Last day in Paris

We woke up late again, packed up, checked out and made our way into St Germain to find breakfast, or something like it.

We decided we'd try and find Androuet, a famous Parisian cheese shop and grab some bread and frommage for a walking breakfast around Paris. We were unable to locate the shop at the address listed on the site - there are other locations, so perhaps it had moved recently. Apparently it's worth the trip.

Instead we wound up going to a bit of a touristy place, I put it down to poor judgement due to extreme hunger, and ordered some wine, cheese fondue and a salad nicoise. Turned out we didn't need the salad as the fondue came with one and it was so stringy and rich that Jus nearly choked. It was nowhere near as good as on 2005 experience with fondue on a mountaintop in Swizterland.

We pushed on to Ile St Louis, where we'd visited briefly yesterday, to again sample some of the famouse Berthollie ice cream - it was so fabulous yesterday that we made a special trip today to get more. In this we were not disappointed.

We then had a brief stint on a Seine river cruise then made out way up to Montmarte, an incredible chapel with a view of Paris to rival the Eiffel tower. By this stage tho I was footsore, hot and sweaty. The downpour which opened up as we arrived didn't dissipate the heat - only made us wetter and increased the humidity - already at 77%. By the time we'd walked to the top of the hill I was grumpy and out of sorts. We took in the view and headed back to the Metro to meet our connection to the airport.

We've now been waiting in lines for the better part of two hours. Emirates is the worst airline I've ever flown and the check in desk at Charles de Gaulle airport is so freakin' slow - we only had five or six people in front of us in the web check-in line and it still took nearly an hour. Same story with the tax refund line.

We've managed to upgrade our flights to Dubai to exit aisle seats, which is a blessing, but we're back in the true cattle class for the flight from Dubai to Sydney. We haven't organised tickets to Melbourne yet, so hopefully we'll get some cheaply on stand by.

If I can get online at Dubai or Bankok, I will.

Otherwise - Au revoir!

Day 4 - Travels in Saint Germain

Although we slept later than intended, now that we're in the city it didn't matter so much. The bed in the new hotel is just fantastic, the best of the trip and the hotel is quiet and relaxing - and not far from St Germain, which was our destination for most of today.

Hungry and refusing to pay the ridiculous 20 Euros for breakfast at the hotel, we decided to play with the itinerary and go straight to Dalloyau, a tea-room cum restaurant that's been in operation for 205 years. Conceived at the end of the French Revolution, Dalloyau was aimed squarely at the new Parisian of that time.

They've got damn fine pastries too.

Dalloyau have tea-rooms/restaurants all over Paris and we were headed for the one in Luxembourg overlooking the Jardin de Luxembourg, the largest public park in the Paris city. It was raining heavily and our hastily-bought 10 Euro umbrella wasn't really making much difference. Fortunately we were able to duck into Dalloyau and head straight up to the tea-room.

As much as either nation would deny it, the British and the French have a lot in common:
* they love their tea
* they do 'empire' exceedingly well
* they do the trappings of empire even better
* they create fantastic public spaces
* they have a love-hate fascination with Royalty and regicide isn't unknown to either side
* In both supposedly classless societies there's a definite divide between upper and lower classes
* they favour wacky costumes for their regular police force (bobbies and gendarme)

In fact, the only difference I can see (apart from language and location) is that the French can cook. Perhaps all this rivalry's just jealousy.

And boy can they cook at Dalloyau!

You wouldn't think one Croque-Monsieur could be that much better than another. It's a hot ham and cheese (usually gruyère) sandwich, grilled. Occaisionally it's done with a French-toast style and grilled with egg beaten into the toast, but it's a fairly standard kind of dish. At Dalloyau, it's a masterpiece. I couldn't believe how good this thing tasted. Jus' quiche lorraine was equally good. Her hot chocolate was so thick she couldn't finish it and my tea, Menage No10, was fruity and light.

But the real delight was the pastries. Jus had the famous French chocolate macaroon and pronounced it tremendous, whereas I plumped for L'Opera - a creation of a Dalloyau chef in 1955. It too was fantastic.

After leaving breakfast/lunch we wandered through the sodden Jardin de Luxembourg. It's exceedingly beautiful, made more so by the rain, tho the gravel path was sodden underfoot. There was a model shoot in progress despite the rain and the park, like most French parks we've seen, was filled with sculpture both new and old.

We were on our way to St Sulpice, made slightly more famous for its recent appearance in The Da Vinci Code. The church council seem none too pleased about it either and there are notices displayed prominently discounting the parts of the book that occur in the cathedral.

It's in a somewhat delapidated state of repair, although the exterior towers, columns and gargoyles are all undergoing restoration. Inside it's dark, almost dingy and feels neglected - which, considering Notre Dame is just around the corner, it probably is.

That said, there's a sense of peace and love here that we both have found to be a rare experience in the grand cathederals of Europe.

There's also some very cool curiosities here.

On the left as you enter the cathederal, there's a life-size copy of the shroud of turin. As is common in France, the entire explanation is in French with no English translation. This is by turns an infuriating and charming little habit of the French, who resolutely refuse to recognise that many of the millions of tourists a year don't speak their language. So we have no idea what the whole shroud reproduction is about.

