Sunday lunch

Yesterday we drove to the sea, me, Costas and Myrna, for a simple fish lunch at a simple taverna. It was a hot, sunny but windy day. We sat in the lee of the taverna's verandah with ice cold Keo beer, nibbles of tahini dowsed in golden-green olive oil, green cracked olives with garlic and coriander, taramasalata, hot pita breads and a glistening salad. Followed by giant grilled prawns, small fried red mullet, and piping hot salty proper chips.

After lunch we stopped at a small village which had made a park around a grove of ancient olive trees. Broad, sturdy, tortuous trunks, and branches still bearing fruit. How old? I don't know - there was no information but these were the grand old men of olive trees.

Costas and Myrna

These giant terracotta pots were used as storage jars in Greece and Cyprus.Now sadly they function mainly as garden decorations.

The diamante sea

The simple blue and wicker chairs of most tavernas.

Pere Lachaise Cemetery

My first day in Paris, I walked from Notre Dame to the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. It was a long walk through accidental streets and interesting corners. On the way I bought the obligatory baguette and bottle of water for half the price the vendors were selling them around Notre Dame. The streets I crossed were less Belle Paris and more Paris Ordinaire, with a definite increasing ethnic presence from Africa and North Africa. At last I reached the cemetery, which was quiet and had a steady small straggle of visitors.

I found myself a shady step at the feet of Faure to eat my baguette, drink my water and to smoke a leisurely cigarette. Refreshed I wandered off to find the grave of my hero during my intense teenage years, many moons ago. Along the way there were some lovely mausoleums, many dilapidated, others pristine.

It was obvious, like me, most were seeking out the grave of Jim Morrison. Middle-aged couples, younger couples, groups of solitary young men in black T-shirts and a slightly wild feel to them, and teenagers, pimply and in their own minds, probably dangerous. We oldies know that feeling and know how quickly it passes. There are graves of many great and good authors, artists and musicians spread throughout the vast cemetery, but unfortunately Jim’s grave is probably closer to the entrance so unless a visitor has a definite agenda these immortals get ignored. I confess I did the same because I was hot and tired and my camera battery was about to give out. Next time. Despite a plan at the entrance, Jim’s grave was difficult to find, everyone went in different directions.

Family tombs from an age when life was so much more serious and worthy. Inspiration for their architecture varied as did the influences for the tone of decoration. Greek classicism featured heavily.
Some of the statuary was striking – overblown or sombre in turn.

After much ambling and back tracking I found Morrison’s grave. It was virtually hidden, tucked behind other graves almost out of sight. I happened upon it accidentally. Spookily, just when I was sure I wouldn’t find it and could not face a trek back to the master plan, I heard the briefest snatch of the opening chords of Light My Fire. It was enough to convince me I was close. Was it Jim letting me know or merely some other fans nearby who were playing the song in tribute? The oddity was that it was so brief. I had heard that it was a bit of a circus around his grave, with graffiti and tokens left by enamoured pilgrims, but it seems the authorities had had enough and cleaned it up.

What interested me most was the Greek inscription which I had never heard or read being mentioned before. It reads KATA TON DAEMONA EAYTOY - which roughly translates as ‘against his own demons’. I wonder who chose it.

Start at the beginning - Faces & food of Paris.

Loved the guy polishing his shoes, before turning into a side street - I wonder where, or for whom, he was going.

At the cafe with the old lady and the Jewish man, a charming waiter taught me the correct way to order the coffee I wanted - une noisette - essentially an espresso with a little jug of milk. Perfect.

This little girl caught my eye as I watched her for 10 minutes at the bus stop and it was obvious she was bored. I can't imagine being bored in Paris, but I suppose at her age.....

These are a few glimpses of Paris.

This pic should have been with the one above!!

This lady was checking her daily order of fresh veges and fruit.

These women were accosting the tourists at the Eiffel Tower, offering letters to read, usually some story about needing medical help. But all quite business like, they would re-group every so often and then fan out again.


