France, part II – the journey in Toulouse continues

Toulouse’s old city centre and most of its sightseeing spots are located in their downtown district. It’s easy to get around by foot, which is what I did. I did rent a bike for a day, which was SUPER cheap – 1.20 euros for 24 hours, using the Velo Toulouse scheme, which has kiosks all over town (and one right outside my hotel). Toulouse – well, actually, all of France – is a great place to bike, with well-planned and comfortable bicycle trails running alongside their famous rivers and canals. The intrepid traveller can pick up a detailed bike trail map for free at the Tourist Office, located in the Capitolium.

One of my friends goes to the University of Toulouse, although unfortunately he was working near Paris at the time and was unable to leave. He was kind enough, however, write me a VERY comprehensive guide to the city, which was extremely helpful.

I started from the city centre, the famous Capitole/Capitolium.

The Capitole

Splurged on a French crepe. After enduring 7 months of decidedly British food, this was bliss.

Yum, though not that cheap at 4 euros

I then walked to the Église des Jacobins nearby, which was a beautiful, serene place. Admission was free.

The next place I went to was the Basilique of Saint-Sernin. I didn’t manage to get in since I couldn’t find the entrance, and there were gaggles of jaded-looking teenagers lolling about, smoking and drinking, so I didn’t stay in the neighbourhood long. My friend had also warned me that it was a bit dodgier than most of other places in Toulouse, and advised me to steer clear of it.

 

Saint-Sernin

Back to the Capitole.

There’s a very nice memorial of Charles de Gaulle in Jean-Jaurès.

After going back to the hotel to eat and rest (got some sandwiches from the nearby Carrefour), I went over to Pont-Neuf, the only old bridge across La Garonne, which was built between 1544 and 1626. My friend told me that the holes carved into it were made to reduce the pressure on the bridge during river floods.

A lovely stroll along the Garonne.

As I walked along the Quai Lucien Lombard, I had a splendid view of the Place de la Daurade and Place Saint Pierre. According to my friend, the homogeneity of the block was due to the fact that it had been planned by the government just before the outbreak of the French Revolution. In the aftermath of the Revolution, the houses were completed by various different private owners, hence the wide variety of style and technique.

A closer look

I really HAVE to write my holiday diaries right after I get back. I’m looking at these pictures right now and remembering snippets of my thoughts when I took them, but that’s all they are: fragments and bits of a much bigger picture that’s all but lost to me now. Photographs are all very good, but the emotional aspect of travelling is just as important as the travelling itself. I do remember taking numerous strolls along the Garonne, buying a chocolatine at a shop my friend recommended, and eating it by the riverbank and napping in the green shade of the weeping willows. A dog came up and practically breathed down my neck, so I ended up giving him my chocolatine, which he wolfed down eagerly before loping away. It wasn’t till much later that I remembered belatedly that dogs aren’t supposed to eat chocolate. The late afternoon sun filtering through the trees, the wind ruffling the grass and teasing out my hair – that’s what I do remember, and listening to Hotel California on replay.

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
'Relax,'said the night man,
'We are programmed to receive.
You can checkout any time you like,
but you can never leave!'

and I look up into the blue skies

Prologue to continental#1; France, part I – the Cite de Carcassonne

(2014/07/12 A/N: Am still migrating the contents of my old blog over to this one, and the server at blog.com is so ghastly it's not even funny any more. I have not been able to login to my account ever since I got back from Poland. Everytime I try that a huge "502 Bad Gateway/nginx/1.0.15" shows up, or the page doesn't load. I find it difficult to believe that such a bad server host could exist in today's world. I can't even get into my account to announce that I've moved over here. Wow. This world's insane.)



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This entry has been woefully late in coming. My first trip to Europe started on the 12th of May, and now it’s the 24th..of June. (A/N: Well, it WAS, when I was writing this..!)
The first few parts of this entry were written before I went to Romania, and I’ve noticed a slight discrepancy between my writing then and now. I’ve become more flippant, I think. And, of course, since it’s already been more than a month and loads has happened since then, I’ll have forgotten lots of things, but I still have the pictures, at least.

