’d fall in love with the city, and never leave. Well, I did leave. And since thieving gypsies were more prevalent than berets, I was quite glad to.

I arrived in Paris one sunny afternoon at Gare du Nord train station, expectations high, backpack in tow. I looked for the exit of the bustling station and mentally prepared myself to be serenaded by the sights and sounds of the city.

I stepped on to the street only to be accosted by a group of young gypsies who tore at my hair and clothes all the while saying “treasure, treasure”. Welcome to the city of love. And loss. Of possessions.

I finally managed to bat them away (don’t be afraid to use expletives; it’s all they really respond to) and found my hostel which was not too far from Sacre Couer, the famous cathedral.

I met some lovely people there who were also quite keen to find some friends with whom they could roam the streets after similar stories of muggings, attempted muggings, and gypsy encounters.

It was with them that I discovered all of the wonder and amazement Paris has to offer; and as one of them so succinctly pointed out; the French just never seem to get it wrong.

From the Arc de Triomphe, to the Louvre and its famous works inside and out, the Moulin Rouge to Sacre Couer, the Hotel des Invalides to the Pantheon; whatever the French do, however controversial or despised it was at the time, is just breathtaking.

One of my most cathartic and poignant moments in all of my travels, and a truly “wow I can’t believe I’m really here” moment, was one night spent with friends, some cheap wine, camembert, and La Tour Eiffel. Another creation the French are said to have hated when it was first erected, there is nothing quite as spectacular, or quite as French, as lazing on the grass, basking in the thousands of lights on display on the tower every evening.  

Another gem of which you may not have heard is the Parisian Catacombs; 2km of nothing but bones, winding under the streets of Paris. Human bones from nearly 6 million people line the tunnels decoratively in a display which must have taken years to arrange. The mass underground grave was opened to relieve Paris’ cemeteries which were crowded to overflowing. The Man in the Iron Mask (whom I mentioned in my South of France piece) is buried here – somewhere.  It’s quite eerie and cold, being nearly 20 metres underground, so take a friend, and it’s not for the claustrophobic, elderly, young children or unfit, but it’s definitely worth the two-hour-plus wait in the queue!

The sights of Paris are some of the most remarkable in Europe, and the history, especially of the Napoleonic period is astounding. It is for this that I loved Paris, and why I would return. However the city itself has been somewhat tainted and jaded by tourists. Poverty-stricken folk from Romania and Eastern Europe make Paris their home to take from those who they deem can clearly afford it since they’re travelling in Paris, and locals take advantage of those naïve enough to keep their wallets, iPhones, cigarettes in their back pockets.

Keep your wits about you and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have a ball in the awe-inspiring French capital; just don’t expect to fall in love.

Think instead of your relationship with Paris as of a fling with a rock star; he has some amazing things going for him, and well, he’s famous, so you’re glad you went there, but at the end of the day he’s pretty dirty and creepy and you’re quite content to tell the stories past-tense.

English Rose Jam and Jam Tarts!

If you want to feel as though you're in Moreton-in-Marsh or another gem of the English country-side, whip up some English Rose jam!

 

For about a nice big batch of posh English Rose Jam, cut the tops off about 1.5 kilos of strawberries, and combine with a kilo of sugar. I like to mash the strawberries for a smoother set. Bring to the boil for three minutes, and then add a packet of commercial jam setting mix (or a tablespoon of pure pectin) and six table spoons of rose water.

 

Boil until a drop of jam forms a skin when left to cool on a plate.

 

Sterilise bottles by washing in hot soapy water and warming in the oven at 140 degrees for 15 minutes. bottle jam when jam is cold and the glass is warm.

 

Complete with a material cover and rubber band, and a wool bow as shown!

 

English Rose Jam Tarts:

 

You can use ready-made pastry, but why would you when you can make your own?!

 

Sieve together 250g of plain flour, a heaped tablespoon of icing sugar, and a pinch of salt. Add 110g of butter or marg and rub it in with your fingertips until it becomes crumbly. Slowly add a tablespoon of water at a time and rub through until it forms a dough. It shouldn't be sticky, but it should cling together a little bit! 

