(Not) April in Paris

Frank Sinatra may have sung the praises of April in Paris, but I'm inclined to prefer the autumn. The trees along the Seine are turning russet and gold, the sun still breaks through the cloud with a glorious warmth, and the majority of tourists have returned home, leaving the locals some space. 

Whereas on previous trips to Paris I tended to gallery-crawl, immersing myself in Degas, Rodin and the like, this time I took advantage of the weather to see the city itself, tromping instead along the tree-lined boulevards and through picturesque squares. A photographic book of Parisian sites provided ample inspiration, and tracking down each monument or view felt like a grownups' treasure hunt.Wielding a tripod at the Arc de Triomphe incurred the displeasure of the local police, but otherwise we were able to take photos undisturbed.

Our hotel, the Waldorf Arc de Triomphe (sadly not as glamorous as its namesake though pleasant nonetheless), was a 10 minute walk from the real Arc de Triomphe, so we started our walking tour there. This grand archway is impressive from all directions but surprisingly tricky to photograph: you have to stand a fair way back to get enough of it in the picture, and then the cars, lamp posts and other city debris tend to get in the way. We tried a few different angles but then changed tack and instead focused on the arc's many relief carvings.

The Champs Elysee is busy day and night with tourists and locals alike. You can easily spot the Parisians: they're the well-dressed ones. If you're interested in fashion or people watching in general, this is the place to catch the beautiful people strutting their stuff and to take in some window shopping as you do it.

Moving further down the street, we passed by the Palais des Beaux-Arts, the Place des Concords and the Orangery which houses Monet's superb waterlily paintings. The Tuilerie gardens, a vast open space in the city centre, is stuffed with sculptures historic and modern. A grass labyrinth was under construction as we walked by, as was a multi-coloured fibre-glass structure. The Rodin bronzes were, sadly, in shadow and so not looking their best, but the classical sculptures were looking very fine indeed.

The pyramid at the Louvre must be Paris's most famous site after the Eiffel Tower. Already well-known when it shot further to stardom in The Da Vinci Code, this once controversial structure is now one of Paris's gems. The contrast with its surroundings is indeed stark, but this stands only to emphasise the beauty of both kinds of architecture: in my mind at least they are entirely complimentary. We spent an hour or so towards the end of the day trying to capture the space from new angles, quite a feat in a place so often photographed. I was, however, quite happy with the results.  

Disinclined to take photos as it drew dark and began to drizzle, we retreated home via the funky Tea at Thé tea shop in a square behind the Louvre, where we experimented with their tea sangria and raspberry macaroons. Both, I can firmly say, are a culinary success and definitely to be repeated. 

Our intention to rise early and photograph the balance of city received a set-back from the weather. The previous evening's drizzle had developed into a full-on downpour, and it was not until lunchtime that the sun broke through the clouds. We dodged the showers and made half-hearted attempts to capture the Opera and Place Vendome.

Things picked up when we reached Place des Concords. The spray from the fountains posed a bit of a challenge for the cameras (even the mighty Nikon D3 doesn't care to get wet) but the statues of mermaids and mermen look good from almost any angle and their green and gold colouring stands out even against the most grey of skies. We at first attempted to replicate a shot in our inspiration book, but then decided that our own versions of the scene had the edge after all. 

France is, of course, known first and foremost for its foods and it would be sacrilege to stay in Paris without sampling as much as possible of the cuisine. Other than eating our own weight in glorious, calorie-laden patisserie, we tried out a few bistros spread out across the town. We didn't get as far off the beaten track as we would normally, but enjoyed a reasonably good meal at Le Hanger, a small place a few minutes walk from the Pompidou Centre.

This meal would not have earned mention here if it weren't for the accompanying haul. Max is a natural scavenger. Almost everything is hoarded, whether or not it has an obvious use, and a fully laden skip is an overwhelming temptation, even when he's wearing a suit. Normally I try to dissuade such behaviour - our house is stacked with enough 'useful' pallets, dog-eared cardboard boxes and old newspapers as it is - but on this occasion the finds were almost worth having: half a dozen lengths of unused coving, and two giant pop art artworks on metal boards. 

Taxi drivers anywhere in the world are not keen on transporting outsize luggage, especially late at night, and even more so when it has come out of the rubbish. Few of the taxis would, in any case, have had the requisite boot space and so I trooped back across the city to retrieve the car, leaving Max on the street corner to defend his hoard. Several other well-dressed men took interest in the pile, implying binning is a more widespread leisure pursuit than I thought, so it is just as well he stayed. Range Rover to the rescue, everything fitted in with an inch to spare. Thank God we don't drive a Smart car!

