The world and beyond - reflections of a dharma nomad

Arunachala

joyful_jo — Thu, 3 Mar 2011 22:25:00 GMT

We are in this lovely place in Tamil Nadu where many thousands of pilgrims come to walk around the mountain ( old volcanic plug) on the full moon. The place is full of Ramana Maharshi devotees, wearing white and generally very peaceful.There are also a lot of other 'gurus' advertising their special route to easy enlightenment which I wasn't interested in!

I have been walking up the hill early to listen to the monk(sadhu?) chanting in the ashram where Ramana lived, largely in silence for many years. There is a rocky path

which takes about thirty minutes through birdsong and distant traffic noise. The ashram is built out of a cave and the morning praise to Sri Ramana catches the amplification of the rocks and is truly wonderful. Then there is silence, then shuffling and you begin to notice the mosquitoes again. I have been reading various accounts of his life on this hill( said to be the body of Shiva) and becoming more and more impressed by this powerful landscape, full of stories of realisation.

Yesterday we joined in the mass circumnambulation with thousands of Indian devotees who walk barefoot for the 14km route and stop at many temples along the way to receive blessings. It is hard to convey the magic of this four hour walk, past many chai stalls, food sellers and temples. It is said to be the equivalent of walking around the whole world, and even more purifying than a dip in the Ganges. Certainly seeing this magic mountain from every angle was deeply inspiring and when we staggered back to our hotel and fell into bed we were also floating with joy.

Tomorrow we begin to head north, taking a two hour taxi ride to the

train station because we cant bear any more crazy bus journeys. First stop Mysore, then Bylekuppe to visit a large Tibetan settlement, then a brief sojourn in Goa (not the party beach!) before long train journeys back to Varanasi for teachings with Thrangu

Rinpoche - a revered senior teacher from Tibet.

Mamalapuram and Pondicherry

joyful_jo — Thu, 3 Mar 2011 22:09:00 GMT

We were planning to begin our adventures in Tamil Nadu with a quick visit to Mamalapuram to catch up with a friend and see the ocean and the World Heritage 6th century stone sculptures. However we should have been warned by the fact that our friend had already spent six weeks in this small touristique village. She arranged a room for us in her beachside guest house, and we were still there ten days later. I found a place to get daily physiotherapy in a rather dirty hospital, and the day was structured around morning walks on the beach, regular meals ( chapati and omelette for brunch, often Fish and chips for dinner!)at the same friendly cafe each day, and these visits to the ultrasound machine (never washed since the last customer which was hopefully me!)The ocean was too wild for swimming, with crashing waves and lethal rip tides. One young man drowned while we were there so the reality of the sign warning of 162 deaths in this area was brought home to us by distraught groups of his friends, and the keening of his family.

The main tourist street was lined with Kashmiri shops and constant invitation to look inside. Beyond this was the Indian town where we found the amazing sculptures and temples that the town is rightly famous for. The noise of stone chipping was everywhere and we were shown around one of the workshops where sculptures are still produced in the traditional way.

It was a gentle restorative time and we left by taxi having been warned of the horrors of the Tamil Nadu busses - racing madly along roads that can barely cope; quarter of the drivers have false licenses; standing room only; constant horn blowing and a scary death rate. Whereas our quiet cabbie dropped us in Pondicherry, a couple of hours down the coast, without incident. The town itself was noisy, dirty and full of French pastry shops and inflated prices. There is a nice promenade along the seafront which was fun for watching the locals and 1000's of Indian tourists. I spent a day in Auroville, an international community founded in the 50's, exploring this vision of progressive society which felt enormously dated.

Having had our fill of croissant and salad we risked the 'luxury bus' on the Tiruvannamalai...hot, noisy and dangerous but at least we had seats and arrived safely...

