Paris in Spring

Having built an image of Paris in my head based up romantic tales from travellers past, iconic images lining the Seine and a reputation for fashion, food and art that is unsurpassed I was some what apprehensive about having these grandiose ideals shattered. I had decided to take out some insurance against disappointment and booked lunch on Good Friday at one of Paris’s top restaurants, Taillevent. This restaurant was established in 1946 and has long been one of Paris’s leading gastronomical destinations. Having received it’s first Michelin star in 1948 and finally it’s third star in 1973 Taillevent has been at the pinnacle or Parisian fine dining for over half a century.



We departed from our hotel and leisurely strolled down the Champs Elysees towards the Arc De Truimph and our restaurant. We passed roadside carts and the smell of fresh crepes and nutella wafted past our noses as well as the scents of freshly bloomed flowers that lined garden beds around us. We arrived at out restaurant and stepped inside. As you enter the restaurant you are greeted by a number of well dressed staff from the doorman to the reception manager then the first head waiter and also a welcoming “Bonjour” from the owner Jean-Claude Vrinat, one of three generations from the same family who have managed the restaurant. We were accompanied to our table and the Table is deftly pulled smoothly aside as we are seated and our napkins offered to us with silver tongs. A waiter releases a mouthful of eloquent French and after monitoring our blank expressions switches to English with a smile that immediately puts us at ease. We are offered Champagne and our two glasses brought by two different waiters are paced simultaneously beside us. Every waiter in the restaurant has a part to play and a part they know well. This lunch service is a show that has been passed down through generations and every movement from the waiters are graceful and deft. The waiters move seamlessly and silently around the restaurant and yet despite all the fastidious attention to detail, surrounding clientele and our lack of French language skills, as a diner I felt wonderfully relaxed. I looked around at the tastefully decorated dining rooms that were filled with warm rich browns and creams, a far cry from the sterile steel lines found in many of today’s modern restaurants. The whole restaurant felt a little like a grand old home and perhaps that’s because it was. Originally the building was built as a townhouse in 1852 and once was home to Duke of Morny. These days the staff make a concerted effort not only to provide you with the best service money can buy but also to provide you with a feeling that they are a family welcoming you into their home.



We had decided to have a set lunch and it didn’t disappoint. I started with a Ravioli in a crayfish broth and it was exceptional the balance in flavours was perfect with the salty broth offset with the soft creamy ravioli filling. We then had a small dish to cleanse our palettes, this was a egg white froth laid on a base of pureed green peas flavoured with a touch of aniseed. The main course I choose a very French dish, “Lamproie a la Bordelaise”. This dish is the delectable lamprey eel cooked in a red wine sauce and was rich with strong but not overpowering flavours. It was served sliced into three eel steaks and alongside shallots and tiny mushrooms individually fluted, a very French dish indeed. The next course was the cheese course with the French reputation for creating some of the most exquisite cheeses in the world I couldn’t wait to welcome this course into my mouth. The cheese course was made up from a Fourme d'Ambert ice cream and a lightly stewed plum, the result was spectacular. The tartness of the blue Fourme d’Arbert ice cream was set off by the sweet plum and the result was perhaps the best course of the meal. It was this mastery of simple flavours that left no doubt as to why this restaurant has received so many accolades. The assistant waiters appear and brushed the crumbs off our table re set the cutlery as we lent back slightly on our chairs and awaited our desert. I had chosen a pastry filled with raspberries and it was delicious. The raspberries were some of the best I had had, plump and sweet with the slightest hint of sourness, following desert we were served a delicious selection of petit fours with the citrus tart being a definite standout. I sat back in my chair and smiled, now this is the way I should eat every day I though to myself, that was until they brought over the bill!