Another of the oddities, this one most prominently featured in that Dan Brown novel, is the Gnomon. I won't go into detail, just follow the link for more info, but rather than being some mystery device used by the priory of scion, it has a more mundane purpose - to help determine the time of the equinoxes. It's easy to see, however, how a mystery could be built around this strange metal groove that runs at an odd angle, for an odd distance, through an ancient church.

Also impressive is the elabourate sculpture of Mary and the enormous pipe-organ, which again has some interesting information on the wikipedia page I linked to earlier.

Notre Dame by contrast was reasonably disappointing. Perhaps it was the massive crowds - the cathedral gets 12 million visitors a year - or perhaps it was the droning, slightly fawning and terribly drawn-out audio tour, but Notre Dame just didn't do it for us.

Yes, it's impressive. Yes you should go. It's even relatively cheap. The rose windows are a marvel and the reliquary, said to one certain days of the year, show Christ's crown of thorns is quite intriguing. We saw a reliquary supposedly containing a piece of the one true cross.

I think it was the souveneir stand inside the cathedral that ruined it for me. The whole thing just seemed blatantly commercial and the signs asking for modesty and quiet just a pro-forma display to appease the faithful.

The best part was climbing the 422 steps to the bell tower. Not only is it an impressive view, but the cramped narrow circular staircase itself has a feel of history about it, with each step worn in the middle by the press of millions of previous climbers. The stairs are so narrow that the foot nearest the central column needs to twist laterally to gain purchase on the stairs.

The bell in the tower is huge, the view is incredible and shows some of the incredible detail of the roof of Paris' most famous gothic cathedral.

Afterwards we went back to the hotel to change for dinner.

Dinner was at another revolutionary establishment, Le Procope, the oldest restaurant in Paris, opened in 1686. There's a lot of history surrounding this restaurant - but don't ask the waiters about it, they're too busy to tell you and to be frank, the whole experience was a bit of a let down. Perhaps if you're a regular it's different, but the staff were brusque and disinterested and the food was not what we'd come to expect from Parisian dining. The link above tells you a little more about this place but here's our advice - for dinner, don't bother. It's worth seeing for the history alone, but go for lunch or bunch.

What saved the night was a trip Le Duex Magot where we had a digestive of cognac (myself), calvados (jus - an apple flavoured liquor like cognac) and a coffee delivered by a charming waiter. We sat next to an Austrian/German couple who chatted aimably with us before we finished up for the evening and caught a cab home.

Handy tip for travellers:

If you need to wear a shirt to dinner, but everything's crumpled, the iron service costs to much and the hotel refuses to give you an iron then here's a little trick to make you look presentable:

Most hotel rooms have a hair-dryer. Put the shirt on or put it on a hanger, and run the hair-dryer slowly but smoothly over the shirt. If it's on you, your own body heat will contribute to smoothing the wrinkles, but after a few minutes the shirt should be presentable.

This doesn't work on all shirts - typically a shirt that's easy to iron will respond well to this treatment, but some shirts refuse all de-wrinkling.

A couple of quotes

"There are many incredible sights in Paris, but the experiences are all gastronomical." - Jus

"On second thought, let's not move to Paris. My waistline can't afford it." - Kelsey

Photos: Eiffel Tower, La Coupole

Jus after recovering from the initial shock of the unbelievable height of the Eiffel Tower.


No vertigo here, move along now.


The face of terror.


On the walk down from Le Trocadore.


Throwing the cognac


Blurry, but really happy


The decor and artwork at La Coupole are amazing, it's a magical place.


This shot doesn't really give a good indication of how big these oysters are. The shell is about the size of Jus' fist. Just massive.


The guys opposite us depopulated a small ocean dinner. This shot shows their reaction just as the platter was laid down. At the end, the only thing left was the snails. I'm not sure I could've faced 'em either.


Just another example of how stunning La Coupole is

Trocadore, Eiffel Tower, Montparnasse and La Coupole - Day 3

We were late getting started today. After yesterday's trek in from Epanay, then walking the length of the Champs-Élysées - from the Arc De Triomphe to the Louvre and more - our feet were blistered and we didn't stir until nearly 10.

By the time we'd gathered our belongings, checked out of the Ibis and made it to the Le Marceau Bastille hotel it was nearly 1pm and after 2 by the time we'd departed.

Negotiating our way via the metro to Le Trocadero we were finally able to see the Eiffel Tower up close. You can have no idea how powerful and majestic the tower is until you've been there in person. We all know the shape, but its size dwarves everything for miles around. Just standing in its shadow is awe-inspiring.

The ironwork of the tower is incredible. Intricate and detailed, it goes beyond pure utilitarianism and is in itself a artistic element of the tower.

We queued for nearly an hour for the lift. For 11.50 Euros, you can catch it all the way to the top, changing lifts on the second floor.

