Culture vultures

Paris and I go way back. Our first visit, in the mid-80s, was quirky enough that it has assumed almost mythical status in my memory.

In 1984, we spent an April fortnight touring France and the Netherlands with ex-flatmate friends. They had bought an old Mercedes sedan in Germany and we ferried over from London to meet them. By the time we left Calais for Paris, the Merc had lost its rear number plate. No big deal, you might think. But in pre-EU times when borders were still a thing, this WAS a big deal.

I will never forget the afternoon we spent in a French police station after being escorted from a hypermarché car park. We saw guns. We experienced teargas (thanks to a fumbling flic fiddling with the canister). We broke the conversational ice by emphasising our status as New Zealanders and our close connection with the All Blacks. This actually worked. Or perhaps Interpol gave us the all-clear. Who knows? Passports were returned. Warm farewells were exchanged and we hightailed it outta there.

Musée d'Orsay

So to Paris. We had a trusty guidebook, Europe on $10 a Day. (Remember, dear reader, this was last century.  No one had got around to inventing the internet, so a good guidebook was invaluable.) The accommodation section, sub-category dirt-cheap, suggested a modest hotel where, early each morning, Madame would bang on the door and ask, "Vous partez ou vous restez?" Too good to resist!

We eventually found the hotel. Modest was a generous overstatement. Sitting on the floor, we ate chewy French bread and brewed coffee on a kerosene burner. We slept in grimy nylon sheets. We shared a no less grimy bathroom. And yes, each morning, early, Madame banged on the door asking if we were staying or going. Ah, memories...

Each visit since, the accommodation has improved incrementally. This time, our quite roomy apartment was in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower and, in fact, only a short walk from the NZ Embassy (something we needed to know in order to vote).

Chez Richards 2017

But the weather was refusing to play its part in revisiting the romance of our youth. So we ditched any thought of picnics in the Jardin des Tuileries and headed indoors. The Musée d'Orsay is an old favourite because that's where the best Van Goghs hang out. But there's so much more to see in this wonderful building (converted from its previous life as a railway station). A new find was the Musée des Arts et Métiers.  Despite its name, this was more a repository of things technological and scientific, with enough historical gizmos and gadgets to make the Professor a very happy man. Foucault's pendulum and Lavoisier's laboratory really floated his boat.

We also managed a showery stroll around the gardens of Musée Rodin, renewing our acquaintance with this reflective chap.

It's not difficult to find concerts to attend in Paris. Something to do, I'm sure, with the combination of talented young musicians looking for summer income, ancient churches with excellent acoustics and tourists looking for Authentic Experiences. So, on our last evening, we sat in the medieval l'église Saint-Ephrem and bathed in a programme of Chopin pieces. The pianist was, of course, a former prize winner of the National Conservatory of Music of Paris. I was in heaven.

Our cultural cavalcade then moved on to Vienna, another city from our ancient past. This time, we had tickets to a Diana Krall concert, something that one would obviously fly across Europe to attend. Obviously. Bruce's turn to be in heaven. Obviously.

Vienna is a grandiose city, with more magnificent buildings than you could shake an old guidebook at. I can't imagine living there (as I could Zurich or Paris) but it was great fun to cycle around. Bike lanes were plentiful and were well separated from cars, buses and trams. 

Just as in Zurich and in countless other cities around the world, it is so easy to see the benefits of city planning that treats Viennese cyclists as valid road users.

Whatever its outcome, I do hope this election campaign has helped to raise the profile of transport options other than motorways to keep New Zealand's cities moving. 

Our two-wheeled travels around Vienna,
according to Strava