Paris : A Tribute

Stumbled upon the song by chance and it reminded me of one of the place I wouldn't mind visiting again and again. The city of love, Paris.

The song embodies all the essence that makes the city what it is; magical, romantic, mysterious, quaint. It's a big city, yes, but the atmosphere is somehow slightly different. It doesn't pull you fiercely in that you feel like you have to dash from one high of an attraction and on to the next which leaves you feeling drained, spent at the end of the day, no. With Paris it's different. It has the energy of a big city, yet it dissipates gently towards the edge, careful not to overwhelm you, but powerful enough to sweep you along with its charm. You'll feel like you want to take your time with this city, savoring each single thing carefully before the next.

Strolling along the left bank of Seine River, stopping at each bouquiniste, sifting through rows and rows of old postcards and posters, finding something that'll be perfect for your collection..

Gargoyles of Notre Dame looking down on couples walking hand-in-hand, smiling into each other's eyes, as if the one they are with is the only person that matters in the middle of throngs of people all around...

Taking in the scent of old paperbacks, running your fingers along the spine of old worn books, pretending that Shakespeare and Co bookstore is a treasure cave that you found on your own private adventure and that its every content is now yours, yours to relish one by one for as long as it takes..

Source: bookshelves.tumblr.com via Avery on Pinterest

That ubiquitous landmark that you can't seem to escape if you're in Paris, the highest point in the city, "scraps of metal" some might say but it still is a sight to behold nevertheless, especially for the first timers, out of admiration, even out of disappointment for all the fuss is about..

Source: houseofbliss.blogspot.com via Lily on Pinterest

Taking your time climbing the steep pavement leading up to Sacre Coeur, a treat in form of an artist village awaits you halfway, the Montmarte, where dozens and dozens of painters will offer to draw portraits, sketches, caricatures of you..watching these seemingly struggling artists at work will give you the chills, knowing that Van Gogh, Picasso and countless other big names have roamed these narrow streets before..

Source: etsy.com via Kristen on Pinterest

And when you've climbed the final of the steps, the sight of Sacre Couer, proudly perched atop the hill, only the second highest point of Paris welcomes you..from there, enjoying the view of Paris during sunset, the sky a tinge of pinkish grey, with buskers nearby belting out their reggae-ish rendition of 'Knocking On Heaven's Door', the song's choice couldn't be any more fitting..

Getting lost through the maze of Paris's streets, which, if accepted with an invitation of an adventure rather than a stressful not-in-the-itinerary episode, will lead you to an off-beaten path which might surprise you either in form of a charming boulangerie lined with freshly-made macarons in any imaginable flavor, amusing little art shop selling paper dolls and/or handmade stuff, even a playground with an interesting story like the 'I Love You' wall..

Relaxing your tired feet in coffee shop by the roadside, while having the best croissant you've ever tasted, buttery, savory, soft, perfectly crisp but not too much that it crumbles messily..together with le chocolat chaud, a perfect combination to enjoy the sight of people walking past by, the French guys..

Yes, the French guys, the artsy-fartsy type which you can spot by those carrying what should be their artsy-fartsy portfolios in their hands, tortured-artist look on their scruffy ruggedly handsome face sporting a 3-day-unshaven growth, so endearing that every word they speak will sound poetic, what's more, in French, oh s'il vou plait..but wait..

What's even better than French guys are the French women, mon ami, mon cherrie, so effortlessly chic in the classy but fashion-forward way they dress and the way they carry themselves with that characteristic French air that's so hard to pin down; put-together, self-assured, but never arrogant.

Hunting for treasures amongst what others might classify as junks in Marche aux Puces, there amidst the bric-a-brac, are relics from the past, old doorknobs and buttons, candleholders, jewelry box, or perhaps a vintage Hermes perfume bottle that would make a good addition to your existing perfume collection.

From the easily recognizable Art Nouveau metro station entrances, to the glass pyramid of Musee du Louvre, to the bountiful choice of halal food (Uzbekistan, Indian, Lebanese, Algerian, Moroccan, Japanese), Paris definitely has a lot to offer and much more.

There's a sense of longing that's tugging at my heart whenever I think of the place. Perhaps we'll see each other again some day, with or without AirAsia.

