Europe France

Montmartre by Metro

Today we took the metro to Montmartre, and walked in the footsteps of the French bohemian elite. Betty Lou was delighted with the charming village atmosphere and oodles of artists displaying their wares. We wandered through the narrow passageways past the quaint and the touristy alike. In one of the churches we visited we walked in on a wedding! (I know, yesterday it was a funeral…tomorrow we are sure to stumble upon a baptism.)

We then visited the Sacré Coeur and took a stroll through the delightfully seedy Pigalle area, past the “Sexodrome” and other peepshow venues.

Another short Metro ride whisked us to the Père Lachaise cemetery. We meandered through the grounds in search of a few special graves: Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Chopin, and Proust. It was no easy feat, but we managed to locate them all. Jim Morrison’s grave was especially impressive, due to the throngs of pilgrims leaving flowers and pouring liquor on his grave.

After that we visited the bustling Marais district, and then walked to the Pompidou, where I went in to gaze upon the best of modern art, while Betty Lou opted to sit outside in the evening air and watch the street performers.

Walking back to our hotel, we had dinner at a delightful cous cous restaurant. Shortly it is off to bed for us weary but contented girls.
That is all for us, except for one important message: Happy Birthday, Dawn!
d&b

Andorra-Lithuania trip 2024 Europe

European Hopsctoch

How I planned my trip to Barcelona, Andorra, Vilnius, Riga, & Stockholm

I had booked a trip to go to Lebanon and Syria in May 2024, and I was excited about it. The flights and hostels were booked; the itinerary was made…but then the war in Israel and Palestine spread a bit north into Lebanon. This didn’t affect my plans initially, but when some of the bombs landed in or near Beirut and some airlines cancelled their flights, I started to think twice. I wasn’t concerned about the violence affecting me per se, but I was concerned about flights being cancelled and getting stranded. Work wise, I just couldn’t afford to be stranded in anywhere. So I cancelled my bookings, and I had to book another trip with just about two weeks’ notice. I don’t relish in a last minute trip. I like to languish with travel books, maps, and blogs, researching and anticipating. As I always say, however, travel teaches one flexibility.

This new trip couldn’t be anywhere that required an advance visa or anywhere that needs a lot of pre-planning. Plus, with only two weeks out most of the flights were expensive. So I traded in my desire for adventure and decided to go for a European trip. On the plus side, this would give me an opportunity to visit a couple of new to me countries, plus revisiting some other places that I like. I found a good price on a round-trip ticket to Barcelona, and from there I would visit Andorra, with a little stop in France, I would fly to Lithuania, travel by land to Latvia, fly to Stockholm, before returning to Barcelona, via Zürich on the way. It sounded delightful.

I had been to all of these countries before except for Andorra and Lithuania. Fortunately, flights within Europe tend to be inexpensive and the trip was looking to be fairly affordable. The one thing I didn’t factor into my trip planning, and my budgeting was Taylor Swift.

Taylor Swift and the price of Hostels

I am in no way anti Taylor Swift, but I don’t really give her much thought at all, or at least I didn’t before this trip. When I arrived in Barcelona, I discovered that all of Europe was buzzing with her tour dates getting underway. Just after I arrived in Barcelona, she had a couple of dates in Paris and half of the girls staying in my dorm in Barcelona were on their way to the concert. One of them even lived in the United States and said it was cheaper for her to fly from Los Angeles to Europe and buy tickets there than it was to buy tickets in the States.

All of this meant that the price and availability of hostels in Barcelona and Stockholm were not great. Nowhere was this truer than in Stockholm. I had never been to Stockholm, but I had heard it was expensive, so when I started looking for hostel dorms and I found that they were in the $250 CDN range, I thought, “well I guess that’s just Stockholm prices,” and maybe it was a little more expensive because I was booking at the last minute. What I didn’t realize was that my three days in Stockholm corresponded exactly with Taylor Swift’s three days of concerts there. All of the accommodations were three to four times what they normally were and almost every place was full. I did pay $250 CDN a night for a rather unremarkable dorm bed in Stockholm – one that lacked even a privacy curtain, a towel, or a free breakfast. It is, to date, the most expensive hostel accommodation I’ve ever had.

*Hostel bunks in Barcelona and Stockholm, the latter (Bunk 4) was the $250/night one*

On the plus side, although I am not a ‘Swifty’, I couldn’t help but be charmed by all her fans, particularly in Stockholm, where they seemed to overtake the city but were so cute and wholesome that it was impossible for me to be irritated by them.

