Out and about in London

London is so much fun.  It's such an old and historic city, so there are these great old places everywhere, but being the bustling metropolis that it is, there are also plenty of incredible new places which seem to pop up all the time.  I didn't have too much time left, so I had arranged catch ups with friends at various locations.

I caught up with my old friend Cath in a gin bar she liked.  We had started our careers together, but she was now living in London.  It was a cool and modern place, full of hipsters with manicured beards and specialty gin cocktails.  I loved this sort of place.  It was full of the bizarre flavours I liked and the atmosphere felt cool enough to make you also feel cooler for being there without being out of place.

The great thing about London is again its history.  There are so many old pubs and bars which have been around for hundreds of years which continue to operate to this day.  Sure. there have been renovations and updates, but there's a nice feeling of continuity to be able to go to some of these old places to meet with friends and to drink a beer.

On the flip side of it all, was the hyper modern.  I was sitting inside Harrods one day just wandering around when I found a beautiful little modern Arabic cafe.  I sat down for some dates and some lovely Arabic coffee.  It was refreshing and light.  A nice way to pass an afternoon.

The variety of everything is such an incredible feature of this city.  I wondered whether I had made the right decision moving to Hong Kong when all of this had been on offer to me.  I was still of course looking at it all from the lens of a tourist.  The realities of immigration are often starkly different to the rose coloured view I have when just passing through.

Tate again

London doesn't feel like London without the Tate Modern.

It has become so inextricably linked with my personal idea and love for the place that any visit feels empty without at least a quick visit.

This time, there was a particularly good reason to visit as there had been some major renovations completed.  My beloved Tate Modern had expanded significantly, with the enormous "Switch House" occupying the space next to the old turbine hall.  The space the Tate Modern now had on offer for its exhibitions had probably more than doubled and there was a significantly larger space now on offer for very large installation pieces.

At the very top of the new Switch House, there was also an open area that you could go to which offered sweeping views across London.  With the old turbine hall in the foreground and St Paul's in the background, it was one of the best views in all of London.

Even with all the new things to see, I still went back to spend more time in the old Turbine Hall.  Walking through the old hall made me feel like I was back at home.  It felt comforting and familiar.

I went back to the Crack as well.  Now all filled in.

I thought back to when I first came to the Tate and how amazed I was that this huge gallery had allowed itself to be intentionally torn open.  Looking at it now, it was this incredible reminder of what had been there.  I wished that others could have seen it like I had.

Victoria and Albert

There are so many museums and galleries in London.  I wonder if the locals fully appreciate what they have at the doorstep?  I think it's so easy to neglect what you can always access.  I've definitely been guilty of that crime living in Sydney.  There are galleries in Sydney I've never been to, as well as parks and beaches which I've told myself I'll visit but which I never do.

The next museum I went to was the Victoria and Albert.  As with most of the other museums, it was full of precious objects looted from other countries another fine example of the colonial history of the UK which still seems to be conveniently overlooked when it comes to matters of art and culture.

The building was stunning as you would expect.  The large halls were filled with light which gleamed off of the white marble of the statues.  The empty spaces and the lack of people gave the whole place an almost cloister like feel.  Those who were there walked around solemnly and silently, observing everything in front of them with an intense concentration.

It was all very beautiful, but I think was starting to get an overload of it all.  I had been moving from gallery to museum and back again.  It was all getting a bit too "same" for me.  I looked a bit more at some of the exhibits, felt a lack of excitement and decided it was time to move on to something else.

National Portrait Gallery

I was enjoying my trip and the opportunity it gave me to visit some different locations in familiar places.  I had taken that approach to wandering around in Paris and now that I was in London, I thought it would be appropriate to try it here as well.

I had been to Trafalgar Square many times, but I had never been into the National Portrait Gallery.  It was an imposing and grand old building that stood at the top of the famous square, but other places had drawn my attention.  I had time now, so it was time to go inside.  It was spectacular in a grand way.  The entire interior felt expensive.  The features were ornate and everything was gilded.

As I walked around the inside of the gallery trying to take everything in, I noticed that there was a common theme amongst all those visiting.  Everyone was taking photos.  I am in no way innocent of this, but I did find it quite amazing to see how much more interested many people were in taking photos of what they were standing in front of rather than actually enjoying what it was.  I quite like looking at the grander perspective of the exhibits in the environment when I'm there.  I will of course look closely at the exhibits as well, but I felt compelled to take some picture of people taking pictures of pictures.

