The Giza Pyramids

It is an early plane that takes me into Cairo, Egypt, Land of the Pharaohs. As we circle the landing strip, the view out my window is all dusty browns, as far as the eye can see. Cairo is a dirty, polluted city, and my sinuses seize up as soon as we get in. Known as Umm al-Dounia, or Mother of the World, there are 23 million Cairenes who live, work, play and dream in this tightly packed, traffic choked city of old crumbling Renaissance buildings, dirty dusty 1930s apartment blocks and elegant Moorish facades. Five times a day the call of the azan rings out from the many slender spires of mosques that dot Cairo's winding streets. The city is a chaotic contradiction of old and new, ancient and modern.

Cairo by night; The Great and Second Pyramids

 The first night we take a bus tour of Cairo and Ahmed, our tour guide, brings us to a local fateer place. Egypt in many ways remind me of an older Malaysia. The shop is dirty, lit by neon bulbs, the chairs cracking plastic, the tables a cheap linoleum. There is little sign of the artificial sanitation of the Western world. The fateer, an unleavened kind of bread filled with a choice of mushroom, cheese, meat or vegetables, is delicious.

Our first real day in Cairo is spent exploring the noisy halls of the Egyptian Museum. It is a marketplace, filled to bursting with tour groups and their shouting guides (walkie talkies should be mandatory!), Egyptology students sitting in corners sketching one or two of the many ancient Egyptian treasures. The artefacts are beautiful, rich, varied. The museum is a hum of humanity, a waterfall of noise, heat and humidity. No photos are allowed in the Museum, but suffice to say that Tut's treasures are really all that they are hyped up to be. Tutankahamun was a relatively unimportant pharaoh, a boy king who ruled for just nine years. What would the treasure trove of great pharaohs like Seti I and Ramses II have been like? The imagination staggers, fails, to envisage it.

Tut's death mask is undoubtedly the highlight of the entire collection, all 14 kilograms of it, resplendent in lapis lazuli and pure gold. There are also the four gold gilded wooden sarcophagi, nestled one in the other like giant babushka dolls. It was in the innermost sarcophagus that Tutankhamen's solid gold coffin was found, and inside, the boy king himself. there are other treasures in the Egyptian Museum - scarab beetles carved from all sorts of material, burial beds, canopic jars with the heads of the gods carved as stoppers. Awesome statuary line the lower halls of the Museum, Pharaohs in red granite, black granite and sphinxes in limestone, engraved with royal cartouches.

The Sphinx 

We head to the Giza Plateau for the Pyramids and the Sphinx. The Great Pyramid, owned by Cheops, is so big and breathtaking that up close, its sheer mass and height render it almost one-dimensional. Yan and I clamber up a few steps up on the great stones. Bereft of their limestone covering save the cap that survives on the Second Pyramid, the Giza Pyramids would been wondrous in their day, glittering a brilliant white in the desert heat. We clamber into the musty depths of the Second Pyramid, pay our respects to the Sphinx, carved out of one giant piece of limestone and depicting Khafren, owner of the Second Pyramid. Napolean knocked off his nose when he came a-conquering, to prove to the locals that the Sphinx was not, as believed, a god.

The Pyramids render me speechless. Their size confounds the imagination - to think that mere humanity erected such a monument to the gods and to their king, still standing after 5,000 years, is a humbling reminder of the greatness that belief and willpower can attain. Contrary to popular opinion, the pyramids were not erected by slaves; they were built by the fellaheen, the farmers of Ancient Egypt. During the Inundation, when the Nile flooded its banks, they flocked to the West Bank of the Nile and were paid by the pharaoh in food for their labour. Pharaohs started their pyramids early, as soon as they ascended the throne. More than just a tomb, their pyramids were to give them shelter for the rest of their eternal life, and it was imperative that they completed it before their death in this world.

Chilling in a cafe in Aswan; shops in the bazaar

Bound for Aswan that night, we cosy down in our 5 star, Egyptian style, sleeper train. We have: flat beds big enough (for us) to stretch out in, our own sink, lockable doors and access to (relatively) clean toilets. The train lurches, jerks and jolts through the night. I wake up early enough to see sunrise and watch as platforms whiz by. We pass fields of sugarcane, donkeys carrying produce and people, the slender spires of minarets,; we pass turbaned, wizened old men and running, laughing children. Aswan is the southernmost town of Egypt and extremely Nubian in character. The town is laidback, with a wide, modernised bazaar. The heat, in the afternoon, is unbearable and the dust chokes us. We seek refuge in a cafe and order Cokes for the sugar rush and to cool us both down.

