I'm a graduate (again!)

Time feels like it is slipping through my fingers.  I say this because of what seems like an ever increasing speed at which my life is moving forward.  Days seem to pass by very quickly, as do the weeks and even the months.  I now seem to experience the terrifying days where I find myself incredibly busy and the day is over without me even fully realising that anything has happened.  There is a repetition that kills the uniqueness of each day, that turns it into something more akin to the rotation of gears than an actual individual moment of beauty it should be.

I think back to when I was a child and how even the thought of having to wait a single hour for anything would be tantamount to torture.  Yet now, I seem to want the opposite.  I want to slow the time, I want to turn the water through my fingers into molasses, yet with no success.  This is concerning to me as I constantly wonder and fret over whether I am doing enough with my life.  I question whether or not I am actually taking hold of the moments I have been blessed with and using them for something worthwhile.  Yet even this has its challenges as I am forced to decide between the investments for the future and acting for the present.

I now found myself in one of those situations where I was once again questioning whether I had made the correct decision in how I had used my time.

I was graduating from university again.

I now had a Masters of Law from the University of New South Wales.

I had enjoyed the opportunity to study again, but it had not been easy.  There had been significant sacrifices that had been made to ensure that I was able to undertake both the studying and the work to a successful degree without negatively impacting the other.  I had found myself locked in study labs and in front of computers working when others were out enjoying themselves.  I had been forced to concentrate in isolation as others were enjoying the company of friends and family.  I could even clearly remember the times when my housemates tried to convince me to the go to the beach and I was forced to turn them down so that I could read journal articles instead.

The sense of achievement was definitely still there.  It was the cliched feeling of reaching the end of a journey, but with more finality.  I had never expected to have completed my masters (and definitely not so quickly), so there was also satisfaction in knowing that I had hit another milestone unexpectedly.  The only problem was the continued nagging thought in my head of whether this was the "correct" milestone to be hitting.  Had I had made the right decision?  Had I sprinted in the right direction or had I merely placed myself even further from the destination that I ultimately wanted to arrive at?

Sitting in the audience, I was lucky enough to find that the guest speaker was George Williams.  The famous George Williams who wrote the constitutional law textbooks that filled me with pain and terror during my undergraduate years.  He was not what I expected at all.  He was not the old and grey professor I had imagined, but was instead an open minded progressive.  Who would have thought it?

As I sat and listened to Prof Williams speak, I found myself actually being interested by what he was saying (another shocking surprise I did not expect from my graduation).  He spoke of failure.  He spoke of the need to fail and how often he had failed in life.  He spoke about how it was only through the constant failure that he had eventually succeeded.  I contemplated this message silently in my seat.  Failure was truly inescapable, but it was still more difficult to rationalise it when I struggled to decide what I considered to be success.

And now for something completely different

I am a dedicated fan of Aussie Rules Football.  It is something that I have grown up with.  My upbringing is so ingrained with Aussie Rules that it almost seems to be a part of my personality (and I'm sure that many people would attest to that fact).

There are few other sports that interest me and there are many others that I look down on with disdain and contempt.

One of those sports is Rugby League.

I have never understood the attraction of this sport that seems to me to be so two dimensional.  The two lines of men running at each other with the constant repetition did not create any drama or tension for me.  Instead of trying to embrace it, I actively railed against it.  Being a Victorian transplant, stuck in the middle of NSW/ACT, my love of Aussie Rules and disdain for Rugby League became like a badge for me.  It was a constant reminder that no matter how much time went by, I would never fully integrate.

This all left me in an awkward position when I was asked by a friend at work to attend a Rugby League game.

I really didn't want to go.

However, I also knew that as this was something I had never tried before, it was a new experience I shouldn't be passing up.

I agreed to go.

On a Monday night (yes, a MONDAY NIGHT) after work, we all set off on the train to the middle of Sydney to watch the Canterbury Bulldogs play the Cronulla Sharks.  

The crowd was small, but passionate.

I couldn't help but compare it to the enormous crowds I was used to seeing at the Aussie Rules games.  Still, the atmosphere was good.