The black guys hawking cheap souvenirs were everywhere, everyday. How soul destroying it must be for them, who knows what their backgrounds and talents were but this is what they were reduced to. Amazingly, and thankfully, there seemed to be plenty willing to buy the cheap tat. One difference I noticed from the other Europen cities was that these guys did not sell much in the way of fake knock-offs of big brands. The French are very strict about it and it is even illegal to buy fake goods.

Read from the beginning!!

before the beef I had fois gras and Costas had snails served in a plate dimpled so that each snail sat in its own little nest.

Amazingly the toilet was all black with black toilet paper. And a bowl of black/gold fish. Spooky but atmospheric.

Food and Faces

Before food! After food! L'Escargot plate

This was at l'Escargot, a small lovely restaurant I had been to 10 years ago with a group of women friends when we went to Paris on a cheap coach trip and stayed in a flea-pit Ibis hotel.

That evening and this evening were both wonderful. The staff were so helpful, other customers engaged with us and the lovely blonde at the next table, when she saw the size of our rib of beef with Bearnaise sauce, suggested after we 'have a slow walk by the Seine and maybe a glass of champagne' to get over it. We had the walk but not the champagne as Costas got AF as we left the restaurant.

Now I know this is very awkward but in order to seperate the pics, I have to publish the posts bit by bit, which means reading backwards. Sorry, but I can't work this picture insertion out at all.

Food and Faces of Paris

Paris is made for eating and people watching. Unfortunately I am a crap photographer and my 'best' snaps are useless! But apart from my typical crusty baguettes in the Pere Lachaise cemetry (near Jim Morrison's grave, of course!) and in the park behind Notre Dame, Costas & I had some lovely meals and spent hours watching people, from cafes, restaurants, the top of the tourist bus. At the Trocadero, with a view of the golden lit Eiffel tower we sat at the Cafe Coq and ate salad, steaks and drank a fine bottle of wine.

Dr Sophie Savva, MB, MRCP

She passed, despite her worst feelings. So proud of her. Although I do think it was my cooking that clinched it!

Paris part 3

Another delightful place to go, and not far from the shop but on the Right Bank down a muddle of streets but relatively easy to find is the extraordinary Tea Emporium called Mariage Freres, which has a tearoom/restaurant as well. It is quite famous and sells hundreds, maybe thousands of teas, weighed out from large black enamel canisters, has all paraphenalia associated with tea and tea making, and sells extraordinary vanilla pods from Tahiti. The charming, liveried man who served me did so with grace and humour. I did indeed get me some of that. I went to the Bourg-Tibourg branch.


http://www.mariagefreres.com

Two very special places which together with the Musee d'Orsay made my few days in Paris so special.

Paris part 2

Paris in August

No doubt you will have seen a couple of my photos taken at the quirky English bookshop known as Shakespeare & Co.

It is a magical place of tumbling books, old mixed with new, narrow passageways, steep stairs, a sun filled reading room of books not for sale, battered old chairs to sit and browse, ragged photos of the literary Greats (some of whom have passed through the shop), tattered notices for jobs, accommodation, writing groups, lessons and simple thank yous for the experience.

It is a cornucopia of delights for all those who revel in books and thinking. I've attached a couple of links, one for the shop and one an article about it in the Times. It might give you a flavour. If anyone is passing through Paris, go there. It is directly opposite the square of Notre Dame on the Left Bank.

http://www.shakespeareandcompany.com

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article6795824.ece

Summer sojourn

After a month away, I am back in Cyprus.

In England I caught up with dear friends, my wonderful children and had the joy of speaking and thinking in English.

I started in Kingston, London with Allan and his wife, Michelle, a delicate doll from Taiwan. They took me to dinner at a very elegant hotel on the Thames. Bliss in the evening, light fading, boats on the river and swans parading. Great leafy trees framed every view and the food was complicated and marvellous.

After a couple of days Sophie drove down from Leicester to pick me up and take me back, where I was theoretically going to cook and keep house for her while she worked (in Kettering) and studied for the final part of her MRCP. I did do that, but her boyfriend Andy was very good about keeping the place straight and was happy to let me cook. Their new dog, Rio, a rescue dog is a joy and is I think a sign they have future plans.