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.

Setting the Scene: Back To Hogwarts

I approached the scarlet steam engine, my trolley trailing behind me. Dazed and overwhelmed at the sight of it. The last time I saw the Hogwarts Express was at the start of my 7th year many years ago.

© Bobbie Rebultan

The platform wasn't crowded yet; only the early and earnest few were around. My hands quivered, and a queasy feeling made its way from my stomach to my chest. I realized I was having a panic attack. Automatically, my senses keyed in to where my wand was tucked inside my coat pocket, ready whenever I need it. I took a deep breath and tried to slow my breathing. I took out my ticket, desperately clutching it with clammy hands, afraid I'd loose it along with the chance of a lifetime.

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.

Review: A Darker Shade of Magic

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This review is also found on Goodreads! :)
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Magic, Londons, princes, a stubborn and strong-willed girl, and a nefarious plot with a confusing albeit cliché execution. It lacked.... something . I started the book as someone from afar, an audience watching things unfold, and I ended the book feeling exactly the same: just an audience and not part of the story. The story and characters all felt one-dimensional.

The setting and premise were what drew me to glance at this book in the first place. The reviews and ratings were what convinced me to pick it up. Sadly, I was not as roped in to the story as I hoped I would be. Everything was a dark matter-of-fact, and to be honest, a bit flat. Where Strange the Dreamer overflowed with emotion, this book lacked it. It lacked depth. It didn't feel immersive, which is such a total waste. I loved the world it built, but was disappointed with how shallow the book ran.

Review: Strange the Dreamer

Strange the Dreamer by Laini Taylor
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This review is also found on Goodreads! :)
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Actual Rating: 4.5 stars
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For a few minutes after reading the last page, I was speechless. Strange the Dreamer is so wonderfully and ingeniously crafted. The world Taylor created is a breath of fresh air from the desolation brought by the real world and by the era of post-apocalyptic dystopian novels. The world within this book is fantastical and rich. There is also a sense of other-worldliness at how she writes. And it isn't just purely whimsy, it has humor and mystery. The setting was built in rich detail and background. The story has great pacing within the three-quarters of the book, but it slowed down towards the remaining quarter when I was already on the edge of my seat itching for things to pick up. This is actually one of the reasons why I didn't give this book a perfect score. Towards the end, there were chapters dedicated to Lazlo and Sarai's discovery of each other in dreams. That is, discovery in a physical sense. Their 'getting to know' stage left a bad taste for me. Lazlo being Lazlo, the dreamer (and the romantic), gave way to what I can only call with a shudder as corny. It was too...contrived. The emotions ran heavy, cloying, and flamboyant, as opposed to the hard-edged but muted manifestation of Eril-Fane and Azareen's story. Lazlo and Sarai's meetings and relationship were built in dreams which didn't give me a sense of validity at all. Their love story seemed rushed and only to serve as the plot device of the book. But again, I have to give credit at how Taylor writes prose beautifully by way the book ended. (view spoiler on Goodreads!)[The devastation and grief were so palpable and convincing. I almost screamed at the end when I read the "TO BE CONTINUED". (hide spoiler)]