Amaravathi

joyful_jo — Thu, 3 Mar 2011 22:04:00 GMT

A few weeks ago we visited Amaravati- the largest stupa built in

India is now just a flat circle of bricks in a peaceful park. There

are some fine carvings in the little museum , but the best ones are

apparently in the British Museum! We settled under a tree to practice

as it was one of the few undisturbed places we have been. The only

other people there were pilgrims from Bhutan, chanting the Tripitaka;

and a friendly group of women from Lhasa who insisted on feeding us.

Two of them were 'secret nuns' dressed as laywomen because they would

be persecuted as nuns. They were six older woman and one young nun

from Kopan who was their guide and interpreter. There was such happiness as

they spoke of their two month pilgrimage: the two day bus journey over the Himalaya from Lhasa to Nepal witha drunken driver who kept extorting more money from the passengers; their precious time in Bodhgaya and Sarnath; their plans to go east to the biggest Tibetan colony to hear His Holiness teaching . We sat with them under the trees chewing on dried Yak cheese and almonds, chapati and bananas for a couple of hours, sharing stories and photos and joy.

Tibetan Monastery in the hills of Orissa

joyful_jo — Sun, 6 Feb 2011 22:03:00 GMT

Rigon Thupten monastery in Orissa is stunningly beautiful. It is three hours from the nearest train station, along terrible roads, up into the Eastern Ghats, past hot springs and through the 'jungle'. Despite the difficult journey to reach the Tibetan settlement it turned out to be a major tourist attraction- very popular with locals since HH Dalai Lama visited last year for the opening ceremony. This was widely televised, and people were intrigued by the return of Buddhism to their state. Orissa was central to a stronghold of Buddhist practice which stretched from Calcutta down through Andhra Pradesh to Amaravathi and other sites. It was a major centre for Vajrayana Buddhism, and there are many monastic ruins in the north of the state. Tibetan refugees were offered land in these hills 50 years ago, and there are now five 'camps' and about 2000 refugees who have made their home there.

We had the privilege to go to the upper storey shrine room to practice. The large and ornate main shrine room was busy with Indian tourists taking photos. The guest house was comfortable, with intermittent hot water and there was a canteen where a delightful Tibetan woman and her son cooked all our food. It was a magical place to practice and study for a few weeks before 'returning to India' to travel sleeper class on the train (no pillow and blankets provided:-)and explore the ruins of Amaravathi stupa.

View from an Indian train

joyful_jo — Sun, 6 Feb 2011 21:56:00 GMT

I am writing from our 2AC carriage ( two comfy bunks with sheets, blanket and a pillow provided) on the Bhubaneshwar Express, heading east towards the Orissan coast. The journey is scheduled to take 17 hours (only two hours late so far) and could be quite comfortable but with 12 people occupying the space 'intended' for 4 I am struggling to relax! I managed to protect my berth overnight despite a number of people sitting on my feet. There is a family of five in 2 beds opposite and three in berth above and now two extra women have appeared for breakfast. A great lesson in how Western and Indian ideas of personal space are totally different. Also you have to book months in advance to get a berth in the holiday season, so families just share the generous sized beds.
So now I am trying not to be tired and grumpy, writing this while plugged in to music, gazing out yellowed window at new landscape, slightly hilly with a few trees (unlike Bihar which was virtually deforested)
We are heading for a remote monastery up in the Eastern Ghats for the next stop in our pilgrimage. No trains reserved beyond that as they already seem to be fully booked...

Sponsoring a child in India

joyful_jo — Sun, 6 Feb 2011 21:45:00 GMT

Sponsoring a child in India is a totally humbling experience. For 7000 rupees, about 120€, it is possible to pay school fees and a uniform for a village child for a year.