It was all very meta.

There was something about the deep green colours of the place combined with the wooden trim which made me feel like I was in a old and wealthy home.  The couches were comfortable and I wished I had something similar in my own home.

I kept wandering through.  After a while, every room started to look the same.  I looked at my watch and decided I had spent enough time here.

St John

I had wanted to go to St John's for many years.  I had first read about Fergus Henderson and his approach to food a few years ago and I felt inspired by it.  The notion of nose to tail eating seems to foreign to many, but with my Chinese background, this seemed far more familiar.  It always seemed to me to be so wasteful that so many parts of a butchered animal was discarded in a lot of modern cooking.

I was in London and staying with my brother.  He and his girlfriend would often go to St John's for dinner, so he was happy to make a booking.  I went about my day looking around London whilst he and everyone else coming for dinner went to work.  I arranged to meet them at the restaurant and I felt a slight buzz of excitement heading there.  I got off the tube at Farringdon and started to make my way down the street towards the restaurant, following the map on my phone.  The area seemed a bit familiar.  I wasn't sure why, it all seemed to stir memories for me.  I thought that maybe this was just because I was seeing streets I had seen on television before.  I kept walking and the nagging feeling kept growing.  I got to the front of the restaurant, which is in an older building, with big wooden doors leading into an open area which then leads up into another internal building.  I stood outside and the feeling of deja vu was now overwhelming.  I stood in front for a bit longer and scoured my brain, trying to understand why it was that I was certain that I had stood in front of these doors before.  It then suddenly hit me.  I wasn't dreaming.  I wasn't merely drawing on recollections from some image on television I had seen before.

I had been here before.

It was a long time ago.  It was in fact during my first ever trip to the UK and Europe that I had found myself at St John's.  I was still young and inexperienced as a traveller.  I had arranged to catch up with one of my old teachers, Benoit, who was himself then a young man.  We had wandered around and then walked into a "pub" to get a quick meal.  I still remember the prices.  The incredibly expensive prices and I thought to myself that London truly was a city with astronomical costs.  The food was tasty, but both Ben and I had pulled back dramatically and eaten only a tiny amount to try and save money.  What a complete fool I had been!  I had walked into a two Michelin starred restaurant and been surprised at the price!  I had walked into one of the best restaurants in town and thought it was just a local pub.

This time the entire experience was far less stressful.  Rather than looking at the menu in shock at the prices, I instead perused it with intent and curiosity.  I wanted to try every dish.  My brother told me not to worry as he took control of the ordering.  He came here so often that the waiter seemed to know him.  The waiter gave both him and his girlfriend a knowing nod of the head after he finished his order, as though to acknowledge that my brother had completed the job expertly.  Each dish that came out felt rustic and wholesome, but carefully plated.  Near the middle of the meal, the famous roasted bone marrow was brought out.  This was the dish that I had been waiting for most keenly.  We each took a piece of the bone, and scraped the contents out onto a piece of the bread which had been provided.  Once the bread had been coated, you then put some of the parsley salad which had been prepared on top.  The sharp herb flavour cut against the fat of the marrow which immediately coated the inside of your mouth.  It tasted buttery and meaty at the same time, all against the crunch of the toasted bread.  It was an inspired combination of flavours and textures.

All the other dishes we lovely and comforting.  There was sadly no pigs tail that evening, but the sweetbreads with the peas reminded me so much of some of the rich congees that my mother used to make for me when I was sick.  I couldn't help but think back to childhood, when other kids would laugh or tease myself or the other kids from ethnic backgrounds about our choice of food.  Even my ability to use chopsticks was often a source of surprise and wonder.  Now, in a swanky part of London, I was sitting with my friends eating a combination of marrow and offal.  All served on white linen and with silver cutlery.

Parisian walking tour

I love walking around Paris.  It isn't a small city by any means, but it is a city that is so visually attractive that it lends itself to a slow walk, to be appreciated at a respectable pace rather than just glimpsed occasionally from a moving vehicle.  The sidewalks are wide and often tree lined.  Everywhere you turn, you encounter a view that seems to come out of a postcard.