I had set the bar high on my first day in Paris and I had wondered now had I gone to strong to soon, would my experiences of the city itself be able to live up to the perfection found in that Fourme d'Ambert ice cream and a lightly stewed plum? The answer came the following day after visiting the Louvre. After browsing for hours through the endless displays of timeless art and majestic hallways and past the crowds fighting for a glimpse at the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo and camera's falshing like paparazzi on the red carpet, we decided it was time to enjoy the fantastic spring weather we had been blessed with. Instead of looking for the essence of Paris in the multitude of stunning galleries or gazing at the towering monuments. Perhaps the real Paris lay in the streets and parks and many sidewalk cafe's that lined them.



We headed towards the Seine and strolled towards the Eiffel tower lapping up the sunshine that was a rare treat after a grey London winter. It appeared as if half of Europe had come to Paris for Easter and I couldn’t blame them. Italians, Spanish English, Germans as well as French filled the sidewalk cafes sipping chilled Rose and strolled around parks and flocked around the sites such as Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower admiring their beauty. Not wishing to spend my holiday in cues a small group of us found a patch of grass across the river from the Eiffel tower and there we sat with baguettes, cheese and wine and left all thoughts of grey London across the channel well behind us. Boats crawled sleepily up the river as children covered their smiling faces with fairy floss. Young couples drifted off to sleep in each others arms under shady trees while old couples held hands on park benches and reminisced on times past.




We left our grassy knoll and strolled towards what perhaps is the most romantic part of the city, St Germain and the Latin Quarter. This area is not only filled with majestic old buildings but also wonderful parks such as Jardin de Luxembourg where children sail wooden boats on a huge fountain and Parisians and tourists alike stop to watch the world go by. The area is also renowned for it’s once bohemian population and has been the drop off point at one time or another for many of the worlds greatest writers who ate and drank at the many coffee shops that fill this area. Unfortuntely my time had come to an end and as I boarded the train home to London I reflected on my Easter weekend in perhaps what is the cultural capital of Europe. Paris had not dissapointed, it had delivered me sights, sounds and tastes all bathed perfect sun drenched Easter weekend. I will defintely return to Paris a city where long lunches drifting into lazy afternoons and with beautiful architecture art and food with in arms reach at every turn Paris is a city who will capture you in it’s gaze and watch you longingly as you leave.

Morocco from the Sahara to the coast.

Marrakech as a city that behaves like a living thing...it awakens with the orange juice sellers in the main square. The best orange juice you have ever tasted and for around 30p it's a must every morning. The stalls in the Souks(covered market) set up slowly with leather, wood, ceramics and a vast array of Moroccan crafts before long there are calls of..."hello, hello, look, look". As you wander through the narrow streets motorcyclists almost bowl you over yet miraculously manage to avoid collisions, donkey drawn carts trundle past carry everything from eggs to yellow leather shoes. Colourfully dressed water sellers ring their bells selling cups of water drawn from their gourds held at their sides. Performers somersault and cartwheel for tips and snake charmers horns pierce the air as cobras sway in front of them. The City is surrounded by a wall and inside those walls the derbs lead you around twists and turns each looking much like the last until they finally spit you out, often back where you started. The Souks draw you in with the tantalising smell of barbequed meat and spices, the brightly coloured fabrics and beautifully designed iron lights and the sounds of laughter, bargaining and exuberance that is a way of life for Moroccan people. Every where you go there are new smells and sights and the offer of a sweet mint tea a favourite amongst the Moroccan people, drank as more of an offering of friendship rather than a refreshing thirst quenching drink, although the latter is also true.



Amidst these lively Souks and maze of derbs lies the Riads. Marked by a plain door these once ancient Marrakech residences are now guesthouses for the droves of French and international tourists that are discovering Marrakech. A far cry from the large chain hotels that dominate the new city and are frequented by the type of tourist who after an air-conditioned bus ride are all too happy retire by the pool with a margarita for their Moroccan experience.Once inside the door these Riads open to an oasis of sorts with shady courtyards, beautifully mosaic fountains and stairs leading up to breezy rooftop terraces that overlook sprawling Marrkech. They are a welcome refuge from the throng of activity that is the Marrakech medina, silent and cool there is no better place to relax. Breakfast is served everyday in the courtyard with spicy fig jam and Moroccan crepes and fresh orange juice. The guests eat quietly and a sense of tranquillity overcomes you a fine way to prepare for the bustling day on the sun drenched streets.