Before I go any further, I’d like to talk about what this initial trip to the Continent meant to me. I’d been abroad before on my own (that’s actually what I’m doing right now with my degree and London) and I am the sort of person who likes to spend lots of quality alone time, which means plenty of solo trips out and about. This, however, was very much different to anything I’d ever done. I was going to countries I’d never been before, where I didn’t speak the language, and I’d never planned out a proper itinerary for myself like this one (the first of many to come!). It was fantastic, tailoring a whole trip for myself, but it was also an extremely daunting and time consuming task. And to be honest, I had no idea what to expect – I wasn’t really thinking about travel dangers, not speaking the language and other things. What I did was plan my trip meticulously, right down to the last detail. I booked ALL of my tickets, be they train/bus/coach/sightseeing hotspots – online and beforehand, and printed them all out. I downloaded the offline google maps of all the places I was planning to visit – we live in the 21st century and GPS is a godsend for the intrepid hopelessly naive first-time traveller. I also took out an annual travel insurance that covers the whole of the Schengen area. It’s a long, torturous procedure, but it’s incredibly rewarding, and this whole experience has been a life-changing one, although again it’s not something I can fully express in words, but I’ll try my best, as I relive my journey through these entries.

A quick overview of my itinerary – 19 days in total, which I started off by spending 4 days in France (Toulouse and Carcassonne), 5 days in Barcelona, 3 days in Portugal, then it was over to Maastricht (a Dutch town on the Belgic/German border), which I used as a base to make day trips to Belgium (Bruges and Ghent), Germany (Aix-la-Chapelle) and Luxembourg (Luxembourg City and Vianden). I spent an average of 16 euros a day (this sum includes tickets, living expenses and so on).

So, without any further ado, I give you..the entry I wrote two weeks prior.

***

My travels so far have consisted of endless castles and gothic cathedrals which are fine and dandy but somehow all end up looking the same.

My masters life is one where I go through cans and cans of fizzy drinks. If I were the drinking type of person I would probably drink a lot. But yes, lots and lots of soft drinks, cans, and meeting beautiful boys in Europe who want to have a serious relationship with me, whatever that means. This is the life.

My dad was in Toulouse for a summit, which was the sole reason I decided to make it my first destination. The cheapest way of getting there from London was to fly to Carcassonne (15 pounds) and take a train from there (12 euros). I decided to make a bit of time for CCF, since there was apparently a lovely fortress there that I really wanted to see. I touched down in Carcassonne, France on Monday afternoon. Bit of a bumpy ride, but the incredibly hot flight attendant named Carlos more than made up for it. If heaven existed, all angels would look like him. I think he caught me staring at him on more than one occasion. He’s wasted as a flight attendant. He should become a male supermodel, or go into acting. I’ve never seen anyone as perfect as him. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to get a picture of him. The plane was a tiny 737 model.

I don’t like flying, which is odd, because when I was little I loved it. Then again, there is a considerable difference between short flights and long haul flights. The 737 plane kept shaking, the seat was unadjustable and the table was wobbly. I kept wondering if the plane would lose all structural integrity halfway across the Bay of Biscay.

Anyway, I arrived in Carcassonne airport, and took the shuttle from the airport to the train station. The driver was a very jovial man who spoke splendid English.

A view from the Gare de Carcassonne

I thought Carcassonne was a very picturesque little town, with narrow streets which are typical of European towns, though I didn’t realize this until I’d reached my third city.

Carcassonne’s claim to fame is the Cite de Carcassonne, which features a rather splendid medieval citadel (an UNESCO World Heritage site), with a lovely little bridge.

The bridge

After I’d crossed the bridge, it was a rather steep climb. A rather nice panoramic view of the city could be seen, but of all the city panoramas I’ve seen on this trip (Barcelona, Luxembourg, Lisbon), the best one belongs to Lisbon, with Luxembourg coming a very close second. But that’s a detail for another entry.

