A Few Weeks in Paris Does Not Make a Criminal, Book, Guilt-Free Daughter, or Good Blogger

Late afternoon, Hôtel de Ville and the Seine, Paris

Paris

Tomorrow morning, Clive and I leave Paris for New York, to spend a few weeks, including that most wonderful of U.S. holidays, Thanksgiving, with my family.

By the time we end this trip in early December, we will have spent close to a total of six weeks in Paris. I am so far behind with my blogging it’s not funny, still posting about our time in England a few weeks ago. It’s only thanks to Anne in Oxfordshire, who is still posting about her trip to Paris, that I haven’t despaired completely. We both find it amusing that I am here and she is there but I’m posting about there and she is posting about here.

As has happened for the past fifteen years, ever since I first moved to Australia, I feel more and more stress the closer I get to returning to New Jersey. I haven’t quite learned how to remain a grown-up when I return to the place of my childhood. The slightest query from either of my parents along the lines of ‘Do you think you’ll ever move back to the United States?’ fills me instantly with sadness and guilt. If I were in their shoes I’d ask the same question. What aging parent wouldn’t want to know what their child/ren are thinking in terms of life plans?

On this trip to Paris I happened to read two books in which the author and/or lead character has a mother in a nursing home. I wondered if the Universe was trying to tell me something. In Patricia Hampl’s memoir, ‘The Florist’s Daughter‘, the author writes about visiting her mother every day, even after her mother’s Alzheimer’s progressed to the point where she was unaware how often she saw her daughter. In Susan Breen’s novel ‘The Fiction Class’, the lead character visits her mother once a week.

Promenade d'Australie, Quai de Branly, Paris

I cannot do this from Sydney, Australia. Yes, when I visit my mother, I see her every day, but that’s only for a few weeks at a time. Last year we spent a total of three months in New Jersey, but that was an exceptional situation due to her move to assisted living and the need to empty and sell her house. I’m still wrestling with how often and how long to spend there and I’ve come to realise there is no pat answer other than, ‘It depends’ and will change every time based on everyone’s health and circumstances.

Which leads me to other factors, such as my desire to write a book and spend more time in Paris.

So. We have just spent a little more than three weeks here and I have written some, read some, walked quite a bit, and cherished the time Clive and I have had together, just living a daily life in Paris. For me, this is heaven, dog doo and occasionally crazy French service people notwithstanding.

But I found I was repeatedly questioning myself, in a critical, judgmental tone, ‘So, Carolyn, why aren’t you in New Jersey?’ Sometimes I answered myself rather bluntly, saying, ‘If you wait until elderly parents die before you [insert something that's been a dream of yours forever], then you may never get there because these days people can live a long time.’

‘Well,’ I challenge myself again, ‘that’s all well and good but we are talking about your mother, the woman who raised you and your brother Rob after your father left, the one person on this earth who has always been there for you, the person you always called first, when you were over the moon with happiness (such as when you found out you were pregnant), or when you thought you couldn’t cope (such as when your husband died). And there you sit in Paris while you could be visiting her in New Jersey?’

And this is where I reply — perhaps lamely, although I have given it a lot of thought — ‘Yes. I have spent the past three weeks in Paris. Tomorrow I’m going to see my mother.’

I try to be positive on this blog and in my mind. I tell myself: some people spend months or years travelling the world. They leave parents, children, and grandchildren behind in order to — finally, after decades of working for others — pursue lifelong dreams and goals.

Spending time in Paris does not make me a criminal. I know this. I know about family globalisation and that this is part of being an ex-pat, loving people and countries in addition to those of my origin.

Don’t you just wish sometimes that life was easy and you could do everything? Wouldn’t it be great if we could physically be with everyone we loved at the same time, while pursuing hobbies and interests and travelling, too?

Ahhhhh well. That wouldn’t be real life, would it? We have to make choices. But there’s no harm in dreaming once in a while.

Back of Notre Dame and the Seine, Paris

Cheers and au revoir, Paris. We will be back.