When the sun sets the main square Djemma El Fna comes alive. Food stalls selling Tagines, Pastilla and Escargot fill the square and clouds pungent smoke swirls around grabbing you and luring you towards the barrage of waiters ushering you into their stalls. Older Moroccan women with weathered faces grab surprised tourists hands and attempt to decorate them with henna tattoos. Men with trained monkeys head for any tourist that catches their eye beckoning for money to watch their performing act. Medicine men and fortune tellers are everywhere and crowds gather in circles to listen to Berber bands playing hypnotic rhythms on camel skin drums while strange string instruments wail over the top. These circles also reveal everything from amateur boxing matches to putt putt golf and the crowds are predominately Moroccans. As ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Morocco is an Islamic country there are no bars outside the hotels for people to gather in so it's here in Djemma El Fna they congregate. The people are happy and smiling and are clearly entertained by the many characters that populate the square, and this happens every night of the week.There are gardens spotted all around Marrakech and you will see many a weary Marroccan catching a nap amongst the flowers in the heat of the day. One of the most elaborate gardens however are the Majorelle Gardens. Originally owned and designed by French artist Jean Majorelle from 1924 the Gardens deteriorated after his death until they were bought buy Yves Saint-Laurent and Pierre Bergé in 1980. They are majestic gardens containing an impressive collection of flora and amidst the colorful flowers, striking cacti and cool trickling water features I felt as if I was far from the Marrakech that lay just beyond the walls.



The Road to the Sahara was perhaps one of the most intriguing parts of the journey. If you look east from Marrakech in the heat of the midday sun you will see a strange bewildering sight in the distance, snow capped mountains, the Atlas Mountains. As our small group, only 6 people trundled off in our 4WD out of Marrakech these mountains loomed in front of us. There is a steep accent and the narrow roads give a close view of the plunging ravines and towering peaks. The temperature drops as well as you rise to the higher areas of the mountains. As the snow gets closer and you weave past laden trucks teetering on the brink of a few hundred meter fall you find yourself rugging up and it's as if you have been transported to another place. Tiny villages appear wedged between cliffs and lone Berber Sheppard's with small herds of goats and sheep occasionally appear the ravines. The green lower hills disappear to reveal towering grey cliffs and snow capped peaks, The it's down the other side and onwards east.



The terrain is harsh after that, no trees just rocky ground as far as the eye can see with the odd nomad tent standing out amongst the otherwise barren landscape. Suddenly there are a few gentle hills and then you turn a bend and a lush valley full of palm trees and Kasbahs opens up in front of you as if from no where. It's absolutely breathtaking to see these lush green Oasis's with rivers and forests of palms hidden in the dry hill of Morocco. I encountered a few of these from the Dra Valley to the valley of the roses. Our group stayed overnight in a hotel overlooking one of these valleys. Another site along the way is the Todra gorge. Located at the end of the beautiful Todra valley the gorge is a path through the mountains with huge sheer rock faces on either side and a crystal clear river running between them.




Amidst these rare lush valleys that appear from nowhere and disappear again in much the same fashion lie ancient villages that portray a life of times past, Ait Benhaddou is one such place. Located just left of nowhere the green valley sits in juxtaposition to the large hill on which Ait Benhaddou sits. Ancient Kasbahs and the surrounding village remain frozen in time like giant sandcastles left by children who grew tired of them. Walking through them you get a sense of the advanced civilisation that has existed here from centuries. The Kasbahs have running irrigation channels through the buildings and ingenious locks with carved wooden keys all crafted by hand. These building were impressive and are under constant repairs funded by the tourist dollar.



