Blisland bog blog - 21 April

Another sunny day! Scarcely to be believed after the weeks of wet weather that led up to Easter, in Cornwall. Poor Wayne languished in bed with the flu. The children had to go to school. The house needed a post-holiday brush-up, but I did not care. Grabbing the famous pocket pub-walks books, I headed off in search of adventure.

We had not done the Blisland one yet. At 4 1/2 miles, it would be sure to provoke grumbling amongst the children. I drove to Bodwin (and got a bit lost in it, too) before striking north to this little village on the edge of the moor.

It was a very beautiful place, no modern houses at all amongst all the grey stone walls. I parked near a very large village green, before setting off. Along the road, an ancient wayside cross in stone marked a path across the field. I climbed a weatherbeaten stone stile, similarly old, onto the pathway. A few rabbits shot into a hedge. Off I went. Soon I was in a pretty lane, near Trehudreth Mill (see above picture). Those are primroses in the grass near it. The daffodils are now past their prime, and primroses rule the hedgerows. I wished I had brought my new wildflower guide along, because more are now out as Spring strengthens. Consulting it later, I think I saw early purple orchid, ivy-leaved toadflax, wood sorrel and quite a lot of celandine.

I was going uphill now, and made a wrong turn through a gate. ( I should have gone a bit further. This guide is not very precise, I thought.) Anyway, eventually I went through the right gate, and had a sweeping view of the farmlands on my left, and the moor on my right.

I followed a wall on my left, as directed. It was pretty windy up here. THEN I started to get cranky with the guide book. "Go straight on again, this time over open moorland, to meet up with a fence and a wall. This stretch can be rough and boggy, but you should be able to find a way through or round the worst bits." What?! I looked around the vast moor. There were gorse bushes and rocks... could that be a wall ahead? I needed an ordinance map and a compass, I thought.

With some trepidation, off I went. Almost immediately I was up to my shins in water. My faithful walking boots can offer only so much protection. But it hasn't rained in ages, I thought. I hopped onto a patch of hay-like growth, which promptly sank under my boot. Eventually I leapt, staggered and splashed my way over to the wall. It was a bit drier underfoot, here. 'What next?' I thought a little grimly, studying my book.

"When the wall and fence bend to the left..." but they don't, book, they just squarely surround the next few fields "...go half-right..." oh, there's a precise direction, how about 'all wrong' - "...and as you come over the brow of the hill, you will see another wall ahead of you. Aim for that..."

Not likely! Windy hills all over the place, no other walls in sight, horrible bogs, dangerously vague directions - a recipe for disaster. There seemed to be a surfaced track over near a farmhouse on my left. I struck out along that, hoping to come to a lane soon. I passed some (highland?) cattle with very long, pointy, horns which I fervently hoped they would keep to themselves. From somewhere in "Macbeth" I recalled lines about primrose paths that lead to the great fire. Alas! Why did I leave my sick husband and my housewifely duties?! How could Annie enjoy her birthday tomorrow with a mother lost in the bog, pierced by many cattle-horn wounds?

Well, I found a lane. And by bearing left, I did eventually make it back to Blisland. (When the signposts confirmed my direction, I even enjoyed the hedgerows again, out of the wind and bog.)

Around the last few twisting paths between the houses awaited the faithful Rover by the village green. I scoffed my packed lunch with enthusiasm, then off back to Liskeard, avoiding the pitfalls of Bodmin. I could celebrate Annie's birthday after all! now for a spot of vacuuming...