This Sunday morning we walked with Dr Jain through the fields of newly planted wheat, with some potatoes and leeks, through a few small village settlements to visit Reshma, the girl my friend has sponsored. She is ten years old, with the brightest smile, and was keen to show us her home. Below a bedroom and courtyard with cutting machine. Upstairs grandpa was sleeping on the roof there is an open kichen area, with two more fairly large bedrooms and even a TV high on a shelf in one corner. All the village children poured upstairs to see what was going on. Our guide explained that they are all extended family. There are goats and a water buffalo outside. A boy brought hot buffalo milk, smoky and rich for us to drink.
All the sponsorship is arranged by the Sarnath Children's Education Project. They set up a preschool in this neighbourhood and forty little ones showed up. Now there are fifty five, in one small classroom which looked like a garage with no equipment. there is one extremely kind and gentle teacher. When they reach a certain level they graduate from these 'sprouting classes' into kindergarden. There the children dress smartly in blue uniforms and study Hindi, English, maths, moral studies, dance and music. and develop the confidence to speak in public. This warm-hearted community school, funded by general
donations, takes them up to Class 5.
The project also has nearly 300 sponsored children in other local schools, and altogether reaches about 1200 children in the neighbourhood. It is inspiring to see the difference it makes to many lives in this small area of India.

Day trip to Varanasi

joyful_jo — Sat, 1 Jan 2011 18:50:00 GMT

Morning tuk-tuk ride through dusty streets and busy vegetable markets.

Carts piled high with cauiliflowers, and fat chewy peas which we have

had often for dinner these days. Delicious Gobi Mattar. Four nervous

cows blocked the road, then one got its head under a truck and backed

off in serious alarm which caused a stampede uncomfortably close to

our open-sided vehicle.

Arriving in the old city we wandered down to the river, at last buying

one of the dayglo orange/yellow scarves that I have been admiring

since we arrived in India. Had a 3 rupee cup of tea from a disposable

clay cup ( guide book warns that chai wallahs near the river wash the

glasses with river water:-) Then we took a beautiful spacious boatride

along the famous ghats with our guide pointing out all the old

Maharaja palaces from each state along the banks. He also recognised

which state all the various boatloads of pilgrims were from. The

Ganges is the first water in the world. It sprang from the spot where

Shiva placed his trident.

Walking through the narrow streets beyond the burning ghats is

entering another world. No sense of direction, or order. How can so

many sweet shops make a living so close to one another? What do all

the wandering cows eat? Why do the men pee everywhere? And, more

urgently, where do women pee? Eventually we emerged onto a main

thoroughfare and spotted a 'smart' hotel- well it had a sign in

English, marble stairs and a reception area. The toilet had seen

better days but we were grateful to find one.

Then the luxury of a rickshaw ride, feeling like a moviestar as you

watch the sights go by and small children and shopkeepers wave and

call out to you. Delicious cashew nut curry with naan at a restaurant

catering to the variety of westerners in town and serving the best

apple cake we have found!

After a brief foray into the hippie shops of Assi ghat we took another

hair-raising rickshaw journey home to our Jain guest house in Sarnath

where we are so well looked after. Two buckets of hot water later we

sit on the roof drying our hair and reading.

Shambhala in Bodhgaya

joyful_jo — Sat, 1 Jan 2011 18:45:00 GMT

Twenty four Shambhalians arrived in Bodhgaya to practice Ngondro for a

month, joined by four more after two weeks. We had a guest house

arranged with breakfast and dinner provided and bicycles for the

intrepid who cycled into town past rice paddies and Vietnamese Temple and

increasingly crazy traffic. Five fearless French sangha had arrived a

week early to prepare the ground. They got permission for us to

practice at glorious Sechen monastery, home of Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche.

Our guest house was in a small village on the outskirts of Bodhgaya, amidst water buffalo, rice paddies, baby goats and naked children, near the golden-roofed temple where HH Karmapa was in residence.

We occupied a charming four-storey pink house with plenty of space for all of us, and a family of staff who looked after us: cooking, fixing the bikes and running the little shop selling clothes, shawls, toilet paper and beer.

We started our retreat with a lhasang on the roof. We even found a way to hang

the Shambhala flag which proclaimed our presence here for the month, and attracted two other Shambhalians( who were here on their own pilgrimage) to join us for chai and chat.