John Constable Collection at Christchurch Mansion, Ipswich, Suffolk

Golding Constable's Kitchen Garden (1815) by John Constable

Ipswich, Suffolk, England

From repeated visits to Suffolk with Clive, I had become aware that Christchurch Mansion, located in the centre of Christchurch Park, houses a number of paintings by John Constable and fellow Suffolk artist Thomas Gainsborough.

Ever since our walk in Constable Country, I’d been interested to see the Christchurch Mansion paintings in person. We’d also walked around the grounds with Clive’s father when we were waiting for the start of the Ipswich to Felixstowe car rally, and he recommended the mansion for a taste of Ipswich history.

A Confession

Despite the popularity of grand old European houses, castles, and chateaux, I usually have a low tolerance for trekking through them. I know they’re historically important for many reasons, but I’m always much more eager to visit the gardens and walk around outside than to wander through yet another room full of stuff.

Having said that, I do appreciate those unexpected gems that pop up when you travel, and as it turned out — and as seems to be a pattern with my experiences in Suffolk — I fully enjoyed our visit to Christchurch Mansion.

An Unexpected Pleasure

Chhristchurch Mansion on a quiet afternoon

This particular old house is on the site of a priory founded in the 12th century, with much of the building that still stands today built in 1548-1550. There are many rooms to explore.

While I’m not a fan of ‘period clothing’ or ancient dining room furniture or kitchen implements — Clive said a huge linen press looked like a rack from medieval torture times — I was taken by a small room called the China and Glass Gallery, which had a beautiful collection of Lowestoft porcelain (made in Suffolk). Clive’s cousin’s wife’s favourite room was a children’s playroom with several large, elaborate dolls houses.

The Wolsey Art Gallery

Far and away my favourite part of the mansion was this modern, climate-controlled room, built especially for the artwork it contains.

I fell in love with two small Constable works, both painted in 1815, with views over the Suffolk landscape from his childhood home.

Golding Constable's Flower Garden (1815) by John Constable

I also loved that the Wolsey gallery has a quiet seating area, with books about the artists on display. We added one to our list, ‘Suffolk Artists 1750-1930′ by Chloe Bennett, who was a curator for Ipswich Borough Council Museums and Galleries.

It’s All Free

Surprising to me, considering what you find inside, entry to Christchurch Mansion is free.

You can see paintings by Constable, Gainsborough, and many other English artists, wander through a well-preserved historic house (if that’s your thing), admire porcelain, dolls houses, and medieval torture household tools, and before and/or after have a coffee in the courtyard cafe and take a walk outside in a beautiful park.

And if you’re really lucky, a local resident will point out Mabel the tawny owl.

Meeting Mabel in Christchurch Park, Ipswich, Suffolk

Mabel in her oak tree, Christchurch Park, Ipswich

Ipswich, Suffolk, England

Mabel is a tawny owl who lives in an oak tree at Christchurch Park. We ‘met’ her when we took a short break from all the running around you inevitably do when you’re visiting family and friends.

Ipswich is the county town of Suffolk, England, where Clive’s father still lives in the house where Clive was born. On a quiet weekday afternoon, we took a walk with Clive’s cousin and his wife in Christchurch Park in the centre of town.

Drinking fountain, Christchurch Park, Ipswich

Christchurch Park is in the Domesday Book (1086). Today it’s about 70 acres of lawns, footpaths, historic trees, and memorials. The park is on the English register of historic parks and gardens of special interest.

We were fascinated by a series of interconnected ponds which once formed a medieval water system; several are more than 900 years old. Today you see and hear ducks, geese, moorhen, and songbirds circling around.

Round Pond, Christchurch Park, Ipswich

Christchurch Park has a variety of habitats and impressive sweet chestnut trees, some 300-400 years old. We collected a couple more conkers for our collection.

Sweet chestnut trees, Christchurch Park, Ipswich

Numerous events take place here during the year, including the start of the annual Ipswich to Felixstowe Car Rally (in which Clive’s father, at age 89, completed his 30th consecutive year this past May).