Anyway, that was just a blip on what otherwise was a very enjoyable trip to multiple places, starting in Barcelona…

Algiers-Nice-Athens 2024 France

Two Perfect Days in Nice

Algiers to Nice

I left Algiers absurdly early on February the 13th. My destination was Nice, France. I had been to France multiple times, but never to the South. I was curious to see Nice, but my real reason for going there was to make a day trip to Monaco. But fly to Nice I did; a short hop from Algiers to Paris to Nice. I arrived at about 7:00 AM and I would have three days and three nights in the city before moving on.

From the airport I took the tram from the airport into the city centre. Easy. I walked a few blocks to my hotel, the Hotel du France (which was very nice, with great staff, quince wallpaper, and not too expensive), and dropped off my bag. I walked a few blocks to the sea.

Nice Impressions

I’m not a big fan of the ocean. I live about a block from the ocean in Vancouver and I almost never go to it. I like that it’s there and I like being near it, but I have very little desire to look out at it. I know people who are happy to just gaze out at the sea and frankly I don’t understand what the appeal is. I would much rather sit at a sidewalk cafe in interesting city, or, if I had to look out at nature, I’d much rather look at mountains or a valley than the ocean. But as I gazed out at the Mediterranean from the boardwalk in Nice, I think I kind of got it, at least for a moment. It was so stunningly beautiful. The colours of the water and sky and this uninterrupted stretch of beach were just lovely. And the fact that I could look out at it without actually having to step on sand was even better. They have these strips of chairs along the boardwalk where people can gaze out at the beach and the water. And people did. And so did I.

I liked Nice instantly. For the moment I got off the tram it was beautiful. Beautiful buildings, beautiful streets, beautiful lemon trees, and beautiful people. It just had this wonderfully calm and elegant atmosphere. No one was rushing. It surprised me little. I generally prefer chaotic and loud cities, but something about Nice won me over. And I hadn’t even seen the old city centre at this point.

Day One

I walked through the city and eventually made my way over to the old part of Nice, which was even more charming. The buildings were perfect. They were old and colourful with warm tones of yellow and ochre, coral and tangerine, many with small flourishes of design and just the right amount of weathering to give them character. It was so charming.

Because it is France, many people smoke, and while many people smoke cigarettes they don’t look down their nose at people who smoke cigars, so I was in a good place. I had already mapped out a few cigar stores, some of which had seats outside, but I didn’t need particular cigar lounges, as I was welcome to enjoy a cigar on any patio. I found myself a seat on a patio and had a cigar and a coffee and watched people parade past.

Generally speaking, the people in Nice were dressed beautifully. Even out for a casual stroll they were well put together with smart blazers, jaunty scarves, beautiful bags and sunglasses. Subtly stylish and comfortable. Because I had known that I would be going to Monaco on this trip and I had wanted to smoke cigars and visit the casino there, I had dressed nicer on this trip than I usually do, and I was thankful for it when I arrived in Nice. I didn’t feel out of place. I still had my combat boots (for comfort and possible altercations) but my little black dress, blazer, and oversized sunglasses seemed to work well. Did I look like I fit in? Maybe; but that facade was all done away with once I opened my mouth, and I spoke French like a child.

I walked to the Place Massena where the famous Sun Fountain stands. It features a large statue of Apollo flanked by smaller statues of Earth, Saturn, Mars, Venus, and Mercury. It was originally built in 1956, and was somewhat controversial, because Apollo, who, in mythology, leads a chariot with four horses across the sky each day to bring light, was depicted as without his chariot and with his four horses nestled onto his head like kind of a crown. Moreover, he was nude, and not everyone could agree if he should have been or if he was too well endowed. The artist performed a sort of ‘reduction’ on the statue to please the public, which it did not, and it was taken down for many years and put into storage until finally being fully re-erected, no pun intended, in 2011. Problematic history aside it is an impressive piece, framed by salmon-coloured, curved buildings and set on a black and white checkerboard tiled square.

I spent my first day in Nice walking around and looking at buildings and taking pictures, stopping for coffee and cigars. It was very pleasant. I didn’t really have an agenda in Nice. I just wanted to see it and visit Monaco so I felt no need to take anything off a list, which was good. I had a thoroughly awful meal that evening. I made a mistake of eating at a restaurant that I think catered to tourists and I had a pizza which was gross. (As much as I like France, it still is one of the countries with the least options for vegetarians, in my experience.) While I was eating the pizza (and trying and failing to do so elegantly) outside on the patio, a pigeon flew into the window and landed under my table, in trauma. I spent the entire meal checking on it and trying to give it drinks of water hoping that it would regain its consciousness, but it died around the time I asked for the cheque. C’est la vie.

