Missing a little bit of les frogs

Les Printemps aux chateaux, les fleurs , le nouveau, l'esprit, pour vivre, un coup du cœur, l'amour.

29.02.2012 - the day everything changed

As many of would know, life has been abit of a whirlwind since the beginning of 2012. 2012, a remarkable year thus far, with an abundance of events and anecdotes in life (both large and small), to be very thankful for.

After struggling to manage a long distance relationship for 6 long years, commuting first 10,000km twice a year, then 500km once a month for the last 5 years, I am happy to announce that we are finally pressing the pause button on this commute. This also means that we have had to make a move from cities that we both love, to begin, what I hope will be a new life together.

So just before I get too comfortable in my new passenger's seat, I decided to dig up some fond memories of farewells and endearing moments of this place that's helped me grow up, and of the city I've grown to love.

The final 7 days

Ba Shan in Soho - just about my favourite place for Chinese, when I arrived for my 'last supper', the serving lady asked me for the first time if  I had been to Ba Shan before. I laughed and joked with her about how i've been frequenting the joint for the last few years but I'm being asked this question ironically, on my last night in London. There is never a dull moment in this place.

And if anyone can tell me why the flags and banners with slogans from Maos have arabic inscriptions and what they say, your next dinner at Ba Shan is on me.

"C" for Coven and City Caphe

A 24 hour trip to Haarlam to witness a beautiful ceremony in a glasshouse by the lake.

Two failed attempts on a work day, but finally, a little peak into the eccentric Lucien Freud at the National Portrait Gallery.

The Big Easter Egg Hunt in Covent Garden this year, happily toppling over outside Kate Spade.

The beautiful Osseau region of the Pyrenees - of Osseau Iraty fame (to me at least).

Gourette - Skiing and beautiful huskies snoozing about after a morning of dog sledding duties.

Into the future

Sometimes when you look out of the sky, you marvel at the beauty of nature-- big strokes of rich and princely colors cross the skies on an evening like this, teasing and beckoning me to my love in the castles of the kings. I drag a heavy suitcase of worldly possessions hurriedly down the stairs of montparnasse and skip onto the bullet train to a new beginning. On Friday 27 Jan 2012, we got pacsed.

Autumn in Paris

:: En ce temps-là, la vie était plus belle :: 

Paris, 26-30 October 2011

 

Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi

 Mais mon amour silencieux et fidèle

Sourit toujours et remercie la vie.

Sur La Loire

This summer has been long drawn out. I haven't been out of the city since June and have been in a little state of ennui, hence the lack of updates.

London, with its usual (un)ladylike temperant blowing hot and cold, sunny one day, and stormy the next, oh how I long for the sun!  On that note, I was really happy to spend a long weekend in sunny Tours.

The route to St Pierre des Corps was comfortable, serene and peaceful. No harrassed counter staff, no sprinting for airplanes, no turbulence. 

I managed to catch up on my reading and finally finished Fuschia Dunlop's Sharksfin and Szechuan Pepper, a travelogue of a british lady who made her way through China. Stepping out in Tours, a heatwave hit me. 32 degrees! Wow, I haven't had that since I was back in Singapore during CNY!

We took advantage of the lovely weather to hang out in the sun with family, having a picnic, taking a ride on the boat, and dipping our feet into the cold rushing stream of the Loire.

We were on Ile de Simon and there was small sand strip where people were sun bathing and a man fishing in his bathing suit admist the shallow waters.

There they are, mother and son having a little bonding time against the beautiful greenery of the Loire Valley.

Pont Wilson, the main bridge that connects the North and the South of the city, one that we've crossed a hundred times in the last 5 years.

The Loire Valley, very well known for their cheeses and in particular goat's cheese, as well as their charcuterie finds its best in a cave a vins in the centre of Tours which produces an impeccable list of wines, fabulous cheeses and home made rillet. The owners of the restaurant are friendly and patient as they help select an appropriate wine and take time to explain each cheese on your plate. I know Mr Mo has spent many an evening in this restaurant.

^^ Cheese to be consumed in a clockwise fashion.

We also spent time wandering about the streets of the old town, as we have done so, many times over. That said, I am constantly surprised by new sites, and structures that i've overlooked.

Tudor like structures...

Majestic old mansions....

All hidden in this gem of a city.