Pre-rally gathering place, Christchurch Park, Ipswich

The park also has several buildings, including a new Visitor Centre and Christchurch Mansion, a gem which will be the subject of my next post.

As for Mabel, I’m not too familiar with owls so it was a treat when a man walking his dog pointed her out to us. Apparently she is a long-time resident of the park and somewhat of a local celebrity. She didn’t do much other than look at us with a wise expression, which I guess is what owls do.

You never know what you’ll see when you go for a walk. If you’re ever around Ipswich in Suffolk and want a lovely break, this is a wonderful place to walk, collect your thoughts, and maybe even exchange knowing looks with Mabel the tawny owl.

Felixstowe Rocks and Docks – Who Knew?

Landguard Point, Felixstowe

Felixstowe, Suffolk, England

There are some things in life you just can’t predict, such as which people or places will capture your heart.

As regular readers of this blog know, my partner, Clive, grew up in Felixstowe, a coastal town in the county of Suffolk, in England. Since our first visit there together in 2006, I have developed a deep affection for this place.

As the saying goes, who knew? Of course, the first reason I’m interested in Felixstowe is because it’s Clive’s place. It’s where he went to Langer Road Infants School, Maidstone Road Infants (after Langer was rendered inoperable by the devastating 1953 North Sea flood), Causton Primary, then Felixstowe Grammar; was active in the Bethesda Baptist youth group; rode his bike through the fields of Grange Farm to play with his friends at Fagbury Fort, worked summers on Searsons Farm in Trimley, and helped his mother and stepfather with their fruit and vegetable shop on Grange Road.

Rocks = Shingle Beaches

When Clive’s hard-working family took a summer vacation, they didn’t travel far. The family rented a beach hut right there in Felixstowe and after working in the morning, they spent afternoons at that most English of locations, the family seaside resort.

Felixstowe beach huts

Before meeting Clive, I never could have imagined — me, a (New) Jersey girl who grew up with white sandy beaches and now lives in Sydney, Australia, with really white, sandy beaches — falling in love with a place whose beach is a mix of imported sand (from the Thames estuary) and small rocks, or as Clive would correct me, shingle. The full term is a clean shingle beach.

Close-up of shingle beach, Felixstowe

It’s been a slow process, adjusting to shingle beaches (I wrote about the shingle beaches at Aldeburgh in ‘Walking in Suffolk, Part 3: A Musical Influcence’). But somewhere along the way, I’ve grown to accept and, to my surprise, even like them.

Clive and his Felixstowe friends describe how you ’smooth your towel’ over the stones so they perfectly fit your body as you settle down into the shingle. I still prefer a sandy beach, but on our walks now I usually pick up a few stones as souvenirs. There’s a certain beauty in their different colours and shapes, and they really are clean, thanks to their daily washing by the North Sea.

Several stones from Felixstowe Beach are now alongside the conkers on the mantle in Paris.

Shingle and conker souvenirs

Docks = the Port of Felixstowe

One of the short local walks we do in Felixstowe is around Landguard Point, starting on the Victorian-style beach side and ending at the state-of-the-art docks of Felixstowe port on the other. In between, there’s a nature reserve and sometimes a fierce wind; other times the sun shines and the water sparkles.

Nature reserve, Landguard Point

We’ve visited Landguard Fort before, site of the last opposed invasion of England in 1667, and still want to explore the Felixstowe Museum, housed in a submarine mining building at Landguard Point.

I always find it amazing, to round the point and come upon the old fort and the modern docks all within metres of each other.

Docks in view, Felixstowe

That Funny Thing that Happens

Isn’t it a funny sometimes, when:
1. You’ve never heard of a person, place or thing;
2. Someone mentions it or your read about it;
3. Then it seems you see or hear of it all the time.

On our first date, Clive told me he grew up in Felixstowe, a place I’d never heard of. A couple days later, on a business trip to Singapore, I turned on CNN Asia in my hotel room to find a report about — you guessed it — Felixstowe, the busiest container port in England.

