Joyeux Noel!

I have finally stumbled upon some time where:



a) I have internet access

b) I have time and inclination to update my blog



I could show you all that I have been up to, along the lines of:



14/12/09



Spent today in Florence. Did some shopping at the market, cooked our own dinner in our apartment kitchen facilities. It was delicious. We ate squid and pasta. I am becoming better at navigating Florence. I am getting impatient, however, at keeping my diary. My pen is running out.



But perhaps, maybe, just possibly, this could be a tad boring for you. So instead, I have packaged aspects of my trip into a Christmas poem:



A European Christmas



'Twas a week before Christmas, and a boy was in Europe,

Exploring the continent, but not in a tour group.

Nay, he ventured with his family of four,

As French people, staring from cafes well saw.

They travelled to Italy, to Florence and Venice,

Photographing architecture and art at its zenith.



Eating of gelati and polenta abounded,

As delicious as church bells in the crisp cold air sounded.

They shopped in big stores, for thick warming coats,

Where they were assailed by harsh, grating notes,

From a techno rendition of Silent Night,

'Silent' no more, it sounded like shite.

'Stop that shit music, in the name of the Lord!

Stop it right now, it is causing discord!'

The young boy named Theodore let out a gasp,

For there stood Saint Nicholas, with a tinsel whip in his grasp.

'Down with materialism, etc.' he continued in English.

'Non parlo l'inglese,' explained one staff member, sheepish.

Nevertheless, old Nick blew up the store,

And then yelled out loud, with a bloodthirsty roar,

'Hahahahahhahahahahahaha!'

Theodore shrugged - it made no sense to him either.



They saw the Loire Valley 'neath a blanket of snow,

Visited a chateau, namely great Chenonceau.

'Wow!' exclaimed Theodore's sister named Gen,

'A snow capped great castle is not seen often (she separated the syllables so it rhymes, ok?)

The fresh snow was powdery just like cornflour,

Thought Theodore, as the light snowfall increased in power,

Before long, a blizzard raged all about them,

Ok turns out I have less time than I thought - it was just going to be all 'now we have to stay in the castle and there is only an attic available with a mysterious secret because Gelati Gecko loves the gothic genre'. The upshot of it all was Merry Christmas, bla bla bla, thank you for your patronage with my blog.

Also, I would like to announce the opening of the Gelati Gecko Golden Club. Members will be eligible based on their comments. The first two members are Bennett and Luna Mooney. Members benefits include free use of the blog's virtual gymnasium and relaxation facilities, and a whole range of yearly benefits and offers. Congratulations to Bennett and Luna Mooney. I assure you both that this is the gift that will keep giving.

Let us hope that the new year will yield better writings from me, and more loyalty from all of you.

Student Throws Away ENTER Score

Timothy Walkins today celebrated his VCE results. A perfect score in three of his subjects secured his ENTER of 99.95, the highest ENTER achievable by Victorian secondary school students. Following his outstanding results, he has re-organised his VTAC preferences.

"I just want to do something I enjoy...you shouldn't choose something just because of your score," he explained, as he revealed that he has cancelled his VTAC applications, and has instead applied to the local garbage collector rounds. "I think that this will ultimately be a more spiritually fulfilling occupation," he said. "It's something I've always been able to see myself doing, and I don't think I should let a high score distract me from the noble profession of garbage collection. The cold morning starts, the wholesome knowledge that I am an essential cog in the social machinery of life: disease and pestilence would reign supreme in my absence."

His local municipal garbage collection jobs do not currently have an ENTER requirement, a fact which has distressed his mother, Beverley. "I'm just concerned that he will regret this later down the track. He should use his score to do something useful...or Arts at Melbourne, at the very least."

I'm In Venice

Wow. I can scarcely belive I'm in Venice. But hey, I am. So...I have a few days' worth of journal stuff, but I'll try and make it interesting for you all.

Firstly, we went to Paris Bercy, which was a quiet and less expensive area of Paris (12th arrondissement). This was our first stop before we took a night train down to Venice.