Put this in the fridge wrapped in cling film for about an hour. Leave it to warm to room temp, then roll out with a rolling pin on a flat surface covered in flour. Cut circles with a fluted cookie cutter and place in an oiled cupcake tray. You should be able to make about 15. 

Put a teaspoon of jam in each tart (not too much - the jam boils in the oven and can spill over the tart) and put a cookie-cut out shape on top (I've used stars here with miniature stars in the middle, you could try any shape you like!).

Bake for about 20 minutes or until the pastry looks slightly browned. Leave to cool before serving, and sprinkle with icing sugar. Pret a manger! Bon Apetite!

"In Bruges" - August 2011

After seeing the film 'In Bruges' with the delectable Colin Farrell, I felt compelled to go to the place his character said might impress him if he grew up on a farm and was retarded.

When I arrived in Bruges' town centre I felt as though I'd walked into a fairy tale. Skinny gabled buildings are squashed shoulder-to-shoulder into little squares and cobbled streets.

Lace makers sit on the side of the road and you can watch them perform their craft for a coin donation, and little markets selling antiques and other wares litter the streets.

I saw most of the sights - (The bell tower, the Kerk van de hoelig bloed, Michael Angelo's pieta, the nunnery etc) but the best you can do in Bruges is just to wander the streets and take in the atmosphere of the Belgian gem.

Tips: Try the frites in the green caravans in front of the bell tower, hire bikes and ride around the town centre, laze by the river with a book (in summer), go ice skating (in winter). 

Mykonoooooooos July 2011

Mykonos. Why am I having writers' block about one of the most travelled-to Greek Islands known for its summers of booze and partying? Well I guess it's because I didn't enjoy it all that much. It was July, it was hot, it was uni-break for much of Europe. It was worth a look, but I won't go again.

 

We stayed at a campsite-cum-party ranch which was impressive on entry; complete with restaurant, pool, shop, bar, but the rooms were less than desirable. I'd never had more mosquito bites in my life and you couldn't sleep past 7am (even though you were home at five) as the sun beat down on the canvas and tin structure making you sweat out of your eyeballs.

 

All of Europe was here - school camp groups, and university students on holiday. Unfortunately for us they were mostly Italians. Italians who found blonde hair exotic and who were definitely in 'holiday mode' (aka; I'm going to get very drunk and grope every girl that walks past). While I did spend a large part of the week avoiding drunk and horny Italians, I still attempted to enjoy myself and get into the party spirit.

 

Spending all day on the beach lazing in the sun sounds fun, but when it's 45 degrees it gets old pretty quickly. Going into town was quite nice, the blue and white windmills are the most famous view of Mykonos, and the winding blue and white streets and little shops are quite lovely for the day.

 

At night is when Mykonos comes into its own. For those who haven't been on Tropicana (the all-day beach party) all day, its time to head over for a beach party. It lives up to the crazy things you've heard about it as people pour champagne down your throat, grab you from every angle, and seeing people getting intimate on the beach ceases to shock you after the first few hours. Look out for Elephant Man; distinguishable by his elephant G-string, he wanders around Tropicana with a microphone making such witty remarks as "Mykonooooossssssss", "We love Italiaaaaaaaaanssssssss", and "Who is from Australiaaaaaaaaaaaa?"

 

Then it's time for one of Mykonos' myriad of clubs. Cavo Paradiso is one of the most famous; you will have seen it in the Wog Boy sequel (apparently - I'm hoping you haven't watched it) and is complete with a pool and overlooks the ocean. I can't say I was too into the music, or the crowd, or the club itself, but you can't go to Mykonos without going to Cavo Paradiso; again, 'apparently'.

 

There are a number of other Ibiza-style super-clubs like this, but in my opinion at least you'll have more fun at one of the bars or smaller clubs in town. Much more atmosphere, and drinks aren't 20 euro (Well, given the Greek economy at the moment, they may be).

 

I hate to trash Greece while they could so desperately use your dollar, but Mykonos really wasn't for me. Santorini and other less party-esque islands are said to be amazing, and Athens has the most amazing history in the world, but unless what I have described above appeals to you, the perhaps give Mykonos a miss.