As you step into the bottom floor staging area there are these three massive ballasts which move as the lift ascends and descends - I assume providing the power for the lift. The first stage is more like a funicular, a multi-carriage angled lift capable of carrying around 50 people. The second is more traditional, but both ascend the tower at an incredible rate.

The view is also unbelievable. Paris is a spectacular city, beautiful, dense and vibrant, its suburbs and outer regions stretch to the horizon. Monuments and rich historical buildings litter the view so completely that there is a 360 degree info-panel running below the window on the top floor to ensure you know what you're seeing.

The perspective is intense. I don't really get vertigo per se, but Jus is particularly susceptible. It didn't help that the wind was very strong and the gusts caused the platform to tremor alarmingly. No wonder they close it in strong weather conditions. Initially a little freaked out, the view finally got the better of her and Jus was eventually as entranced as myself.

It was extremely crowded up there - nearly 30 minutes just to get to the lift back down.

But if you go to Paris, you have to do the Eiffel tower.

We then walked through a massive stretch of parklands, the Champ De Mars, were happy couples reclined picnicking in that Parisian way we saw yesterday and through some open air festival in honour of the summer solstice - today, June 21.

We were on our way to dinner at La Coupole at Montparnasse, again a recommendation from Pierre Yves.

La Coupole (the cupola) has a rich history, and this year celebrates the 80th anniversary of its opening. In rich Parisian style, it features an art-deco style, frescoed columns and an impressive past clientele - Picasso and Hemingway among them. It's the largest dining room in France, seating 450 diners yet still managing to feel intimate. Service was also spectacular. We both just felt so special there - particularly since we weren't expecting anything this lush.

So, to dinner:

For entrée's Jus had a half dozen of the biggest damn oysters you've ever seen. These were Gillardeau Nos 1, available in only two restaurants in Paris and La Coupole is famous for them. At least 3 times the size of the largest oyster I've ever seen, by themselves they were a feast. In addition to serving them with slices of lemon, there was a little vinaigrette infused with shallot which was apparently a great choice of light dressing. Jus absolutely loved them. I'm not a big oyster fan and the thought of eating even on of those monsters au naturale, the only way they're served, left me green. My little crab something or other was nice enough and washed down with a light little champagne. One of the little niceties of being in France is that good champagne is easy to come by.

For mains, I had Coeur de filet de boeuf au poivre "flambé au cognac", pommes sautées: pepper beef and sautéed potatoes - the beef was set on fire with cognac - they got me up to do it myself, something I was thrilled to do - and it was possibly the best beef I've ever had. Jus' Entrécote Charolaise grillée, gratin dauphinois was a massive slab of grilled beef with a potato gratin - apparently nice, but not spectacular.

Our bottle of wine again showed just what the French can do with a red - a Bordeaux (we've had nothing else in France), Chateau Teyssier 2003 - was rich, full bodied and with a nice bite. That said, I can see why our Australian wines are competing so strongly overseas. This was not a cheap bottle and I feel that some of our own reds stack up quite nicely at half the price.

Another nice touch at La Coupole is that if a reservation is made for a birthday, the lights are dimmed and the entire staff will bring out your cake and sing "happy birthday" to you to the applause of 450 of your fellow diners. We saw that happen twice, which was when we figured out what Pierre Yves cryptic addition to our evening's itinerary meant: "prevenair si anniversaire". Cheeky bugger.

We staggered home after a dash of ice-cream and espresso, through the lively streets of Montparnasse. Whether it's always like this or the festive spirit was just due to the solstice, I don't know, but the entire street had what seemed like many great restaurants and a lively New Orleans type-feel. Across the road as we left was a jazz band entertaining the entire street. You don't see wrap-around tubas (or whatever they're called) very often, but tonight I wouldn't be surprised by much.

Even in our area of the Bastille, the night is alive with revelry - tho again, I can't say if that's the solstice or just the Parisian way!

Too tired to post photos, will get to them when I can.

first real day in Paris

The 20th was our first true day in Paris. We got out the door a little late after a desultory breakfast at our squishy Ibis hotel.

We have an itinerary designed by a friend of Maya's, Pierre Yves, from the French embassy in Switzerland. Pierre very graciously put this together for us at short notice, typing it out on a laptop with a German keyboard - which has made for some interesting spelling - but we've generally been able to follow its most excellent advice.

We caught the metro straight to the Arc De Triomphe and there I had my first tingle of the trip. It was the 'weight of history' tingle, the one I'd last had when on my walking tour of Berlin after Christmas 2005.

We've all seen the Arc. We all know where it is and what it looks like. Instantly recognisable, its size hits you with a palpable whack when you ascend from the metro and it's just *there*.

Standing underneath the Arc, the stonework is far more intricate and detailed than you can imagine without actually being there. It honours those who fought for France in the Napoleonic wars and also houses the tomb of the unknown soldier.

It's a solemn place, despite the noise from crazy Parisian traffic careening around the massive roundabout that I wouldn't want to negotiate. The panhandlers are also annoying and have a techniqe common to Paris that I've not seen before. They have the look of the Romani about them and come up to you asking "Excuse me, do you speak English?" - a disarming question. Fortunately Jus was well acquainted with their tactics and dragged me away. Mute stares were enough to get rid of them from then on.