What definitely surprised me was that I enjoyed myself.  It was impressive to watch the spectacle of the game and to hear the noise of the tackling.  It was very clear from the sound that these were by no means painless encounters.

I walked away from the game with a different view (which is always important).  I hadn't become a fan of the sport, but I definitely had a new found respect for it that wasn't previously there. 

Breakfast of champions

They always say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Who "they" are is completely unknown to me.  However, I'm fairly certain that "they" probably wouldn't approve of my standard breakfast of a croissant at my desk as I check my emails.

They probably wouldn't be so happy with Andy's version of a nutritious breakfast either.

On this chosen day, breakfast for Andy consisted of some standards.  He poured himself a cup of orange juice, then he made himself an espresso.

Then he microwaved a plate full of left over pan fried dumplings.

Pork dumplings.  Truly the most nutritious way to start your day.

Legoland

Growing up, there were always the kids who loved Meccano and the kids who loved Lego.

Then, there were always the kids who would make and eat mud pies .... (a practice I found to be bizarre even in my youngest years).

For me?  I loved Lego when I was a kid.

The steel and bolts of Meccano was too cold and unfeeling.  There was a sharpness to it all that I didn't like.

Lego on the other hand was colourful and welcoming.  It was like a real life cartoon that had the benefit of being interactive.

Sitting in the middle of Martin Place in Sydney having lunch with my friend Philipp, I was happy to see the Lego forest that had sprouted overnight.

I couldn't help but feel as though I had reverted to childhood.  I was clearly wandering around inside my memories.  I definitely missed it.  Lego for me was an intrinsic part of my childhood and the end of  the time I spent with it almost directly coincided with my move to boarding school (which I consider to this day as being when I began to grow up).

Being around so much Lego made me long for something that was still neatly stored in boxes in my parents' house and yet could never actually  be found again.

The only thing missing were some Lego pirate men and some Lego knights.

An iconic beach

Being asked to organise an event for work is very often a pain.  It usually entails additional work with little to no recognition.

However, there can definitely be situations where the benefits outweigh the hard work.

For one thing, it means that you are able to control where it is you go and what it is you do.

More importantly, it means you get to arrange the allocation of rooms!

All things being equal, that meant that I got a lovely room with an ocean view.

The room itself was a bit older, but that wasn't a real concern to me.

In fact, I think I actually preferred it.  As I've said numerous times before, the bland ultra modern hotels seem  to lack soul and feeling.  Rather than make me feel at ease, the rooms they offer make me feel cold and alone.  I hardly see this as being a recipe for successfully providing comfort to patrons who are often traveling, by themselves and away from those they care about.

This room was a bit rougher than some of the other places I've been in lately.

The furniture was not perfectly matched.  It was a bit old fashioned.  The bathroom was tiled from floor to ceiling in a truly awful colour of off-white.

And yet I liked it.

I liked  the old wooden furniture that looked like it had been used.  I liked the couches that had clearly been sat in.  It actually felt like someone had been in the room at some point.

Of course, it also helped that the view from my balcony wasn't too bad.

Or rather, it was amazing.

This was the first time that I had the pleasure of staying in Bondi.  The weather was cool, so the beach front felt a bit sleepy.  There was a mood of a beach resort in winter, which I guess is what Bondi is during the cooler months.

It didn't stop me swimming.  Once I had a break from work, I rushed down to the beach and jumped into the water.  Looking north and then south up the long expanse of Bondi's sands, devoid of its usual crowds, it was peaceful.

Giants awaken

How often do you get to attend something truly historic?

How often is it that you are able to attend an event that you can say has never happened before?

You may think that this may occur when you have attended the "last" of something, but very often those things can change or revert.  My university days are a good example of that.  I thought I was done and dusted when I walked out of my final exams.  I celebrated, I partied and I even spent moments contemplating the time that had past.

This was a short lived "last" though, as within three years, I was back at a different university doing my masters.

Being at the FIRST time for an event, that is an entirely different situation.  Nothing can take that "first" away.  Once it's happened for the first time, it's locked in.  There can be no reverting and there can be no going back.

