The Power of the Sun

The sun is obviously a rather influential force in the world. Sometimes, with all the praise it receives, you'd just swear the world revolves around it or something. As a kid it was lost on me why Captain Planet required the sun for rejuvenation (as does Superman I believe... Captain Planet, in retrospect you are such a poser!). My European travels have cured me of this misunderstanding, however, and I now understand what sort of power the sun can exert on us, even individually.

It happened specifically in Paris. I spent three full days there. The first day was generally overcast, featuring the types of clouds that sometimes let enough light through to compel the wearing of sunglasses, yet not enough to generate any warmth. In other words, they were not rainclouds, but they were nonetheless unenjoyable. I spent this day visiting and then wandering down the river, starting at Notre Dame and ending at the Eiffel Tower. I only went in/up at the Pantheon, Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, satisfying myself for the time being with the outdoor areas of locations such as the Louvre. I did not climb at Notre Dame because the length of the line was borderline absurd. The second day it rained, which sucked to be frank. It wasn't really raining when I set off in the morning, so I went to Notre Dame, hoping to climb the bell tower as soon as it opened. I got there fifteen minutes early and still wound up waiting about an hour. It was well worth it though, because the view from the top was very nice, featuring the infamous gargoyles I had hardly been able to notice when looking from the ground. The problem, of course, was that the rainy, overcast weather limited visibility, as evidenced by this ghostly picture of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. To some extent it added to the atmosphere of Notre Dame.

The spectre of the looming Eiffel Tower

Num-Nums! (My favorite gargoyle)

While the weather may have helped spookify the gargoyles of Notre Dame, it also crappified the city of Paris. I took shelter by visiting the Louvre, as did the rest of the tourist population, as evidenced by the crowds. Perhaps the Louvre would have been cooler and more amazing if it wasn't at the tail end of a three-week European journey. By this point I had seen so many depictions of Jesus, and so many ancient ruins, that I couldn't stomach much more. Maybe if I knew even the slightest about art I could have appreciated the artwork for its skill... but I don't know anything about art. I wandered about a bit to warm up, saw some Egyptian stuff, some Greek stuff, some Medieval European stuff, and of course the Mona Lisa (200 people packed in a room in front of a 2' x 2' painting of a rather plain looking woman... a bit of a let down. Again, maybe if I knew about art...), and then took off into the cold drizzle.

At this point I was feeling a little weary from a combination of the weather and the general experience of the packed Louvre (I'm not big on crowds). I looked at the list of things to do I had compiled, trying to decide where to head next. In such a mood the choice seemed obvious. I hopped on the Metro, bound for the Pere Lechaise Cemetary. All I knew about it was that it was home to Jim Morrison, of The Doors. I wanted a picture of that for my friend Brandon. Good reason to visit a place, huh? Of course that is the joy of traveling alone: you can visit places for no reason other than that you want to do something stupid, and nobody will argue that it is more worthwhile to go see the Arc de Triomphe.

Jim Morrison is indeed dead and tucked away in Paris

The cemetary is home to many more than Jim Morrison, of course. Oscar Wilde is also lying mildly peacefully within the fenced in walls of Pere Lechaise. I say mildly peacefully because his grave is absolutely covered with lipstick marks (and a bit of friendly grafitti) from admirers. Ya got me as to why people are so anxious to kiss a dead guy, but whatever. There are also memorials to all the various concentration camps of WWII. One interesting grave I stumbled upon was that of Abelard and Heloise. They are an infamous medieval couple (Abelard was a philosopher), whose love letters to one another help define the romance of their time period. I learned about them during one of my classes at Royal Holloway, so I found it a bit ironic that I stumbled upon their grave, which was enormous. To be honest, I walked past it about three times, thinking "boy, that's a big grave," without stopping. Then I saw on an information sign that Abelard and Heloise were in the cemetary and set out to find them, only to discover their grave was the big thing I kept walking past.