And my favourite bit of all, taking in abit of sunshine and the last of summer as the boat laps lazily across the river.

La fête nationale

In light of Bastille Day this coming Thursday, a little group of us trooped up to our local pub, the Charles Lamb for some french festivities.

Petanque, pastis, st germain, rillet, cassoulet and all things french but yummy, we lazed about in the sun with Masha the dog, and some very embarassing boules skills.

New words learnt:

To fanny (mettre fanny)

To beat one's opponents 13 to 0. The figure of a bare-bottomed lass named Fanny is ubiquitous in Provence wherever pétanque is played. It is traditional that when a player loses 13 to 0 it is said that “il est fanny” (he's fanny) or “il a fait fanny” (he made fanny), and that he has to kiss the bottom of a girl called Fanny. Since there is rarely an obliging Fanny's behind handy, there is usually a substitute picture, woodcarving or pottery so that Fanny’s bottom is available. More often, the team which made "fanny" has to offer a beverage to the winning team (see the French popular expression "Fanny paie à boire !").

Merci wikipedia. ;)

Have you found your beret yet?

The end of Q2 183/365

 

May 2010

So today marks the end of the first half of the year. Every year, we ask ourselves, where has it gone? 

I've let the blog go quiet for the last month or so, I had been juggling exams and grappling with some personal issues.

I received, what some would deem as 'life changing' news about 6 weeks ago, the day before my last entry. The episode is finally over, and has been for over a week. Decisions were made, life went on, and here I am, quite the same - only with the hindsight realisation that perhaps in life,

....every issue is only as big as you make it out to be.
....every problem is only as insurmountable as you would believe it to be.
....every pang of guilt is only as painful as you allow it to be.

Most importantly, every day can only be as happy, as you would want it to be. With pleasure of time, all sorrows will pass, and all scars will heal. Shakespeare was right you see, 'to be or not to be', that really is the true question. I wish you all well in Q3.

Dran @ marks and stencils 90/365

 

Monday blues 73/365

Bercy Village 13/3/11

Some days, I think certain things are better left unsaid.

Nippon 69-72/365

I have been rather tardy with posts of late but that's due to a harrowing cough and flu that I have been nursing for two weeks (which took a nice old turn for the worse over the weekend). That said, the weekend in Paris was lovely, though a rather grim one what with the news of the catastrophe in Japan.

On Saturday, we took a little walk through the gardens near Pyrenees where flowers have already started their spring revival. We passed a cherry blossom tree struggling to sprout, its branches rousing from deep winter slumber, its leaves receiving its first rays of spring, and little blossoms spawning their way into bloom. I thought a little sadly of their home country which is struggling to cope with its biggest disaster since World War II, and of the frightening force of Mother Nature. As with all the beauty that it bestows on this planet, it takes away in just a split moment with all its wrath and fury.

So while their sisters flourish amidst the March showers of Paris this weekend, this spring is one that Japan's cherry blossoms might never see.

24/365 reporters San frontieres 3- le premiere et derniere de YSL

YSL preparing for his first show - by Pierre Boulat

YSL preparing for his last show before his death - by Alexandra Boulat

23/365 reporters sans frontiers 2 - Pierre Boulat (Pere)

My two favourite photos from the weekend's exhibition.

Le premier verre de lait de Jean-Pierre (1953)

Jean-Pierre's first glass of milk.

This looks like the perfect 'Got Milk' advertisement !

Le premier jour, face a face d'une nouvelle recrue avec son capitaine instructeur

"tu as un mois pour perdre ton double menton"..."Yes Sir!"

On the first day, a new recruit faces his captain who says ' you have one month to lose your double chin'...

22/365 reporters sans frontieres 1 - alexandra boulat

Macedonian Refugee Camp, April 1999

Civil Serbes apres la chuts de Vukovar, Croatie, November 1991

This was the most striking of all. Nothing particularly scary or foreboding, but just really beautiful. Of the 100 photos in the gallery, this particular one drew both Mr Mo and myself like moths to a flame.

This exhibition was the 100 photos of Alexandra Boulat and her father Pierre Boulat.

Black and white photos taken by Senior Boulat of the WWII, the independence of algeria, telling of how much the world went through during those dark periods, and then the subsequent transformation of the new world, the nouveau riche post war recovery. 