I was very excited to be at the very first AFL game for the Greater Western Sydney Giants!  A new franchise entering the AFL.

I was also fortunate that I was able to share this event with my good friends Philipp and Dana.  I had met them both through my LLM studies.  Having come all the way to Sydney from Switzerland, they were keen to get more of a taste of Australia.  Attending AFL games would be perfect for that.

So I had two firsts all set up.  The first ever GWS Giants game in the AFL and the first ever AFL game for my Swiss friends.

The day went off without a hitch (except for the crushing defeat of the Giants).

I had been part of something historic and I had been able to introduce my friends to something new, and incredibly, they loved it!

Seasonal Affective Disorder

Well this is just awful.

Summer is Sydney is what makes it worthwhile to live in this city devoid of culture and character.  It's meant to be the best time to be in Sydney.  It's the time that makes me forget about the long period in the middle of the year when the entire city seems to go underground, waiting for the sun to reemerge with its warmth.

Something was dreadfully amiss though.  My precious Sydney summer was being robbed from me and in its place was rain.

It was a never ending gloom.  It was a rain that was seeming into the cracks in the walls and seemed to be melting the buildings themselves.

I was finding it hard to write as well.  My posting for this blog was months behind the times.  I have often read about how many artists and writers find themselves most productive during times of anguish and suffering.  I am by no means an artist (or even a real writer), but I was not fortunate enough to experience any such surge in creative output.

Instead, all I had was a never ending pall hanging over my mood.  I was suffering some pretty major SAD and I was a complete loss as to how to fix it.

The Little Master

Cricket is fantastic isn't it?

I mean this seriously.  It's just an amazing concept in our modern world.

We may be rushing about and in a constant hurry.  There may be a constant demand for things to be delivered immediately and for the latest trends to fervently adhered to.  Life seems to be rushed at an ever increasing rate.

Not with cricket though.  In this game from another era, a slower pace of life seems to take over.  A more ordered and refined approach towards sport that doesn't involve violence or injuries reigns supreme.

I was lucky enough to have landed some tickets to the 3rd day of the Sydney test match.

They weren't any ordinary tickets, they were highly sought after member's tickets.

I was also lucky enough to be there for Australia vs India.  Two cricketing power houses between whom no love was lost.

I didn't realise how lucky I was going to be though.

The 3rd day of the test was where I was going to see history unfolding.  The beginning of something enormous, and the end of the something even bigger.

Australia was still batting....

.... and they just kept batting.

Nothing was going to stop them.

So much so that Michael Clarke ended up with 329 not out.  A new personal best.  A new record knock at the Sydney Cricket Ground.

I've never been a fan of Michael Clarke, but this was an achievement that deserved a standing ovation.

With the end of the Australian inning, it was time for India to start.

The Indian batting had struggled on this tour and this day would be no different.

Within a short amount of time, the opening batsmen were walking back to the pavilion.

This gave me a chance to see two of the greatest cricket players of all time for the first, and more than likely, last time.

First the great Rahul Dravid arrived.  Famously known as "the Wall", he hadn't had a good tour of Australia and it was clear that time had ravaged his formerly daunting defences.  Holes had clearly begun to appear in the Wall....

Soon, the Wall fell over.

This gave me the chance to see one of the most famous cricket players of all time.  A man who is literally worshiped as a god in his home country.  Sachin Tendulkar was walking onto the SCG!

The entire crowd rose as one to applaud his entrance.

He was the opponent, he was the star, but it didn't matter.  His career was what was being honoured.  Everyone was clapping as a sign of respect and reverence.

Watching it all occur, it seemed like a throwback to the past.  Seeing Tendulkar confidently walking into the middle of the stadium to the standing clapping made him appear almost regal and chivalrous.  With gloves on and his bat under his arm, he was like a knight slowly walking off into his final joust.

Another Christmas in Coogee

I love Christmas.

It really is my favourite time of year.  It's a time for both a celebration as well as a bit of a relax.