Through Volcano Ash and Third World trains

Here is Jack, hamming it up on our balcony on the last evening. This was a good image to hold on to as we left Paris, because it was a bit of a grim trip back.
People were packed in the stations. This was for two reasons. Firstly, it was the end of the school holidays, and a naturally busy time for the trains. Secondly, that volcano in Iceland had stopped the planes, and every man and his dog wanted to catch a train instead. (Literally, a woman got on the train with her dog at Plymouth, and she was not blind. I don't know how she was allowed.)
We had tickets, praise be, but it was hard enough getting bags and children through customs. The loudspeakers kept telling people who had not booked a seat to go away. Despite this, we noticed several empty seats on the Eurostar. I don't know how this happened.
The real problem was on the London-Liskeard leg of our journey. The station didn't look busy, but the train was packed. The English system is you buy a train journey, but not necessarily a seat. You can reserve seats (for an extra cost), but you don't have a right to one otherwise. We could not book seats in advance for this particular journey, but we thought if we got on early enough, we could grab some unoccupied ones - (not all reserved seats get their passengers, they can opt for a different train on the same day.) Only Eleanor and I managed this trick today. I think I will copy some of Wayne's letter home to describe the rest of this journey:
Our train to Liskeard got called and off we went. The train was absolutely packed! There were no seats and no space.Tensions were running high between some passengers. We got on the train, and I found a slightly out- of -the -way corner in the buffet car to dump the bags and the family. I then explored through the train to see if I could find anywhere to sit. Here, I was a bit clever as I realised that in the reserved seating section some of the seats were only reserved from Reading. So, I told the family where those seats were and they went and sat in them in the hope that the people wouldn't turn up in Reading and all would be well. Meanwhile, I stood with the bags with the other people, packed in amongst the goats and the chickens and the crates....only joking, but it did feel like some sort of refugee train out of Calcutta.
For what it was, my comfortable little corner was some of the best standing space available. It was suitably out of the way of most people, with a couple of places to prop me and some bags up. The train's departure was delayed, which was just what we needed. The tension between passengers had boiled over in the next carriage, and some big bloke had clocked some smaller bloke in the face, for some reason. The smaller bloke was running up and down the train with train staff, screaming for the police to be called. I'm glad Stef and the kids were comfortable and away fom all of that, and didn't see it.
Anyway, eventually the train got going, and I resigned myself to my fate that I was going to be standing up with the luggage for the next four hours. We got to Reading, and fortunately Stef and Eleanor's seats were safe. However, Jack and Annie were kicked out of theirs, so they came back to join me. After some consternation from the kids about the situation, I think I discovered that the main problem was that they were half-way through watching a film on the laptop. Problem solved! We propped the laptop upon the bags, ran it off the battery and continued watching the film. I think quite a few people standing behind joined in watching as well, although they could not hear the film as the kids had their earphones on. It passed the time. Eventually we got back to Liskeard at about 4pm. We did a bit of shopping and arrived home safe and sound. Phew!

Montmartre

Our last day of exploring Paris! Off to Montmartre and its Bohemian delights. It was a bright and sunny day. Jack had found a 'walk to do' in a book on the shelf of our apartment.

As no one wanted to walk around with a tome entitled "Paris for dummies" in hand, I had scribbled down a summary of this walk on a notepad. I had to be team leader, and if we had a few unexpected twists and turns I was not sure if it was because I, or the book, was to blame.

Actually, it was a wrong direction that led us to the famous Moulin Rouge, pictured here - so that was not too bad. The Basilique was our only real destination, and we could get there following street signs.
This area used to grow all the wine grapes for Paris, and had windmills to press these grapes. There were a couple of these still left, and one 'historical' vinyard - unfortunately hard to photograph because of fences, angles and sun. Anyway, here was a lovely view at the top of a lot of steps...we seemed to climb and descend hundreds of steps this morning, really. This holiday has certainly tested our fitness.
This 'Maison Rose' belonged to some patroness of artists. (Google it if you must; I left the guidebook in Paris!) We noted the homes of Van Gogh and Picasso - they had plaques on them, but were pretty ordinary. Indeed, Picasso's first home had a burst water main and lots of orange plastic fencing around it today...
Eventually we made our way to the old marketplace, now full of very art-sy stuff. We bought a few prints from this shop. (I already owned the Manet shirt!) There were artists painting Paris scenes and portraits on demand further along. Lots of people milled about. We were not crowded as we did our walk, however.
The guide culminated in the Basilique at the top of the hill. We had been warned of aggressive hawkers and pernicious beggars in great numbers here, but we were not bothered at all. A pleasant surprise!
Back to the markets, where we bought some of the tastiest ice-cream we had ever had. (Mine was a scoop each of raspberry and Toblerone. Yum!) I even bought a scarf at a local shop- my first venture into a clothes shop. We had been too busy seeing the sights to shop, really.
The walk back to the metro was all down hill, an excellent thing. Back for lunch and a rest. Annie and I ventured out to the local shops later, and bought a few tourist-y things. We had a look at the 'proper shops', but they were all a bit too fashionable and expensive for the likes of us. Annie needed some new jeans, but I was not prepared to blow $100 on these for a ten year old. (I found some for just about a tenth of this sum back in England, and Annie was quite happy.) Back to the flat; we had 'done' Paris!