In Paris Bercy, we went shopping at a supermarket, and I was introduced to the Carrefour. Imagine a supermarket, like, say, Coles, or Safeway. Ok? Now imagine a SUPERMARKET, as in Coles ^ 1000. I went into one to get a bottle of water.


One

bottle

of water.

It took me thirty minutes.

Firstly, the store is massive. I wandered round for a bit, trying to find it myself. Eventually I chanced upon a deli section, and I asked (in French, as I found my French really was quite useful, and each time I successfully used it, I felt very grown up) if they had some water. She directed me to the very back corner of the store. Having acquired my water bottle, I walked back to the counters. There were about forty checkouts, only around ten of which were open. And then, after waiting in one of the queues for a short while, I discovered that some were reserved for credit cards. So the only other one I could find was self serve, where you do the checkout yourself. So I waited there, until one that accepted cash was available. Then, apart from one glitch where I didn't realise you had to put down your purchases on a table with a sensor in order to finish the transaction (my purchases included one water bottle), it was all smooth sailing.

You don't believe me? Think that the store isn't that massive?

The staff moved around on roller skates.

Above: This image displays approximately one sixtieth of the store.

The next day, we went to Saint-Germain-en-Laye, which seemed to be kind of like a Camberwell of Paris. The reason for this trip? This city is the birthplace of Claude Debussy, the greatest composer to ever exist. Ever. If you disagree, then that's fine, you are of course entitled to your opinion. Even though it may be wrong.

Oh, I should remind everyone, it is Winter over here in Europe. It is cold. So far I have seen no snow, but I remain hopeful.

We took a night train, where we slept on a train overnight (I know, the name doesn't really make it clear, does it), arriving in Venice in the morning.

How to describe Venice? It is cold, clear, crisp. The air is fresh and bracing. The sky is clear, or sometimes a cool grey, but it hasn't rained at all thus far. December is actually meant to be one of the driest months in Venice.

There is no such thing as a car in Venice (this is the proper island I am talking about, not Venice Mestre). There are no roads, only canals, or paths. There really are gondolas everywhere, and the people running gondolas whistle tunes or sing songs, though oddly it only seems to start when they spot someone with 'TOURIST' stamped all over their map holding hands, or their camera hanging from their neck. Their public transport system is quite cool. A boat goes down the main canals, usually alternating between banks of the canal for each stop. The stops or stations themselves consist of a floating platform, which the boat bumps up against.

In the city, there are bridges everywhere, over all the canals, and they often reek if you stand too close for too long. There are winding streets going around, and they are all made from grey stones. There are shops alongside the paths. These are almost all tourist shops. It seems that an extremely large proportion of Venice's economy is tied to their tourism industry. There are a few shops which keep popping up:

• The mask and puppet shops. These shops have colourful, ornate Venetian masks, and elaborate puppets hanging in their window. Sometimes they will have a sign asking you not to take photos.


• Shoe shops, or shops selling leather goods


• Shops selling Venetian glassware from Murano. Prices differ wildly from place to place. Luckily I don't seem to have paid too much yet, for the three things I have bought.


• General clothes shops, selling ties, scarfs, and similar clothing items.


• Bakeries, with merinques, biscotti, and other Italian pastries in their windows.

There are also flower sellers at major tourist hotspots, who go up to people, trying to hand them roses, then get them to pay for it. The demeanor adopted varies, but the other night a man came into the restaurant we were eating at, and tried the "forlorn and defeated" approach, where he walked over looking at you through dull eyes, the flowers gripped limply in his hand, as if apathy and fatigue had disabled his flower holding abilities.

European Stereotypes: True or False?

• The French are snobs - not yet decided. Being able to speak French, I have found them mostly an engaging and lively people. They make valuable contributions to shop discussions, and diligently perform every task required of them. It has been a pleasure to converse and interact with the French people, and they should be commended on their fine work.


• The French smoke - hell yes. Quite a few young people just stand on the street, or frame themselves in a doorway, pull out a cigarette, and smoke. Vraiment cool.


