Chasing The Skies Across England

I first noticed the skies on that glorious first day in London. We were walking around Covent Garden, just off of a well-deserved buffet at Mr. Wu after a 16-hour flight. As we were strolling around the Piazza looking for the perfect red photobooth, I looked up to see the sky with nary a cloud in sight. London is notoriously known for its bleak weather. It's "grey-ness" and dreariness. But on that first day, it was the opposite. The skies spilled with my favorite color as if welcoming me home. It was a vast space of perfect seamless gradient blue blanketing the city, the color progressing from electric blue to a muted shade of cornflower. It was akin to staring at the ocean if it were hanging above you instead of beneath you. Back at Ludgate Hill, the cross-topped dome outline of St. Paul's Cathedral poised against the cobalt blue. The English baroque church stood pale and resplendent, with its stonework looking incredibly whitewashed by the afternoon sun. 

St. Paul's Cathedral viewed from King Edward Street

Strasbourg: A Doorway to Nostalgia

Prelude:

One of my favorite things to do when I was a little girl was read this book of fairy tale collections my dad had bought me. It was a book with a tale for each day of the year. No matter how many times I’ve finished and run through the book--whether religiously keeping up with the fairy tale of the day, or reading with total abandon finishing an entire month’s worth of stories in one night--I would always go back to it and re-read it. Being sickly and socially awkward, I didn’t have the patience for any other more ‘active’ play then, so reading became my most favorite thing to do. That fairy tale book survived a lot of relocation and house transfers. I still have it on my shelves. It contained most of my favorite stories from the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen, made alive only by the overactive imagination of 8-year old me. I casually browse through every once in a while when I miss my dad.

Earlier this year, I first stepped into Europe when we arrived in Paris. It was a surreal experience, hopping off the plane with a bag full of expectations. Paris was an urban artsy jungle: bigger, badder, and more flamboyant than I originally anticipated. Frenzied but a happy mess. However, nothing had prepared me for what followed when we visited northeast of France.

Strasbourg is the capital of the Alsace Region. It straddles the border of France and Germany, which makes it an interesting blend of French and German influence. When we stepped out of the Gare de Strasbourg after a 2-hour train ride from Paris, what immediately hit me was the cold. The temperature during our visit was 4°C. I tightened the scarf around my neck and buttoned up my coat. The day had just begun and I could already hear my limbs creaking and stiffening from the cold.

Strasbourg, France

As we walked from the station to the Centre-République, I can already see the traces of German influence from the surroundings. Although, it was still predominantly Gallic with its old French elegance--mansard roofs, jutting dormer windows and faux-balconies. But as we drew nearer to Ponts-Couverts, everything gradually turned rustic. The cream colored buildings were replaced by ones with richer reddish-brown walls and roofs with bellcast eaves, white and delicate exterior window shutters were replaced with ones in timber. Romanesque in style, characteristics of 17th-century Germany. Houses that reminded me of The Elves and the Shoemaker, and towers that, oddly enough, reminded me of Rumpelstiltskin.

A Kiss of Paris

I hauled my heavy luggage out of Ourcq station, and up the Metro stairs. It was starting to rain. Fat drops pelting against my glasses with increasing intensity. I was bone-tired and unprepared. The 18-hour flight made my vision blurry, and all the sugar I've ingested made me fidgety. I looked towards Borgy already struggling with multiple bags. A soft-eyed gentleman making his way up the Metro offered me a hand with carrying my luggage, but I politely refused, not wanting to cause any trouble for anyone. I dashed across the pavement dragging my damp bags. The brown awning of Le Concorde gave us temporary shelter. We looked out at the empty avenue. Hardly any cars passed the street. Only a few people were around, a handful in parkas and coats bent over and, like us, running to the direction of restaurants' awnings, trying to escape the rain. Belatedly, I realized that this dreary day is the first real look I'm getting at Paris.