Looking through the Arc stretches the Champs-Élysées in an unbroken line for 2kms stretching to the Tuileries Garden and the Louvre. It's an impressive site.

We walked through the thronging crowds, stopping occasionally at a patisserie or Jus' favourite perfumery in Paris, soaking up the ambience of the second most expensive strip of real-estate in the world, after New York's Fifth Avenue.

At the end of this space, near the site of what was once the Palais des Tuileries, we stopped for lunch at a place considered by Pierre Yves, the architect of our itinerary, to be the quintessential Parisian tea-room experience.

Ladurée has been in existence on the Rue Royal since 1862. Originally a bakery, it became a tearoom for both men and women in 1871, a first for the time and has been a Paris institution for those in the know ever since.

It's a tiny cramped space, with a truly French decor, shabby chic at its absolute finest. We saw some extremely uptight upper-class taking tea there and it was fortunate we arrived early - by the time we left the line was several metres out the door just to buy pastries over the counter.

I can't begin to describe how cool this place is. I read once in "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" the main character exposing the differences between old and new money, to paraphrase - new money restore antique furniture to make it look new, old money leaves it as it is.

Ladurée is definitely old money, and it really works. The marble-top tables that look like they've been in existence since the original tea-room are reminiscent of old-style school desks and those that have cracked surfaces are left in use. The tea is fantastic and served in silver pots with real ivory spacers on the handles to dissipate the heat. These too look as old as the building. The food was great, the tea exquisite and the ambience absolutely everything you could want from a French tearoom.

We then wandered through the gardens across the baking heat of the sand and stone path to the Louvre.

It's impossible to describe just how big this thing is. It's huge. It's beyond huge. You could land a few jets side-by-side between the two wings that embrace the gardens. And standing in the centre is the controversial Louvre pyramid, built in 1989 by Ieoh Ming Pei, which is the entrance to the museum.

Having been on the road so long, we were a little confused about the date and thought we only had 90 minutes to get through it all - when in fact the Louvre was open late.

So we raced through at a break-neck pace until we realised our mistake - but it was a fortunate one, as it got us through the areas where most of the tourists congregate and got to see some of the more interesting and esoteric stuff.




I've now seen the real Mona Lisa. And The Wedding at Cana. The latter is huge, very impressive. We weren't allowed to take photos in much of the Louvre, so I can't show you much here. I still haven't sorted out my feelings on the Mona Lisa. Suffice to say it's a moving experience, but whether this is due to its artistic merits, fame or a combination of both is hard to say.

The most fascinating area is the ancient Egyptian rooms. They've got statues and statuettes, busts and tablets, artifacts galore - some ranging up to 4500 years old. Just amazing. The oldest sculptures were a series of fish still looking ok six thousand years later.

Inside the Louvre is a maze of unbelievable proportions. Room after room displays only a part of the 300,000 strong collection. Due to the lighting I couldn't really get any decent shots that show how big it is, but the size of the building itself is at least as impressive as the artwork it contains.

To give you an idea, the Louvre is itself built on top of a much older structure, the so-called 'medieval louvre'. You can see from the photos I have (or will!) put up, that the entire castle is contained in just about 1/4 of the main square of the current Louvre and is completely dwarfed by its wings.

After we left the louvre, we got a little lost and snippy trying to find an ATM somewhere in St Germaine. We smoothed it over with a beer, crepes and espresso and set out in search of the Batobus, a ferry that covers all the sights of the river seine. While it was too late to catch the ferry, Jus pointed out something rather wonderful.

For the hours after work during the long summer dusk, Parisians seem to congregate on bridges, parks, squares, anywhere really and have a bit of a picnic. It was so social and so fabulously spontaneous, needing nothing more than a bit of bread, cheese and wine and totally foreign. It made me miss my friends and wish we could do something like this in Paris one day. This was just an ordinary Wednesday afternoon for them.

After wandering around Pont Neuf, we started looking for the restaurant in Place Dauphine. 'Place' usually indicates a square - this was more of a triangle. A few cosy little restaurants, we think, given Pierre Yves' description that it didn't really matter which one, lined the square were locals were playing Pétanque. Pétanque is a kind of metal-balled bowls played just about anywhere - so long as wine is involved.

Dinner was fantastic, intimate and very very French - were were surrounded almost entirely by locals. A great suggestion.

We wandered back to the Metro, footsore and sick of the trip to Epanay. Thank god we got to move into the city the next day.

First days in Paris

So we finally wound up getting a room in an Ibis in Epanay - about 30 minutes outside of Paris. The only reason we got the room was because the floor was sodden and they hadn't intended to rent it out.

But with the Paris airshow - the largest of its kind in the world - we found our story wasn't uncommon. Even those who'd attempted to book in advance had been forced out of the city. The airshow is still ongoing, but all the big-business wheeling and dealing is over and the hotels have opened up again.

Sort of.

Everyone stuck out of the city is now decamping for the centre and rooms filled up fast.