Sustainable tourism in C. Asia

If you are unable to pick out Kyrgyzstan on a map, do not fear: you are not alone. With a population of little over 5 million, this Soviet Union successor state sits quietly nestled between China, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan and, with the exception of its charmingly named ‘Tulip Revolution’ in 2005, has barely made a mark on the western media. The country is largely rural and, until recently, tourists to the region have generally bypassed Kyrgyzstan in favour of package tours to the great Silk Road cities of Khiva, Bukhara and Samarkhand in neighbouring Uzbekistan. Kyrgyzstan cannot compete for architectural splendour, but is slowly fighting back, giving foreigners the opportunity to share in its stunning natural environment and nomadic culture through living, socialising and travelling with the people of Kyrgyzstan. Through this community-based approach, Kyrgyzstan has begun to make its mark as the world leader in sustainable tourism.

The largest ethnic group in Kyrgyzstan are the Kyrgyz, a Turkic people that make up around 70% of the population. They are traditionally semi-nomadic herders, living in yurts (felt and animal skin tents built around a wooden frame) in the mountain pastures during the summer and then bringing down their sheep, yaks and horses to escape the snows at the end of September. When the yurts are in the summer pastures, you can travel from one to the next, staying with local families and using their horses. The Community Based Tourism organisation (CBT) has a network of local guides across the country to help you find your chosen homestay in the seemingly endless mountains, take you trekking and show you the very heart of Kyrgyzstan. They are not professionals in the tourism industry but usually farmers and herders in neighbouring areas, sharing their personal experience without any of the crass commercialism of tour buses, action-packed itineraries and the rest of the West crammed in beside you.

The highlights of Kyrgyzstan have to be the lakes of Issyk-Kul and Karakol, surrounded on all sides by the soaring peaks of the Ala-Too Mountains. Despite its elevation, Issyk-Kul never freezes; it is heated from below by volcanic activity. The warm water has enabled a number of sanatoria with thermal springs and mud baths to develop on the northern shore, but the real attraction in both areas undoubtedly remains the natural landscape. Whether you explore it by horse or on foot with a guide and porters, it is easy to see why this part of the world was so little known until the arrival of Russian explorers partaking in the Great Game.

Kyrgyzstan’s greatest draw is that in a world where the greatest sites are so often spoiled by the presence of too many people, well meaning or otherwise, you can still leave the capital, Bishkek, and enter into a natural environment of awe-inspiring proportions that is still completely untouched by mankind. The few people you encounter, with their temporary shelters, mobile flocks and four-legged transport leave no mark on the landscape when they move on, and so if the country’s tourists were to be any different, it would be nothing but destructive. Kyrgyzstan has, it seems, got the balance right, bringing in much needed tourist dollars and projecting an overwhelmingly positive image to the international community without falling for model of tourism that blights so many other developing countries.

Bed Sharing in Song Kol

Hand on heart, I can honestly say that I have never before awoken in bed with five men. Neither had I nose-dived into a ditch so violently that the windscreen fell fully out of the car, nor filtered my morning tea through my teeth to keep the bits out. Kyrgyzstan was always going to be something out of the ordinary. 

Until forced settlement at the hands of Soviet Russia, the Kyrgyz people were nomads. In the twenty years since independence, a number of people have returned to the land, and a special few are willing to share their life with visitors. Two hours from the main road and equipped with neither running water nor electricity, the yurts (felt and animal skin tents) of the Kyrgyz nomads can hardly be described as 5* accommodation, but  a single night provides you with more insight into Kyrgyzstan’s history and culture than could be gained from a year in the capital, Bishkek. 

Yurt stays are organised by Community Based Tourism (CBT), a co-operative organisation which puts tourists in touch with local people. We booked our yurt by calling into the CBT office in Karakol and drove on with three backpackers in tow: public transport is decidedly erratic. We drove up into the mountains, heading for Lake Song Kol, where dinner, our yurt and nomadic family awaited us. The sunset dancing across the surface of the lake turned to inky darkness, and a thousand stars burst out brilliantly overhead.

