If you want to get a unique view of Paris streets and neighbourhoods I have found the best way-on rollerblades.
The group 'rollers & coquillages' have created a huge following for their Sunday afternoon randonees through Paris. Yesterday I joined in.
You can rent your blades for under 10euro from Nomades in Place de Bastille for a half day or full day. And don't worry- they have plenty for hire!
The tour starts at 2.30 from outside of the shop and we set off in a pack of about 2000 crazy rollerbladers and a couple on skates !! And it's totally free.
We headed along the Seine on the right bank, past all the famous sites- the Louvre, Pont Alexandre III, Tuileries, The Eiffel Tower and crossed to head up towards Tour Montparnasse and then back through St Germain, St Michel and back to Bastille.
Sounds easy-?
Well it's not. For me, as a new found beginner, as in I haven't had a pair of rollerblades on my feet for over 8 years, the hardest thing was stopping! Every 10 minutes or so we would all stop in a group to get the stragglers back to the speedys at the front. And sometimes that stop was at the bottom of the hill. Lucky I could just hold onto my friend while he stopped and I dragged along. And the cobbled streets on old Paris are not so easy to roll across.
Altogether the trip was about 20km, almost 3 hours, and very hard work.
But the thing that really impressed me allowing a group of people on rollerblades to take over the city on a Sunday. Roads were shut down, traffic stopped and major intersections at a stand still just so we could have a leisurely blade through the city. What other city would allow such a thing? Of course there were a lot of beeping horns as we rolled past, but overall onlookers were impressed.
'Allez-y les rollers'! They would call as we went by.
And I should mention for bragging rights- I didn't fall over once. (But if I had, there's a convoy of red cross ambulances following the group as well as plenty of staff on hand with bandages, water and water pistols to cool the crowd.)
Every week they change the route, so check out this site for all the details. Have fun! http://www.rollers-coquillages.org/
Monday, July 12, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Parisian Men
It's coming back to me. Parisian men: they're a breed of their own.
They must think to themselves 'I'm from Paris therefore I am irrestible to women. And therefore I am so confident about this I will try to pick them up within 5 minutes of meeting a girl.'
And then theres the men who sleaze bag onto you in the street, "ooh madamoiselle, vous etes tres belle', on the metro, in the park. Only in Paris.
They must think to themselves 'I'm from Paris therefore I am irrestible to women. And therefore I am so confident about this I will try to pick them up within 5 minutes of meeting a girl.'
And then theres the men who sleaze bag onto you in the street, "ooh madamoiselle, vous etes tres belle', on the metro, in the park. Only in Paris.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
C'est la vie
Riding on the back of a motorbike through the cobbled side streets of Paris then lurching into busy boulevards, swiping through Renaults and Peugeots. Glancing up to see the sparkles of the Eiffel Tower reflected in apartment windows. Stopping at traffic lights to catch snippets of converstaion from other riders.
All while gripping onto a sexy Italian, French Spanish and English speaking man of my dreams.
To him, I have given my trust and heart..
A l'amour.
All while gripping onto a sexy Italian, French Spanish and English speaking man of my dreams.
To him, I have given my trust and heart..
A l'amour.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Only in Asia
The Asian Massage
The exotic food, the balmy weather, the bargain hunting and of course, the massages. The usual highlights of a trip to South-East Asia. On my varied trips over the years I have experienced many a traditional massage. Before the massage I am exctied about the thought of one whole hour of relaxing indulgence. On leaving, I never feel quite the same.
My most recent expereience occured in the quaint historical town of Malacca in Malaysia. After a long semester at University and long hours working in a bar, my shoulders and back were as tight as American airport security. For weeks I put off paying $70 for a basic massage back home, knowing I'd be able to enjoy five for that price in Asia. I needed a relaxed body, ready for my round the world adventure.
I was travelling with my Dad and we found a cute massage shop just off the busy Jonker Street markets. Fott refexology seems to be the popular thing in Malacca so I chose a 40 minute foot reflexology followed by 20 minutes on the back and shoulders. As I sat in the cahir my male masseuse pointed to my Dad and asked "husband?", to which I casually replied "no, father". The other customers in the massage room cracked up while the masseuse quickly translated to his friends and they all muttered "sorry, sorry, sorry".
(By now I'm used to this siuation having encountered the same thing on probably ten occassions. As my Dad puts it, "Only in Asia")
So the massage begins, as do the questions.
"Miss, how old you?"
"I'm 22. How old are you?"
"I'm three-eight. Bit old (giggles)."
"Miss where you from?"
"Australia"
"Ooh Oostraria. Kangaroo. (giggles)"
"Yes"
"Miss, what you here?"
"For a holiday."
"You like Malacca?"
"Yes, it's very nice."
"Yes, it's good."
This sort of exchange I've found to be very common in Asia. They are not shy when asking personal quesitons. Yet, it never comes off as rude. Only friendly and inquisitive.
Two days later, I was ready for another massage. This time the whole body. I was taken up the stairs of the quiet massage parlour by #12, ( 'We don't use names, only number. This number 12 girl.") a big burly Chinese girl with an English repertoire of about 10 words. Her favourite was "oooh pain", everytime I'd wince in anguish as she dug further into the back. I managed to discover we're both 22, she has a boyfriend who lives in Kuala Lumpur, and she wants to set me up with her older brother, who's in China! She was not shy when I lay there braless (surprising in a conservative Muslim country), and she was not shy digging deep into my tight knots. Apparently my sore back and neck was stemming from "sleep - no good", or in other words, my poor sleeping pattern.