Oscar Wilde is a player, even in death

Pere Lechaise was like a city built for the dead

That was my last stop for the day. I simply couldn't bear any more being out in the rain. Plus, I'd done my fair share of walking. That night featured a lonely meal, and lonely "chocolat noir" crepe, with the loneliness accentuated by the drizzle and clouds. The next day didn't begin too much better. There was no rain, but the perma-clouds persisted, and I chose to begin with the catacombes. While waiting in line to enter a bird crapped on my head, of course, presumably knowing that I was an English speaker. The catacombes are a depressing, though interesting, sight for their scale and the anonymity of death that is implied in seeing so many carefully arranged bones deep beneath a city. Needless to say, the last day of my trip was off to a particularly cheery start.

Not how I hope to spend eternity, all broken apart and
stacked with countless others

As the went on, things got generally brighter though. It never rained, and though the clouds were not leaving, they seemed to lighten. I wound up at the Picasso museum, whose work to me, the untrained eye, seems a bit less heavy than what I had seen during the rest of my travels. From there it was on to the Sacre Coeur. Again, having seen so many I was weary of churches and didn't spend much time exploring the structure itself. Outside, however, were some really fun to watch street entertainers. I can feel eyes rolling (Mom), but they're part of the experience too. Plus, you should have seen the break dancers. Finally I took off for what would be my final new sight: the Arc de Triomphe. Somewhere along the way the clouds finally, after three days, broke, and the sun emerged. This of course made the Arc de Triomphe, a big thingy that is eerily similar to the Arch of Constantine in Rome, in the middle of a giant traffic circle, much more interesting. I was even able to witness the changing of the flower ceremony thing for the tomb of the unknown soldier. It thought it looked like the French troops were poorly trained (they couldn't march or line up properly)... and then like they were line dancing:

Dance party!

With the sun out I wanted to run to the Eiffel Tower and get some nice pictures of it before it got dark. I had wanted to go at dark anyway to see it all lit up anyway, so I hustled to beat sunset. Turns out I didn't have to hustle at all because it stayed light until nearly 9 pm (it was about 6:30 when I set off to find it). As I walked I nearly settled my judgment of Paris: that it was a decent enough city, but generally a depressing place, what with the gargoyles and bones and traffic circles around important monuments. Then I saw the Eiffel Tower against the backdrop of a bright blue sky and late afternoon sign. I reassessed. Paris can be beautiful, or even absolutely gorgeous. I still hesitate to say that the entire city is gorgeous, but I do not hesitate to make the observation that one's perception of a city is in fact almost entirely dependent upon the weather conditions. Those last few hours in Paris were immeasurably better than the earlier three days...

Montreux

Ah, Montreux. Where to start. I suppose it should be somewhere near the beginning.


I was on a train, two trains actually, to transfer myself from Rome to Geneva. The two trains met in Milan, said hello, and swapped me from one to the other. The train from Milan to Geneva was a relatively long journey and it was in a style of car I had never been in before, with compartments of 8 seats (or 6 seats?) with two rows facing one another. There were four other passengers in the car with me to begin the journey. I couldn't speak to any of them because I do not speak their languages, and because one was a dog. As I said, in Switzerland everyone speaks everything, so the people likely could have spoken to me, but did not make any overt tries. Not to mean that they were unfriendly. There was a girl traveling alone who simply sat in the corner, read, and listened to music. There was also a couple, sitting across from me, only slightly older than myself. With them was a very small dog traveling in some kind of ridiculous designer handbag. The poor thing was so terribly domesticated that it seemed as if it never emerged from the handbag, and was alright with that.

I mention this couple because they taught me one of the great lessons of my trip, unknowingly. They were not talking much as they got on the train, and mostly just quietly mumbled things and pointed as they got settled down. Once the journey was underway, however, I was scoping out everyone in the car, mostly for lack of anything better to do. They were an attractive young couple, both of them good and healthy looking people. And then they spoke. And now I know that German (which I can only assume is what they were speaking) is the singlemost ugly language ever used to communicate a series of messages between human beings. Yuck. A language of gurgling saliva and horrible hacking noises. I don't hold it against this couple, who seemed nice enough. But my goodness, I hope I never have to learn and use German.