The last few visits I had spent most of my time with Maya and the family.  Since they were all a bit busier with work and life than during my last trips, I took the opportunity to go into the city to explore.  I wanted to enjoy the warm weather and to go look at some of the places I hadn't had time to visit in the the past.

Since I was touristing hard, I decided to go for a ride on the ferris wheel.  This is the type of thing I have generally avoided in the past, but the ride on the ferris wheel in Sydney with Manon and Gabby had been great fun so I decided to try it here in Paris as well.  The line was short (had there been any longer line, I'm sure I would have walked away), and the views at the top did make it worth the ride.

I started walking away from the Champs Elysees and towards the Jardin des Tuileries.  On the other side of a large pond, I found myself a seat and looked across at the ferris wheel I had just ridden on.  There were others who were walking around the gardens, but there wasn't a feeling of being crowded or overwhelmed.  The fact that I was just able to walk over and sit down at one of the numerous free seats was more than enough of a sign of that to me.

One gallery I had never visited was the Musee de l'Orangerie.  I had heard whispers of good things about the place, but my attention had always been distracted by larger and more famous spots.  Given it's location in the Tuileries, it wasn't all that much of a surprise.  The much larger and more famous Louvre was just on the other side of the gardens and it dominated all around it with its immense size and collection.  I still remember the day I spent in the Louvre and how completely overwhelming an experience it was.

The l'Orangerie was small, but it quickly became one of my favourite galleries.  The building was largely dedicated to a series of Monet's water lilies.  The large panels stretched out around the oval rooms which had been constructed for them.  With their oval shapes, the rooms bring a far greater amount of the panels into your vision and you feel as though you are almost surrounded by the ponds.  The clean whiteness of the walls made the rooms feel modern and sleek against the muted colours of the panels, but still made them look brighter than they otherwise would have.  All the other visitors paced slowly around the rooms, heads turned as they admired the panels.  The room was quiet, with only the occasional sound of feet moving.

After leaving the beautiful l'Orangerie, I went to look for some sweeter delights that Paris had to offer.  The joy that I experienced from the simple patisseries that dotted the city was immeasurable and I found it hard to even comprehend that I had grown up in country that dared label any of its bakeries as "patisseries".  Those knockoffs didn't even offer a shadow of a resemblance to what I could get at even a simple patisserie here in Paris.

Each one of the creations was perfectly made.  There was a level of care and craft to each of them which was easy to overlook but was lovely to admire.  I was lucky.  I had spent the whole day wandering around and this was what I still had in front of me to enjoy.

It's a lovely city.  I have only briefly scratched the surface of it and I wanted to see much more of it.

Paris again

Work in Milan had been fun.  It had been a new experience and I had met people from around the world.  All that was done now and people started to head off back to their respective homes.

Since I was in Europe already, I decided to take a week off on leave and to visit some friends.

Any trip to Europe wouldn't feel quite right without visiting Maya and the family.  The kids were getting bigger now.  They weren't babies anymore, but were now children running around causing mischief.

Since I was in the South of Paris, it only made sense that we all went for a walk at Parc du Sceaux.  Since the kids were so much bigger these days, the strollers were gone and instead replaced with their bicycles.  It was a nice progression for them and made me think about my own progressions in life.  I dropped in and out of the lives of these kids at such infrequent moments, that I always found their development and growth both startling and joyful at the same time.

The Parc was its usual lovely self.  The big difference this time was the weather was comfortably in the mid-20s.  Every other time I had visited Maya and Adam, it had been during colder months and we had always walked at a quick pace through a generally deserted park.  This time, there was a liveliness to the place.  With good weather, came lots of people, all walking around or lounging with their picnics on the grass.

The kids kept pushing ahead, with Sofia developing her love of riding ever faster and Emil trying to catch up as all younger siblings do.  At one point, these two little blonde kids had rushed ahead of Maya and myself, they rode furiously past a large group of French people who looked adoringly at Sofia and Emil, chatting with each other about how cute they were.  It was then that the dark brunette Maya and me her Asian friend came running after the kids, calling out to them to slow down.  The French people's faces changed from smiles to confusion.... unclear how this whole situation worked!