Work becomes a bit easier (not in the literal sense) when you're surrounded by the cheerful smiles of people looking forward to a break.

Everyone is in a celebratory mood and moving from party to party.

In the Southern hemisphere, we're also greeted by the warm embrace of summer.  In Sydney, that means the beach is once again open for use after many months of taunting us.

This all adds up to mean that this is a season where a weight is lifted off your shoulders and you're able to relax the next months away.

That is unless you place the weight straight back on yourself!

Christmas doesn't just happen!  It takes a lot of work and preparation!

So while I was happy that this was a more relaxed time of year, it in no way meant that I wasn't going to be well prepared for Christmas day and the fun times that I was going to create for all my friends.  The first thing to do was to ensure that I was surrounded by the appropriate amount of Christmas cheer.  This required tinsel.  Lots and lots of tinsel.  It required decorations and random Christmas related paraphernalia splashed everywhere.   I wanted my apartment to look like Santa Clause had thrown up in it.

With some help from the Irish, I was able to get the apartment looking truly gaudy!

With that task done, Christmas day itself began to approach.

This meant another sterling edition of "Christmas in Coogee".

This year's would be our most multicultural yet, with guests from Australia, Austria, Ireland, Switzerland, France, Germany and the United States.

Just like other Christmas in Coogee celebrations, it was also going to be a lot of work.  This year, even more so than others.  With a guest list pushing 20 and a lack of the help I normally received from Andy and Josh, the work necessary for this year's merriment was going to be done almost exclusively by myself.

A couple of days before the lunch, I began to cook.

Several components of what I was making for the lunch required preparations to be done well in advance.  I needed to make some sponge cakes, bake some pavlovas, make the stuffing and prep the turkey.  This was all in addition to the fruit cake that I had been soaking in brandy for the past 6 weeks as well.

Finally, the actual day arrived.

I woke up nice and early and began the process of baking, peeling, stuffing, boiling, frying and chopping (not in that order of course) necessary for everything to come together. 

It was tough.  I even needed to employ the services of an extra oven at a friend's place to ensure that everything was cooked on time.

Once everything was finished, I wandered out and found myself a seat with everyone else.

Crackers were cracked, hats were put on and the celebrations began in earnest.

Summer had been unseasonably cold.  So of course on the day of Christmas in Coogee, we found ourselves facing a rather warm weather.  I wasn't going to let this discourage my appetite though.

Food and drink were clearly making a positive mark on the gathered crowd.  I've always been of the firm opinion that food not only brings people together, but it has the ability to put people at ease.  So when combined with the free flowing drinks, the day was set.  Fans were put on full blast to counter the heat and everyone was attacking the mountain of food I had prepared (a mountain that had grown even larger when we received an Irish contribution of a full leg of roasted ham).

My intention had been to put people into a food coma.

After about the third helping of everything, I could see that people were slowing down and beginning to get a bit groggy.

It was at this point that I did my big reveal.

I hit everyone with a double dessert.

Pavlova and trifle (and of course, the trifle was full of brandy).

I could see the look of horror on everyone's face as they realised they hadn't left enough room for dessert.  This was but a small obstacle though, and when the plates of dessert were passed around, no one declined.

As they began to eat the desserts, one of the Irish girls immediately noticed the amount of brandy that was in the trifle and asked me in mild shock: "Has there been anything in this meal that doesn't have booze in it?"

I had a simple response for her.

"No."

Shortest visit ever

I was drowsy and cranky when I arrived in Hong Kong.

Swiss Airlines clearly had an amazing sense of humour when they decided to put me in the middle seat between what seemed to be two rugby players.

As we landed at Chek Lap Kok airport, the last thing I had in mind was allowing myself to stay within the confines of its walls.

I had time.  Only 4 hours till my connecting flight back to Sydney, but I still had time.

I quickly jumped on the airport train link and within 15 minutes I was in the middle of Hong Kong.

This gave me about an hour to have dinner with Josh.

He had only move to HK recently and was keen to give me a tour of his new apartment.

It was a very quick tour as I soon had to race back towards the train station and back to the airport.

