Fezzik In Paris

interlude: nîmes

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May 26, 2016

Having found myself in Nîmes for work once again, I made an effort to take advantage of the ever-longer days by wandering around and taking a few pictures before the sun went down.

I also ate my dinner (lovingly prepared by the Purrito the night before; thanks, love!) on a bench in the esplanade.

Six hours of trains over the course of two days aside, it was hard to complain too much.

The very-well-preserved-for-being-nearly-2000-years-old arenes de Nîmes. (To be fair, it has apparently been dutifully overhauled and refurbished a number of times)

Founded by veterans of Caesar’s Egypt campaign (thanks for soldiering, here’s your farm), the city seal is a crocodile chained to a palm tree.

The cafés back here are all fairly nice.

Among the other things left behind by the Romans: la maison carée.

Not pictured: dinner.

In retrospect, last weekend’s (yes, I am once again behind; the post rate for this year has fallen precipitously, and I am lacking the energy to increase it) excursion to Amsterdam (for those counting, this is trip number four) was, perhaps, not the best of ideas; the Purrito returned from her unexpected jaunt back to the US (Houston flooded, and she had to assess the damage) the day before we left, and my immune system was in the midst of giving up the ghost. On the métro to Gare du Nord, I seriously considered declaring that I was in no shape to continue, and that I would strongly prefer it if we just headed back home, but I did not do so.

Fortunately, things turned out well enough.

We spent most of the trip lazing around the Airbnb apartment that we had rented, looking through the (admittedly very relevant to our interests) books, watching the movies (while we never quite made it to Koyaanisqatsi, the third Indiana Jones flick is always well worth a watch), and occasionally venturing outside to wander around (the Rijksmuseum, having recently reopened, was on our to-do list, though both of us were so tired that we spent a little over an hour in the museum – a new record in brevity for us) or grab some food (we watched a few boats go by at our favorite Bagels & Beans on the IJDock, ate at the made-to-order pasta place that I like [my love for which, the Purrito is still unable to figure out]).

I took all of 15 pictures (did I mention I felt like ass most of the time?).

I did, however, feel well enough to eat some pickled herring (tasty, tasty pickled herring) on Saturday, so the trip was by no means a complete waste.

Additional material for the mechanical bullshit category.

A strange dancing-ceiling-puffball installation from the Rijksmuseum.

It’s a boat.

bonus picture dump: rolling hills of the renaissance

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May 2, 2016

Yes, I know: rolling hills is weird, but trips through The Concise Oxford Thesaurus and, um, Urbandictionary.com failed to yield a synonym suitable for pairing with Florentine; the obvious alliteration would be Florentine Funbags, but funbags feels even more vulgar low class…

It’s not what I’m going for.

Jubblies of the Renaissance doesn’t quite sound the way I want it to, though I like the term jubblies, so I suppose we’ll stick with rolling hills.

Now, where were we? Ah, yes…

Even more so than either Greece or Rome (which is hardly surprising given that it was the birthplace of the renaissance), the art in and around Florence features a lot of (uncovered) boobs. It was a multitude of melons, a bounty of boobs, a (metric) ton of ta-tas.

Incidentally, the Purrito shares this opinion, so this is not just me and the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon.

I present the following gallery as proof.

An exception that proves the rule: this statue’s chest is technically covered, but that breastplate is detailed to the point that it hardly matters.

To the right of fake David.

Yup.

First sighting in the Uffizi gallery.

Topless angels.

This is what they are for, right?

I like the cherub, who appears to be telling her not to worry about having misplaced her clothes.

Multiple sightings.

Who needs shirts? She has a crown.

Her nightie is slipping.

I didn’t realize the painting in the Louvre (the infamous nipple pinch) was one of a series.

That’s right, take a picture.

Close enough.

Where she’s going, one does not need clothes.

Sorry to bother you, but your dress…

Oh Titian.

An immodest fountain.

She’s Florence, he is another Italian city-state (Pisa?).

Just chillin’.

Right side, in the triangular panel.

Lots of nakedness here.

More free-boobing angels.

Boobs on tombs. Toombs?

Found in one of the chapels in Saint-Croce(?)

A plaster cast of the The Rape of the Sabine Women.

…art school (Accademia) ahoy!

Again with the lack of clothes coupled with a crown; perhpas this is a thing, and I’m just not sufficiently in the know.

Bottom right.

Grapes (and melons).

The rock on her left is probably cold. (just a thought)

It’s not as if she’s playing that lyre. She could pull up her dress.

She needs a bath.

Modern, but still boobs.