Having spent ¾ of an hour driving aimlessly in the dark, completely unable to find a turn-off to our yurt, a elderly man driving a rusty Lada took pity on us and offered to show the way. Out of politeness I squashed into the passenger seat, forgetting for an instant the Kyrgyz penchants for drink driving. I wasn’t to forget for long. The Lada hurtled along like a thing possessed, bouncing across potholes, rocks and small streams and sliding sideways across slick patches of mud. In the bleary light of the headlamps barely anything was visible.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a mound of earth appeared to rear up in front of the car. The Lada hit it with a thud, the driver swore, and we plunged down the other side with a sickening crunch. Tiny shards of glass scattered across the dashboard and front seats before the entire windscreen collapsed out of its rotten frame, breaking further as it hit the bonnet. The engine spluttered, the headlamps sparked, and we were once again swallowed by the blanket of night. 

A short while later, now towing our guide and his invalid Lada behind our car, we pulled up at a semi-circle of yurts camped on the lakeside. Smoke and the smell of dinner cooking wafted from holes in the roofs across the grass, and half a dozen excited children came shrieking out to greet us. With the darkness had come an icy chill – winter was fast approaching – and so we were ushered inside almost as soon as we stepped out from the car.

A yurt is built in a circle around a fire. A wooden lattice around the walls supports a pointed roof, animal skin keeps it watertight, and thick layers of felt from the nomads’ own flocks keep winter winds at bay. We left our shoes at the door – you should always enter a Kyrgyz home barefoot – and sunk our toes into thick felt rugs and quilted blankets. At a low table in the center of the room, dinner was waiting: hot, oily soup with lamb and potato, freshly cooked unleavened bread with jam made from wild berries, and steaming green tea to wash it all down. Our hostess grinned as she served each dish, flashing her numerous gold teeth, a sign of wealth, in a wide open smile. 

When the final mouthful had been consumed, we lounged back on stacks of blankets, each one a patchwork of primary colors and geometric designs. Where the table had been, a bed was laid out with yet more stacks of rugs and quilts. It was not until the bed was nearly complete that I noticed its unusual shape: it was little over 6ft long, as one would expect, but a good 12ft in width! Realising the intended sleeping arrangements, my eyes skated around the room, taking in the horrified expressions of my fellow visitors. They were clearly not amused when I, the only girl in the room, took up my place at one end of the bed and began to hum the children’s song “There were ten in the bed and the little one said…”

Back in the USSR: Introducing Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan is a country with a distinctly split personality. High altitude gold mines, Lexus 4x4s and brash Russian lake resorts appear to herald a Las Vegas of the steppe, but they stand side by side with nomads in yurts, un-spoilt landscapes, and the genetic descendants of Genghis Khan. This eclectic mix makes it hard to pin down a single national identity for Kyrgyzstan, but ensure it is a fascinating destination for those willing to make the trip.

We first arrived in Kyrgyzstan almost by accident, becoming stranded in the capital, Bishkek, after particularly heavy snowfall. 93% of the country is mountainous and, in places, the snow never melts. Bishkek, however, usually enjoys slightly warmer climes and its partly for that reason that the city has been able to grow from a tiny 19^th century Russian garrison town into a buzzing metropolis today. Although geographically to the north of Kyrgyzstan, Bishkek is very much the country’s heart: economically, politically and culturally, almost everything is centered around the capital.

Its in Bishkek that Kyrgyzstan’s Russian side is most clearly evident. The Bolshevik military leader, Mikhail Frunze, was born here, the capital used to be named in his honour, and a street and museum still bears his name. Statues of Marx and Lenin are noticeably more conspicuous than in other post-Soviet states, and a visit to the State Historical Museum will introduce you to a fabulous Cold War relic: a cowboy clad in stars and stripes, riding high on a Pershing missile. For those with an interest in high-culture, the National Opera House, built prior to the Russian Revolution, is housed in a charming neo-classical building and hosts regular performances of opera and ballet by local and visiting troupes.

When the weekend comes, Kyrgyzstan’s elite head out west to join Russian and Kazakh tourists in resorts on the shores of Lake Issyk Kul. This volcanically heated lake is the second largest alpine lake in the world (after Lake Titicaca), and during the long summer the beaches are packed with beautiful bodies sunning themselves: think of it as Central Asia’s Monaco. If sunbathing isn’t your thing, you can befriend an oligarch with a gin palace, climb onboard a banana boat  or even go hunting for the remains of Soviet torpedoes and ancient cities buried beneath the waves.

