I miss you Melbourne

I was in Melbourne for a very quick trip for my friend's wedding. 

I arrived just in time to watch an AFL game, so I arranged to go with some other friends.  Combined with a few beers and a chicken parma, it was a good way to spend the first night back in Australia.

The next day started as terribly as it possibly could.

I woke up and looked at the clock.  I was very late.  It was less than an hour before the wedding.  Somehow, the wake up call hadn't been made.  I scrambled to get ready.  Fast show.  Quickly dressed.  I ran downstairs and demanded from the front to desk to know what had happened.  They assured me that a wake up call had been made to my room and that a lady had answered.  Well clearly they had called the wrong room given I was in the room by myself.

I ran out the door without acknowledging them further.  I flagged the first taxi I could see and begged the driver to take me to the address I showed him as quickly as possible.  As he drove, I explained my situation, and he said he would do his best.  As we got close to the house, I had prepared the money owing and pressed it into the driver's hands as I jumped out the door and ran towards what I hoped to be the right house.  A knock and a ring of the bell yielded no results.  I ran to the side, I could hear that the wedding had started.  I went back to the front door and knocked again.  Mercifully, someone came and opened the door with a smile.  I apologised as profusely as I could and made my way to the garden at the back.  I was just in time.  I could not have been any later.  I had missed all of the speeches.  I had missed the entrance.  I had missed almost all of it.  Yet somehow, I was there for the most important part as the bride and groom were about to get married.

The part of the wedding I saw seemed great.  The bride and the groom were happy.  There were lots of smiles and there was lots of clapping.  After the ceremony, we all went to another house where there was a traditional Vietnamese ceremony.  With that finished, the food began.  First it was the "family" food at the home after the Vietnamese ceremony.  Platter upon platter of rice, noodles and snacks were brought out, all of it delicious.  After this, we were told that the "real" reception would be starting.  Everyone made their way back into the city to the restaurant where we had a full Chinese banquet waiting for us.  Once that dinner was all finished, the party continued at a nearby rooftop bar.  I was exhausted, but this was a party that was worth fighting the sleepiness for.

I woke up the next day very late and with a sore head.  It had all been worth it though.

With only a day left before heading back to Hong Kong, I thought some calmer activities were needed.  I saw on the map that the National Gallery of Victoria was close by.  I didn't think I had ever been, even as a kid living in Melbourne, so I set out to explore. 

There were a variety of temporary exhibitions on show, the cost of entry to each being surprisingly high.  A very large exhibition with some installations for MC Escher and also a separate exhibition for Julian Opie.  It was all fine and a good way to spend the afternoon, but given my sore head I was in a sufficiently welcoming mood to consider this art.

My trip to Melbourne had been short.  Most of my trips back to Australia seem short these days.  There wasn't enough leave and the distance of the travel always made it tough.  I missed Melbourne.  Being here made me think back to my childhood.  I remembered leaving when I was young and being devasted.  I remembered the very last day in Melbourne before we drove to Canberra, I was feeling sick and my parents took me to the doctor.  I hoped that my illness would somehow mean the move would be cancelled or delayed, but of course that wasn't to be the case.  The doctor was kind, he talked to me about how he had moved to Melbourne and how he now considered it to be his home.  I had promised myself that I would move back to Melbourne, that when I was old enough I would go back home to Melbourne.  Over the years, I still had that idea in my mind and heart, that I would "return".  It never did quite happen.  The trips back to Melbourne became more infrequent and that pull slowly faded.  After all these years, I still considered myself a Victorian, though now I wasn't even living in Australia anymore.  

An incredible Sydney day

It's a bit strange being in Sydney as a visitor.  It still feels like my home, but I've now been away long enough for some of the familiarity to have faded.

I was staying with Sarah.  Her apartment is in Bondi.  We arrived back at her place late at night when it was dark and I crashed onto her couch almost straight away.  The next day, I was woken up by the light streaming in from the windows.  I got up and looked out.  Her views out towards the ocean were incredible.  I felt a definite twang of nostalgia, thinking back to what I used to have living in Coogee.  I didn't have a views like this, but I certainly missed the proximity to some of the best beaches in the world.

We went for a walk around the area.  It was all as I remembered it.  The air was fresh and I could smell the ocean.  I definitely missed it all.

Summer in Sydney is also a special time and place.  I can't think of many places in the world that have such an incredible combination of lovely weather, public holidays, and general upbeat holiday mood.  There is a confluence of a whole variety of different factors which just makes the whole city buzzing with a happiness.

