Post Production Blues

People who work in the theatre, we call this state- the Post Production Blues.

It hits you every time you are done with a performance you have slaved over.

Towards the end of my dancing life- I didn't always get them blues.  But I would feel the same accompanying fatigue.  I think the British word is, knackered.

Post Paris with Bruno, I had the great misfortune of The Root Canal.  For two days, I fed myself chocolate milk and jello, and nursed a sore jaw.

My daughter came home for dinner on Saturday.  Her presence is luminous.  She brought with her, a friend, and one small wish.  Please make me your pasta, Mom, please.  Please cook for me.

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So I went to the store to get stuff, fixed her pasta and more.

Then she got on the night flight.

When she arrived in Singapore, she told her father about the feast she ate with me.  And I think of action words like cut, sliced, scrapped, peeled, pounded, fried, boiled, roasted, mashed, baked.  And I think of an action word, love.

When he called me today, I said I am feeling, unhinged.  And then I say, i can't talk now, I'm boarding a bus.  I am feeling, knackered.  I am feeling weepy.

I think of another action word- climb.  I think, damn it- today under the perfect shelter of clouds and grey, I am going to climb, a hill.

Up and up we go.  Sometimes I am ahead.  Sometimes he leads, and I follow.

When we get to the very top, I can see the city.  The buildings feel near and far, 

More action words- sit, run, dash, fly.

Then there is the healing action of a walk.  I can't sit around feeling sad.  I have to move.  I climb, I walk down, I walk on and on and on.

While walking, I find flowers like music, spilling forth.

Shhh..I hear, a symphony.

And the memory of you, fingers darting with grace across black and white keys, feet tapping.  

If I concentrate hard enough, I know that now, there are faint lines on your face, whispering a story.  All I want is to place my fingers there, and stay for a while, listening.

Spring Break- Last Thoughts

Someone asked me what I was going to do in Paris with Bruno.

 My answer then was- oh, walk everywhere, sit at a cafe, get lost.

Sometimes it gets tiring living in a city where English is the predominant language.  I needed a change.  I wanted to have my senses jolted by the unfamiliar, and the foreign.  Especially because I am in that hibernation phase of life, my biggest fear, is physical and mental sloth, and decline.  I made a pact with K.  She is to shove me off some cliff, if ever, I become that frog, croaking at the bottom of that well.

Getting lost is delicious.

Not understanding the spoken language forces one to pay more attention.  The morning spent in the Marais, Jon asked- how on earth did you manage if only French was spoken?

Easily.  I can read body language.  Plus I can trudge my way through a menu written in French.

Plat du Jour

And then there is Bruno the Wonder Dog.

 Prior to arriving in Paris, I was a little concerned about our safety.  I didn't want to be a target for petty theft, and was worried that he would in a sense draw unwanted attention, just because he is kind of cute.

The wonderful irony that I learnt?  Bruno provided the perfect guise for us to go, INCOGNITO! 

Which is absolutely my preferred way of traveling!  Everyone simply assumed we were local because there was this chien, a "French" poodle, no less!

One of the best things about incognito status?  I experienced the French as friendly, helpful, considerate, caring, inclusive, tender, and with a sense of gentle humour.  Cultural walls were non-existent, simply because of Bruno Chan.

We read about the French loving dogs, and Paris being dog-friendly.  To experience it though allowed our stay to unfold with so much more ease and pleasure.  

A stranger awakens a sleeping Bruno unintentionally and startles him?  Immediately she is crestfallen and apologising profusely.  Eating at a restaurant and eyeing a table further from the main action so as not to bother other diners?  I am at all times redirected to choice seats by the windows.

 There is no need to adjust expectations or settle for a lesser experience when traveling with a dog in Paris.  Non, non, non.  He is centerstage, and when welcomed, welcomed with open arms.

"Here is the library, where you can take tea or have some champagne, and the spa is on the top floor...."

Can my dog go everywhere?

"Yes, of course!  He can go everywhere!"

We love our hotel!  Thank you, Hotel Esprit St-Germain!

And then Bruno breaks other barriers and tugs at heart strings.  An old woman with early Parkinson's and Alzheimer's sits with her family beside us.  Her face softens longingly at Bruno.  I break pieces of bread and share them with her.  She happily offers these back to Bruno with a trembling hand.  When tea is over, we are all smiling, and her husband leans over to kiss Bruno, whispering, Au revoir, Monsieur Bruno, au revoir!

Ah, Paris... A Bientot!

Spring Break- The End (Retrograde)

In choreography, there is a trick, we call, retrograde.  Meaning- take a sequence of movements strung together, and starting with the last pose/gesture/step, work your way backwards, step by step, by step.  Choreographers use this trick to generate new movement material, create themes and variations.

I keep thinking that is what Bruno and I are doing, working backwards, re-tracing steps all day today.

Checking out at 8:30, we worked our way back to London, from the 6th Arrondissement.

First stop, the Saint-Sulpice Church, right by our hotel.  We've been visiting it twice daily; in the morning, and in the evening.

Because you can count on God to provide, trees, for Bruno.

Thank you, God.

Next, Metro Line 4 to Gare du Nord.  No visuals as we are laying low, so as not be targets for mugging.