"Dolphins A Bite Me"

Another thing to add on my to-do-list this year : Swim with dolphins.

I've just watched the new video from the Narvaez's family and guess what? They went swimming with the dolphins!

I found myself smiling all the way through the end of the video, partly because of the dolphins, partly because of the chunky baby Eliana. I can't help it, the girl's so adorable it's deadly. Every time I see Eliana doing one of her antiques, with her super chubby cheeks, and beautiful smile, my hormones just went haywire, I swear that my estrogen level just shoot straight through the roof! SIGH. No, I will not succumb, no baby making until I'm into my thirties. I need to accomplish being a lot of other things first, before being a mom.

So anyways, watching the video reminded me of the Dolphin's Lodge in Batam Island which is just like around the corner! The site was last updated in 2003, so I'm not sure if it is still operating but I'm keeping my fingers crossed! (<-- it's just an idiom, get over it) It costs around 120 Singapore Dollar, which is about RM 300, which is super cheap! Anywhere else, it would have costed at least 200 USD so I'm totally putting this in my list for this year.

Le Tour Eiffel

Back from another holiday, albeit a shorter one this time. Still recovering from post-holiday hangover in which the symptoms could range from mental and physical fatigue to laziness to cope with real-life to-do-list. It's just your brain in the process of switching off the holiday mode. Those people who travel for a living, man, what a life that must be. I'm jealous.

Traveling has a lot of appeal. On one hand, it's the anticipation of finally getting to see the place that you have spent time researching about while planning your vacation. On the other hand, it's like a mental refreshment, getting out of your comfort zone and figuring your way out in someplace new. More than anything, I love traveling because of the stories you are bound to pick up along the way.

Which brings us to this story.

Over the decades, scientists, skeptics and believers alike have debated over the existence of bigfoot (yes, bigfoot; bear with me, you'll see where this one is going pretty soon) and I must say, I am all for team bigfoot. I mean, the world would be too boring if we choose to dismiss anything beyond any scientific explanation, backed with cold, hard proof. Though that doesn't mean I believe in fairies and elves and hobbits. Come one, I'm not that naive. Or nuts.

So back to the story. You'd thought that Paris, a city bustling with tourists all-year round, would be the last place you would bump into a bigfoot, right? Well, think again.

It was noon, the sun was quite unforgiving that day. We were under the tower of what is supposedly one of the most romantic monument on Earth. The queue to get the ticket was impossibly long, so we were just chilling around people-watching, having a nice conversation with 2 other Malaysians we had just met. After a while, we excused ourself to go admire the tower from another view. Even though the tower is ubiquitous, especially around the city of Paris (you can find the image printed on almost everything, from umbrellas to postboxes), the hype of the monument is actually not really overrated. The sight of the tower with bare eyes, its tip pointing proudly towards the sky is quite breath-taking. And romantic. Really.

That was when I noticed 'it'. The elusive black creature of the myths. Out of nowhere, amongst the crowd, there it was. I started to panic when I realized that its eyes were directed our way. Well, you must understand, even though I want bigfoot to be real, at that time, the creature caught me off guard, I wasn't ready.

I alerted my boyfriend with a quick nudge and signaled for us to make a quick move before the bigfoot got to us, which was what was exactly on its mind, judging by the determined look it was giving us. Our trick was to move in a random manner among the tourists, in hopes to confuse the bigfoot and it would loose our trail after a while.

Obviously that ploy didn't work because when I stole a look behind my back, its evil face was inches away from mine, eyes staring right into mine, teeth showing menacingly, challenging me to make my next move. My feet were rooted to the ground, I was speechless. Crap, we are trapped.

My boyfriend turned towards me, a look of defeat planted across his face, and said, "Come on, give it up, let's get it over with." He fished a coin from his pocket and handed it to the bigfoot. Motioning for me to get closer to the hairy creature while getting out his camera from the bag.

Cringing I inched closer to the hairy creature, mind you, I don't have anything against hairy creatures, it's just that they HAVE to be cute as well for them to be likeable, like these chaps:

A few snapshots later, happy that it is now 2 Euros richer, the bigfoot walked away, continuing its hunt to find the next prey amongst the relentless crowd under Le Tour Eiffel.

Tale in Barcelona

My girlfriend and I were very excited to explore Barcelona that we started off the day quite early even though we were still tired after all the running around Paris the day before.

