My first time in Europe

Inspired by how interesting and strangely prophetic it is to read old blog entries, I will write about this, regardless of facebook status updates and posting of albums.

So. My first trip to Europe.

I got to see Lausanne, Paris and Amsterdam.

I saw snow-capped mountains while flying over Geneva and renewed that same feeling of awe when approaching the brick-red mountains of California last year. I can’t believe I am here.

I thought it plain silly to require euro coins to operate the luggage trolleys in the Geneva airport. Which foreigner lands with local coins on hand?

I was and still am intrigued by Evian, where they produce Evian across from Lake Ouchy in Lausanne. I hope I’ll get to go the next time.

I think the KLM lounge in Amsterdam is brilliant, and in Geneva like a bus stop.

I landed in hailing Amsterdam, and sat in bed watching the pebbly ice knock on the high windows in the dead of the night.

We missed the Thalys to Paris, and I got to see snow for the first time. It was cold.

We had the coziest, most wonderful apartment in Paris and I will never forget it. It even came with food, like a close relative had thought of you and stocked up before leaving.

People huddled close in queue to go up the Eiffel Tower – it was so cold. Just being up there, there in Paris, on the Eiffel! was for me, so fulfilling. Walking down through it was even better. I felt I knew how Batman felt, hanging on to the structures in that blue Gotham City light.

Sacre Coeur, or the Sacred Heart Church. It was snowing lightly and there were unpleasant peddlars trying to make a quick buck outside. But inside, it was so beautiful – you feel like God is really there. And the etching of Jesus on the ceiling is so handsome. Funnily too, a long holy-sounding statement in French by the solemn-looking pastor turned out to be an invitation to lunch after the service.

I cannot write everything down, but what else?

The Pantheon was a very nice surprise. The Foucault pendulum which told time (reliably 11 degrees every hour) is something to watch. Those art students sketching enthusiastically on the ground floor, and the great French dead resting below was a very interesting mix.

The Lourve – hmm, the Lourve. It is closed on Tuesdays, my friends. Don’t ever forget that. But in Musee d’Orsay, I feasted on the Impressionists, not believing I was actually seeing these works in the flesh. Another big check off my wishlist.

Then Amsterdam. Beautiful Amsterdam. I felt so at home, maybe because Ren Horng’s there. I wouldn’t have done the trip with anyone else.

There was a magical foggy afternoon which melted into a magical night. Bicycles and canals which belonged so much to each other the picture would be incomplete without either.

Dutch houses the color of dark chocolate rimmed with peppermint leaned quaintly towards and against each other, telling whimsical secrets from wisdom accrued since the 16th century. Little fairy lights dot the streets and bridges with their warm amber glow.

The girls at the Red Light district, so beautiful and powerful. Working girls with a determination in their eyes I recognize in my own. I did not feel sorry for them; they had the upper hand. And swans in the water, the image of purity conjured was an incongruous one, but then again, maybe it was not.

More museums, where I got acquainted with Dutch artists and Van Gogh. What a prolific man! Almost as though behind the demons in his mind, there was practicality to produce, do better and leave his mark.

In all, Europe was a wonderful fortnight. Parisians are not unfriendly as people say, and the Dutch speak good English so it's easy to get around. Looking forward to the next trip!