Fortunately we got a room in a really nice hotel in the 12th Arrondisement, near the Bastille, but it was a close thing and we're paying more than we would've liked.

The first night we made it to our hotel around 8 at night. It's a very suburban area and we were only able to grab a bite to eat in a dodgy little italian joint. Still, it managed to prove that the French really do know how to make bread, wine and cheese!

Yesterday we started on our actually Parisian journey.

We're being helped in our itinerary by a friend of Maya and Cornelius who is the cultural attaché to Swizterland. We're a bit worn out, so I'll post more later.

Photos from Amsterdam

Here are some of the Amsterdam shots. I didn't take many photos there - too busy having fun or trying not to get the camera wet. It was such a whirlwind trip, but enough to whet my appetite for more!

The view out our hotel window in the Red Light district. A bike graveyard gives testament to the rampant theft of bikes by junkies.

That said, the bikes that normal people ride aren't that much better. All along every street, bikes are lined up ten deep. Most are locked up, but many aren't - assuming, I guess, that even if their bike is stolen, they'll be able to buy another of a junkie cheaply just around the corner.


One of the main streets of the red light district, right outside our hotel. Note the Cafe Pacifico. They're very cool in there too - just like Sydney. I went in to see the palm that Phil from the Sydney branch painted on the wall - but they'd had a fire a few years back and it was only a reproduction. The bargirl however was more than happy to learn how to make Sangrita, a favourite tequila chaser of mine. Great night. Got very drunk.

Looks like pacifico does that all over the world.


These buildings are just having a rest.


An alley on one of the many canals.


Even municipal buildings are falling over. In this shot you can see the flag of Amsterdam - the three crosses. There's a cool story behind this, several, in fact - but I don't have time to relate right now.


Yet more cool Amsterdam buildings on a really nice little square.

Photos from Seville

I've finally had some time to post some photos from Seville. Amsterdam is coming soon.

Decay is prominent outside the tourist areas. Civic pride runs low and little money is spent on upkeep of municipal areas.


Along the waterfront, a magnificent promenade run to ruin, this fountain is filled with broken glass and rubbish. No water.


The interior of this cathedral is spectacular. Didn't have time to take a tour to find out more.


The day we went to the cathedral there was some ceremony, the mayor's inauguration or something similar. We couldn't go inside.

The courtyard inside our hotel. Nice enough. Lying staff. They told us that the flamenco show we wanted to go to was in an entirely different town, too far to visit. They did however, sell tickets to a local show... We declined and were able to walk to the location of the original show in just a few minutes.


Everyone eats these things - we think they're sunflower seeds. God knows why, it takes more calories to crack the shell and separate the nut from the husk than you gain from eating it.


The alleyways of Seville are lovely and often surprising.


The three of us at the Bull Fighting arena. We couldn't go beyond the main courtyard.

Entrance to the bull fighting arena outer courtyard.


Panorama of the courtyard.

Paris. Fuck up.

Jus and I have this ongoing thing about booking places in advance.

I like to, Jus doesn't.

It's the spirit of organisation vs. the spirit of adventure - and when it comes to hotel bookings we're diametrically opposed in our philosophies.

To be fair, in the past when Jus' won this toss of the coin, it's always worked out well and provided a great experience.

This last few days I've been seeing the bookings disappear rapidly online during the times we're staying here. I wanted to book, but Jus assured me that it wouldn't be a problem. I had a bad feeling about it, but yesterday's great Amsterdam experience left me more relaxed.

We arrived to find that not a single hotel in Paris has an available room for the next three nights due to the largest airline conference in the world being held this week.

So we're heading slightly out of town to go to an Ibis hotel on the outskirts of the city for the next little while. At least it's cheap!

We're going to stay in a nice hotel in the centre on the last night, if we can.

Pictures are coming.

We've been helped by a really cool bargirl called Layla at the Cappuccino Café on Rue de Saint Denis with our reservations. She doesn't speak English, but she organised our hotel for us. Way cool.

Amsterdam

Amsterdam has been one of the most bizarre and wildly changeable experiences of all my travels.

We arrived on the evening of the 17th at our hotel in the red light district. Everything we'd read prior to booking had mentioned how safe and secure this area is, that violent crime is not a problem. The only caution was to beware of pickpockets and drug touts.

It was good advice. Greeted by a gaggle of transvestites as we entered the lobby, we wondered what we'd gotten ourselves into, but the room was clean and quiet, if a little cramped and unglamourous.

We immediately set off into the night. At this latitude the sky is light until 11pm and even on this Sunday night the streets were teeming with revelers, regulars and the curious.

It's like King's Cross in Sydney writ large, but King's Cross never had the infamous 'Window Prostitutes'.

We'd been warned by others that the women behind the glass were more often than not sad, scary, or more frequently both - but they must've gone down different streets. The crowds of mostly drunken tourists ogled shamelessly - which I guess is the point. We watched a group of young Brits try and work up the courage to enter the parlour of a particularly stunning girl, but these guys lacked true British bottle and scampered off.

It was quite a lot of fun - a carnival atmosphere as Jus and I watched the women try and attract punters by rapping on the glass and gesturing provocatively.