Two weeks ago, a good friend from Connecticut currently living in London took the train to Felixstowe (only 75 minutes from Liverpool Street Station) to spend the day with us. She’d never heard of Felixstowe before, either. A few days later, we received an e-mail saying she’d just been out with a group of professional people in London, one of whom owned a firm that develops software to manage international container shipping. One of his big clients was the Port of Felixstowe; they had a great chat about it.

Peaceful evening - crane at dock viewing area

I can’t say it was love at first sight. On my first visit to Felixstowe, I thought the trucks rumbling in and out of town on the A14 were somewhat unfortunate, as was so much port activity encroaching on what was once a quiet seaside resort. Fagbury Fort, Clive’s childhood playground, is now buried under the port’s concrete.

But I was taken from the start by Felixstowe’s location, on the Suffolk coast and between two rivers, the Deben and the Orwell. I had to admit the A14 provides a fast, direct link to and from the town. On repeated visits, I found myself more and more entranced by the fascinating, unique blend of peaceful English resort on one side, buzzing global transport on the other.

Felixstowe beach near Landguard Point

I love being by the sea; visiting quiet, rural areas; and experiencinng the vibrant, cutting-edge lifestyle of Shanghai, the city that for me most represents the unstoppable force of globalisation.

But I can’t think of anywhere else in the world, other than Felixstowe, where you can experience a healthy dose of all three on the same day: spend the morning walking across a meadow and visit an 1100 year-old church; eat lunch sitting on a bench at the edge of the North Sea; and finish the afternoon with a coffee from the kiosk at the docks, watching a delivery of containers unloaded from China Shipping Lines.

Sunset at dock viewing area, Felixstowe

There is much more to do in Felixstowe, let alone the rest of Suffolk. We made a few new discoveries this trip and I’ll try to post more about them soon.

  Wikipedia Felixstowe

Spot the Odd One Out

Breakfast in Paris 19 Oct. 2009

A Felixstowe Connection

Checking e-mail at the top of Wolsey Gardens, Felixstowe

St. Pancras Station, London

After two weeks in Clive’s hometown of Felixstowe, we’re en route back to Paris.

Due to our rental flat’s location between a high hill and the sea — the flat is on Undercliff Road and we learned some TV stations don’t work there, either — we had to go to other places, such as the top of Wolsey Gardens above the flat, to use our ‘3′ network Internet stick.

We saw a cool-looking new portable wireless device which the IT guru will investigate for our next trip. In the meantime, I’m hoping to post this from St. Pancras as we await our afternoon Eurostar.

Behind the flat and under the cliff, Felixstowe

We decided our limited connectivity was worth it, as a trade-off for being on the seafront. There you can walk on Felixstowe’s long promenade, “The Prom”, every day and go to sleep and wake up to the sound of North Sea waves breaking on the shore.

North from the balcony, Felixstowe seafront

The Felixstowe half-marathon took place on our first morning and we watched the start of the race from our balcony.

South from the balcony, start of Felixstowe half-marathon

In upcoming posts I’ll share a few photos and memories of a wonderful visit to Felixstowe and Suffolk, the English town and county that have, along with one of their native sons, so completely captured my heart.

C&C on the balcony, Felixstowe, Suffolk, England

An Eiffel Exhibit at Hôtel de Ville, Paris

Gustave Eiffel exhibit, Hôtel de Ville, Paris

Paris

Paris Hôtel de Ville, or City Hall, is a magnificent building in the centre of the city. Just walking by it is an experience, and even better, there are often excellent — and free — cultural exhibits inside.

Earlier this week, we went to one of the final days of ‘Gustave Eiffel, Le Magicien du Fer’ (Genius of Iron), marking the 120th birthday of his most famous creation.  The exhibit had been extended one month due to its popularity.

I really like the exhibits at Hôtel de Ville and highly recommend checking the schedule if you’re visiting Paris. The space is relatively small and you don’t have to spend a lot of time there, but the quality of the exhibits is always high. Last year we saw a controversial photographic display of Paris during the Nazi occupation, and recently there was an exhibit about Le petit Nicolas, a popular children’s series that has sold over 10 million copies in 30 countries.