Le Louvre

It was supposed to be rainy on Wednesday, so we planned to go to the Louvre on this day. No worries about trains and tickets - it was a five-minute walk from our apartment. It was always strange to emerge from our little door right onto a bustling city street, next door to a Japanese restaurant. So, around the block and we were there. Here you see us near the glass pyramid that covers the entrance. It is a big contrast with the old architecture, but I suppose it tones in somehow with the square pond nearby it... or maybe not. I can't make up my mind whether I like it or not. (Not that my opinion will count for anything with the French, I guess.)

Wayne reckoned the thing to do, apart from having tickets and getting there early, was to zoom around seeing the 'big three' attractions, before wandering around at a more leisurely pace. I am not sure whether I agree with art as something to tick off on your list, but I agreed. So, the second picture here is Fosters + 'Winged victory', which I confess I had not heard of, or have forgotten since my art history lessons at high school 100 years ago.

Zooming to the Mona Lisa, we passed lots of paintings I DID remember. Here I am, a bit disgruntled, in front of the famous lady. Then I put my foot down. We were coming back after lunch anyway, so I said we could go and look at Number Three then, and blow the crowds.

So, back we went, to some very nice Botticelli frescos and other Renaissance and mediaeval pictures. There was some other Da Vinci probably better than the M.L., which seems to have got famous for being famous nowadays. The Paris Hilton of the Louvre? (Perhaps I draw too long a bow...).

Eleanor liked this portrait of a man with a very warty, inflamed nose who was cuddling his grandchild. "It reminds me of Grandpa cuddling me," she said. (Take that as you will, Dad!)

Jack was more taken with the Romantic paintings of Delacroix, who seemed to do a lot of lions pouncing on other animals, as well as the famous big ones I remembered from my studies. Here is Jack near one of D.'s of a couple of tigers, this time.

We needed a cuppa after a couple of hours. There was a queue even to get into the gallery cafe, which we could not stomach. We were still tired after Versailles. So we went home and had our tea, and rested, and had lunch, before we came back for a second round. We were so glad of our convenient lodgings!

Back we went, to the scuptures bit. We soon located Number Three, the Venus de Milo, and luckily it was not too crowded around her or I would have been in trouble. I enjoyed the rest of the sculptures more than I expected to, usually far preferring paintings. Statues are more interesting in three dimensions than in art books, I guess!

Here is Eleanor near one of a little boy strangling a goose for some reason. (Our French wasn't up to reading many of the labels.) Wayne took this arial view shot of the pyramid from a window.

We finished in a room of absolutely huge paintings, depicting Napolean's campaigns (I think). I don't think this photo does them justice. There was an elephant in one, for example, almost life-size and only a part of the painting. Amazing!

Home again well before dinner. Then Wayne and I actually set off for a third round. We saw some Dutch and German paintings this time, including Rembrandt. We even had a little look in the shop and bought a few prints. We hadn't seen more than a fraction of this huge place, but we were satisfied nonetheless.

Versailles

Another Big Day Out for the Fosters, who visited the palace of Versailles on Tuesday.

We had a very early start to allow for the 45 minute train trip. Eleanor, no morning person, was not best pleased with this. We walked to the metro near the Musee D'Orsay, near a beaut statue of a rhino, to avoid to much swapping of lines in the underground. This was when Eleanor remarked that she had not gone to the toilet this morning. Oh, dear; these stations do not come with conveniences. This is no doubt why they smell of excrement. Thankfully, Eleanor managed not to add to the odour. We rushed her into a loo near the station at our destination, and walked up the hill to the palace with time to spare before opening time. We duly admired all the gilded bits as we waited for the office to open. Cunning now, we already had tickets.

Armed with another audio tour, off we went. We started with a splendid private chapel, (see picture), before wandering through some small picture galleries until we came to the main rooms. Not only were there pictures on the walls, but every inch of the ceilings were painted, too. Louis 14th featured heavily in these paintings. Annie was not impressed by his vanity...

Here we are in a hall full of chandeliers that balls and receptions were held in, with the king on his throne down the far end. I would have been impressed!