I cleared customs and passport control and was soon back in an uncomfortable seat, heading back to home and the feeling of dread that comes with knowing that work is about to start.

Chocolate, clocks and neutrality

France had been truly lovely.

I really had not expected to have such an enjoyable and relaxing time there.  Places that receive hype normally disappoint, but in this situation I had been lucky enough to get what seemed to be the best of both the hype and the hidden.

Sadly, nothing lasts forever and I was soon on the road again.  First by train through to Stuttgart (which turned out to be a horrifically boring city), then on a plane through to Switzerland.

It was a strange twist of fate that I found myself in Zurich at this time.  Over the course of the last year, I had become acquainted with numerous Swiss people  from Zurich through my masters.  It had been a great experience knowing them as they had provided me a far better insight into a country that I frankly knew little of beyond the stereotypes of chocolate, clocks and neutrality.  As is always the case in such situations, I now unsurprisingly found myself in Zurich with none of my Swiss friends within 5,000km of me.  It seemed to be some kind of infernal joke that my time here would be only guided by the proxy of my friends.

This minor glitch was not going to stop me from enjoying myself or exploring the city though.

What I found was similar to Oslo.  Though even more organised.  It was the German/Scandinavian style of precision and cleanliness that made life appear to run as clockwork.  Much like Oslo, this was another expensive city and within a day of walking it was clear that I had seen the majority of the sights that were on offer.  The buildings in the old city were a beautiful reflection of the past (though they had all been clearly updated with the benefits of restoration).

This was a city where the trams came on time as did the trains.

At one point, I even found myself laughing to myself when I looked at my watch and noted that in 30 seconds the train I was waiting for would be late, only to look up again and see that the train was arriving on time to the minute.

I did my usual thing of climbing the tall things to try and get a better view and I even found myself on a boat in the middle of Lake Zurich.  It was calm and peaceful.  My trip around the world was coming to an end and it was fitting that I was able to move it to conclusion with some quiet.

As I walked through the old city, I wandered past what looked to me to be the classiest cafe I had ever laid eyes on.

I had to enter of course.

I strode through the floors of the cafe and into the back room with the elegant couches and ordered myself some Darjeeling tea and strudel.  Both were of the finest quality.  As I lingered over the tea, I had thoughts of how nice it would be to spend my days drifting away surrounded by the finery.  This was a short lived thought once the bill arrived.  A pot of tea and a strudel had set me back the princely sum of Swiss ₣18.  It was clearly time to leave.  

The more I wandered around Zurich, the more I realised that this was not the type of place suited to a tourist like myself.  There simply was not enough to do.

This was the type of place to be lived in.  It was the type of place that I should have brought myself to on the way to skiing, or for the purposes of visiting people.  To merely be one of the sight seeing throng, this place was not entirely suited to the task.

The evening was approaching, so I went to find myself a feed.

I contemplated getting some fondue, but quickly realised how horribly pathetic it would be to order a communal dish such as fondue to eat by myself.  I settled for the rosti and the Zurich style veal instead.  The buttery warmth of the sauce more than made up for the lack of a melted cheese.

Wandering around Zurich had tired me out completely.

It was a relief when I arrived back at the hotel.  The Mondrian inspired motiff of the rooms made me laugh a bit, but it was still a clear winner compared to the bland and uninspired hotel rooms I had often found myself in for work.

Switzerland had been a nice relaxed location to visit, but I won't be returning until I can ensure I am met by my friends with local knowledge.

The simple pleasures

I had really enjoyed my time in France.

It was completely unsurprising that Paris is the most popular tourist location in the world. It's combination of tourist sites with the unique French culture was alluring to both the greenest of tourists happily taking photos at everything, all the way through to the most world weary of travelers who consider themselves above being called tourists (even though they are still tourists....).

For me, I had definitely enjoyed both aspects. Standing on top of the Eiffel Tower, wandering down the Champs de Elysee, seeing Napoleon's tomb, all of these had always been high on my tourist list of things to do.  On the other hand, the cultural aspects were difficult to ignore as well, be it eating and drinking in a bistro with my old friend Phil, attacking a pastry whilst sitting on the grass of Parc du Sceaux with my friend Maya, or merely feeling the surge of humanity in the Paris metro.