Weather was great, we just had our daily shot of caffein at what has became our favorite breakfast spot at Barcelona because the coffee and the sandwich there are just divine (maybe we were just hungry) and the waitresses are so friendly even though there was an obvious language barrier between us. We left the cafe leaving a shiny 2 Euro coin as a tip.

It was our first day in Barcelona and right away we decided to follow the trail that Gaudi has left behind in this city. After unraveling the trams' paths like a puzzle, we decided that Park Guell was the best spot to start our journey as it was the furthest so that we could work our way closer and closer to the city centre as the day progresses.

Upon setting our foot at the entrance, the sense of being in some sort of magical wonderland hit us; there was a guy at the gate playing a musical instrument called 'hang', which completed the whole whimsical vibe.

Man, that Gaudi guy has some imagination. It's our first Gaudi stop and I like him already. We decided to start exploring Park Guell from the outer part, and savor the crust later, the part which houses the infamous lizard/dragon.

As we were walking down the path, two ladies approached us from behind. They were well-dressed. Trench coat, shades and everything. They were pointing towards the branches of the tree above us and were motioning to something behind us. We looked to our backs and guess what, apparently a bird has pooed all over us. Over our head, down the back of our clothes, thank God we got our jacket off because the weather was pretty warm that day.

A couple of seconds passed by before the smell of the poo hit us. Like really hit us. Birds were supposed to eat berries and worms and pretty much strictly organic stuff, why the hell did their poo end up smelling this bad? I was on the brink of throwing up.

Instantaneously, one of the two woman shoved a bottle of mineral water to our face. And they came to our rescue, cleaning off the poo of our shirts. I was busy getting that damn thing off of my friend's hair, when the other lady motioned for me to look at my back. And I realized my damage was just as bad as my friend's. So her friend took over cleaning my friend's hair and I let the woman help me clean myself.

At some point, I had the urge to keep my handbag which was slung across the shoulder in front of me, just so I could watch it better. Once a while, I pat my handbag, just to feel that everything (camera, wallet, handphone) was still inside. I wasn't too worried about my friend as she was more prepared than me; she wore a money belt beneath her T-shirt so she will be fine.

We excused ourselves to go to the toilet as the smell was getting too unbearable that I felt like taking off the shirt and washed it in the sink before putting it back. It was a sunny day anyway, it'll dry eventually. But they insisted to help us. After several time of saying 'thank you' we managed to disentangle ourselves from them and hurried to the toilet.

There was a long queue. Full of old people. I think they just got off the same bus and everyone decided to head to the loo. Bladder problem and old people, it makes sense, not to be disrespectful or anything. As we were in the line, there was three American tourists behind us wearing sour faces, apparently pissed off at being poo-ed on by a certain species of bird with digestion problem. We got into a conversation discussing the shitty experience, pun intended.

Scrubbing did nothing to the stink the poo left behind so my friend and I decided to head back to the hotel, change before continuing our journey. Gaudi has to wait and make way to this unexpected force of nature.

On our way back to the tram, we passed this souvenir shop and my friend saw something that she liked. So we went in, hoping to just grab the stuff and pay as fast as we could, so as not to make people faint at the mere smell of us. As my friend walked to the counter, she took her wallet out of her bag and to her surprise...it was empty. Every drop of cash that she has, every single receipt that she kept in there was gone. Nada. Zip. We were gobsmacked.

It took us a few moment to register what has just taken place. That two seemingly good samaritans that we thought had helped us clean bird poo off of us had actually helped themselves to a handful of cash, around 160 Euro, 40 pounds and a couple of ringgit malaysia notes. They even got to her money belt underneath her shirt.

It was a masterfully orchestrated, sophisticated pickpocketing. The setting was perfect. A bird in a park. Two well-dressed ladies. With a bottle of mineral water. And it happened so fast. It couldn't have been any longer than one whole minute.

Going into the trip, we knew we would have been an easy target, traveling in a group of two young ladies. We have been extra careful thus far. My friend separated her cash in smaller groups to minimize the damage if something bad were to happen. But it happened anyway.