The Cite

The Cite de Carcassonne, best viewed from one of the bridges. I really wish I’d gotten blue skies; cloudy days make for awful pictures. Going into the citadel was free, but it was not that impressive. I did like the conical towers, though.

Construction work being done. Again.

A chapel within the Cite.

There was too much construction work going on, which spoiled my pictures. The weather at this point had gotten kind of blustery, which is typical. It did that too in loads of other places I went to on this trip, such as Belgium, which was such a shame, because Belgium was – is – gorgeous.

Well, I reached Toulouse within an hour (the train ride was very pleasant), and met my dad, which was fantastic. One thing about travelling is that you pick up bits and pieces of their languages. Gare for train station in France, for instance, which proved to be surprisingly useful.

***

(A/N: This is the ‘present’ (well, the /6/24) me speaking, now. I am starving. Why oh why am I so perpetually HUNGRY?)

I didn’t do much after I arrived in Toulouse from CCF- had a nice soak in the tub, cooked some ramen, and went on facebook. And I think that this is quite enough for a prologue, so I’ll stop here with a teaser of Toulouse’s city square. In retrospect, this was one of my favourite Continental cities. Till then, adieu!

 

The Rue Lafayette

Romania, day 5 – Sibiu

Manhole covers in Sibiu.

One thing I noticed about the pigeons and sparrows here was that they’re all very thin. I’ve never seen such emaciated birds in my life. The ones in London and Taipei, and all the other cities I’ve been to, are so rotund they practically can’t get off the ground. The sparrows in Taipei positively look like Snitches or blowfish, they’re so fat. In the future, I will use this as a standard to determine whether a district is wealthy or not – the skinnier the pigeons/sparrows, the less well off it must be.

Witnessed England being crushed by Uruguay yesterday, which I watched with the girls in our kitchen last night. I don’t need to turn on the TV, or go on facebook, even, to tell when a goal has been scored. The noise last night was something dreadful. I didn’t realise that the World Cup would be played during my masters year in London, but it is a fortuitous twist of fate, and one I’m happy to have been privy to. Did I mention how interesting it was, being in Romania while the madness of FIFA began spreading itself like rabies? In our Brasov hostel, a bunch of guys would huddle over the television set every night. My first real shock came when the invincible armada of Spain turned out to be not so invincible, suffering a crushing defeat at the hands of the flying Dutchmen. And then there was Portugal against Deutschland on the 14th, which was…whew. And so begins the Decline of Iberia.

We spent the whole day walking around Sibiu. It’s a very picturesque little town, idyllic yet bustling with energy, which won the much-coveted title of Europe’s Capital of Culture in 2007. Our hostel (about 8 pounds a night) was located slap bang in the middle of the old city centre, the Piata Mare/Piata Mica (pronounced like “piazza,” with a wee sound of “t” right before the z). There’s always some sort of event going on there. When we first arrived, there was some sort of concert/festival/carnival, which went on and on for the duration of our stay. Joanne was very excited about this.

This reminds me of the Wizard of Oz

We rented bicycles at the Hotel Ibis, about ten minutes walk from our hostel, which cost 8 lei for two hours and is a LOT cheaper than renting it at the tourist office in the piata. We cycled for about forty minutes to a lake, which was beautiful, but a bit crowded.

Not the most beautiful lake I've seen, but it does have a certain je ne sais quoi

I don’t think I mentioned this before, but it’s also one of the major defining parameters of our Romania trip. The people here act like they’ve never seen East Asians before. Everywhere we walked, people would slow down and stare at us, and even point at us. Some of them would even take pictures. The teenagers would, in some instances (once in every town at the very least) jump in front of us and call us names. I felt like we were a walking zoo, or as if there were horns sprouting out of my forehead. Both of us found this VERY unamusing. It can really ruin things and your whole travel experience per se when all the people do is stare, stare stare. I do not think Romania is too high on the tourist friendly scale (again, thanks to the negativitybias effect of bus 780 – you’re going to haunt me till the end of my days) and the environment is especially hostile for people who look noticeably different azn. During the whole of our trip, we did not see one single black/Indian/Muslim/any other race/colour other than white. The teenagers are plain xenophobic. Then again, their adults are wonderful (except again for the ones on the bus). When I was in Rasnov, a man told me that I was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life, and that he had lost his heart to me. I was flattered, although sceptical – I don’t think I looked my best after a whole day of climbing and sweating.