All of this aside, what I liked the most about France and traveling generally was encapsulated one evening with my good friends Maya and Adam.  It was the culmination of many years of growth for my traveling.

As a child, I remember watching Justine Shapiro on what was then "Lonely Planet" (now called "Globe Trekker") when she made the comment that (and I paraphrase) "the best part of traveling isn't the things you see, but it is the people you meet".

Now, I immediately thought this was a steaming load of bollocks (I'm certain I would have said "bollocks" as a child).  I respected Ms Shapiro even then, but this was surely a complete falsity. In my juvenile mind, the key purpose of travel was to see things. It was to get off of some ricketty form of transport and stand awe struck in front of a monument/wonder/attraction.  Meeting people was something that you could do back at home, so why would you waste your time doing it when you were abroad trying to cram in as many sites as possible into a busy schedule?

As time went by, my views slowly changed.  Traveling more made me want to interact more with local cultures.  I no longer wanted to only see the sites, but I wanted to understand the places where the sites were situated as well.  It was strange that as I matured, I actually became less serious when I traveled.  I was more laid back and far more open in dealing with those around me.  After all, it's not possible to meet people traveling if you're scowling or have knitted brow.

When traveling became increasingly serious for me as a past time, I found myself becoming even more open in my interactions with others.  I was more approachable and I started to approach others as well, just to say hello, just to see what they were doing.  It was a recipe for success.  I started making friends.  Not only  "friends" that you will never see again, but actual friends whom I continue to see and interact with to this day.  On this most recent of trips, I even arranged my schedule so that I caught up with many of those friends whom I had met over the years.  I saw old friends in New York, Ottawa, London, Oslo, Paris.  Many of these were people I had met on the road.  They were able to take me around and show me a side of their home towns that I would never have seen had I not been with them.

So when I finally found myself with Maya and Adam at their home one evening, it seemed like the final chapter in the metamorphosis from the child into the adult when it came to traveling.  I was in a foreign country and yet it was a simple dinner with friends that would be the highlight of the trip.  Instead of choosing to gallivant around the city with its bright lights, my preference was to spend my evening with my close friends having a simple French dinner.

Not that the dinner itself was anything to be dismissed.  We had a lovely duck confit with rosemary roasted potatoes.  The amazing thing being that in France, this is just a simple meal that is often eaten at home.  We were all in a good mood, their baby was soundly asleep and Adam was still beaming from the news of his recent promotion.  To celebrate, he decided to bring out a nice bottle of Nicolas Feuillatte champagne that he had recently brought.  It added another nice touch to this standard Parisian meal.


To finish it all off, we tucked into the desserts we had bought at the patisserie down the street.

It is an appealing life they have in France.  It is comfortable, it is refined and it is relaxing.  It's understandable why so many people are drawn to it.  This was a great night as it was one of the few opportunities I had to spend with my friends now living so far away, and yet it would have been just a normal evening dinner between acquaintances repeated countless times across the city.

Wandering the museum

This has been a very cultured trip for me.

I had already had the pleasure of visiting two of the largest museums in the world in the Met and the British Museum.

I was rounding this off to a clean trifecta by visiting the world's LARGEST museum (by number of visitors anyways). I was visiting the Louvre!

This was going to be fun.

I had set aside the entire day and I was going to be completely engrossed in the nerdy fun that comes from being immersed by the beauty and history of a museum's wonders.

Even before I had gotten inside, I was already pretty awestruck.

Standing in the main entrance of the palace, I could feel my excitement slowly increasing. The modern glass pyramid that acted as the entrance to this museum is like a portal to some other universe. It's presence contrasts sharply with the grand architecture of its surroundings and yet this seems to make it all the more apt. It is almost like something out of science fiction, as an entrance guiding guests into the museum with its wonders that span across the centuries.