Day Two

The next day, I made my way back into old Nice (just a few minutes’ walk from my hotel) for the morning flower, fruit, and vegetable market. As if the old city needed to be anymore charming. But it was more charming. I walked around; I ate a pear and had a cigar in a coffee. I had my eagle eyes on the socca stand, waiting for it to open up. Socca is a Nice treat. It’s kind of like a very thin, crispy pancake made from olive oil and chickpea flour, sprinkled with salt and pepper and served from various stands around the city. It’s very tasty.

More beautiful buildings. I couldn’t get enough photos.

It was February the 14th. Valentine’s Day and I was in Nice, in France. I saw people out for romantic meals and holding hands, but none of that was for me. I went on a walk up to the Cimetière du Château – because why not hang out in a cemetery on Valentine’s Day?

The walk up the hill was pleasant, and past an aggressive fountain and various tile work pieces displaying Neptune another underwater creatures. At the top is the cemetery and stunning views over the city and the sea.

I wandered around up there for a while before making my way back to the Old Town.

I walked the streets a little bit more, popping into some of the shops. There are delightful vintage stores in Nice. Tiny little boutiques with well curated collections of clothing and accessories. I bought a blazer in a handbag. I’m really not a shopper, but somehow ‘Nice me’ wanted to go shopping. I then went for a very ladylike lunch of an onion tart, a glass of cheap wine, and a cigar.

As I walked around, I noticed that the hours of the restaurants and shops in Nice. I’m from Canada, where things are pretty much open seven days a week and generally long hours. Some things are open 24 hours a day. Why should we be denied the opportunity to buy toothpaste at 2:00 in the morning? But in Nice many of the shops were closed at least two days a week and their hours of operation during the day were chaotic. For example open Wednesday to Saturday from 11:00 AM to 2:00 PM and 3:00 PM to 5:00 PM. What this told me was that people there have some sort of quality of life. There wasn’t the need to be working every minute of the day or to be catering to customers 24/7. You want to eat in my restaurant? You fit my schedule; not the other way around. It was kind of refreshing.

I popped into the Palais Lascaris; built in 1648 as the home for the Lascaris Vintimille family until the French Revolution, it is now a museum. It was pleasant to walk through the ornate rooms and there was a particularly good collection of antique musical instruments.

I had really wanted to visit the Musée d’Art Moderne et d’Art Contemporain, but it was closed for some sort of renovation. So I went to the Chagall museum.

I’m not a big fan of Chagall, so this museum wasn’t high on my list, even though most lists of what to do in Nice will include this is one of the top attractions. It was fine. I have a better understanding of Chagall’s work now, but it’s still not my cup of tea. However, if you like his paintings this would be a ‘must see’.

That evening, I took myself out for a quasi-romantic dinner-for-one on the patio of an Afghan restaurant in the old city of Nice. Of course I had a cigar. It was exquisite.

Nice had thoroughly charmed me and turned me into somehow a classier more relaxed version of myself. The next day would be my day trip to the micro-country of Monaco.

Europe Ireland

New Year’s Eve in Dublin

I awoke in Dublin in my hostel bunk. I had had a perfectly lovely evening the night before but this was my one and only full day in the city. It was December 31st, and I would be leaving early the next morning. There was no time to waste.

I walked into the city and retraced some of my steps from the night before, to see the areas in daylight. The weather was not cooperating. It was windy and gray and cold. The grey and cold I was expecting and actually fine with, but the wind made things unpleasant. Fortunately, by the afternoon the sun would come out again for a bit.

I felt immediately at home in Dublin; notwithstanding the excessive alcohol consumption I had observed the night prior, it has a seriousness about it. A studious, literary kind of aura that I’m very comfortable with. It’s entirely possible that I am projecting onto the city that which I already expected from a lifetime of reading novels and poetry by Irish authors, but nevertheless, that’s how it felt and I liked it.

Walking around Dublin there were plaques and statues to great Irish writers and thinkers. I sought out Oscar Wilde’s house and the statue of him. I won’t post a photo of the statue as it is ubiquitous online and I’m not a big fan, but it was very cool to see his house.

I had planned, of course, to go to Trinity College to see the library, however, it was closed for cleaning or renovation, so I had to take it off the list. Right there is a good reason to return to Dublin. But I was able to wander the city. I visited parks and shops and numerous cafes whenever I needed a break from my walking in the cold. Everyone I chatted with was friendly.