Looking back, I think I know whose fault it is. Our previous destination before Barcelona was Paris. In Paris we have encountered very friendly, helpful people. At one point, we were lost while trying to find our hotel, when suddenly out of nowhere this good-looking young lad approached us and asked if we needed any help. He even went as far as using the GPS in his iPhone and leading the way for us to our hotel. He guided us along a pretty small alleyway and I remember thinking "Uh-oh we are totally dead, he's gonna take out a knife right about now and rob us and kill us both here and nobody would know and it's gonna be our own stupid fault!" Yeah I'm paranoid like that.

But no. We arrived safely at the hotel, 5 minutes into our search thanks to the unexpected help of this charming French guy.

So yeah, in conclusion, let's blame the French people. For being too helpful that we have let our guards down a bit.

p.s : Upon coming back home and doing a little google-ing, I've found out that the bird poo scam is a pretty famous one. Read full article here.

Here Nor There

The only thing that kept the whole trip from turning into a nightmare is the fact that I was in a good company. My travel partner, who is more like a little sister to me than an old time friend, and I didn't take the whole thing seriously, at times, even making fun of the situation.

At that point, there was nothing else we could do anyway. It was Christmas day and a lot of frustrated travelers were still stuck in train stations, their loved ones waiting at home, wishing that the date of 25th of December would stop ticking away until they see the awaited familiar faces at their doorsteps.

We were supposed to be home by yesterday after our short 2-day-trip to Brussels, the heart of EU and land of heavenly waffles, but Mother Nature was keen to have things go her way. Snow was pouring down hard since Christmas's eve, putting a damper on our journey. The trains were delayed at every possible station. And just like that, the European railway system that has always held a reputation of being reliable, crashed.

It has taken us 5 hours to end up at a station that is only an hour away from where we started, on any normal day. My body was shivering like mad, my fingers aching from the coldness, my head felt like it was going through a constant brain freeze, the kind you get when you drank Slurpee's in one big gulp, even though I was wearing the headscarf.

Finally the train that would save us had arrived. My friend and I hurriedly jumped on board and slumped ourselves on the next available seats we found. Outside, it was a hell of unforgiving, bitter coldness. Inside, it was warm. Heaven.

"Papa, are we on the right train?" A little passenger, with her father following right behind her, boarded the train and occupied the seats next to us.

"Yes, honey." Belgium has three main languages; French, Dutch and at certain part, German. The father/daughter were speaking in French. Luckily my friend knows the language. So she did all the translation for me.

"Are you sure?" The sceptic little girl, who couldn't have been older than 7 or 8 years-old said, asked her father again, her face scrunched up in an expression of genuine worry. Her short blonde hair framed her rounded face, her cheeks flaming red from the cold.

"Yup, pretty sure."

"Ohhh," she gasped, her stocky palm covering her wide-opened mouth, as if just remembering something important, "Did you remember to bring the ticket?"

"Oh, noo!" Her father, obviously playing along, pretended to be shocked and patted his pockets, searching for the ticket.

"No papa! The controller would kick us out!"

The girl was already freaking out, until her father produced a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, "Ta-da!"

She breathed a sigh of relief, loudly. Her father laughed and patted the top of her head, messing up her hair. She is, by far, the cutest, most matured little girl I have ever seen.

When I was that age, I believe that I did not yet possess the ability to worry about reality. I hope this bright little girl who was sitting next to me doesn't agonize over every single littlest thing in her life, that she can enjoy the carefree nature of her innocent years, which is what childhood is all about.

"Can you please ask the controller when he comes over if we are really on the right train, papa?" she asked, at which the father bursted in an even louder laugh. The little girl's antics throughout the journey kept her father laughing, both of them looked very happy and content, the delay in their journey didn't seem to matter, everything else didn't seem to matter, perhaps forgetting the fact that they were supposed to be somewhere else right now.

I looked outside the window of the moving train. Lost in my own reverie, it got me wondering, if I have ever made my father laughed like that at my own antics when I was still his little princess. I tried to remember, I tried hard, but to no avail. I did remember the time when he accompanied me to a coloring contest in LIMA Langkawi, just the two of us, though the memory was just fragments of details and snapshots. I wished I could remember the day in whole.

I wonder, if he remembered that day, or any other day that we spent together. I wonder, when he was still Here instead of There, if he had ever sat down on any given bad or good day, and let his mind wandered back to the time when I was a kid, and the memory made him chuckled, or at least, smiled.