We established a regular routine: Lujong on the rooftop followed by chai and breakfast, then individual practice at Main Temple until meeting at Sechen monastery for a day of Ngondro (with an hour and a half for lunch) The monastery was exquisite with paintings of the scenes from the life of the Buddha, bright gold all around and a peaceful Buddha statue in front. A lifesized portrait of Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche is present on the throne

next to HH Dalai Lama, smiling down at us all. It was away from the noise of traffic (very unusual in Bodhgaya) with birds singing, dogs barking and a cool breeze of delight. Despite increasingly noisy renovation work going on outside we felt incredibly fortunate to have such a shrine hall, and the group bonded and grew through all the joys and sorrows of a month together.

Accidental bus journey

joyful_jo — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 19:28:00 GMT

After the 16 hour journey to Manali we made a promise to take it easy on these wild roads and so we took a few taxis and felt more relaxed, although equally shaken by the poor suspension on most cars. But after a week in mellow Tso Pema we tested out the bus to Mandi. For ten rupees it was the most comfortable, spacious and beautiful hour's journey. So after a tasty lunch we re- entered the bus stand to ride the next bus to Baijnath, a couple of hours along the road. A large man approached us to check our destination and said " my friend will look after you- he is the conductor". So we waited. When a bulging square bus drew up and everyone else swarmed on we drew back. The fat man insisted, we resisted. " no no we'll wait for the next bus" he replied aggressively " you want two seats I give you two seats" and so we were propelled up through the door, bags tossed on the roof, and we had to fight our way through solid passengers to the promised seats. The embarrassment of knowing that two of them had been forced off the seats, combined with claustrophobia that we couldn't get out if we wanted to, and the raw discomfort of having to squeeze my knees against the seat in front led to an awkward start to the journey. Eventually we relaxed into to awesome scenery, precarious drop-offs and nerve- wracking bends in the road. My legs even shrank a little in response to relentless pressure and we managed to walk off the bus when we reached our destination.

Quiet week in Mcleod Ganj

joyful_jo — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 19:22:00 GMT

Rats my last message send itself before I had finished. Here is he complete piece Dear Luz, We are having a quiet day in McLeod Ganj: home of HH Dalai Lama, many Tibetans - businesspeople and monks, Western backpackers, Indian tourists escaping the heat of the plains, and beggars. The narrow streets are ridiculously busy ( photo to follow) and large trucks freewheel down the steep slopes, merrily honking thier horns. Pedestrians learn to step aside as vehicles whizz past with no restraint, throwing up clouds of dust behind them. Above the town lie the peaceful forest-lined roads to nearby villages where we walked a few times for tea, to look at Tushita retreat centre, and for a beauty treatment- very dingy room with no running water, but a cheerful English-speaking woman who carefully applied henna to my hair and tended to my dry, cracked feet. Washing the henna off was more adventurous as she had to get a bucket of hot water from next door and kept pouring it in my eyes as the chair was designed for someone much shorter than me. However I emerged glowing and relaxed for the quiet walk down the hill and back into the busy streets. Our guest house overlooks the hills, with wonderful hawks circling below, but still suffers from the nightly howling of packs of local dogs. It has been a precious week in McLeod. Most mornings I walked down to the Main Temple before all the street stalls set up, although the smiling lepers were already out waving their limbs and calling out for rupees. You enter the main gates past various momo sellers( delicious steamed dumplings) and walk past the Tibet Museum ( inspiring, tragic exhibits about the history of Tibet) and through the security door before climbing the steps to the Temple itself. Security is tight because His Holiness lives up there too, with an Old People's home below him on the hills the elders all come to circumnambulate with their prayer wheels, and to prostrate if they can Some of the boards next to mine in the mornin were well propped up to make he process a bit easier, but there were plenty of women who could barely stand up straight. I found my place outside the temple dedicated to Kalachakra - rich with 722(?) deities and a powerful statue of the central deity in consort, with his 16 arms and wrathful features. The snow dusted mountains were also visible and it was so refreshing to practice in the cool morning air. The sun shone through the day, cool in the shade and burning at this altitude and we felt blessed to be here in the heart of the Tibetan community in exile.