The award for the worst boobs goes to this sculpture, found in the Medici Chapel.

cerca trova

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May 1, 2016

Where Rome proved to be a constant series of “wow, that actually looks like I expected it to look,” and “holy shit, I ‘remember’ that,” -style reactions, our Florence-focused leg of our continued tour of Assassin’s Creed sites (I’m only half kidding here; by my count, we’ve been to the places covered in Brotherhood, Unity (hey, we live here), Syndicate, and now II) produced more of a series of “huhs.”

Much like Rome, Florence appears to be nearly entirely populated by tourists (hi, kettle; my name is pot); when this observation escaped my lips (lunch sucked, I had yet to succumb to the siren call of fake gelato, and as such, I may have been a touch trenchant), the Purrito quite rightly pointed out that our original plan had been to go to Venice, and that per several of her crew, that city was even worse.

Thus we found ourselves in Florence. To say that it was a productive trip was an understatement; armed with our Firenze Cards (yes they’re expensive (72€ a pop), and holy shit are the line-skipping privileges alone worth it) we checked nearly everything off of our list (with the exception of the Pitti Palace; the rain on Saturday was simply too miserable to hike all the way over there) and came back with an arguably-obscene amount of pasta, olive oil, and refrigerator magnets.

The undisputed highlight of the trip was the Grande Museo del Duomo, a newly-renovated museum dedicated to the cathedral that dominates the center of the old city. Secondary highlights were my venture to the cupola of the Duomo (463 steps covering 91 vertical meters) and my questionable decision to climb the tower on the Palazzo Vecchio (223 steps, 50-odd vertical meters) a mere couple of hours later.

I’d go back (though perhaps in the off-season).

Our first look at Il Duomo.

Florentine pigeons.

A very nice candelabra-type-thing.

Ponte Vecchio.

Palazzo Vecchio, as seen from the courtyard of the Uffizi Gallery.

The tower that I would eventually climb.

Fake David, bro.

Various statues.

As I didn’t see it anywhere else, I think this turtle is sitting on the plaque that denotes where Savonarola was burned.

We like lions.

The interior entrance to the Uffizi gallery. Sigh.

Sometimes you want to rock out with your cock out.

Shoes: elaborate and highly unusual for one of these statues (sandals are fairly common, but I am unable to recall having seen any other kicks).

We thought that Vecchio sported a monkey. It’s a lion.

Nice dragon, bro.

I haven’t altered the color balance at all; The Birth of Venus is seriously underwhelming in person.

Santa Croce.

It’s Dante.

Dante, again.

Macchiavelli’s tomb.

Bored bored bored.

King of the beasts.

A pigeon.

Donatello’s David.

Florence as seen from Il Duomo‘s cupola.

The excellent Grande Museo del Duomo.

That’s an alarming crack.

Cerca trova…

Florence as seen from the top of Palazzo Vecchio‘s tower.

Looking from the current long-ass hike to the previous long-ass hike.

Uffizi’s courtyard as seen from the previously-photographed tower.

A nice window.

Inside the baptistery (the hexagonal building in front of Il Duomo).

A Roman floor, as seen in the archaeological site under Il Duomo.

The Medici Chapel, and proof that I still have the fisheye lens.

A gathering of minis on the piazza.

minty fresh

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April 21, 2016

One might be inclined to believe that Monnaie de Paris, located in the building that still houses half of the French mint (the actual production facility was moved outside of Paris a few decades ago, thus leaving the design studio) would be home to a museum about manufacturing coins, complete with a description of the proofing process, a bit of information on how the base materials arrive, and a variety of coin presses.

One would be wrong.

Or rather, one would be right, but not until late 2017, so that instead of the anticipated permanent exhibit on the fabrication of coins for circulation as currency, one would instead wind up walking through an art exhibition entitled Brut(e), featuring large plates of steel, I-beams, rats, goldfish, rolled metal logs that are supposed to have religious connotations, a Typar carpet, and sunflower seeds.

Neither of us could explain why, but it was strangely engaging.

It’s the lovely église Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois.

Le pont des Arts, looking much better now that heavy-duty plexiglass has been put in place to prevent the accumulation of love locks.

Mandatory buoy picture.

I’m not saying that I have seen this before, but it feels a touch cliché.

They’re alive.

Easels?

Quoting Bullet With Butterfly Wings here would also be cliché.

A sleepy metal cylinder.

The text on the door said something about an apostle or two. I genuinely don’t know.

The pink paint was completely unexpected.

Heavy.

stilted

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April 9, 2016

We’re in the midst of a recuperation weekend; the Purrito’s brief voyage back to Texas was draining to the point that we abandoned the normal keep-her-awake-by-running-around plans in favor of chilling chez nous.