Hôtel de Ville is across the street from my favourite Paris department store, BHV, another great place to visit. Hôtel de Ville has the Seine and Notre Dame on one side, the Marais and Centre Georges Pompidou on the other, so you can’t go wrong by checking it out.

We’re off early tomorrow on the Eurostar to England. My next post will be from the Suffolk coast.

Au revoir, Paris. We’ll see you again soon.

  Virtual Tour of Hôtel de Ville
  Hôtel de Ville official site

Paris Crowds and Conkers

Arc de Triomphe and the Champs-Élysées, Paris

Paris

In the spectacular weather of recent days, we’ve seen Paris both crowded and quiet.

On Sunday, families and tour groups alike walked on the Champs-Élysées, from the Arc de Triomphe to Place de la Concorde.

Place de la Concorde, Paris

As much as I adore the residential quartiers and smaller shopping streets of Paris, I’m equally impressed all over again every time we stop and look at the city’s historic monuments and squares.

Fountain at Place de la Concorde, Paris

Just a few steps west of Place de la Concorde, along the Seine, is Cours de la Reine, the Queen’s Way.  It’s an uncrowded, tree-lined path perfect for walking (both of us) and examining fallen horse chestnuts (Clive), which he used in his younger days to play conkers with his friends.

Cours de la Reine, Paris

Clive hasn’t taught me how to play conkers yet, but from the sound of it I don’t think I’d be very good at throwing my chestnut so hard it cracks someone else’s. I’m happy to just admire them sitting on the mantle.

Sunny Days in Paris

Paris, yesterday

Paris

Paris is beautiful every day, but as with most places, it’s even more special when temperatures are pleasant and the sun is shining.

We left Sydney on Wednesday, the day of the eerie red dust storm. Thanks to all who sent e-mails checking we were OK.

It turned out to be very lucky that our relatively inexpensive Singapore Airlines tickets required us to wake at 4am for a 5:30am taxi. Our plane had arrived in Sydney the night before so we were able to depart on time, in the midst of numerous cancellations and delays up and down the east coast of Australia.

The weather was truly bizarre. I’ve been in dust storms in Beijing but the intense orangey-red that permeated the sky and air in Sydney made it a bit freaky and scary. Clive’s grandson woke his parents and said, “The world’s turned red.” We were amazed to read in the news that by the following day the air quality was back to normal.

Singapore Airlines was up to its usual high standards and on the second flight, from Singapore to Paris, we had our first experience on an A380. I highly recommend it; it’s as quiet as all the reports said it is, the legroom in Economy class is excellent and the screens on each seat back are larger than any others we’ve seen.

Paris!

Palais de Chaillot, Paris

What do you do when you first arrive in Paris? Having been sitting on airplanes for over 22 hours, we decided to walk to the apartment from the Air France bus drop-off near the Arc de Triomphe. On the way, we stopped at a café for our first French breakfast. Clive got the usual: croissant, tartine (length of baguette spread with sweet butter) with confiture (jam), freshly-squeezed orange juice, and coffee.

It may have been 9am in Paris, but it was 5pm in Sydney and I couldn’t resist ordering a sandwich (on a baguette) paté avec cornichons (country paté with small pickles), with a short black coffee, of course. Yum!

Thus fortified, we completed the trek to the apartment, where Clive got the fiddly hot water heater going without too much drama and our TV cable and wirelesss Internet connections, which we had installed last trip, were working well. What more could anyone ask for, than to be in Paris, with all technology working, and all the offerings of the city just outside? Life doesn’t get much better than that.

All This and Sunshine, Too

We’re trying to take advantage of some brilliant early autumn weather by getting outside and walking as much as possible. This also helps minimise the effects of jet lag.

As always, I am thrilled to be here.

Cheers and more from Paris soon.

Clive under the Eiffel Tower

A Trip with a Difference

My first trip to Paris, age 25 (a few years ago)

Sydney

Clive and I are in trip mode once again, heading off next week to visit family in England and the U.S. and to spend some ‘just us’ time in Paris.