Kyrgyzstan’s second side is distinctly quieter: it lacks the bling and the noise but, in spite of that, it is all the more enthralling. Wide open landscapes, unclimbed peaks and pristine glaciers beckon those prepared to leave the roads and continue on foot or on horseback. You won’t find a single hotel here: your hosts are the nomads in their tents, villagers in single-storey houses, and, if you choose to camp, the hillsides themselves. This is an ancient land, traversed by pilgrims, traders and travelers for thousands of years. When you climb into the mountains, you leave the present behind you and see the legacy of those who have gone before: pagan shrines with flags and goat skulls, Buddhist rock carvings, and distant look-out posts.

To understand the traditional spirit of Kyrgyzstan, you should look no further than a horse. The Kyrgyz say that a horse is the soul of a man and that it can carry him up into the heavens. Children can ride as soon as they can walk, and adrenalin-fuelled displays of horsemanship will garner a man respect. Whether you’re a Grand National winning jockey or a complete novice, you should take to the saddle for a few days, go well beyond the beaten track, and get up close and personal with nature. The mountains loom overhead, golden eagles soar, and snow leopards, Marco Polo sheep and ibex stalk the passes. There are no creature comforts up here, so bathe in the thermal springs and sleep each night on a pile of rugs in a round felt yurt, the traditional nomadic tent. The physical exertion may tire your body, but the peacefulness  revitalizes mind and soul.

Kyrgyzstan is yet to fully open up to tourism, and this is its beauty. The terrain is pristine, the people genuinely hospitable, and you won’t compete for space with tour buses and school groups. Now is the time to go, however, as things are set to change. Relative political and economic stability is attracting attention and investment from China and Russia, not to mention western powers. Multi-million dollar plans for ski resorts, shopping malls and super casinos loom large on the horizon and, although they may fit with some aspects of Kyrgyzstan, they risk engulfing the other parts altogether. Pack up your boots and phrasebook, and get on the plane.

Photos C. Tracing Tea 2008-2010

 

24 Hours in Kolkata

10.00   Nothing in Kolkata happens early so start your day with the city’s bureaucrats breakfasting on their way to work. The street stalls around the High Court and Dalhousie Square have a fabulous variety of snacks – from samosas and noodles to sickly-sweet ladoos, and while you’re there you can also check out the Town Hall, an exact copy of the one in Ypres.

11.00   Take a walk around the corner to St. John’s Church (Netaji Subhas Road) – a little piece of 18^th century London in the heart of the city. The curator is understandably proud of his newly renovated church and its colonial history while the surrounding churchyard has a welcome atmosphere of surprising calm.

12.30   Down by the river grab freshly fried fish from the morning’s catch before taking a boat out on the Hooghly. Kolkata’s colonial past, its mansions and warehouses, will be laid out before you along with evidence of more modern industries. If you’re in luck you may catch a peak of the endangered Ganges River Dolphin or see the immersion of clay statues of gods and demons. 

14.30   A visit to Kolkata could not be complete without an hour or so in the Victoria Memorial, the elaborate white marble edifice that holds sway over the centre of the city. Horse-drawn carriages bedecked in silver foil and flowers transport lovers and tourists alike whilst endless picnics and games of cricket take place on the neighbouring maidan.

16.30   Mid afternoon demands tea at Flurys (Park Street), Kolkata’s most famous patisserie. The chocolate muddy fudge comes highly recommended as does the people watching either side of the sheet glass windows.

17.30   Bengalis live for their food so whet your appetite and head into Jagu Babu Bazaar to see a fascinating array of local produce, fragrant spices in every colour and the largest prawns you’ve ever encountered. The dexterity of the fishmongers is outstanding and, although you may never eat chicken again, the fresh fish displays will have your mouth watering uncontrollably.

19.00   Oh! Calcutta (Forum Mall, Elgin Road) is packed night on night with well-heeled locals and offers up some of the best Bengali food around. Don’t miss the Hilsa, the delicately flavoured white fish that is Kolkata’s undisputed favourite, or the warm, soft breads that accompany it.

21.00   End the night at one of Kolkata’s numerous clubs, drinking G&T and fantasising about bygone days of the British Empire. The Calcutta Club, Bengal Club and Tollygunge Club all have fantastic colonial-era buildings, lively and well-stocked bars and an enthusiastic clientele. Join in the party and stay on until the early hours.

Photos C. Tracing Tea 2008