Later that day, I went and met with Helena.  There was an AFL game on, and she got us tickets.  We sat in the stands, watched the game and chatted.  Hels was one of my oldest friends in Sydney.  We knew each other from back in our old Cirque du Soleil days.  The game itself didn't seem very important.  Just the simple act of spending the afternoon together was what we wanted.

Later that night, I went into the city.  Grainne and Shiral were waiting for me.  We went to the basement of No 1 Martin Place.  We ordered wine and a cheese platter.  We drank and ate, talking and laughing about random things happening in our lives.

Nothing particularly interesting had happened during the day.  There had been no big events.  No big stories or occurrences to remember.  But this was still an incredible day.

English Football

I had never been to a football game in the UK.  It seemed like a bucket list experience, so my brother arranged for us to go to a match.  Ashan wasn't doing anything, so he decided to come with us as well.

There wasn't a premier league game on nearby, and in any case we didn't want to pay the premier league level prices for tickets.  Instead, my brother found tickets to a game between Fulham and QPR.  Fulham had been relegated from the premier league, so this would be a Championship league game (with corresponding Championship league ticket prices).

It was a cold day out.

It was dreary and overcast, which made the experience feel all the more British.

The home ground of Fulham is Craven Cottage, which is a small boutique stadium next to the Thames River.  It was a tiny little stadium and there was a lovely in tight feel to sitting on the long wooden benches.  The Fulham fans are all quite "posh" relatively speaking, and there was a lot of polite clapping throughout.  The QPR fans on the other hand were chanting and screaming from behind the goal where they had been cordoned off from the other fans.

It was an enjoyable experience, even if I was freezing.

We left the ground after the match and walked straight to a pub where we warmed ourselves inside and had a beer. 

Return to Bangkok

I hadn't been to Bangkok since back in 2002 (I think it was back then).  It had been a very long time since I had stepped foot in this city.  My memories were of a crazy place.  It was dirty, disorganised and crowded with people.  It was not a pretty city at all, and it felt in every way a enormous sprawling third world city.  Everywhere we went, there was poverty and a desperate need for infrastructure investment.

However, even then, there were small shoots of change.  When we were there, the first line of the new mass transit railway had just opened.  I remember going for a ride on it with my friends who lived in Thailand.  They mentioned that not many people rode it yet because of its cost, but it was a gleaming new example of some of the changes that seemed to be coming.  Still, for us it was nothing more than a novelty as we soon jumped back onto the trusty old tuktuks to get to where we needed to.

This trip showed something very different.  The Bangkok I remembered had been consigned the pages of history.  In its place was a city developing fast.

There was modern buildings everywhere, the mass transit system had been developed further.  The entire city just felt cleaner and more organised as well.  The streets were no longer strewn with rubbish, but instead, it felt like this was a city that was on the cusp of joining the ranks of the global modern metropolises.  Even something as simple as the tuktuks weren't what I remembered.  There were now taxis everywhere, modern taxis which actually put the taxis in Hong Kong to shame in terms of their comfort and make.  Everyone seemed to be using these taxis as their day to day transport instead of the tuktuks.  When we went to catch a tuktuk, I was shocked that the prices were higher than the taxis and there was a general refusal to negotiate the prices much at all.  The tuktuks weren't a integral part of the transport system anymore, and were now clearly something reserved for tourists looking for an "authentic experience". 

Island hopping

I couldn't stop thinking back to my Thailand trips when I was younger and with my family.  I like to think that I'm still young, but there was definitely a feeling to those trips.  Those were the tail end of the "family trips", where I was still effectively a child following my parents and their directions.  Now, I was in a very different position, dictating my own way and making my own decisions.

I booked a day trip out to the islands with Renee.  We were taken out on one of the large tour boats that I remembered from when I was younger.

One of the first stops was at an island which had a small hike to reach a peak with stunning views of the whole group of islands.  Most people seemed to have been a touch more prepared than me with hiking shoes and sneakers, but for me, the thongs/flip flops would have to suffice.  I managed to climb up to the top of the peak, even over the jagged rocks and the views were worth the climb.  Shoes may have been the better option to climb with though.

The trip around all the islands and the various beaches was what you would expect when visiting such an idyllic paradise.  The waters were clear, the beaches were soft and the sun was warm.

The day was spent moving from island to island, and each place we stopped to admire our surroundings and to just enjoy being there.

Having experienced trips like this before, I didn't have the same level of wonder and amazement that Renee seemed to have.  This was her first time in South East Asia, and it's easy to forget how much of a paradise everything can appear when you first arrive.