Once inside, I found myself immediately struggling to take it all in.
The sheer volume of works in this museum was something else. But it was more than that. Within this museum was a collection of some of the most iconic pieces in history. Much like my first visit to the British Museum many years ago, I didn't know where to begin.

Strangely enough, one of the first things I found myself confronted by Hammurabi's code of laws. As a lawyer, it was apt that one of the first recorded legal codes would be the first thing I saw. Even as a child, I remember reading about the Hammurabi, the great law giver and his impact on civilisation. I felt much as I did when I stood next to the Rosetta Stone years ago, that I was somehow being drawn into the history that this piece represented. It felt like I was now a part of the chain that reached all the way back to Hammurabi.

But there was no time to stop.

I had to keep moving.

There was far too much in this museum for me to be walking slowly or to be standing in front of one exhibit for too long.
I had to look at Cupid and Psyche for instance. I had to look and marvel at the most delicate of carvings and the perfection of artistic technique....

.... then moving on to the beautiful movement in the remains of Nike of Samothrace. It was incredible to stand there in front of this silent and unspeaking statue and to be carried away by the winds that still moved her along. People wandered past, taking photos and chatting in front of the statue, and yet the statue remained frozen in its movement.
Moving on, I began to realise that considering most of the works with any degree of detail would be an impossible task. I had to change my tact.

I would have to try and walk through the majority of the museum, taking in as much as I could and only stopping at the pieces that were truly breathtaking or significant.

Pieces like this for instance!
"The Raft of the Medusa". The size of this painting surprised me. In fact, the size of most of these paintings surprised me. This was a painting that had always intrigued me, so full of suffering and turmoil. Seeing it towering over me changed the perspective completely as I was so used to seeing it in a small print in a book, only a few inches wide.

I kept walking.

Eventually I found myself in a room that was getting far more attention than any other in the entire building.

Fighting through a scrum of people, I reached the prize at the end.

The Mona Lisa. It was true, she was smiling strangely at me.

Ignoring the throngs of people jostling around me, I maintained my position at the front and slowly moved along the frontage to change my perspective (again, ignoring the shoving and pushing) in order to see if it was true that she has "eyes that follow you".

It was true. She really does have eyes that follow you around the room.

Time to move on though....

.... to a famous (and incomplete) portrait of Napoleon. One of many countless works that I have seen in popular culture.
And then speaking of popular culture, who could forget the painting "Gabrielle d'Estrées et une de ses soeurs"? Well.... I guess pretty much everyone wouldn't have any real knowledge of this painting except for the faint recollection of having seen or glanced it once. Wandering through this museum made me realise just how much of popular culture is derived from art and influences that the majority of people are completely oblivious to, even when they draw on directly.
The same came be said for the ancient Egyptian sculpture, "the Scribe".
Then there are the more famous pieces again. Michelangelo's "Venus" confronted me and astounded me when I wandered into the hall that it commands. It is a hall filled with other pieces and yet none come close to the beauty of this perfect piece. Whoever sat for Michelangelo was clearly a beautiful woman, and this is beauty is perfectly carried over by his skill. Surely that is the sign of the quality of his work and technique?
I had to keep walking.
Walking through time, from ancient to less ancient.
From continent to continent. I had to keep walking.
It was beginning to get a bit overwhelming. I was actually getting tired. This had never happened to me in a museum before. Normally I am so full of excitement that I have more than enough energy to power me through the entire day.
Maybe I was getting old. Or maybe I was just sick of seeing the same classical style of work presented to me over and over again.
For all of its beauty and wonders, I would not say that the Louvre is a museum that excels in showing the marvels of humanity and history and all its forms. It seems to have small amounts of a wide categry of things, and a huge amount of a limited category of things. Amazingly, I had probably had my fill of some of those limited categories (being the French and Italian Renaissance).
This was a great museum. Clearly one of the best in the world. However, it is not a museum that has the balance and scope of the Met or the British Museum. It is a museum that has does a few things superbly, a few things to a level of near perfection. Sadly, this perfection is achieved at the cost of other things. It's a harsh criticism of an amazing museum, but I think it is a valid one nonetheless.