The room with the wooden floor

joyful_jo — Fri, 5 Nov 2010 15:15:00 GMT

We booked this room weeks ago by email because I remembered that the retreat rooms at the red Drikung Monastery in Tso Pema were in demand. Tashi Dolma, the Rinpoche's wife offered the slightly more expensive one with wooden floor and I liked the sound of it. It also turned out to be twice as big as the others, with full cooking facilities and instant gas hot water- perfect for my five day (nearly) silent retreat. Last time I came for two days and stayed in the rumble of town, near the lake and within earshot of the town dog fights each night. But I had a dream to come back and stay at the top, up four flights of rough concrete steps, past the Rinpoche's house and in the relatively quiet retreat area- maybe 10 rooms which seemed to all be inhabited by women. On the first day we were warned about the monkeys: never leave a door or window open, ungurded for an instant. Don't make eye contact, don't show them any food, and they are afraid only of the big stick which is provided in every room.

On the first day Tracy and I settled in, walked around the holy lake, made a few friends, and stocked up for the retreat (juice and tea and batteries) Then we went to explore the famous caves at the top of the hill. There was Mandarava in her cave, determined to practice despite any obstacles. A superb statue of Guru Rinpoche bursting out of the cave wall. Flags everywhere leading the way to the golden footprint left in the rock by the powerful Guru. We met a smiling monk who invited us for tea. He was staying for a month in Cave No 43, enclosed behind a tin door, with a rough construction to make a front for the cave. He showed us his shrine and simple accommodation and it was precious to imagine the many nuns who live up here full time. We glided down the hill in a silent tuktuk, back to the bustle of town and thali feast for dinner.

The next five days were simple, quiet, magical. In the night the only sound was the plopping of the fish in the lake, and the humming of the dakinis (maybe it was the telephone exchange station:-) Not much to say - but I recommend the room with the wooden floor.

Shambhala Art school

joyful_jo — Wed, 3 Nov 2010 02:16:00 GMT

We are up in the magical foothills of the Himalaya where we came in search of the
Rigden Kings. Above the river valley in Kullu lies the Shambhala Art
School run by Noedup Rongae who is painting a thangka of the Rigden Lineage, central tothe SHambhala tradition. The Art School is a large two storey building, home
for a community of about fifteen artists, cooks, and friends We were
warmly welcomed, given tea and stories, we took a dusk walk for a
glimpse of the local monastery where Noedup also helped with the
artwork( especially the face of the Buddha) This was followed by a tasty dinner
cooked by two sisters who have worked for him for fifteen years (since they were fourteen years old or so they said). They came withhim from Nepal, still send money home to their father and each married one of the thangka painters.
After dinner we sat on our balcony, wrapped in a blanket and watched
the moon rise over the opposite side of the valley and the electric lights
dotted up the hillside. Nearby speakers blared out devotional
music - a nightly offering.
The next morning we we introduced to the Rigden Thangka- a work in
progress. Inside a simple room two thangka were stretched out over
large drums. The three painters were busy on the final stages of Tusum
Khyenpa- a commission from the Karmapa to mark the 900th anniversary
of the first Karmapa- to be ready before the Kagyu Monlam in December.
Then on the larger drum, under a cotton cloth, lies the beginnings of
the Rigden Refuge Tree Thangka. As Noedup slowly rolled it around and
revealed the practitioners, protectors, deities around the base of the
tree he shared the stories of how different images were included and
how the images of the Rigdens had been given to him. To describe this
thangka is beyond me but I have added a few inadequate photos to give
an impression.