The same area had many of the remaining coffee houses in Amsterdam.

There's an interesting history behind this, which we learned from a tour guide. These coffee houses started out when an old antique dealer decided to supplement her income by putting a few stools outside her shop and offer joints for sale. Soon enough, a significant number of people began to offer a similar service. In a time where hard drugs were also becoming a problem, the local authorities solved the problem by asking everyone who was selling pot to write in with their name and address to apply for a license. The advantage of this was that big shady drug dealers did not apply while the little 'ma & pa' types thought "why not?" and got licenses.

Initially 750 licenses were granted and that number has gradually diminished to 250 due to extremely strict no-tolerance, no-warning rules and frequent raids. The remaining businesses are now extremely self-policing and are safe and for the most part comfortable places to go and have a smoke or a hash cookie.

That said, we never found the time to try it.

If I'd had the time to write this prior to our second day in Amsterdam, I probably would've had a very negative view of the city. The red light district and centre of town is vibrant, exciting and dynamic. But it's dirty, filled with touts, beggars, pickpockets, tourists and bad restaurants.

Luckily, on our second day, we went on a 4 hour bike tour with Sean, from Mike's Bike Tours. Sean, like so many tour guides, is an ex-pat American. He came here for a seven day holiday. 17 years later, he's still here. Looking like the love-child of Gene Wilder and Eric Idle, Sean clearly loves Amsterdam and managed to impart so much of what makes the city great that over the course of the tour came to truly fall in love with the city.

It's a strange city, founded on Christian ideals and made great by trafficking in any illegal, immoral or otherwise questionable product or activity that other countries wouldn't touch. The first republic in the world, it voluntarily became a constitutional monarchy after years of its European neighbours, nervous about this whole democracy thing, attacking pretty much constantly for 200 years. It's the city where John and Yoko famously posed naked for reporters in the Hilton to give peace a chance - the Hilton kept the room with the lover's wall & window drawings in place. For 30 years they've charged as much for those rooms as all the others in the hotel combined. You can see the drawings they made on the windows even today - they're constantly refreshed even today. There's a strong socialist bent in the country, they do things their own way but everything works, there's very little serious crime and there's a great deal of beauty and culture.

There's also a hell of a lot of bikes. I forget the actual figure, but it's in the millions. They're all crap tho. They look like leftovers from the purge of the Nazis, driven out of the city on foot and bike. Here's why - everyone's bike gets stolen at some point. In a city with a whole lot of junkies and a large student population the forces of demand and supply can be seen at work in the large piles of rusting bike parts in every alley. Sean has had six bikes stolen in the time he's been here. It's just a way of life and so everyone rides crap bikes.

Sean also put us onto a fantastic local restaurant, De Klos. It's been in place for 36 years and serves some of the best food we've had on the trip so far. Jus ordered a lamb shoulder and I had the smoked ribs. Jus' meal came out looking like something you could beat a mugger to death with while tasting like heaven. The ribs were the best I've ever had. The bar guys were cool and funny and treated us to a fantastic last drink of *spanish for 43* - a Spanish liquor.

All the houses in Amsterdam are falling down. Built on a swamp, the original method of building foundations involved 20 metre pylons of wood on a bed of interspersed beds of sand and leather to deal with changes in moisture. Over time, the pylons rot and houses start to slump. Forward, backward, sideways - usually some combination of this all at once. Some also lean forward deliberately. Because the buildings are so narrow, there's a hook at the very top of every building, used to winch your belongings up to the window of whatever floor you want them on - the stairs are too narrow for all but the smallest items. Our guide sent his fridge through his neighbour's window the first time he attempted it. The leaning forward is to accomodate a better angle for winching. But most buildings just lean.

There's a lot more to Amsterdam - we'll come back again if we can, it's the kind of city we feel we could both love living in.

We're now on the Thalys train to Paris. Due to a total lack of internet access over the last couple of days, we haven't got a booking. So we'll sort it out when we get there.

Leaving Seville

Yesterday kinda sucked a bit.

Barcelona didn't have siesta per se - it was open and busy and all hours. Seville on the other hand shuts down sometime after 1pm every day then gradually comes back to life after 5pm, tho most residents seem to use this as an opportunity to hit the nearest bar for some tapas and cerveza and relax on into the evening rather than go back to work.

We didn't count on the language barrier here. In the German speaking countries, it was all good - we speak a bit of German and everyone there speaks English. In Seville it's hard to get by without some Spanish. Which is in some ways charming - next time I travel, I fully plan to have some of the local language under my belt for embarking.

But Seville is a bit of a whore for tourists. Unfortunately it also has a bit of nasty dislike of those very tourists who bring in so much money. Often we felt lied to, ripped off and unwelcome. That certainly wasn't universal, but at the very least common.

At the end of the day, Spain has turned out to be hard work - which I don't mind when travelling, but this time it's more about relaxing.

Jus and I travel local by walking - we just stick our noses down small interesting alleys and see what we find. We use the same approach to find food, looking for places frequented by locals. Tip for Seville travellers - a picture-menu out the front is a bad thing.