So, yeah. If you look Asian, or not white, you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb, and boy don’t they let you knowit. We’ve had people coming over to us at restaurants and approaching us on the street, asking where we’re from. (“China? Japan? The land of the chopsticks? Chopstickland?”) I personally would not recommend Romania to anyone Asian, unless you’re travelling with a group of at least 7 people or you have a burgeoning desire to challenge yourself and push your limits. It’s not a trip for the faint of heart. Even then, you will be gawked at, but at least when you’re in a large crowd, the teenagers probably won’t be so inclined to use google translate to call you a slant-eyed monster in Chinese and Japanese (apparently these are the only two countries in East Asia) while you’re on the bus, minding your own business. I’ve never had a problem with my race before. Hell, I LOVE being so ostentatiously Asian azn. But in Romania, when people consistently look at you like you’re some character from Hellboy, it’s really annoying. To be honest, me and Joanne were relieved to be going back to multicultural, melting-pot London after 8 days of being goggled at. I actually think I could write a whole blog post on the racism we encountered in Romania. Even the people who mean well can come across as very offensive. One of the people who came over to give us the Spanish Inquisition in a restaurant told us that he’d worked in the States for ten or more years, that three of his ex girlfriends were Asian sinophile and that he still couldn’t tell the difference between all of us. I had a cow or three when he guessed Vietnam and the Philippines after China and Korea fell short. The ball really dropped, though, when he excused his ignorance by saying, “Well, you all look the same, you know – the Chinese, the Filipinos, the Viets and the Koreans. Exactly the same.” I felt so insulted, even though I knew he didn’t mean any harm, and retorted rather stiffly, “Well, we can say the same about you people, you realize – you Romanians, Serbs, Slovaks and MAGYARS all look alike to us azns, too.”

Back to Sibiu. The old town was beautiful. This is their main church. Note the colourful tiles of the roof.

This is the old town – see the windows, which look like peeping eyes? It’s a very common feature of Sibiu’s houses.

The Piata Mica.

On our way back, we were fortunate enough to encounter their parade.

 

See the "Banca Transilvania" in the background? It's a blood bank

And we got a lovely view of the piata bathed in the light of the late afternoon sun.

Dinner in a bar off the Piata Mare. I had polenta, again, and Romanian meat rolls (sarmale) – the vampires continue to dazzle me with their culinary skills. sparkle sparkle, glitter glitter.

Again, I realise this picture is really bad, and again I excuse myself by the fact that I was starving at the time.

Romania, day 4 – Rasnov Fortress

I feel compelled to justify my obsession with the bus 780 incident, which I think of every time I blog. I just finished reading a fascinating study today on a psychological trait prevalent in homo sapiens, called ‘the negativity bias.’ Basically it says that we’re engineered to remember negative encounters much longer than positive experiences, because that’s what 600 million years of evolution has done for us – you can mistake a shrub for a bear and walk away unscathed, but mistake the bear for a shrub and you’re dinner. The bear’s, that is. This article is well worth a read, and I feel equally justified in spending my dissertation time on…understanding human behaviour.

We went to Rasnov Fortress today, 4.5 lei by bus. Like all outgoing buses here, they had their destinations marked VERY clearly on the windshield.

 

The bus.

Rasnov Fortress was built by Vlad’s grandfather, Mircea the Old (or his soldiers and the civilians, more likely), and it was a REALLY steep climb up. I hadn’t anticipated doing so much exercise – by the time we’d reached the top, both of us were huffing like a bad Victorian steam locomotive. Or maybe we’re just too out of shape.

The village of Rasnov was another of those dry, dusty places where they’re redoing the roads. The weather was hot and stuffy and did nothing to improve my mood. It was a gloomy, blustery day, and the aerial cables made it impossible to take a good picture of Rasnov Fortress on its hill. It’s another of those Hollywood signs.