Sweaty Delhi

joyful_jo — Wed, 3 Nov 2010 02:15:00 GMT

We had three sweltering days in the heavy pollution and raw
humanity of Delhi. We bought some bright kurtas, ate South Indian
dosas, made some new friends, got a new pair of prescription spectcals
(Indian spelling) and calmly meditated in the Buddhist gallery of the
National museum where there are 22 substantial Buddha relics enshrined
in a golden stupa. I found time to write this sitting in a cool cafe
sipping lime soda and chilling out after a hectic dip into the crazy
heart of Old Delhi. In the midst of the endless markets, hundreds of
stalls selling watches, dogs resting in the shade, rickshaws, busses,
and sugar cane juicers we came upon the Jama Masjid- holy mosque and
welcome haven. Immediately I got in an argument with the guys at the
desk who searched every last corner of my bag hunting for my mobile
phone which they triumphantly tried to charge me 200 rupees for crying
"Phone camera. phone camera". As I refused to pay I wondered if they
were going to kick me out. One guy was pushing me away when the boss
nodded us through, only to reach the next humiliation- a floor length
nylon pink spotted robe which was aggressively wrapped around my
perfectly respectable trousers and shirt. Once inside I saw they
single out all westerners for this embarrassing treatment. And of
course I couldn't even take a photo after the scene about phone
camera! Despite all the hassle it was worth the experience of
wandering across the vast courtyard, imagining it full of devotion for
with everyone facing Mecca. The central "shrine" seemed very plain- a
niche in the wall, with a few inscriptions in Arabic. Two wall clocks
both stood at 3.15, and a few guys occupied the prayer mat shaped
sections of the floor. We also saw a group of brightly clad women out
on the far left also engaged in prayer and determinedly doing their
prostrations despite their age.

Snow in Manali

joyful_jo — Wed, 3 Nov 2010 02:13:00 GMT

Snow in the mountains: we escaped sweaty Delhi on a 14 hour bus journey which was
hair raising- first eight hours on the plains with blaring Bollywood
on the video and crazy scenes out the window- dogs , cows and more
traffic than I could imagine possible. Then we reached the foothills
and started up winding broken roads with sheer drops down to distant
rivers and fearsome oncoming traffic. I had to keep my eyes on the
road to avoid travel sickness so I saw every pothole, and also became
entranced by the moonlit landscape, unbelievable ghostly skylines and
rushing rivers. Reached Manali in time to find hotel room with view of
forest, far hills dusted with snow and pale green and white-water
river. Rain started over breakfast and turned to snow mid- morning.
River turned to a brown-black torrent. So we huddled up, rested and
read. I headed out to buy a kettle and phone recharge and got
completely drenched. iT WAS AMAZING TO SEE SUCH LARGE WHITE FLAKES,
AND GREAT CLOUDS OF LARGE CROWS FLYING IN CIRCLES NOT KNOWING WHERE TO
GO!! aargH I HATE THESE KEYBOARDS - enough for now. I had a Hot bath
back at room and was sitting happily in
sleeping bag with hot tea sending emails when iphone connection went
dodgy - hence my visit to mosquito infested internet cafe

Photos: back in the himalaya

joyful_jo — Wed, 3 Nov 2010 01:49:00 GMT

Shambhala in New Zealand

joyful_jo — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 18:47:00 GMT

Thirty five of us gathered from around the globe to create our own version of enlightened society, and the first ever Shambhala Buddhist Sutrayana Seminary in the Asia Pacific region. We had a Swiss man, a Pole, various North Americans, Brits and even a Haligonian to add to our Australia and New Zealand gang. We gathered at the slightly run-down hostel of the Taumarunui High School in the middle of New Zealand's North Island. Taumarunui is a small town half way between the Wellington and Auckland sangha - the sort of town where Kiwis would generally stop for a coffee, not for three weeks of dharma. But we set up shrine and kitchen and a few tents for extra accommodation and quickly felt at home. This place has hosted four dathuns and a Warrior's Assembly over the past eight years and the locals are perhaps used to the sight of early morning marching across the playing fields! Chogyam Trungpa - the founder of Shambhala in the West developed various military practices as a way of working with discipline and mindfulness.