That, in effect is a very long introduction to the topic of Montreux. This couple exited the train relatively early in the journey, leaving me to nurse my horrified ears and anticipate Geneva. As the train neared Geneva mountains began to sprout up in the window. As did a big lake, Lake Geneva. And then, something magical happened. The mountains and the lake combined to create one of the most visually stunning landscapes you will ever see (or read about I suppose). The effect was amplified by the effect of the late afternoon sun coming in at an impossible angle through a sky featuring just one or two cotton candy clouds. In the words of my own esteemed generation, it was "like whoah." I wanted to take a picture, but my camera was packed somewhere in my violently stuffed backpack, and I didn't want to disturb those around me by going through such a battle again, so I contented myself with the idea that I would return to this magical land. Just as I had this thought, the train stopped at a place called Montreux.

I whipped out my guidebook and began reading about Montreux, to see how I could get back there from Geneva. It turns out that there would be some expense involved, but I decided that if there was a window of opportunity while in Geneva I would just do it. The guidebook also mentioned that the song about "Smoke on the Water" had its roots in Montreux, as its writer, while visiting, witnessed a fire and wrote about the sights that he saw. Interesting.

Fast forward a bit. Geneva was a lovely city and all, but there really didn't prove to be an immense amount of stuff to do, especially on Easter weekend. So when Easter, my last day rolled around, I made the rather safe assumption that I would have nothing much to do in Geneva, and took off for a day in Montreux. I assumed there would be even less to do in Montreux, but I was hoping the scenery could absorb me for an entire day.

Yep, scenery could absorb me for the day.

It was a day not nearly as beautiful as the day I was on the train. There was an abundance of clouds, but not too heavy, and not rain clouds. But it was not brilliantly sunny and blue. When I made it down to lakeside at Montreux I was hit with two surprises. I had expected there to be nothing open, and a limited number of people. Instead, everything was open. There were even festival-like tents set up along the shore selling candy and cheap bracelets and things, and there were plenty of people, in increasing numbers as the day progressed. The second surprise was a statue of Freddie Mercury. Huh? Apparently he had bought some sort of property or recording studio or something in Montreux when he was alive (obviously), and Montreux wanted to honor him after his death. You've already seen this picture, but just imagine walking through a scenic town along a lake with the Alps as a backdrop, in Switzerland, and stumbling upon a Freddie Mercury statue. Lamar really wanted a picture.

I wish I were rich...
Then I'd go see "We Will Rock You" in London.
But I'm sure it is too cheesy to warrant the price.

But, my day in Montreux was generally what I thought it would be. Lovely scenery, with me walking up and down the shoreline occasionally snapping photos, or sitting and watching... nothing. It was all very pleasant. When I walked far enough down the lake I came across this castle thing. I had read of its existence in my guidebook, but wasn't really interested in another castle, so I didn't pay to go in, and don't know anything about its history. But it made for some scenic photos!

My camera struggles with the white peak against
white cloud thing. So imagine this... more dramatic

The day was not without its further surprises, though. I had packed my lunch, assuming eateries would not be open for business in Montreux on Easter, but a combination of looking for something to do and being a little hungry still compelled me to search for ice cream. I returned down the lake to the crowded area with the vendors (as I had wandered away to much quieter stretches of lakeside path) and came across the most wicked awesome concert ever. And I say that as a complete lie. It was bizarre. It featured nobody playing instruments (though there were instruments behind them), some really bad recorded instrumental bits, a green beard, pink hair, and a three and a half foot singer with a dead mic. Just take a look. Uh... what?

Anyone care to explain this, especially the child?

Finally, the day was drawing to a close. I was determined to get shots of the sun setting over the mountains and the water. The obstacles were the clouds already mentioned, and the angle. Basically, if I waited for sunset in Montreux it really wasn't going to be that dramatic. So I took off down the lake to a spot I could see way in the distance that I felt would offer better views due to the curvature of the shore. Basically it was the next town down the lake from Montreux, to which I walked. Then of course I was faced with the prospect of walking back to Montreux in the dark, and an hour long train ride back to Geneva, which I really didn't want to do all that late. So I had some balancing to do. I settled for shots like this, with the sun almost setting, so that I could begin the long journey back.