• The French eat pastries 24/7 - true. There are SO MANY boulangeries it seems incredible that they all stay in business. On almost any street I have been on in Paris (and no, it's not that many), there will be a boulangerie every 20 metres. There are some staples which are present in all boulangeries, such as the eclair, croissant, pain au chocolat, and escargot (swirl shaped pastry like a snail, hence the name). There are also a significant number of fromageries (shops specialising in cheese).


• French trains are awesome - I guess. They're certainly better than Melbourne's train system. They have a nifty system with a map with lit up stations, to show where the train is headed (shown below)

• Italians wave and shout and use hands a lot - sort of true. When we were taking a boat to Murano, for example, I went to the desk, and asked "Murano". The man replied (as it sounded to me), "Pour uno, ou bourano?", holding up one finger then two fingers. I assumed he thought I was asking for a ticket, and proceeded to explain that we already had tickets. As I started to talk, he cut me off, repeating more loudly "Pour uno, ou bourano?" So then naturally I tried again, and again he cut me off. I was getting a little frustrated, so I started raising my voice too. So we stood there, shouting the same things at each other, and not understanding what the other was saying. Which was fun, but didn't actually achieve anything. Finally I realised he was asking "Murano ou Burano?" as there is another island named "Burano", and he had not heard me properly the first time I asked. If in France I felt grown up to be able to use my French; in Italy I feel like an incompetent idiot, as I know very little Italian. I compensate for this by saying "Grazie" (thankyou) a lot. They always reply "Prego" (my pleasure/it's fine).
• Italian shop owners are pushy - not all, but the ones who are, are. Where in France they sort of left me to do my thing, here it's all "you like? You will no find better price anywhere else. Is good price I offer you, very good."
• You can add "io" or "o" to the end of English words and they become Italian - absolutely. Deliziosio, magnifico, fantastico...makes it a whole lot easier.

Racist generalisations aside, my trip has been fantastic thus far - of course, I am only a few days in. Anyway, good luck with results everyone, and if you have questions or anything, you know well that my longing for comments is never fully sated.

My Travels Begin...

So, here I am. Where is 'here'? I am in the Qantas lounge in Hong Kong, typing on a Mac. Before long I will take a flight to London, and then from London to Paris.

I'm afraid there's not been too many colourful anecdotes to share with you thus far. I did some scribbling in the plane:

The Journey

"500 years ago, a ship sailed towards the southern coast of France, made up of a crew charged with a secret mission from the most secret of secret and powerful of powerful powers of their age.

Now, in 2010, a young boy is traveling to Europe with his family. But his journey will yield more than he could have ever expected, as shocking truths buried deep within his ancestry begin to come to light..."

Logbook, Monday 7th December 1509

Food is scarce. The Captain says that if we don't see land within the next two suns, we shall have no option but to kill the lovable ship's monkey, Lucifer. Lucifer expressed discomfort with the proposal through screeching, and biting the wooden oars of the ship's dingy. The air is thick with mutiny...

Young Thomas Wemberlybroke settled himself into his comfortable plane chair, and opened a small blue book, and began to write. 'But what to write about?' he wondered.

As he stared down at the blank page, a hostess approached him, her lips stretched into a smile.

"Can I get you anything?" She broke out into a dazzling laugh, her eyes sparkling with saline.

"Do you have some saline in your eyes" asked the boy politely.

"No," she lied. "Can I get you anything?" she repeated.

"You do have saline in your eyes," insisted the boy, still politely.

"No I don't," she responded shortly. But she did.

Why was she lying about having saline in her eyes? The boy pondered this question as she continued down the aisle. Then, with horrific clarity, it dawned on him. She didn't have saline in her eyes because she needed to hydrate them, but because she was an alien. Having solved this puzzle, the boy went to sleep. The alien hostess then promptly devoured everyone on the plane, and then the plane itself.

I have no intention of finishing that story.

I could go through all the details, such as:

• I watched District 9 on the plane. I watched some of Marie Antoinette and Bruno, but didn't find either very interesting.
• I have been feasting on the free food provided in the airline lounges and so forth, as food will cease to be free once we get to France. I shall be well stocked by the time we reach Paris.

but those details would not interest you. I will come back when I have something interesting to say. Either then, or at the next lounge while I'm waiting for the next plane.