 

View from a bus; Horus at the feet of Ramses II

Our next wake up call is at 2am for Abu Simbel the next morning. Travelling in military convoy, we watch a desert sunrise and the long, dark grey ribbon of tarmac unravel through an ochre desert. The two temples at Abu Simbel is a wonder of architecture, both ancient and modern. Carved out from a mountain side on the orders of Ramses II, this is a temple to the sun and on two days each year, the rising sun reaches far into the holy of holies to touch the gold gilt and painted statues of 3 out of 4 seated gods - Ra-Horakhty, Amun Ra, and Ramses himself. The fourth statue, Ptah, sits always in darkness as the god is associated with the underworld. The entire temple (as well as Nefertari's temple next door) was relocated upwards away from Lake Nasser when the High Dam was built, cost a cool USD$40m and relied on an international cast of thousands of engineers and archaeologists.

The Great Temple, Abu Simbel

IM Pei's pyramid & the Louvre

Over cupcakes at Hummingbird at Notting Hill, Debs and I hatched a dastardly plan. We would, we decided, skip over the Channel for a cheeky lunch in the City of Light. Perhaps go shopping. Perhaps eat pastries. Be back by dinner time, with no one the wiser. The world was ours, or Paris, at least, was.

With tickets bought we met at St Pancras at an unholy time in the morning and within hours were walking south from the Gare du Nord towards the Marais. Prior discussion had resulted in a plan of attack that included exploring the shops of this quarter, then having lunch at a local brasserie. The day was cloudy as we set off towards the Seine, but it cleared up soon after. Paris was just waking up as we threaded our way to our destination. Our journey was long and arduous - only because of the constant pit stops we were making to patisseries and boulangeries on the way for croissants, pain aux chocolats and pain aux raisins - it's a hard life breakfasting in Paris!

Cafe culture; autumn leaves & postcards; The Eiffel Tower; shops in the Marais

We made for the Place des Vosges first, an oasis of trees and empty space. Finally at the Marais, we stopped for some people watching and tourist guessing at a cafe on rue de Turenne (the street of the tureen, perhaps?). There were warm braziers at our backs and the theatre of a Parisien side street on display and we had first row seats. The Marais is the Jewish quarter of Paris and we saw a few very well dressed couples head off to the synagogue. It is a quaint, old area, filled with designer (and very expensive!) shops, traditional Jewish bakeries and here and there, bead shops, vintage clothing, bookshops and restaurants.

The facade of the Pompidou Centre

The prices and the decidedly lacklustre sterling at the moment were completely prohibitive, so aside from a few crumbs on our shirts neither Debs nor I had anything to show for our purchases in the Marais. We headed down towards the river, passing the Pompidou Centre on our way. I'd wanted to see this building on my first visit to Paris so it feels utterly divine and pre-ordained to literally stumble on it, all unawares, on this trip. As we head down we finally see the Ille St Louis and glimpse, in the far distance, the tiny silhouette of the Eiffel. Along the quai we walk past the petshops and flower shops, past the postcard sellers and the vendors with their mountains of kitsch Eiffel keychains.

At the Louvre; cafe au lait in Paris; the Seine and the Ille St Louis; Marais streets

At the Louvre we pause for breath and photographs. The sky is a rich, happy blue and we search for the orange awning of Le Fumoir, where artists, writers and the glitterati gather to partake in nourishment. Grey and earth tones dominant inside, casual and chic at the same time. In the far back is a dining room lined with books where happy diners sit and chat. We plump for a sun filled spot by the window, only to be told the table is reserved for others more important than us. Unwilling to cause a scene in a foreign language (less of an ability to argue well) we resit ourselves in the main area.

The insides of Le Fumoir; looking down the Champs towards the Arc du Triomphe

The prix fixe menu has salmon and salad and delicious sounding desserts. I order mushroom ravioli in beef consomme to start and the salmon as my main. The food is perfectly nuanced and after a hard day's tramp, much appreciated. Service is quick, quiet and calm and all around us are friends catching up, families lunching and business busily in the process of being conducted.

At Laduree and Fauchon

Feeling happy and expansive, Debs and I roll our way back down through the Louvre and scuff our shoes through the sunny Tuileries, then hang a right towards the Pantheon. At Laduree I point at the long, ridiculous line and ask "a emporter?" incredulously. The host says "yes, to take away" and Debs and I slink away to Fauchon instead where the line is shorter and the macarons just as good. It is difficult to say no to the beautiful concoctions of sugar and spice and all things nice and we end up with a few bags each of delicious nommable delights, then a quick hop back to the Seine and on the Metro to catch our train back to London. 

Au revoir, Paris, I'll see you at Christmas.

The Gare de Lille Flandres, Lille's older, smaller train station.

The train into Lille pulls away from St Pancras mid morning. Jo and I are heading into the French/Flemish town for a day - the city is France's fourth largest, once a hub of textile manufacturing and known as the "Manchester of France." In actual fact it was neither Lille's size nor history that drew us - the cheap Eurostar tickets did the trick!