Every trip here, the park brings me a little bit more joy.  It always has been one of the hidden jewels of Paris and it deserves far more attention.  Yet, I am very happy that it remains hidden.  For my own selfish reasons, the thought of it being overrun with tourists makes me wince with annoyance.

Italian opulence

I had been told a lot of negative things about Milan.  Before flying out, almost everyone who knew I was coming told me that it was the worst Italian city to visit.  They told me it was ugly, that there wasn't anything there worth seeing, that there were much better places in Italy to visit.  Initially I thought that this was just some form of jealousy from people who weren't going, but even my seasoned traveler friends were confident in telling me that Milan wasn't all that great compared to the other destinations and locations in Italy.  Many of these people I trusted in matters of travel, so I was inclined to believe them.

The result of all of this information was that I had arrived with relatively low expectations.

These low expectations we had not been met with a corresponding low quality location.  I was in fact quite shocked by the beauty of Milan.  The middle of the city in particular was particularly lovely.  The Piazza del Duomo was a big open space that contained not just the Duomo itself, but also the bright Galleria.  This enclosed mall was a bright and open thoroughfare surrounded on all sides with high end shops and eateries.  It looked expensive and refined.  Wandering through, I wondered just how many places in the world had attempted to recreate this Galleria without success.  My thoughts immediately went to the Strand and QVB back in Sydney, the memory for me of both now suffered terribly in comparison to this magnificence of this place.

Dominating the piazza itself was the Duomo.  It imposed itself on the entire square with its solid facade looking over the public space.  This whole area was what I imagined Italy to be like in my mind.  It had the architecture, the people and the general atmosphere of Italy, like something out of a Hollywood movie or an old postcard.  By this stage of my exploration of the city, I was of course riding around on a bicycle.  The slow and melodic sound of the chain clicking against the gears added to Italian experience I was having.

The Duomo was an incredibly beautiful building, with ornate decorations covering it's entire exterior.  Standing underneath its towering doors, I looked up to see the intricately cast metal doors guarding the entrance to the cathedral.  Everything was elaborately constructed.  It was built to impress and inspire the awe and devotion of those who stood in front of it.  It forced your head up high to look in adulation and wonder.

The inside was no less fascinating.  The ceilings were high, but there was an intense contrast between the soft lights from the stained glass windows and the darkened walls.  It was a strange mix of neither dark nor light.  The incredible height made the whole place feel airy and open, yet the columns still made it all feel more closed and intimate.  Even the colours from the stained glass windows themselves felt like more of a dramatic conflict, as they stood out sharply against the white and the dark of their surrounding walls.

One of the main attractions inside the Duomo was a statue of St Bartholomew.  From a distance, it looks like any other renaissance statue, carved out of a marble, white with a hint of the patina of years surrounded by candles.  When you walked closer to the statue, it became much clearer that the subject of this beautifully carved piece of marble was quite macabre.  The statue seems to portray St Bartholomew standing and looking out into the distance with a tired look.  His muscles and sinews ripple underneath his cloak.  These muscles ripple a bit too much.  It turns out its because this statue portrays the poor saint after he had been flayed.  So the muscles are not rippling because of his good diet and exercise, but rather because they are now devoid of any skin coverage.  Even more horrifying, the cloak he has draped over his shoulders is actually his skin after it was removed from his body.  When you walk around the back of the statue, you can even see his face carved into the "skin" of the marble.  It is something so beautiful which is actually so horrific.

Other parts of Milan felt equally pleasant.  There were palaces, and vast sweeping gardens to walk through.  I felt at ease walking around in the city.  Every now and again, I would stop by one of the numerous gelato stores and get some gelato.  It was a good Italian experience and it really did feel "authentic".  I didn't feel surrounded by any intense crowds or overwhelmed by enormous throngs of people.  This was far more like the traveling I had done when I was younger.

One of the main attractions in all of Milan is Leonardo da Vinci's mural of the "Last Supper".  I found a bit of time to go over to have a look at this during some time off.  Standing inside the refectory it is housed in, I stood silently with others as I looked deep into the image, trying to discern the deeper meanings that many others have claimed is hidden within.  The picture itself is famous, but I hadn't realised how enormous it was.  Spanning the entire side of the wall, commands the room entirely.  I was glad to be here.  To be standing in front of one of the great artistic works of humanity.