The Royal bedchambers were just adjacent to this. Here's the king's bed curtains. I was really struck with how the monarchs had no privacy at all here.







We had a much-needed cuppa, and then ventured into the extensive gardens and grounds.







They were very formal near the palace, but woodier places led away from it - still liberally sprinkled with fountains with gilded statues, though.







Eventually we came to the canals, in the shape of a cross with arms a kilometre long, which Louis 14 had made so as to feel like he was in Venice, being punted about. Bravely, we decided to walk along near this to the Grand Triannon and and the Petit Triannon. This would be two kilometres along a splendid avenue. Eleanor began to baulk at this point, having already walked a fair way around palaces and gardens, but she was outvoted, poor mite. (We were a bit jealous of the people with bikes, but sniffed at the lazy people in golf-buggy type things, especially if they were not old or visibly disabled...)


Here is Annie near the Grand Trianon, an architectural confection of pink marble at the end of one of the canal arms. (I am sitting down with Eleanor slumped against me at this point. Annie is the keen one, wanting to see Marie Antoinette's little retreat from palace life in the Petit Triannon up the road - and her village where she played at being a peasant in the nicest way.)


Wincing at sore feet, up I got, and Eleanor trailed behind. The P.T. was very pretty and tasteful, and I could understand the queen's wanting to get away. The garden behind was rambling and lovely (although with a great whacking marble gazebo in it, presumably for an informal cuppa). The fake village had to be seen to be believed, though. No wonder the peasants revolted.

Having seen enough, we trudged back to the canal, where we found a restaurant ('La Flotille')to replenish our energy. What a relief! We mangaged to order in French. I should mention that mine is the better French, but because my hearing aid had pegged out on the train to Paris, poor old Wayne had been stuck with most of the transactions. I was very pleased that I was able to explain to some people in a queue to the loo here that I had left my sunglasses in the cubicle, and made myself understood. (Some red wine had helped loosen my tongue!)


So, back we walked through another bit of garden, and thence back to the station. We were very weary when we got home, and had an early night.

Le Tour Eiffel et La Cathedrale De Notre Dame

'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,' wrote Mr. Dickens, thinking of revolutionary France. I might as well trivialise this in a simple tourist blog... today was a very mixed day, indeed.

Time to tick off the Eiffel tower, we thought. Symbol of Paris and all that. We decided to walk there today, and that was quite interesting, if one avoided all the dog poo and held one's breath past the cigarette smokers. (Everyone still smokes like chimneys in Paris. I guess they haven't heard of lung cancer here.) Even though we got there early, there was a queue to get in. Used to it after Disneyland, we lined up without complaint. We had very warm clothes on today at least, but the north wind was bitter. Why didn't I bring my gloves! Many Morrocan peddlars (male)walked up and down the line, trying to sell small models of the tower. We pretended deep conversation with each other to ignore them. However, I got cornered by a gypsy woman. I was unprepared for this, so when a female voice said, "Do you speak English?", I naturally turned with a smile - because I am always asked for directions. But this woman was after money, and it was very hard to get rid of her, hemmed as I was in the queue.

Anyway, we finally got in. It was so windy, we were not allowed to the very top, which was fine by everyone except Jack. Annie was really very unnerved by the height. We had some hot chocolate to revive us a little, and took some pictures. It was a terrific view, and the whole tower really is a magnificent monument. There was an exhibition of its history, and even a garden on the first floor. I'm afraid we didn't appreciate it as we ought, however, and we did not spend too long up there. We caught the metro back, and had a good rest in the afternoon.

In the early evening, we ventured out again. We thought we would have a look at Notre Dame. The wind had died down, and it really looked like Spring again. We caught the metro to the central island that used to enclose all of ancient Paris, and had a little walk around before going to the cathedral. We passed the flower markets and several interesting shops.

The bells were ringing as we approached Notre Dame. No Quasimodo in sight, however. There was a queue, but it was moving quickly - (the bell tower was closed) - so we ventured a look inside. We looked at the carvings around the doors first.

It was dark inside; not like Wells at all. This was gothic in every sense of the word. Proper arches of the pointy sort ( in Wells they had tried chipping their roundy arches to get this new look). At least it was completely intact - no Reformation zealots had gone around defacing the churches and statues. I don't think the French Revolutionaries were exactly pro-religion, but at least they honoured the artists and artisans who created things of beauty, no matter what the context. Thus the Louvre and Versailles are still intact, despite their connections with the aristocracy.