The it's onwards towards the Sahara, the landscape is even more desolate now and before long small mounds of sand start appearing. The mounds look strange against the backdrop and they become more frequent. It is like sand leaked out of gods pocket on the way to his sand box, the Sahara. There are camels seen walking through these small mounds of sand grazing on what little plant life there is. The dunes of Erg Chebbi appear in the distance, rust red and yellow mountains that grow bigger as we approach. It was so exciting seeing them especially after the landscape we had been passing through. The feeling was akin to a mountain climber reaching the peak or the first view of the ocean after travelling from the country. We get closer and closer and then pull up in the tiny town of Merzouga which is little more than a few buildings. We change transport from 4WD to camel and our driver passes us onto to a Berber man, the Berber people are the the nomads and desert people in Morocco they are not Arabic and make up about 1% of the population.



We are lead deeper and deeper into the Sahara and eventually we can see nothing but sand. The camels trudge onwards and although they slip a few times they are very sure footed and it is no surprise they are the choice of desert travellers. The dunes are huge and the colour a rich yellow tinged with a rusty red. The lines the dunes draw create beautiful scenes as a light wind moves the sand across them This serves as a reminder that they are in constant change as if the dunes were a living organism. We travel further and the romanticism of the camels wears off as saddle soreness sets in. Nearing dusk we decend down a dune a a little camp site appears. A U shaped arrangement of tents and not far from that another group which the berber tribe sleep, we are here our Sahara camp.



As our Berber guide prepares our sleeping quarters and boils some mint tea we all start climbing the closest dune, a massive dune that by all accounts was near impossible to climb as the loose sand almost swallows you up. Finaly we reach the peak and exhausted we crawl on all fours onto the peak and I literally nearly gasped in amazement. The view was incredible kilometre upon kilometre of dunes undulating into the distance as the fiery Moroccan sun sets slowly casting shadows and bringing the colour in the sands to life. We all sat there in silenced and watched the sun slip behind the dunes. This was a view that could humble you and as I stared across the dunes I felt my troubles washing away and as memories ran through my head and then disappeared I think perhaps I got a glimpse of a state of mind we all strive to achieve.



We returned to Marrakech in the most unglamorous of fashion a long camel ride on already saddle sore rears followed by a 14 hour 4WD trip with little scenery or respite and as we arrived Djemma El Fna back into the myriad of life in the square it was hard to belive where we had been the day before.



One the last full day of my trip we took a bus to Essaouira which is a small fishing town due west of Marrakech. After a uneventful three hour bus trip we climbed over a hill and the Atlantic Ocean shimmered in front of me. Whilst all the walls and building in Morocco had been pink and red to date the Medina of Essaouria was a brilliant white with trimmings of bright blue doors and windows. The town like Marrakech is surrounded by a high wall but inside it was far from the bustle of a big city. We leisurely strolled through the derbs, the store owners far less enthusiastic in there sales pitch and bronzed French tourists were spotted draped over chairs in street side cafes. Just out of the old town there was a bustling food market and as we got closer the calls to sit for lunch at these beachside markets was more insistent. As we wandered through we realised why these stalls were packed with people. Each stall had on display an impressive selection of fresh seafood from John Dory to whiting and fresh Crab and lobster. We choose a huge crab and we were seated as the cooks through it straight in the grill and within minutes our crab was served and cracked open all for a few pounds. It was delicious and so fresh most likely delivered to the docks that morning.



After lunch we strolled along the wharf as huge gulls swooped around us for food scraps and fisherman cleaned that catches and mended their nets. The boats much like the doors of the medina were a brilliant blue and wharf provided a very picturesque post lunch stroll.



We were exhausted from our holiday and so we found a seat at the best café in town, well the best view. The café was right on the beach and we perched ourselves on chairs and leaned back and gazed out upon the ocean. This café served beer and after a very dry holiday we were grateful for the chance and so we slid lower in our chairs and tilted our glasses of ice cold Heineken down our throats I though…I could get used to this.