Earlier this year, I wrote a Passion for Travel series, in which I described a number of our travel tips and techniques, beginning with a master trip calendar and ending with coming home.

On our upcoming trip, for the first time ever, we’ll be spending a majority of our time – 56.76%, to be exact, or 42 of 74 nights — in Paris.

To put it mildly, I’m excited about this.

We’ll have eight days in Paris at each end of the trip, and a full 26 nights there in the middle. This will be the longest continuous time I’ll ever have spent in Paris. We’ve also planned about two weeks each in England and the U.S.

Leaving Sydney

How did life get to be so complicated? I know the issues of Family Globalisation and the conflicting emotions of being an ex-pat are experienced by thousands the world over, including many readers of this blog.

I feel so lucky to have both Sydney and Paris in my life. There are so many things I love about each city.  This winter in Sydney was beautiful – sunny and sparkling – although we were stressed for much of it because both of our mothers were in and out of hospital with serious health issues.

We have realised that in the current phase of our lives, our first priority is to travel for family. Then, within parameters such as birthdays, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, we plan as much ‘just us’ time as we feel comfortable doing. It’s always tricky, balancing the expectations of family spread across three continents; our genuine desire to see each of them as often as possible; and our wish to spend some couple time whilst away.

No choice is guilt-free or stress-free.  On this trip, we’ll be with Clive’s father for his 90th birthday in England and my mother and son for Thanksgiving in the U.S. Juggling is always required and this time we built our itinerary around these two events.

Airline Surveys and Preferences

Thanks to the global economic downturn and airline competition, we found excellent fares between Sydney and Paris on Singapore Airlines. Singapore is one of our absolute favourites (for more detail, see ‘A Passion for Travel, Part 8: Top Ten In-Flight Insights’).

We’re flying American Airlines, a Qantas One World partner, between Paris and New York, to visit my family in the U.S. It’s not a favourite airline but it’s reputable, the price was amazingly low since we booked well in advance, and we get Qantas frequent flyer points.

As reported in an ‘Economist’ article on April 6, 2009, airlines from Asia and the Pacific region were rated highest in an annual survey of global airlines in which 16 million travellers from over 95 countries participated. Number one was Cathay Pacific, followed by Singapore Airlines, Asiana Airlines, Qatar Airways, Emirates, Qantas, Etihad Airways, Air New Zealand, Malaysia Airlines, and Thai Airways.

Seatguru.com, a U.S.-based site we use for checking seat assignments (thanks to my son and Kim B. who both recommended this!) also conducted a survey of 1,600 flyers, published June 11, 2009. Seatguru’s survey respondents said major U.S. carriers serve the worst food and cited United, American, and US Airways as having the least comfortable economy-class seats and the rudest flight attendants. They also rated legroom very important, as it is to me and Clive.

For this trip, we’re trusting that since we’re flying Singapore Airlines all the way, we won’t have a repeat of ‘Asia 101: How Not to Get to Paris,’ which happened last September when we tried a Qantas / Air France combination and ended up taking 42 hours to get to Paris via Beijing. As much as I love visiting Beijing, I do not recommend it as a transit stop between Sydney and Paris.

What I Really Want to Do

I’m hoping that, in addition to our upcoming time in Paris being a holiday and the longest time we’ve ever spent away without family obligations, it will also be a time in which I can work on a writing project that’s close to my heart.

I know some of this blog’s readers are also keen writers, and I have shared some of my thoughts about writing in ‘Writing? You Need a Job’. I’ve begun working on a personal project related to times I’ve spent in Paris, and am looking forward to continuing this work in the weeks we spend there.

Speaking of writing, sometime while we’re away, I’m going to try to persuade Clive to write a guest post on a word that is avoided by many Americans but is in common usage around the rest of the world. Stay tuned.

I also hope to see some of my Paris blogger friends in person while we’re there.  I’ll be posting more from Paris soon.

Cheers and happy travels to everyone who may be taking a trip in the near future.

Related posts:
  A Passion for Travel – Series (All posts, Parts 1-11)
  Hungry Heart: Counting the Days in Paris