09:42  TGV to Calais Frethun.

I'm really liking the TGV.  In Coach 1, the seats (and tables) have width.  I can place Bruno in his bag, on the table, and he settles for the whole journey.  An observation- most travellers London-bound are of course on the Eurostar.  Which then means, this TGV train is filled only with native French.  And I have to say, the French are very considerate, quiet people on their national rail.  There is none of that drinking-to-get-as-drunk-as-quickly-as-possible antics on the TGV, or loud, rude obnoxious behaviour just for the sake of.

Another observation is how much they love dogs, and treat dogs with tender respect.  This has made traveling with Bruno, logistically easier, and even more enjoyable.

Bruno needs a TGV ticket (7 Euros for his size).  This ticket states on the top right corner, "1 Chien", and in the middle, "petit animal jusqu' a 6kg dans un contenant".  Tickles me, each time!

11:20 Folkestone Taxi picks us up from Calais Frethun.

1130 we are at the Pet Control Center on the French end of things, by the Eurotunnel.  

As we did last summer, there is some paperwork to clear in order for Bruno to return home.  His microchip will be checked, as well as his documentation of tapeworm treatment and all necessary vaccinations in his passport.

When this is done, the lady at the counter will hand a sticker over, to be placed on the dashboard of the car.  Then we are off.

There was no checking of documents on the French end of things for humans today.  So we drove on towards the British Border, where everything went pleasantly.

12:50  We drive onto the Eurotunnel, and Bruno settles back down to rest.

Good boy, Bruno.

The Eurotunnel journey as mentioned before takes 35 minutes.  When we get to the UK, we drive off and onto the freeway.  There are signs prompting you to drive on the left side of the road, as oppose to France.

Life is one hour behind France in the UK.  So I have a choice of trains to catch.  I take the 12:11 from Folkestone West to Charing Cross, which is actually slower, but I would rather be on my way, then wait another hour for the direct train to St Pancras.

It's a 2-hour ride, where Bruno naps, snacks, snuggles, and naps more.

And finally...

I'm not used to arriving in London via south of the river.   So this was a new and fun perspective for me.  And that is one of the objectives of retrograding in choreography- it shows you alternate view points and allows, play.

Bruno says- Mom, mom. mom...
(Hold on, Brunz!  We're almost there!)
From Charing Cross, hop onto the Northern Line, switch to the Central Line, jump off at some point, and walk home.

Total time involved in the retrograding exercise?  Same as the original journey done 3 days ago.

7 hours.  Which makes me think, hey, I did a good job with my choreography, staying within the original time frame ("musical score")!

1530 Paris, 1230 London-  The End.

Spring Break, Day 3

Things To Do When Traveling with Puppy on a Sunny Paris Day:

1.  Walk.

And Walk.

And Walk.

Then we jumped on the Metro and began a new walk around the Marais.

We got off at Rambuteau.  The 1st thing we saw was...woah.  Reminds me of the old Katong Mall, even if the old Katong Mall was possibly inspired by this.

*  This Metro Stop is seedy.  Stay away from groups of teenagers jostling about, put on your best unfriendly face.  Walk purposefully.

2.  Wine & Dine.

Today's find was a buzzing hole-in-wall, neighborhood favourite.  In other words, a completely tourists-free zone!  Gosh, such a place, does still exist!  In Central Paris!  And dog-friendly as well!

Nanashi (57 Rue Charlot) serves Japanese-French fusion with warmth and casual style.  I ordered the veggie bento plat du jour, and was not disappointed.

Bon Appetite!

3.  Look at more art!

(WOW!)

(WOW!)

(Right.)

(Uh Huh.)

(WOW!)

*  I found a different entrance to the Louvre which actually allowed for Bruno and I to peek at a gallery with sculptures!  The corridor we "hid" in was dark, Bruno was camouflaged against my black coat.  We stayed here unnoticed, unperturbed, for a while.

(WOW!)

4.  Watch Theatre!  

If you think of the city as a performance space, you can find

                                                   music (oh lovely, piano on the sidewalk!),

(bass and drums!  WOW!)

some "drama",

and "dance".

5. Go shopping.

Moustaches, 32 Rue des Archives 

(A well-stocked pet store, but they didn't carry any of the Cloud 7 things, I am curious about.)

Les 3 Marches de Catherine B, 1 Rue Guisarde

(I've seen the light.  It's called, Vintage.  Alas, Vintage is unaffordable.)

Laduree, 21 Rue Bonarparte

*  No one shoo-ed us out when we stood in line to buy cake today.  But yesterday, after the staff sat us down with menus and just as I was about to order tea, another staff refused service saying, Madame, Dorgs Are Fourbeedern (!!).  To which I said, no problem, we will leave, and could not then resist performing, a butoh-dance of departure (translation: tediously, dramatically, slow).

6.  Visit a Park.

Specifically, I was thinking, Jardin du Luxembourg, where there is a designated dog-friendly area.

However, Bruno had another idea (read his facial expression).

Bruno- "Parc?  Non, merci, maman.  Laisse aller pour le thé!

7.  And so we concluded the sunny day with, tea.

Hotel Esprit Saint-Germain, 22 Rue Saint-Sulpice