Yesterday we trudged 30 minutes from the hotel to near Santa Cruz for the only self-service Laundromat we knew of, taking nearly half our luggage with us to be washed. The hotel had wanted a totally ridiculous fee for the service - about 5 euroes just for a shirt - and planned to dry them on the hottest setting in dryers, which would wreck all my shirts and most of Jus' gear. When we arrived, about 90 minutes before siesta and the Saturday close of trade, the lady running the place (who habla no Inglese) told us in no uncertain terms that not only could they not wash our clothes, but we couldn't even do it ourselves because of the coming siesta. Why this was so, when a wash only took 30 minutes, was beyond us, but she was insistent. So we then spent about a further five hours trying to find some clothes to by. In the end, we got some fantastic new stuff, both of us - otherwise it would've been a very stinky weekend.

But this highlights something about this region of Spain that in other circumstances could be great, while right now is just a pain in the ass. Time is simply not a concern for them - at the hotel standing behind a guest asking when a certain event would occur, the manager could only shrug and say 'At some hour in the afternoon'. At dinner we were happy to relax and take our time, but the English couple next to us waited nearly an hour for their bill. Tour brochures don't list specific times - just that they happen am or pm.

Someone said to us that in Spain, you should organise everything well in advance. I'm not sure doing so would make any difference.

That said, Seville has a lot of charm. I'd go again if I spoke the language. We wandered through the old town by a seriously impressive gothic cathedral with an extremely mixed architectural heritage and over to the bull-fighting arena. Sadly it was closed and we were unable to see where that ancient competition occurs. But by then we were out of time. It was time to leave Seville. The taxi brought us back to the hotel in time to have one last meal of Tapas, where we ironically found the best restaurant of our stay so far - luckily the only one open in the area. Not only did they have the most incredible food - croquettes that should be illegal and a truly tremendous omlette, but the service was prompt due to the impending flight and fairly reasonably priced.

Tips for eating in Spain - Tapas is cheap, beware of 'terrace fees' in some places, VAT (tax, 7%) is often not included and dishes are never the same from place to place. Bars have great little salads and usually a few little hot items available - we had four plates of food and a drink each for 10 Euros, enough to keep us going for hours. There's no reason to pay big money for food - just avoid the tourist areas and you'll get something good.

We're in the air as I write this, heading to Amsterdam. As mentioned in the last post, it was a totally random and spontaneous choice, brought on solely because we were sick of the tourist-trap atmosphere. It was simply the first cheap flight out.

We may drive to Paris from there through Belgium, stopping at Bruxes for some beer and chocolate.

Everyone says Amsterdam is great, and I guess we'll find out in a few hours.

Seville

We're in Seville now, have been since Friday. Internet is spotty, trending to non-existing. So there's a chance we won't get much time to post.

Seville is in some ways nicer than Barcelona. Flatter and cooler, older and smaller, it's a nice town - at least on the surface. Around the tourist areas it's all neat and tidy - with the usual crowds of Americans. Outside of these zones there's a definite lack of civic pride. A once-magnificent waterfront promenade running alongside a beautiful river is in ruins despite constant use by joggers, cyclists and the homeless. Weeds grow between the concrete tiles, which are uneven and broken. The fountain is dry and filled with rubbish. Once outside the tourist zone, the apartment blocks are run-down in various states of decay.

Streets are narrow here - we saw a resident performing a 27-point turn to park in her garage. The street itself was barely wider than the car and she somehow backs into the parking space - scrapes on the sides evidence of previous mishaps. Most streets are one-way. They're barely wide enough for a single car and a lone pedestrian, let alone dual-carriage. Most streets are cobble-stoned.

I find the decrepit areas more interesting than the tourist traps, the narrow, winding and stony streets charming. Turn a corner and there's a bar or cafe.

Like Barcelona, eating in places where locals congregate is exceedingly cheap. a beer, two wines and four plates of tapas was around 10 Euro.

Anita, a friend from Britain, has joined us in Seville for a couple of days and we're having fun all sharing a little triple room in Hotel Cervantes - a Best Western 3 star. I prefer it to our little Barcelona room, but Jus preferred the run-down accommodation - it had more charm.

We've only managed to grab a short amount of access here - the hotel receptionist told us with expansive gestures that internet access was down for the whole of Spain. Except, apparently, for the Starbucks around the corner.

In fact, we're kind of sick of Spain. Seville has been ok, but there's been a lot of mild rudeness and this town is squarely aimed at tourists.

We had nothing booked, so we just said 'bugger it' and booked tickets to Amsterdam tomorrow. We've got two days accommodation sorted out there now as well and we'll figure out the rest as we go.

No time for pictures, but I'll get some up later.

last notes on Barcelona

We've moved on now, but a couple of other things came to mind as we're leaving.

Barcelona's hot - really hot. And humid. I spent all day, every day, sodden. Even at night, in our little room with no air-con, we slept above the covers with a floor-fan and still sweated through the night. I didn't sleep well there.