All of which is supposed to provide a coherent establishing story to why I found myself standing on our balcony staring at the people on our street this afternoon (full disclosure: the rest of this time was spent playing The Witcher III, so I’m not at all complaining). Excluding the horse that somehow managed to leave a two meter-stain in the middle of one of the crosswalks (we’re on the leading edge of the tourist season; hold on to your butts), the most notable members of today’s parade of weird were two people on stilts, who were hawking the “grand opening” of the Bio c’bon that has been open for the last three months (that’s one hell of a soft opening).

For the record, The Witcher III is great.

He’s probably looking at a huge pile of dog shit.

I would have prepared the flyers before I mounted those stilts, but what the hell do I know?

That’s right: walk away.

an observation

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April 3, 2016

Easter is the best holiday because it is the holiday for which the best candy is produced.

Additionally, the it’s-good-if-there-is-a-chicken-on-it theory remains true.

Le Nôtre: expensive, aesthetically pleasing, tasty.

london ring-no-answer

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March 29, 2016

Our return to London served as the latter-end bookmark to a hectic week of travel; Malta last weekend, Nîmes (on business, hence the lack of a post) mid-week, and finally London over this past weekend’.

While our first trip was somewhat of an unpleasant experience, I think our view of the city has been rehabilitated thanks to our jaunt to the British Museum (its gift shops, really; I’m omitting a long, vitriolic rant about the Elgin Marbles in particular) and Harrod’s. I don’t know that we’ll be back, but I’m unlikely to complain if it were to happen.

The British Museum’s Great Court.

This picture is pre-captioned.

A lion. Probably stolen.

I think these are Assyrian (and stolen).

Sometimes you just feel like stealing an entire fucking temple.

It is a nice statue.

Lord Elgin’s handiwork (ripped from the Parthenon).

An intricately-carved instrument.

The 12th-century Lewis chessmen.

This is worthy of a prominent place on a desk…

Here we go.

Harrod’s: Expensive. “Classy.”

The food court was, however, impressive.

Flyingangrybear located outside of Gare du Nord.

Bonus gallery, because this trip caused me to flip through the pictures tagged “London,” and I managed to neglect posting anything from our trip in 2014:

King’s Cross Saint-Pancras.

The Tower of London, with poppies (in commemoration of casualties suffered in the first world war).

There were a lot of these things.

London Bridge.

One of the infamous ravens.

It’s a the gherkin.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, we now own a plush raven.

Aboard the London Eye.

Big Ben, as seen from the Eye.

Battersea!

The view from the top of the Eye.

Noted.

Gare du Nord‘s Solari board that was tragically (seriously, what a fucking travesty) replaced sometime in 2015.

macguffin

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March 28, 2016

Last week’s trip to Malta was a massive change to our normal travel routine; while we are usually running around in search of the next thing to see, Malta was intended to be a sit-and-relax vacation.

In becoming a relaxing vacation, it also morphed into one centered around food; both of us had managed to forget that 17 March was Saint-Patrick’s day, and so the masses of intoxicated people impeding our taxi driver’s path to the hotel came as somewhat of a surprise. Having deposited our belongings, we headed back out in search of the Maltese Hard Rock (I’m becoming slightly less embarrassed every time we go), which we found to be lightly populated despite it’s incredible (as it turned out, “one more drink” actually meant “two actual drinks”) happy hour.

I was also the recipient of a tacky Guinness hat.

The pizza place we ate at after wandering all over Valletta made one of the better pizzas that I’ve had in the last couple of years (though the top prize remains with Marxim’s in Budapest), and while the Maltese pizza-alike that I had for lunch the next day was disappointing (capers and a sweet ratatouille-alike aren’t my thing), the highlight of the trip was the meal we had at The Eletro Lobster Project. The tuna tartare starter, my lobster linguini, the Purrito’s octopus/squid/swordfish/seabass combo plate, my cheesecake dessert, and the bottle of Maltese sparkling wine were all excellent, and somehow totaled less than 100€ (I’d guess that a similar meal would be in the neighborhood of 250€ in Paris).

All things considered, I’d happily go back and sleep beside the pool again.

A waterfront church.

The Electro Lobster Project lives here.

The tallest building in Malta.

The Purrito was a fan of these colorful boats.

Not Maltese: the Ladurée easter chicken that I bought in Orly.

The square just inside Valletta’s city gates.

This fortification is apparently handicap-accessible.

Mechanical bullshit.

Jean de Valette, for whom the city is named.

The cathedral is elaborately decorated.

Hospitaller tombs lie under the floor of the nave; it’s thus literally paved in ornate tombstones.

The Purrito made me take this picture.

Sleepy lions.

The Maltese version of the changing of the guard.

A corridor in the incredibly-exciting palace staterooms.

I don’t know why the chandelier lights have halos in this picture (it’s probably due to the shutter speed), but it looks pretty damn cool. I doubt I’ll ever succeed in intentionally reproducing the effect.