Anyway, stained glass and statues, all very impressive. To top everything off, a Benedictine service (I think -Wayne's label) started, with incense and a cantor with a beautiful tenor voice. It was lovely. We went out well pleased, passing into a quiet garden around the east side of the building.

So we admired the flying buttresses, the intricately carved tower and of course, the famous gargoyles. These were everywhere, and seemed to serve as water spouts off the down pipes as much as anything.

We were well pleased, and decided to walk back. This was easy, simply following the Seine back west, before turning past the Louvre. Lots of people were enjoying the evening, lolling about the lawns. (There must be a poem in that somewhere...'lolling on the lawns of the Louvre, a leisurely life I lead...')

Wayne whipped up some lovely lamb chops, with which the big people enjoyed a bottle of Bordeaux. Tres bon!

L'Euro Disney

Disneyland! For once, each child was eager and ready to go in the morning. We left the apartment bright and early this time, so as to cram as much as possible into our day. As we swung past the arches that lead to the Louvre, we noticed a great many runners pounding by it on this Sunday morning. Some sort of fun run, we thought, not knowing that it was the Paris marathon that my own cousin Roland was running in. Off to the metro, and thence to the overground train to Euro Disney.

It looked just as magical as it had some thirty years ago (hem hem, showing my age) when I had gone to Disneyland in Los Angeles en route to Canada when Dad was on exchange. Although we had passes, we had to queue to change them for tickets. This took some time, as someone ahead of us was having trouble, presumably with a Transylvanian credit card or something. Wayne moved to a different line, while I hedged bets in the slow lane. Wayne won, so off we went.

First stop was Frontierland. The big kids wanted to go on Thunder Mountain, a roller coaster thingy which would not take the likes of Eleanor. I didn't fancy it myself, so Eleanor and I caught the paddle boat around a lake, looking at the Mountain, and various cheesy Wild West props, including some plastic moose. It was quite nice, however, and Eleanor was happy. The others were waiting for us off the boat - the queue for the ride was for ninety minutes, which they didn't fancy. We went off to a 'haunted house', which was very enjoyable - luckily I couldn't remember all the details from the American one years ago, although I think they were the same. It was great.

Buoyed by this, we went in search of silly hats. I chose Minnie Mouse ears headband, the girls Minnie hats. Jack wanted a Goofy hat like the genie's in Aladdin, but settled for a 'western' one instead. Wayne wanted to keep his dignity, for some reason. Here we are, plus hats, near a pirate ship. We had passed into Adventure Land, and were on our way to the Pirates of the Carribean ride. I know this was my favourite all those years ago, and it still was. Everyone loved it. A couple of scary rides down waterfalls, but more to stimulate the imagination than scare.

We needed some lunch at this point. There was a bit of a queue to eat. In fact, I think it was at this point that the queues started to dominate the day. Perhaps it was because it had got colder, and the wind had picked up. Also, unlike American Disneyland, the staff were not universally cheery... Anyway, the big kids went off in search of another scary ride (Indiana Jones, or something.) Eleanor and I went back to the pirates' bit, and checked out Davy Jones' locker and some other caves, then had a play on an adventure playground for smaller kiddies on a ship theme. Eleanor enjoyed this. The others were slow to join us, so we went and queued for a Peter Pan ride. We waited for 50 minutes, which would try the patience of a saint, let alone an 8 year old. The ride was good, but at five minutes' worth, hardly worth it. By this time the big kids had gone off to a really scary ride: Space Mountain. Wayne had several more grey hairs after accompanying them. They had to queue for ages, too. Eleanor and I flew with Dumbo the elephant, getting colder and colder... We all met at a parade, which was quite fun. A cup of something hot, and we thought one more thing would do us. Jack was keen for the mini car ride. The queue had dropped somewhat, since it was now after five, but it was still significant. Jack and Annie loved driving their own little cars. Poor old Eleanor was again too little to do this, but I let her steer, at least.

Then, back to the station. We all resolved to always dress warmly from now on, even if it looks sunny! I can't believe we all froze again so soon after the Bath experience. Brrr!

We kept our hats on to the last. " 'Allo, Minnie," grinned a couple of waiters at me as we passed a cafe. Ah, well, I probably won't wear those ears again...