His collection of sober military photographs were contrasted against those of YSL, truman capote, cigars, edith piaf, laughing couples and lots of luxurious furry coats - the lure of bright lights and the big city, surely those were the golden years of the 1900s.

His daughter Alexandra Boulat is what we know as the modern day photo journalist. Her very gripping selection spanned across war torn countries just like her father but on a much more international scale, from the fall of the soviet bloc, the warring states in the middle east and the consequence of war, death and destruction. There were also a few highlights of laughing faces from amidst folk that the modern society left behind, and the most memorable ones were those of the Berberes in the Atlas Mountains.

Pierre Boulat had a cheeky and humourous edge to alot of his photographs, many of which were sombre, slightly ecletic but somewhat funny (in the woody allen way). His camera skills were nothing short of marvelous. Every snapshot was, as cliche as it sounds, picture perfect. Alexandra on the other hand shoots some very startling photos, and each one lingers on your mind, and you don't know it yet, but each face, each photo, it secretly haunts you. Each different picture evokes emotion, --indignance, shock, tranquility, lightheartedness, and perhaps sometimes joy, but mostly sadness.

 I'd highly recommend anyone who is a big photo buff (and who happens to be in paris) to visit this exhibition :)

Reporters Sans Frontieres

100 Photos de Pierre et Alexandra Boulat

until 27 February 2011

AccèsAvenue Winston Churchill, 75008 Paris
Hall Jacqueau au rez-de-chaussée du musée
Tél : 01 53 43 40 00

Berceuse

 

Hiver 2010

Songe après songe tu me manques
Et les pas ne disparaissent pas
Et jour après jour je songe
À courir très doucement vers toi
Mais toi tu ne me connais plus
Après ce temps je t'ai vraiment perdu
Et un seul ange à tes coté pendant que j'en oublie tes baisers

http://lyricstranslate.com

The thing about france 12/365

Over Christmas, we visited Mr Mo's grandmother who now lives in a retirement home run by nuns, in Saintes. Some of you may know that Saintes is a Roman town in the southwest of france which sprouted in the 1st century. 'Saintes' somehow reminds me of the word 'saint' in english. Coupled with the fact that the town pivots about a magnificent Basilique, and that the retirement home overlooks a roman abbey, it is little surprise that this little town runs amok with some very traditional catholic families.

No, this post is not about religion, it is about tradition. The french tradition, to be precise. The four of us Mr Mo, his maman and Mamie Odette had lunch in Les Saveurs de l'Abbeye, a restaurant gastronomique which was situate right next door to the abbey. Food was simple, but exquisite. Soup served in coffee cups, tarte tartin served in what I can only believe was designed by a lopsided scandanavian glass blower. What intrigued me was that when we sat down, the table was set with plates, napkins, cutlery, and a very precariously balanced long stemmed vase. Very cute, but very dangerous when left in the likes of me or miss sotong.

After we'd ordered, the waiter sauntered round, and collected all the plates on the table. Unused! Mr Mo explained that the table needed to be 'dressed' and went on to explain table 'dressing' etiquette to me. At some point, Mr Mo recounted a story about getting his grandfather's pants up in a twist when he used to deliberately place his bread on the 'wrong' side of the table. 

Later in the week, when I glanced down at my plate after lunch, bread on the wrong side, fork misplaced, no one noticed anything was amiss, but I thought to myself, even though I will probably never really be propre enough, that is all part and parcel, and indeed something special about our cross cultural relationship.

That said, chopsticks please.

Merci beaucoup.

Nougat 2/365

Here's the friendliest face in Melle. :)

Happy new year from massif central 1/365

When you are old





Pere Lachaise Cemetery, Paris, 16 Oct 2010

When You are Old

WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace, 

And loved your beauty with love false or true;

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead,

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars

W.B. Yeats 1865

Lazy days of summer

Nantes, 11 Jul 2010

Do you ever marvel at nature's magnificence? Of parched grass and fallen cherries, les petites amies des fleurs dancing amongst the roses, a smokey barbeque, picking baby tomatoes off their mothership, hot sand beneath your feet, scorching sun teasing your skin, an ice cold swim in the atlantic ocean, a little nap in a hammock under the cherry tree...

the simple pleasures of summer, won't you please stay a little longer?

La mort et la vie

Pensez le matin que vous n'irez peut-etre pas jusques au soir et au soir que vous ni'rez peut-etre pas jusques au matin.