Acharyas David Hope and Dale Asrael, and senior teacher Jesse Miller made a superb teaching team. In the View class we were led through the rigorous steps of Hinayana, the mind boggling Cittamatra and into the luminosity of clear light. The afternoon heat brought the deep contemplations and heart opening exercises of the Path class. And finally the Shambhala teachings kept us firmly in touch with our senses and basic goodness. Taken together it was powerful medicine and a relentless deconstruction of ego, for which we needed our strong container and the repeated kindness of the sangha.
Of course the excellent food also helped support the process. Master chef Maggie Lewis, ably assisted by Victoria Briggs, turned out culinary delights to fill our oryoki bowls day after day. Often there were muffins of such transendental lightness in the fourth bowl that everyone let go into bliss. We had feta and olive; blue cheese and brocolli; raisin and cinnamon; lemon surprise; chocolate heaven...Our kitchen was praised with producing the best food ever on a program and this gathering was renamed "The Muffin Seminary" by more than a few of us.
In our children's programme - "The Little Tigers" - Mei and Xue supported by Shelley Chapell, designed their own lessons: spontaneous singing; doing some serious marching; inventive bike riding around the quad; offering massage to the participants to raise money for Oxfam; and learning to drive Shelley's car!!

Other delights included the raw beauty of the natural surroundings: the mist over the hills in the morning; the distant glimpse of snowcapped volcanoes from the front gate; the amazing lakes and hot pools we visited on the day off and the cool, green river which flowed below the land.

To see some great photos by my friend Patti visit:
http://picasaweb.google.com/patty.108108/SelectedNZPhotos?authkey=Gv1sRgCK3L7rjQxuHaWQ&feat=email#

How many people faint in the Louvre?

joyful_jo — Thu, 6 Nov 2008 00:53:00 GMT

This question arose after my second visit amidst the crowds on ' free Sunday' when this ancient palace opens its doors to the masses. And the masses come - mostly on a pilgrimage to see the Mona Lisa it seems.

On my first visit we had just wandered aimlessly along the endless corridors, depressed by the Egyptians and finally completely overwhelmed by the number of 17th century French portraits of nobility. I had felt rather ashamed to admit that I had to urgently escape this bastion of art to find a café.

So this time we were armed with a map and a plan and felt very pleased to have found Rubens and his beauties. We had a quiet sojourn with the Flemish masters and even found some sweet German and Scandanavian paintings in the far corner of the second floor of the third section of the museum. Even there I felt claustrophobic and had to have a little restorative chocolate before risking the journey to the first floor to join the flow to Salle 6 which was especially constructed for 'La Joconde' as the locals call her: 'Où est La Joconde?' 'Where's the Mona Lisa mum?' 'Dové Mona Lisa?'. Luckily Salle 6 is a big room with fortified crowd barriers and additional security guards to cope with the mounting hysteria of seeing this most famous of faces. Mostly I was struck by all these people holding up their little cameras above the crowds to snap (without flash) this tiny and exquisite painting. Then it was definitely time to escape, finding a nearby café pour un thé vert au menthe. Delicieux!

La crotte de chien!

joyful_jo — Thu, 6 Nov 2008 00:38:00 GMT

Beware the streets are full of it. Sadly you have to keep your eyes down when walking amidst the beauty of Paris, due to the number of chic doggies who also walk the streets and use them as a toilet. So I asked my French teacher about this strange anomaly - How come people who care so much about appearance can live with so much dogshit? She seemed to think that les chics simply didn't want to pick it up! C'est la vie!