The other thing that struck me is the huge profusion of two-wheeled transport; not just motorbikes and scooters, but bicycles as well. No-one wears helmets despite the teeming and unpredictable traffic that screams through the city at all hours. I saw three teenagers head off on one scooter early one morning, clearly leaving the scene of the previous night's party.

There's a service called 'bicing' - an automated bike-renting service all over town where locals swipe a pre-paid card and grab a bike from the rack. People without cards can pay with credit card and you see these odd little red and white bikes everywhere. During the day the racks are nearly empty, so many people use the service.

A little about the pension

Barcelona is crammed with apartment blocks. I haven't seen anything like a house or townhouse the last two days. Everywhere you go, is a mix of residential and commercial apartment blocks of a fairly uniform height of about 4 or 5 stories.

I don't know what the Barcelunans would call it tho, as our room at 85 Passeig De Sant Joan is listed as '2 floor, 2 door'. Which I thought was fairly creative, as we had to lug our gear up at least 6 flights of stairs and three stories to get to the apartment.

It's a rambling old place that must've been fairly grand in its day, but is now pretty run down. It's clean, but only as clean as you can get a 100 year old apartment that's had cheap-ass renovations and add-ons done by a succession of owners without the money to do something nicer. Many of the surrounding buildings show the unmistakable signs of gentrification - free-standing facades with new interiors being build behind. Ironic in a city that is so proud of it's Gaudi, that the bits of the buildings that are kept are the ones he most often covered over.

We're sharing the bathrooms with a young French couple and another guy we saw on our way in last night. The 'manager' doesn't really speak English, but she makes herself understood with the universal flapping of arms that we also employ.

When you look out the window, there's a great view of not only the streetscape, but yet another Gaudi-esque church across the road. I'm also stunned by just how sound-proof this room is, once the balcony doors are shut - Barcelona's a noisy damn city at all hours, but these shutters almost make me feel like I'm in the country.

I'm coming to realise that if I do ever get to go to Mexico, I'm gonna need to get over some of my squeamishness regarding general hygiene. This place isn't dirty, but I just don't like sharing.

Still, on our third and last night here, I've grown fond of this quirky little place whose rear verandah overlooks those of about a dozen neighbours, most in better condition. If every block is like this, then all blocks of apartments are arranged around a central square, which the back balconys overlook. This is actually the roof of the commercial premises on the ground floor and often has the gardens for the apartment blocks. Tonight, Thursday evening, many of the occupants are out on the balconys chatting, playing music and drinking - it has a very social atmosphere which I like a lot.

We're starting to get back into our running again. After a week getting fat on Austrian beer and meat-and-bread breakfasts, we kicked ourselves out of bed both in Ascona and here to try and get a handle on our running schedule again (hi Sean!). The Tapas style of eating here suits me, I graze more during the day and Spanish beer isn't so good that it's a must have. The red wine is great, Sangria good, white wine (so far) godawful.

On the run we went past the Sagrada Familia, the church Gaudi worked on for the last 40 years of his life and is still under construction. It's a magnificent piece of work, even in its current state and looms much larger than these photos convey. In typical cost-cutting moves, Catalonia's government have used an inferior stone since the death of the great architect, and the separation is plainly visible. There were tons of tourists around today, it was bloody hot, even at 10am and we're pretty sore from about 12 hours of walking yesterday.













After the run we had a lazy morning and headed off down towards the Espanol version of the Arc de Triomf. Nice, but the walk way it's situated on is much cooler, with these fantastic steam-punk street lights.

We were walking down Passeig De Sant Joan to get to the Museo Picasso. In addition to the already impressive permanent collection, which gives an exceedingly comprehensive overview of the artists entire life from his earliest scribblings to a collection of 41 ceramic pieces created near the end of his life and donated by his widow. The museum does a great job of explaining his life and his art's influences, all in three languages.

However the temporary exhibit, featuring the work of his close friend and pictorial biographer, Lee Miller was just fantastic. Lee Miller was a famous model and even more famous photographer, one gutsy enough to be both a fashion photographer for Vogue and a leading war correspondent, one of the first to enter the fallen concentration camps and record the remains of the atrocities there.

She was married to Roland Penrose, Picasso's friend and most prolific biographer, a man so obsessed with Picasso and his work that Miller described herself as a 'Picasso Widow'.

The work on display is a collection of both published and private images taken not just by her, but of her working with Picasso. Her work is vibrant and extremely personal.

However the capstone of the exhibit is a series of portraits of Miller done by Picasso in his famous style. This entire exhibit opened up Picasso for me in a way I didn't expect. These previously unreal renderings, when compared to both images of Miller and the writings on her vibrant nature, suddenly make sense and have given me new eyes to appreciate his work.

Situated in an old mansion, with foundations dating back to the 14th century, the museum is, like every other part of Barcelona, hidden in some back alley, surrounded by apartment blocks. If you peek through the drawn blinds inside the museum, you'll likely see someone's washing hung out to dry on a balcony. And this is somehow very appropriate.

The movie here captures a short recording of a really cool duo just outside the museum.

We wandered around for the rest of the day, but now we're both tired and looking forward to getting to Sevilla. We leave at 5.30am tomorrow.