Photoshop has failed me on this occasion

Aha, here we are finally. I think the man on the horse is meant to be Mircea.

This is the outer fortress of the, um, fortress. Again, we didn’t go in, since it didn’t look that impressive. It reminded me of Montjuic Castle in Barcelona, which in turn reminds me of all the blog posts I haven’t written.

And this is the other side.

Finally, a decent picture.

When we were done, we visited some of the outlying souvenir shops and bought some stuff helped boost their economy. I got a beer mug with a bird’s eye view of Rasnov Fortress, which was handmade, quite exquisite and cost 15 lei. I also got a thimble – embellished with the words “Romania, Rasnov”, for my supervisor. Joanne got a mug too, I think. The girl at the shop was very nice and presented us each with a purdy postcard of Rasnov, a gesture which we both appreciated very much. I really should work on our hard-wired mentality of negativity bias.

When we went back to Brasov, we did a walking tour that ended in shambles – I got hopelessly lost following the itinerary on the usually reliable wikitravel entry, and Joanne’s GPS crashed. Nevertheless, we did manage to locate St. Nicolas’ church.

The church from the outside

There was also some very interesting graffiti on the wall.

We then caught a VERY late bus to Sibiu (around 30 lei I think – you can book tickets/look up the timetables here). The highways here are horrendous – we were practically rattling around the minibus like beans in a can. Thank goodness we’re not the carsick types. We arrived at our hostel without incident. The hostel owner is a guy with a fantastic sense of humour – when we were talking about our travels with some of the other people at the hostel and happened to mention Edward Cullen, he indignantly wrote and held up a plaque bearing the legend, “Vampires are not sparkly.”

I think I’ve still got two or three entries worth to write about. In case anyone is interested, my dissertation is on The Picture of Dorian Gray, and my mind is bursting at the seams with aphorisms and Wildean witticisms. And England lost to Italy today, 1:2, much to no one’s surprise.

Romania, day 3 – Peles Castle

Featured photo: the picture-perfect Peles Castle.

Do you ever feel that heady drowsiness when you eat too much? That’s what happened to me right after dinner. Sugar crash is what some people aptly name this curious phenomenon. And I crashed so hard, but now it’s midnight and suddenly I’m not so tired anymore. On the other hand, I don’t feel I can get my dander up for my dissertation. So it’s hello blog again.

Our destination today was Peles (pronounced Pelesh – yes, I missed that toggle again) Castle. Peles is located in a beautiful village called Sinaia, tucked away deep within the Carpathians and about an hour’s train from Brasov (2.7 pounds). The scenery along the train route took my breath away. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any good pictures since the train was moving too fast, and the windows were dirty. Mountain after mountain, forests upon forests, was my impression. I come from a mountainous country, where the terrain is very similar to the Carpathians, so I’m used to them, but I can see why so many people fall in love with Romania for its geography. For my part, I was imagining Jonathan Harker’s terrible first journey to Transylvania, and his coach rolling through the Borgo Pass. It all seems so easy by daylight when you’re safely stowed away in a train hurtling through hill and dale, but it must have been terrifying for the people back then to navigate these vast, seemingly neverending stretches of mountains, especially during the treacherous winter months, without technology on their side.

Anyhow, here’s a picture of Sinaia’s train station – just to give you a vague idea of the mountain ranges.

We took a cab from the station up to Peles Castle, which was a rather steep drive. The driver was a decent, elderly man named Gigi Dumitrescu, and the fare was 5 lei per person. A big thank you to Gigi for alleviating our fears regarding the awful taxis in Romania. I don’t know if anyone will visit Sinaia any time soon, but if you do plan to go there and are stuck for transport, his number is 0722 259 622. He speaks Italiano, Francais and Deutsch.

Peles Castle is ridiculously photogenic, but it’s one of those places you end up taking a million pictures of, and when you come home, you sort through about 50 pictures which all look the same. I would have loved to live here if I were, oh, some sort of voivode or a rich boyar in the sixteenth century. You get a spectacular view of all the surrounding mountains, and that feeling of being nestled amongst all this splendidly majestic greenery is awe-inspiring.

