Which part of Corfu did you like Jude?
Wise after the event … 53% do not recommend the PP, 21 out of 57 reviews rate it as “terrible”!
No 16 on my list of 15 favourite towns and cities
PARIS
I formed a poor impression of it long ago, mostly the result of pictures looked at, books read and the sheer fear of trying to make myself understood on their terms, in their language. That is so entrenched that it can still surface at times, temporarily obliterating my real experience of the city in 2001, which was quite special.
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My high school knowledge of French wasn’t too bad but on first visit, while doing the Kombivan thing in 1975, I was too nervous to blurt it except in the villages where they think you’re sweet for trying.
My recall of the language was better than that of my three companions but I was also the most inhibited among us, so I would whisper the words to one of them and they’d say it. It got us pain, buerre, lait etc so we didn’t go hungry, but we did feel Paris was a little out of our league.
Had I known then what a couple of glasses of red could do, I wouldn’t have hesitated — in the words of David Brent, el vino did flow, and so did the words no worries at all when I met a friendly African at a cafe one night.
But generally …
the cliches, the overkill; Paris to me had been overpromoted by so many artists and photographers last century that I was a little sick of it before I even went there, with its black and white lovers, noirish settings, dainty Chanel and Audrey Hepburn types and the tacky Moulin Rouge.
And was it acceptable to even be alone there and not entwined with a lover or else degrading yourself with booze and low-lifes?
Paris is No 16 on my list of 15 favourite towns and cities because my own idea of it was so overshadowed by all this and the accordion music plus a loathing of Edith Piaf.
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In 1984 I saw the seedy side, much like what a lot of migrant artists from the east might have experienced, and still would.
The hotel recommended by well-meaning family friends turned out to be dark, dank and depressing, with loud brown patterned wallpaper that threatened to close in on us at night.
It was out in the sticks too, so negotiating the confoundedly convoluted Metro was hard work, and we’d exhausted ourselves travelling Eurail for two months, often sleeping on trains. In fact my partner at this point practically puked at the sight of a train or railway station; he was sick of my demented timetable for “seeing everything”.
Had we stayed in Paris at the start of the trip, on the Left Bank, in a room with shutters and a small balcony, Paris might well be No 1 but as it was I had liked Salzburg, Bern, Munich, Lindauer, Innsbruck and almost everywhere in Italy better.
Paris for the musically curious
Count four cliches — but I want to mention the music here, because I associate Paris more with sound than the “sights”, and there is a place worth visiting that is maybe not on most itineraries. The Musee de la Musique, on the outskirts of the city, holds a large collection of instruments, some of them very rare, and you explore it as much by listening as looking. Your headset tunes into the instruments you walk towards; it is a real blast for the musically curious. However, the absolute high point of that trip, and one after which I could leave Paris with a contented look on my face, was a concert by one of my heroes, Goran Bregovic.
He performed in a packed theatre with his usual array of Roma, Bulgarians and a Polish ensemble — plus the audience, since they knew every nuance of the songs and couldn’t stop themselves singing. That night was electric! Everything went right in Paris in 2001, even though I didn’t have a lover.
Parisians were friendly and, more significantly, I was less anal-retentive about my language skills, having no-one to fall back on.
(That testing is also why I have often found solo travel hard but rewarding) I also connected with people in music stores and heard about great musicians; collected a bunch of recordings I still play frequently; and attended a concert of early music (my fav genre) at the Cluny Museum. Music seemed to be everywhere and none of it was the little sparrow, the old thank heaven for little girls or cheesy accordion players.
Love all the photos featured here
(Some images not for work, children or homophobes; some people will label them pornographic)
I had previously decided I had to meet him cos his drumming was BRILLIANT. So I walked round to the motel this afternoon and he was just getting up after getting home from a jam session/party/freak-out at 8 this morning. He’s a really cool guy and we talked and then went into town and wandered the streets awhile.
He’s all hair (Afro style) and wears this cool long black wool coat. Music’s everything.
I dig it totally. Got a cool book from the library called Turning On — about God, yoga, music, zen, mind, fantasies, nature, communes and of course acid and grass. Ordered The Female Eunuch too but it’ll be months before I get it.
Germaine Greer is to me one of the most brilliant people living today.
Just home from a party at C and M's
Tonight he talked and danced with me all night and took me home.
He’s a really cool guy. On my way to a promoter’s motel last night I was walking through the empty streets in my long hippie fun dress feeling free and happy and ran into a hippie holding a sleeping bag. He said did I know where he could get a bed (this was about quarter past 11). I suggested hotels and failing that the park, then he told me his life story.
I just want him to be happy. God, I love that guy. Read from The Prophet again. Our spirits are one at this moment.