I visited Saint Patrick’s cathedral, which was a ticketed church, but well worth it as it is beautiful inside and there is a lot to look at. I enjoyed the decoration and design of the inside of the church, as well as the mummified remains of a cat and rat that were pulled out of the pipe organ in the 1950s.

I wandered aimlessly through the city at some point taking in statues and green spaces and bits of street art.

I visited the pub the Brazen Head, which bills itself as Dublin’s oldest pub, having been open since 1198. It wasn’t the best pub that I’d been to, but since I was right there, how could I skip such superlative drinking experience?

I walked to the Irish Museum of Modern Art, which was excellent. Precisely the sort of modern and occasionally weird art that I enjoy.

I visited two cigar stores downtown. There was a James J Fox, which is related to the James J Fox tobacconist shops in London, which I frequent when I am there. As well as ‘The Decadent Cigar Emporium’. In both cases, I bought a couple of cigars and chatted with the proprietors about the smoking laws in Dublin.

I had read prior to coming to Dublin that smoking had been banned indoors everywhere, but sometimes when you make inquiries you can find that there are certain secret places to smoke. Sadly, both shops confirmed for me that smoking is indeed banned inside and that includes a prohibition on any cigar lounges. The people at James J Fox were able to give me intel on one pub, however, where smoking would be allowed because it is technically outdoors. The James Toner pub. I made a mental note of that for later.

I wandered the alleys and poked around in bookshops and vintage clothing stores, just enjoying whatever i found in my path.

I was having a perfectly lovely day – especially after the sun came out; however, things took a turn when the sun went down. It was December the 31st. What that meant was that once the evening came, everyone’s evening plans went into full New Year’s Eve mode. I didn’t have any New Year’s Eve plans being there alone in the city. I should say, I don’t like New Year’s regardless of where I am. I think it’s a stupid holiday. I don’t like excessive drinking, I don’t like staying up late, and I don’t like big raucous parties, so it’s just not for me. So spending New Years in a foreign city means that I’m a bit of an outsider. I would have been perfectly content to go for a nice dinner and have a drink somewhere but most of the restaurants had put in place expensive tickets for parties or multi course dinners with a prefix menu. And I wasn’t about to go and spend £100 to have a dinner or attend a party that I didn’t want. I also would have been happy to sit outside somewhere and just watch the world go by but, being that it was December in Ireland, it was cold and had started to rain again. I tried to elbow my way into a few pubs just to have a drink, but those places had already become so packed there was a waiting list outside.

Remembering the suggestion of the tobacconists at James J Fox, I walked to the James Toner pub. And this was my salvation. The James Toner pub is a proper pub, but they have a back entrance and there’s a sort of massive mostly enclosed patio area where smoking is allowed. You basically feel like you are indoors except that there is a small part of the ceiling that is replaced with the sky. It still had leather booths and tables and TVs and a full bar. The heaters were blaring and it was comfortable. I sat there and had three cigars and multiple Jameson and ginger ale drinks (a drink that I had only discovered once I went to Dublin and found to be quite tasty). People weren’t particularly social outside of their individual groups. It was New Year’s after all, and people were out with their friends to have a good time; they weren’t really interested in chatting with the weird foreign girl dressed in black smoking cigars in the corner. But that’s okay. I found a spot where I was comfortable, and I was happy to sit there quietly and just watch the crowd.

Once it got to be about 9:00pm, it was time to move on. The place was getting too busy and too loud, and I couldn’t sit there any longer. At this point I just reconciled myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to go to a big party so I may as well just go back to my dorm. I felt a sense of shame going back to the hostel actually. Here I was in a foreign country; was I really not going to stay up until midnight to ring in the new year? No, no I was not. I had a shower and got into my bunk and as soon as I did that I knew that I had made the right decision. I was cozy and comfortable I watched a movie and fell asleep. I got to enjoy a bit of New Year’s revelry but was able to avoid the last few hours of drunken idiots and staying up late just for the sake of staying up.

The next morning, I woke up early. I think everyone in the hostel was asleep. Even the lobby was littered with the bodies of passed-out revellers. I arranged a taxi and headed back to the airport and back to Vancouver. It was a little less than 48 hours that I was in Dublin and, clearly, I need to return to see more of Ireland, but I was completely satisfied with the short visit that I had. Although I’m not sure that I would be eager to go and visit somewhere for New Year’s Eve again, it was a great way to start off 2024.

Wandering North

Montmartre by Metro

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