RM 50 later (about AUD $20) I walked out feeling like I'd been run over by a steam roller, but amazingly today, two days later my back feels great.
But my favourite dinner party story comes from Thailand. I was in Koh Phang-an with my girlfriends for the insane Full Moon Party. The day after the party, we took our mopeds and our hangovers down to the massage shop for a bit of indulgent recovery. My friend and I chose the full body oil massage for 250 Baht (about $11) and lay down on our tummies in nothing but our swimmer bottoms. The petite Thai girls started on our backs, shoulders, head, legs and arms and then motioned for us to roll onto our backs. My friend, either more prudish or smart than I, whichever way you look at it, covered her boobs with her hands as her masseuse worked on her cheset and stomach. I, in my poorly state, just let it all hang out. Not long and I discovered that full body means Full Body here. I had my breasts gently massages, tweaked and stroked. And the whole time I'm thinking my friend lying next to me was experiencing the same personal touch.
Only after we left and I turn to her and ask, "So how did you like that?" did I find out that she has covered herself and missed out on the infamous boob massage. Only in Asia.
Sadly, as I sit in a bistro in Paris and reflect on my trip to Asia, I realise it will be a long while before I have another Asian massage story to tell.
The exotic food, the balmy weather, the bargain hunting and of course, the massages. The usual highlights of a trip to South-East Asia. On my varied trips over the years I have experienced many a traditional massage. Before the massage I am exctied about the thought of one whole hour of relaxing indulgence. On leaving, I never feel quite the same.
My most recent expereience occured in the quaint historical town of Malacca in Malaysia. After a long semester at University and long hours working in a bar, my shoulders and back were as tight as American airport security. For weeks I put off paying $70 for a basic massage back home, knowing I'd be able to enjoy five for that price in Asia. I needed a relaxed body, ready for my round the world adventure.
I was travelling with my Dad and we found a cute massage shop just off the busy Jonker Street markets. Fott refexology seems to be the popular thing in Malacca so I chose a 40 minute foot reflexology followed by 20 minutes on the back and shoulders. As I sat in the cahir my male masseuse pointed to my Dad and asked "husband?", to which I casually replied "no, father". The other customers in the massage room cracked up while the masseuse quickly translated to his friends and they all muttered "sorry, sorry, sorry".
(By now I'm used to this siuation having encountered the same thing on probably ten occassions. As my Dad puts it, "Only in Asia")
So the massage begins, as do the questions.
"Miss, how old you?"
"I'm 22. How old are you?"
"I'm three-eight. Bit old (giggles)."
"Miss where you from?"
"Australia"
"Ooh Oostraria. Kangaroo. (giggles)"
"Yes"
"Miss, what you here?"
"For a holiday."
"You like Malacca?"
"Yes, it's very nice."
"Yes, it's good."
This sort of exchange I've found to be very common in Asia. They are not shy when asking personal quesitons. Yet, it never comes off as rude. Only friendly and inquisitive.
Two days later, I was ready for another massage. This time the whole body. I was taken up the stairs of the quiet massage parlour by #12, ( 'We don't use names, only number. This number 12 girl.") a big burly Chinese girl with an English repertoire of about 10 words. Her favourite was "oooh pain", everytime I'd wince in anguish as she dug further into the back. I managed to discover we're both 22, she has a boyfriend who lives in Kuala Lumpur, and she wants to set me up with her older brother, who's in China! She was not shy when I lay there braless (surprising in a conservative Muslim country), and she was not shy digging deep into my tight knots. Apparently my sore back and neck was stemming from "sleep - no good", or in other words, my poor sleeping pattern.
RM 50 later (about AUD $20) I walked out feeling like I'd been run over by a steam roller, but amazingly today, two days later my back feels great.
But my favourite dinner party story comes from Thailand. I was in Koh Phang-an with my girlfriends for the insane Full Moon Party. The day after the party, we took our mopeds and our hangovers down to the massage shop for a bit of indulgent recovery. My friend and I chose the full body oil massage for 250 Baht (about $11) and lay down on our tummies in nothing but our swimmer bottoms. The petite Thai girls started on our backs, shoulders, head, legs and arms and then motioned for us to roll onto our backs. My friend, either more prudish or smart than I, whichever way you look at it, covered her boobs with her hands as her masseuse worked on her cheset and stomach. I, in my poorly state, just let it all hang out. Not long and I discovered that full body means Full Body here. I had my breasts gently massages, tweaked and stroked. And the whole time I'm thinking my friend lying next to me was experiencing the same personal touch.
Only after we left and I turn to her and ask, "So how did you like that?" did I find out that she has covered herself and missed out on the infamous boob massage. Only in Asia.
Sadly, as I sit in a bistro in Paris and reflect on my trip to Asia, I realise it will be a long while before I have another Asian massage story to tell.
First Impressions
Ahh Paris.
The sounds: roaring mopeds, coffee machines steaming, tout-a-l'heure, and bonjour.
The smells: wafting pastries from each corner boulangerie, the cats piss metro, J'adore Dior floating in the breeze and coffee everywhere.
The sights: romantic apartment facades, elegant women, motorbikes lined along boulevards, cutesy dogs trotting behind their owners, and bright healthy sun lighting up this ville d'amour.
The sounds: roaring mopeds, coffee machines steaming, tout-a-l'heure, and bonjour.
The smells: wafting pastries from each corner boulangerie, the cats piss metro, J'adore Dior floating in the breeze and coffee everywhere.
The sights: romantic apartment facades, elegant women, motorbikes lined along boulevards, cutesy dogs trotting behind their owners, and bright healthy sun lighting up this ville d'amour.
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