Sacre Coeur!

After a glorious afternoon wandering along the Seine, my hosts Carmen and Nico told me: "you have two options, either we get the bus home from here, or you come on the train for a surprise ..." Obviously, I chose the surprise.

Walking down a bustling little street I was looking around to spot the 'surprise', but could only see tourist shops. The sun was setting, we reached the end of the alley, I looked up and saw this: the Sacre Coeur, one of the most beautiful churches in the world and my only goal for Paris.

I am a lazy traveller, and don't tend to do much 'sight seeing' in the traditional sense. I usually just go to a lot of food related shops and wander streets. In Paris though, I had promised myself I would go to see the Sacre Coeur. Only that one thing. Knowing myself well, cynicism had already set in; usually if I say "I will do this one thing" then that is precisely the one thing I won't do. I had already set myself up to disappoint myself, so it was truly glorious that Carmen and Nico took control and simply took me there. While the sun was setting on the first Spring day no less.

Pierre and I being sacrilegious. I often act the fool, giggle or behave otherwise inappropriately in Christian places of worship, and think nothing much of it. I come from a Catholic background, I feel just fine taking the mickey out of it. Interestingly, I would never dream of behaving in this way in a wat, mosque or synagogue. And I think that makes perfect ethical sense- ownership and context yadayada.

What also makes sense is that my Mom will frequently critique the Catholic church, especially their latest choice of Pope, but gets annoyed with me when I rip into it too harshly. I get to say my family are insane, but you don't.

My favourite example of this, which I may have already ranted about because it is the best thing ever, is when an Iranian newspaper had a Holocaust depiction cartoon competition and some artists in Tel Aviv countered with the "Israeli antisemitic cartoons competition" only open to Israelis, saying: "We'll show the world we can do the best, sharpest, most offensive Jew hating cartoons ever published! No Iranian will beat us on our home turf!"

Night streets near the Sacre Coeur:

p.s. I love how "Sacre Coeur!" sounds like a Captain Haddock curse word.

Paris Part Un

After spending so much time running after Samuel's ancient relatives, Pierre was getting restless, bored and jealous. A horrifying combination of emotions, so we bought train tickets tout suite to Paris where Pierre could finally feel at home. All of this was made possible by the gracious hosting and guiding of Carmen and Nico - a delightful Colombian couple I befriended two years ago who now live in Paris. Pictured below.

I had the exceptional good fortune to arrive on the exact first days of spring, so Paris was alive and bright, and full of smiling, friendly people. Nothing like what the many nay-sayers had been trying to prepare me for.

Above - the park our hosts took us to on day one. Parc des Buttes Chaumont is one of the most beautiful parks I have ever been to and - hilariously - it was conceived of by none other than Napoleon. I never thought of him as one of the world's greatest landscape gardeners.

View from the 'hill' in the park - can you tell what that building in the far distance is?

Below: wandering around beautiful alleys.

Nothing like exotic smack for refreshment!

Bunch of Parisian hipsters I accosted on the banks of the Seine. I asked them to pose with Pierre, and they stared at me in mocking disbelief for a full minute, but then totally did it and were (as you can see) very into it.

They look remarkably like cool kids in my silly little home town in south New Zealand. I mean this with endearment towards both groups, in case there is confusion.

Samuel and Pierre on the train, on the way to a surprise location.

Pierre's ancestral home ! He didn't get too emotional at the time, being a pretty cool-headed 'Parisian' and all, but he was not quite himself for the rest of the evening, preferring to sit quietly, look at old photo albums and think. It was quite touching.

Mahane Yehuda

In some minor respects my three months in Jerusalem were quite trying - it was very cold, I had no money most of the time and my work entailed reading in detail about some of the worst news the region has to offer. However, if I was ever feeling particularly dour, there was one place sure to cheer me up and remind me there was nowhere I'd have rather been - the sprawling, chaotic Jewish market, known as the Mahane Yehuda or simply the Shuk.

With everything from tourist wares, to pita breads, olives and hummus, to a whole street of cleaning products, the Mahane Yehuda could provide endless hours of entertainment and people watching. And, even if I only had a few dollars, I could find something to make me feel a bit spoilt.

Above: where I bought a kippah for my friend Top. Below: a kippah store actually not in the market, but I wanted to give an idea of the range and amount around.

Yes, yes, all very nice things, but below we find what I primarily lived off for during my poor weeks - those pita breads which you buy in those plastic bags for 5 shekel (about $1.50nz). I would buy a bag and put it in the freezer to take a pita out, at whim, snap it in half and toast it. Delicious with tahini, boiled egg and salad.

I Do Something Practical: the Inaugural Edition

JERUSALEM:

Two days ago I moved into my new place, in the former Ethiopian embassy, and promptly got a ghastly cold, was bed-ridden, didn't unpack and slept for more hours than is decent - on my mattress on the floor. Terrible first impression sealed, I got well and decided that I really don't want to be living on a mattress on the floor. I've done it before, and it was fine, but also kind of cold, dusty and disgusting.

I was walking home from the Mahane Yehuda Market, also known as: the best place on earth, when I noticed those wooden crate things outside a hardware store. I went in and conversed with two girls who could barely speak English, and described the crates in the question, and they, realising what I wanted, laughed and said "just take them!" Beaming, I strode outside.

Not so beaming, I walked them, first one, then two at once (this was almost impossible), then one again, the ten minute walk to my house. Ten minutes isn't long, but it is much longer with a giant wooden thing, excruciatingly pained hands and weird looks from every passer-by. On my final mission, a cute Jewish boy, who was unfortunately also sleazy, offered me a ride in his van. Usually, I would say no to such an 'offer', but I wasn't in the mood to care and said yes, and regaled him with tales of my non-existant live-in boyfriend, while he literally made kissy faces at me. The fact he actually believed my boyfriend story is quite remarkable - what kind of a shit boyfriend would send his girlfriend out to get some wooden crates and not help? Certainly not anyone I'd date.

Make-shift bed base, make-shift wardrobe.

Ok, now I'm home <3 xox