I hope he had.

The train kept moving, taking us away and away from where we started and closer to where we were supposed to be.

JAWS

As a kid, I remember being obsessed with mermaids. Whenever we went on a ferry or a boat ride, I would perch myself at the window and pray and wish that this time, I would catch a glimpse of a mermaid, finally. I never did. Except that one time on our way to Penang, I was totally convinced that that something bobbing in the water was a mermaid, until my father crashed all hope and dream when he told me that it was actually a log. An insignificant, boring piece of wood.

It was only natural that Ariel, the little mermaid was and still is my favourite Disney princess. I used to have its story book that came with a cassette. I listened to it religiously that I memorized every single word and every sound effect. Long before there was Astro, there was MegaTV. The only movie that I didn't mind being played on re-run was Splash. Daryl Hannah is the cutest mermaid ever, full-stop.

I've always envied the mermaids, swimming gracefully, disappearing into another world underwater, belonging to somewhere that we don't. Plus mermaids are all pretty and they have beautiful and shiny tails. I want to be one of them!

That might be why snorkeling was love at first dip for me. The freedom to swim freely without having to surface ever so often for air. Adding to the effect was Perhentian's magical underwater scenery that could make you believe for a moment that there is actually a secret kingdom down there. The sapphire blue water is transparent, so it feels like you are moving weightlessly among the vibrantly coloured fishes and curiously shaped corals. That was as close as I would ever get in real life to being a not-so-little mermaid.

I was on a roll, swimming past corals after corals, hollering to shoals of fishes "sup dudes?" as if I've known them my whole life, smiling and waving at them as they stop to greet me (I am the princess of the sea after all), until out of nowhere a figure made an appearance about 10 feet away in front of me that made me stop dead in my track. It was only about 4-feet long but the pointy triangular fin on its back was enough to send shivers down my spine. Just as quickly as it appeared it vanished, swimming into the vast blue sea to who-knows-where. What if it was planning to come back and attack me from behind? My ass, no!

I bobbed my head out of the water and realized that I have gotten quite carried away in my role play as a mermaid that the boat and everyone else's was far away. I panicked. It would take me at least 5 minutes to swim back, considering that I am not a real mermaid who can glide swiftly in the water. So I turned back and started paddling away. Furiously. In my mind, there's only one thought : To save my ass!

I didn't care that the shark has a black-tipped fin, I didn't care what Zam's book "Coral Reef Fishes" says, I didn't care that my boyfriend and I had came to a conclusion after consulting the book that no shark in this island is to be considered highly aggressive, it was a shark. I blame it all on Steven Spielberg for making that legendary movie Jaws.

On my erratic swim back to the boat I swam past one of my friend who was oblivious to the fact that a monstrous black-tip shark (somehow the size of the shark got bigger in my head as time ticked) was tailing me. I thought to warn him, but then I remembered that several hours ago while we were testing out our snorkeling gears for the first time by the beach and we all got pretty mesmerized by the vast species of sea creatures even so near the shoreline that we compared notes of what each of us saw, he announced "I saw a black fish with a giant ass", and it was only coincidence that at that time I was wearing a freaking black tights. So I decided to pass the idea of warning him and left him there to his fate. Muahaha.

After what seemed like eternity I reached our boat. Boyfriend was nearby. I signaled him to get onto the boat. Between catching my breath, I recounted to the boatman and boyfriend the suspenseful moment being hunted by a blood-thirsty giant shark. The boatman smiled, telling us that this place is called the 'Shark Point' but as of late, it was considered lucky to catch a glimpse of them as their numbers are reclining. Though he said, they are timid creatures by nature so they are more likely to quickly swim away if they see human. Oh..so the shark might not have followed me after all. But you can't be too sure sometimes, Mr Smarty-Pants-Boatman.

And then we heard a loud shrill coming from a lady another group nearby, "AAAARRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH SHARKKKKKK SSSSSSHARRRKKKK!!" The group, floating with their life jackets on, was staying close to each other, so the lady's scream made the whole group went berserk. A kid even cried. More crying and screaming from the group ensued.

I turned to boyfriend, snorted and rolled my eyes, "Chill la aunty, it's just a harmless black tip reef shark, not a great white."