Still there was work to be done.  The days went by filled with matters, and as we finished it all off, there was a final gathering of everyone inside one of the grand old palazzos in Milan.  There was splendour and opulence the like of which I had never seen.  We were ushered from the gardens with tables covered into drinks into a large private room that had been prepared for a banquet.  Everyone was well dressed for the occasion and there were moments that felt a touch surreal, as though this was something out of an old period drama or a recreation of the gilded age.  The lights in the room glowed softly and there was a loud murmur of chatter and laughter.

Low expectations can sometimes be a blessing.  I had enjoyed Milan and it was an objectively beautiful city.  Sure, it may suffer in comparison to other parts of Italy (not that I would know given I hadn't been to any of these other parts), but that didn't mean that this wasn't a good place to visit.  My time in this city had given me a glimpse into both the old and new of Italy.  I had seen luxurious old palazzos, grand museums, grungy neighbourhoods as well as ultra modern buildings.  I had enjoyed my time here and I was truly grateful for everything which I had been able to see.  Who knows whether I would have felt the same way about this place had I also been unfairly comparing it to other parts of Italy?

Milanese adventures

I've always thought that traveling for work is one of the great luxuries afforded to certain people.  I can appreciate that too much travel can become tedious, but for me it would be something I would still try to cherish as much as possible.  So far in my career, the traveling I had done for work had been limited to trips to regional Australia and the occasional trip to other Australian capital cities.  Nothing too exciting.

With all of this in mind, I felt a level of excitement I had never experienced when I found out I had the opportunity to go to Milan for work! The idea of being able to go overseas for a work trip was crazy enough, but to go to Milan was something else entirely.  My colleagues seemed less excited about the prospect, complaining more about the need to fly overnight to Milan.  Still, no one refused to go as it was still a trip to Europe.  We all gathered one evening for the flight.  I had booked and checked in quite late and so I found myself far from my colleagues and stuck in a middle seat.  In fact, we were all separated on the flight which was probably intentional as no one wanted to speak to one another.  The flight was an uneventful affair and we soon found ourselves all waiting for one another at the arrival gate.  Once we got to immigration, we were split up between those who were EU citizens and the rest of us.  The "rest of us" were stuck in a long winding queue as the EU people went through quickly.  It made little sense to me until I reached the front of the line and experienced first hand a series of immigration officers who clearly didn't care one ounce about their jobs.  They worked at a glacial pace and didn't even look up at me when I handed over my passport.  If there was any location that you would want to sneak into Europe, it seemed like Milan was the perfect spot.

Milan's airport is quite far away from Milan itself.  The taxi trip over to the city cost over €100 and I almost managed to accidentally redirect us off to Lake Como with a mistimed query to a driver who didn't quite understand my question.  Thankfully we were able to get to our location safely.  Driving through Milan, the city felt like what you would think of when you think of a European city, but a very cosmopolitan and lively one.  There was plenty of green, old classically designed buildings and cafes with people sitting outside enjoying life.

The hotel we had been put up in.  Now that was something else altogether.  It was beautiful and luxurious beyond anything I had ever seen or experienced.  The size of my room blew me away, as it was probably about as big as my tiny apartment in Hong Kong.  The firm had rented out the entire hotel, so being some of the early arrivals, we had the pick of some of the nicer rooms which were offer.  It was without a doubt, the best accommodation I had ever had the good fortune of experiencing.

With all of us checked in, we went off in different directions to explore the city more.  Coming in from Hong Kong, we had arrived a day earlier than the rest of our colleagues, so we had a bit more time to look around before all the work started.  A group of us went out to look around at the different sights of Milan.  There were a lot of modern areas.  Far more modern than I had expected.

I shouldn't have been so surprised by this.  Milan was at the end of the day, the financial and commercial centre of the whole of Italy, so it made complete sense that this would also be the modern heart of the country.

A few of us went to catch up with the friend of a colleague who was working in Milan temporarily.  She took us to a local restaurant with the working lunch crowd.  I looked through the menu and ordered the "Milanese cutlets".  What arrived in front of me were a bunch of chicken nugget like morsels of breadcrumbed meat.  The waiter then dropped a bottle of soy sauce in front of me.  I couldn't help but laugh at this bizarre addition given to me.

The work would start soon enough, but so far the trip had already been a learning experience.