I love the tree in the middle of the lake, mostly because I just don't get it.

That's basically all I have to say about Montreux, so I'll leave you with a bunch of other shots....

This is a panorama from two pictures, stitched together later (but before my computer meltdown)

Montreux had all these weird plant people set up.

Recent events in England

Just to confuse your conception time, I'm going to give a quick rundown of my past week, and then hopefully give another post describing my big trip.

This week was the start of final exams at Royal Holloway. These are the tests for which students have apparently been studying for a grand total of 4, now 4+ weeks. I had a final on Wednesday and a final on Friday. I started studying... last weekend? With my computer issues and all, it was late. And for the Friday test I started studying on Thursday. And you know what? The tests didn't seem all that bad. They are only two essay questions and two hours long. And you get to choose the two essays from a choice of 9-10. Maybe I'll be terribly surprised by the grades, but hopefully not.

In other news, I went to Brighton yesterday. Arcadia was leading a "day trip" that I had paid for way back in January when I got to England. So I was up at 6 am to leave my room at 7, catch a train at 7:23, to get into London to catch the Arcadia coach at 9. It was a hassle to say the least. Then the bus left late and the ride took way too long (like over two hours), getting us to Brighton around 11:30. Then we were told we had to be back on the bus to return at 3:50! My reaction... nope. My friend Leah from Royal Holloway had taken a train out to Brighton to meet us and spend the day, so I just ditched Arcadia and bought a train ticket home, letting me stay until I wanted to go home.

In Brighton there is not a ton to do. I got to see the Royal Pavilion because the Arcadia trip included admission there, but I wasn't really into it. After traveling in Europe for a period of time, it grows increasingly difficult to be impressed by senseless displays of wealth. Although it did have a really sweet chandelier. It was a dragon... never mind, you'd have to see it to appreciate it. Unfortunately pictures weren't allowed. Sorry. I guess another thing to note about the Royal Pavilion is that it does not match England in any way, shape or form. Apparently built by George IV, before he was king, it looks like the Taj Mahal and the inside is decorated with things like dragons and other not-England things. Very strange.

(This is the spot where I was planning on inserting a couple pictures I took while in Brighton, but I can not remove them from my camera. Do not, and I repeat, do not, ever purchase a Kodak camera. The software, and even the hardware, functioned shakily with my laptop before my virus. Now that I've had to start over again... I can neither get my pictures off the camera by using Kodak Easyshare, nor by going directly to the camera via My Computer... grrrrrr. There is a reason they are about to fold. Sorry George Eastman.)

After the pavilion we spent the day wandering the beach (pebble, not sand) exploring as much of the pier as we dared, and chowing down on overpriced hot dogs and chips. I suppose Brighton also offers the opportunity to do various arcade games and amusement rides on the pier, but that wasn't really what we wanted/could afford to do, so we just wandered. But it was pleasant, and the weather was beautiful. And the ride back to Egham on the train? Less than half the time than if I had gone back with Arcadia ;-)

Finally: today (apologies for the stream of consciousness that dominates my posts, by the way). After months and months of waiting, I heard from the senior citizen center that I had passed my background check while I was traveling. This is because despite approaching them all the way back in January they were running a background check on me that included snail mailing forms and questions to my references... in the United States. Ugh. In any case, after passing my background check I went in to volunteer for the first time today. They apparently never get volunteers, and didn't really know what to do with me. So they said to just walk around and chat with the residents. The residents are generally in great need of care. Many suffer from various degrees of dimentia, many have trouble walking, that sort of thing. I went on a walk outside with one woman who was completely mobile and quite talkative, but did not have any grasp on the current reality. Some of her sentences would start on one topic and apparently change two or three times by the end, referring to things that weren't there and people I didn't know. At first it was difficult to converse with her, but then it actually became really easy because you could say absolutely anything and get a heartfelt and enthusiastic reply!

A lot of it was obviously very sad, and I wish I could help more, but hopefully just showing an interest and being around to talk to helps in some small way.