But it would be a sad thing if this was the most useful phrase I learnt in my French class! I spent two weeks immersed in Passé Composé and imparfait, strange prepositions and impossible pronounciation. There were only five in my group and the teaching was lively and interesting with lots of time for questions (see above) and discussion of French culture - I recommend L'Atelier 9 if anyone is looking for a language school in Paris. But I am at the frustrating stage of reading, and understanding if people talk slowly. Mais il n'existe pas - le français lentement. So I still feel like a complete beginner in conversation, although I discovered the other night that a few glasses of wine helps my comprehension and my belief that I can speak! Now my favourite method of study is to go out exploring the city, buying a few groceries and reading all the history signs, advertisements etc. And by travelling by bike I can avoid les crottes de chien!

Paris at last!!

joyful_jo — Tue, 4 Nov 2008 06:12:00 GMT

After the summer in central France where I spoke almost no French ('international centre' which means English is the common language) I decided actually sign up for a French course in Paris. Also I didn't have time/energy to visit Paris for most of the summer, but I managed a brief weekend at the very end of my visit and developed a taste for the joys of this most beautiful of cities- combined with a delicious romance which makes it very sweet. So I have spent the autumn travelling back and forth between family time in UK, brief forays to Dublin and the Netherlands, and language study and love. This has given me a chance to check out the various transport options. For the last-minute booking there was the dreadful, but cheap, all-day coach journey with hours waiting in the rain at Dover for a ferry ( too wet to go outside) and inevitable late arrival into the heart of the Paris rush-hour, and drop-off in a deeply depressing station on the peripherique. When I was more organised I found a 44 Euro train ticket from the local exquisite Gare du Nord direct to London, but even this was delayed by the recent fire in the Chunnel. The third attempt was to fly in from Dublin on one of those ridiculously cheap Ryan Air specials. What they don't tell you is that you arrive in a distant nonentity of a place optimistically called Beauvais, and then get to spend over an hour squeezed on a tiny hot coach to get to another depressing carpark on the peripherique!!

Enough of the travel dirge- once here getting about Paris is a joy: wide boulevards to walk along, superb metro and best of all a nearly-free bike scheme which works! By waving your credit card at one of the machines dotted throughout the city you can get a one day or week's access to the Velib - thousands of identical bikes which you pick up where you are and drop off where you want to go. Then if it is raining you can get the metro home. The only trick is checking that the bike has wheels, chain, pedals and saddle etc before choosing your vehicle..seems like it is entertainment for some folk to figure out new and creative ways of breaking them. However mostly it is a pleasure to ride on the many bike lanes and devise new routes which include going along the canal banks, or down by the Seine on a Sunday when the roads are closed to cars.

I have had a few 'tourist days': following a walking-guide leaflet through the history-packed Ile de la Cite and admiring the decorative guttering, chic boutiques and cosmic icecreams. Spent some time searching for the best hot chocolate in town - a silver pot of liquid heaven, so rich you are not sure if you will ever be able to leave the stylish cafe. Oh and I have visited a few museums which leave me speechless. Best not to try and describe the art of ages.

more memories..

joyful_jo — Fri, 3 Oct 2008 05:42:00 GMT

Another glimpse of the summer circa June 5th: We have been blessed with incessant chill and damp, and occasional rays of sun. I am now relaxing after the most hectic month you could imagine. Hundreds of people coming and going for different bits of the Festival. Various crucial materials going missing in the post and at French Customs. Driving on the 'wrong' side of the road to the local town to pick up 100's of photocopied texts to replace the missing ones...(I still haven't got the hang of which way to look at junctions, and roundabouts- eeek!!) Learning how to buy lemon sorbet in French to recover from the driving experience - I haven't even been behind a wheel for a year, but I didn't want to tell the guy who lent me his nice French car. I have however been cycling enough to know how to stick to the right side of the road.

A friend from NZ is staying for the whole summer and I took her to the local village where there was a Rose festival the other day to celebrate June 1st - 1000's of roses and rose products and quirky stalls including hemp beer and crisps which I will sample later..