When arriving at each of the little islands with their secluded beaches, the scenes are always like something out of a movie.  Each one of these places is its own perfect little wonder, completely cut off from any of the troubles of the outside world.

At one of the beaches, we were given the opportunity to paddle around and to the shore from the boats.  As we slowly paddled and looked up, we could see just how sharply each of the islands jutted out from the sea.  They created a shadow which you slowly moved into and which changed the whole scene from one of brightness to one with far more intimacy.  It all of which just seemed to add to the feeling that we really were truly far from the intensity and rush of modern city life. 

Koh Samui

It had been a very long time since I had been to Thailand.  The last trip was probably to Krabi or Phuket with my family.  Time really does skip along faster than you'd expect.

For my first trip in many years, I found myself in Koh Samui.  This island has a reputation as a tropical paradise, so I was keep to see if this was all true.  I hadn't really thought about Koh Samui as a destination, but Renee was very keen.  She had heard amazing things about this place and she had her heart completely set on visiting.  I was eventually swayed and booked the tickets for us to go.  We had a quick stopover in Bangkok and then we were off to the island.  The car ride that took us to the resort was like many of the trips I've been on in the past, winding through small villages, through derelict areas and past lush, dense forests.  So far, there was nothing about this place that seemed particularly unique by the standards of South East Asia.

We arrived at the resort, after the circuitous car ride.  We had visited various other resorts where other vacationers were staying and we were lucky last.  We entered into the old colonial style building which had been renovated into this new resort.  It had that lovely combination of white walls and dark wooden features which seem to match up so well with this tropical climate.  I felt immediately more relaxed as I walked through the halls.  The girl behind the reception welcomed us as we checked in.  She smiled and said that it was very loud in the hotel because of some of the guests (she glanced towards what I assumed was a large tour group) and so she was giving us an upgrade!  We found ourselves in an enormous suite that was far larger than my apartment in Hong Kong.  The sitting room of the suite was probably bigger than my apartment.  We unpacked and then headed out to the beach.

I started to understand more why people loved it here.  It was a paradise.  The waters were clear and the beach was empty.  We had this lovely spot largely to ourselves as most people seemed to instead congregate next to the pool.  I couldn't completely understand this.  Why go to a generic resort pool when you could sit next to this natural wonder?

Happiest place in the world?

Renee loves Disney.  I can take it or leave it.  There are some great movies, but I'm not a passionate fan by any measure.

Since Renee was in Hong Kong with me, I decided to take her to visit Disneyland.  She had been to several in the US, whereas I had never been to any, so it seemed like an ideal opportunity for us to both experience the "Happiest Place in the World".

I was actually a bit excited about going.  Even though I had grown out of the prime age for this type of activity, it was still one of those experiences that everyone wants to have at least once in their life.  The idea of going to Disneyland is so filled with joy and happiness, it wasn't something I wanted to miss because of some self imposed ideas on what was and wasn't age appropriate.  As we arrived at the front of the park, I could feel my excitement growing.

Sadly, not much of this excitement was to last.

I was definitely too old for most of this.

The rides were heavily geared towards very young children which made it hard for me to enjoy too much of it other than for nostalgia reasons.

Worst of all was that the upkeep and general care shown to the park as a whole was terrible.  It was dirty, poorly maintained and the whole place felt in need of a big renovation.  Given the cost of entry and the reputation it has, I definitely felt like I had been taken on a bit of a "ride" (puns can be funny).

There were still moments when I felt lost in the magic of Disney though.  Sitting through the Winnie the Pooh ride, I felt a rush of the memories of childhood.  I loved Winnie the Pooh when I was young.  I remember watching the cartoons and my parents reading me the stories.  One of my oldest memories of school was the Winnie the Pooh themed activity days we did in my first year.  My mum came in with the other parents to help and unbeknownst to the teachers and other parents, my mother was and is a talented artist.  They asked her to help with some of the drawings to decorate the classroom, she very quickly drew enormous versions of all of the characters on large sheets of butchers paper that soon adorned the walls of the entire classroom.  I still remember seeing this perfectly rendered, enormous pictures of all my favourite characters.  This all seemed normal to me as my mum had always been able to help me with my drawings when I was at home.  I didn't fully appreciate her skills as a young child, but I definitely noticed when all the parents came to visit, with all of them standing around in awe, looking at all the drawings my mum had created.  When these activity days finished, since my mum had been the one to draw them, I was given the first choice of the pictures to take home with me.

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.