View of Peles while ascending

 

Standing in the main courtyard of the castle. The people there were very friendly and obliging.

An actual view of the main courtyard.

Fantastic view of the mountain ranges - too bad about the clouds

We didn’t go into the castle, but had lunch at a swanky restaurant nearby. As always, the food was superb.

I know this picture looks weird and I did a really bad job with it, but I was ravenous at the time, so give me a break.

The people here know that Dracula is their claim to fame, and they don’t make any bones about it.

So now Dracula's a national dish

The Bulgarian salad I’ve been raving about. To be honest, I’ve been eating a lot healthier ever since I got here. Mountains of the most delicious salads I’ve ever tasted in my entire life. Who would have known that the vampires were such good cooks?

One word: YUM.

.

The waiter here was very cute, and when Joanne was in the ladies room, he hurried up to me and whispered furtively in my ear, “You are beautiful.” I recently read on another blog that the Romanians are Latins who got stranded on the wrong side of the continent. I’m feeling this sentiment more and more. The way their men vampires act and talk, I sometimes think I’m in Italy.

Speaking of Italy, I recently heard this great song on the Romanian radio. It’s called “Mamma Mia, he’s Italiano” by Elena, and the lyrics are something like this:

He’s name is Tony
He’s from Milano
He whispers softly in my ears in Italiano
He never leaves me
Coz I’m his Cinderella
He say that I’m his only one molto bella

He says I love you
So let me touch you
But mama told me
That Italian is a macho
He says come love me
Don’t listen to your mama
And I just hope that
It’s not gonna end in drama

I know you’re dying. I know I am. But it’s really catchy.

Anyway, we asked the restaurant to phone up our cabbie to pick us up, and as we got into the cab, the waiter waved a shy goodbye to me. La revedere! I’ll never see you again, since I don’t expect I’ll be coming back anytime soon. The next time I visit Romania, it’ll be off to all the places I didn’t see this time – Curtea de Arges, Sighisoara, the Iron Gates, Cluj and Targu Mures.

The driver took us to see the Painted Monasteries, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site. My first taste of Eastern Orthodox churches so far, and they’re very different to the soaring Gothics of West Europe, with an enchanting appeal to them. I didn’t dare take too many pictures here, since to do so somehow felt like desecration.

Exterior of the main monastery

We then went back to Sinaia’s city centre, which was a mess of rubble. I think they were rebuilding the roads. Either way, it was extremely dusty and uninspiring, and we ended up going back to the train station, where we tried to see if we could catch an earlier train back to Brasov. The ticket lady said no, and we ended up sitting in the shadow of the Carpathians and talking about life while waiting for our train. The passengers on the trens would wave at us as they chugged into the station.

A Romanian post box

One of the trains that called in was bound for the land of the Magyars, the sworn enemies of Romania. To this day, most of Transylvania is populated by Hungarians, and the people there speak Hungarian as their first language – according to wikipedia (I know I’m losing my credibility here), the people there identify more with Magyar than they do Romania. I wish I was going to Budapest, but I couldn’t fit it into this trip.

Wish I was going there with you..

When we returned to Brasov, we went to a restaurant on the old city square for dinner. Travelling always makes me so hungry. Food was splendid, as always – I’ve come to expect nothing but the very best from yon vamps. I wonder why Romanian food is so underrated? Every time I tell their people that they serve the best food ever, I get incredulous looks much like the ones we get when we tell them we’re here for the tourism. Children dancing and twirling, the sound of music and laughter, the smell of wine and love wafting on the light summer breeze. Every night, they have a public screening of some recent film. I forgot which one was scheduled for this particular day, but I do remember that the day after was The Grand Budapest Hotel, since Joanne wouldn’t shut up about it (I hope she doesn’t read this).

I know this post isn’t as witty as the previous ones. The bird and bush of my mind have been sucked dry by my dissertation, which I’ve been working on for the whole day.

To be continued..

 

The gorgeous city square