With only a day to spend in Lille and no plans or expectations, no guidebook or map, Jo and I wandered around Gare de Lille Europe for the first fifteen minutes or so, trying to orient ourselves. The first stop was the giant shopping mall - Euroville, across a large public space from the station. There is a hypermarche, a hulking Carrefour filled with good things like cheeses and hams, and a flurry of high street European brands.

 Flemish/Dutch/French buildings in Lille
The Opera House and Chamber of Commerce
Paul the bakery is everywhere in Lille! Art Deco facade

We head into the centre of Lille, stopping along the way at the Vielle Bourse, Lille's old trading exchange house. It's beautifully restored and there is a book fair in its grounds on the day we are there. The light in Lille is soft and beautiful, diffused and clear at the same time. We finally stop for lunch at a touristy restaurant along the Grand Place, a noisy, traffic filled square that is filled with a civic event in the afternoon that we visit.

First glimpse into Vielle Bourse; books for sale


Inside the Vielle Bourse; the facade



The rue de la Monnaie; the outside of the Musee l'Hospice de Comtesse.

Lille's architecture displays none of the 16th, 17th century grandiose flamboyance of Parisien buildings. Instead, mixed in with the ornate curves of beautiful roccoco are the unmistakably Flemish/Dutch influences of stepped and bell gables. The Flemish duchy was lost somewhere in the 19th century in the midst of the power struggles of the Dutch, French and even the Spanish, whose reign extended this far in its heyday. However the culture survives, and in homage to Lille's cultural ties we order Belgian beer and mussels for lunch while sitting al fresco at the Grand Place.

It is a clear, sunny autumn day and every vista we come across while wandering the cobblestones of Old Lille is drenched in that light. We head (by chance wandering) for the oldest street in Lille, a 13th century, twisty masterpiece called rue de la Monnaie. Here is the Musee l'Hospice de Comtesse, an old 16th century hospice founded by the Countess of Flanders, now a museum. Lille also has the Palais de Beaux Arts, second only in size to the Louvre, but our day is too short and the weather too fine to be wandering around dusty galleries looking at Old Masters, so we choose to explore the shops instead.

Mussels for lunch; Pierre Hermand macaron shop; going for a stroll in the streets of Lille; decaying facade of a building; blue shutters - Lille is filled with quaint views like these; turkish delight in the glass jars at Meert

There is a divine, be-chandeliered patisserie which has queues forming for its Marvellous, a chocolate shavings coated concoction of whipped cream set on a crumbly, light meringue. The combination of textures is what makes this work. The shop's other best seller is the Incredible, similar to the first, but without chocolate shavings. By a shop window, a woman lingers. The awning say "Macarons" and I drag Jo over for a divine pink, rose flavoured and purple, passion fruit flavoured, mouthful of heaven. I stop at one (so difficult when it comes to macarons!) because I intend to visit Laduree this Saturday in Paris and indulge there instead.

The crowds milling outside of Meert - clearly a favourite with everyone; cheeky taste test

Later on we stumble on Meert, a 16th century tea house with divine interiors. Marble topped counters, old fashioned sweet jars, chocolates displayed in glass cases, wooden shelfs, painted ceiling panels, old fashion telephones, a besuited door attendant - Jo and I were literally reduced to kids in a candy store. The French certainly know how to turn everything into beauty and art and ritual.

Works of delicious art

We arrive back in London tired out after two hours on a train filled with tired, misbehaving children from Euro Disneyland - there is nothing quite as effective as two hours on a train filled with children and bad parents for birth control. Quoth a young couple sitting near us as they got off the train, "promise me we're not having children for another at least twenty years!" Funny in retrospect but hellish in the moment.

Hopefully the train ride to and from Paris this Saturday will be more child-free. Au revoir!

The Aux Merveilleaux de Fred patisserie where we purchased a Marvellous

It feels like it has been busy, of late. I'm not sure exactly what my time is filled up with - propeller fuel, perhaps, or nitro - but the days have flown by and I don't know what I've put into them. I've started Spanish classes again. The group is larger than the one I had last year, but the teacher is very good and I am (fingers crossed!) improving both with speaking and understanding the language. 

My friend Jezz is swimming the English Channel "just because." Apparently this is a good enough reason for him, but to convince the rest of us he's not just insane but also a good guy, he's thrown in some extra just causes - he's also doing it to raise money for the Royal National Lifeboat Institute here in the UK and the Australian Royal Volunteer Coastal Patrol. These organisations safeguard the love of my life - the beaches of Australia and the not-as-amazing-but-still-worthy-because-it's-the-only-thing-the-Brits-have-beaches in the UK, so these are causes that I have a personal vested interest in.