Parisian stopover.

I arrive in #Paris and look for a taxi. A woman, dressed gypsy style, ushers me towards a taxi, speaking fast French that I can't comprehend. I am forwarded to an old battered taxi. The male driver has a huge moustache and a shirt that barely covers his large belly. I hesitate and am almost pushed into the cab by the woman who then puts her hand out for money, I shake my head as my bags are taken by the driver and put in the boot. He then gets in quickly and starts to take off without asking where I'm going. I freak out and try to get out but he's telling me to stay. What to do? He finally asks for the address and driving with one hand on the wheel through the Parisian traffic, he puts the address in with his other hand. He drops me off in a decidedly seedy looking area. He gets out, dumps my bag and points up the street to a hotel. I have once again neglected my research. I chose a cheap place as I'm only here for one night. I drop my bags off to search for a place to eat and realise that the area is getting more and more salubrious as I walk. I am the only solo, white woman in an area that is like a world trade centre; Asian, Moroccan, African shops abound and people are staring at me. I call for an Uber. The first one cancels, is the area that bad? The second one arrives, a lovely African man from Tanzania, who he tells me that this is not the area I should be in. I get him to take me back to the hotel and ask them if they mind me leaving and they agree that it's a sensible idea! I get online and book back to my old hotel with angry Audrey. They have a room, a double! I take it and upon arrival, I take a deep breath, realising I've been shallow breathing. I'm back in an area I know. Unfortunately, Audrey remembers me and my scathing review no doubt so there is no welcoming smile but at this point I don't care. I eat at my favourite bar, the waiter remembers me, laments that I'm still solo and brings me a Vermouth. And just as I'm relaxing the daughter rings to tell me her wallet has been stolen in Bologna. Everything gone, cards, identification but luckily not her passport. She had to brave the Polizia and try her Italian. Luckily her partner is with her, otherwise she wouldn't be able to get back to where she's living. The planets are out of alignment today, I'm sure Mercury has gone into retrogade, causing havoc.

I am booked to go on an overnight train to Venice to meet up with the daughter, the timing in that respect is fortuitous but I have the whole next day in Paris, having to leave my room by 10. I spend as much time as I can in the room and then I've booked to go to the #Louvre. I breakfast on a pistachio croissant - it has to be done. And on the long walk to the Louvre, I brunch on a lemon macaroon, filled with lemon curd, topped with a small swirl of meringue.At home I would never have two pastries in a day! Never! I am energised by caffeine and sugar and ready for anything.

I begin in a leisurely manner, passing by the crowds of people standing around the Mona Lisa. It is such a small painting and I catch a glimpse if I stand on tiptoes but I decide not to wait to see it up close. Room after room opens up, I am awestruck. Every time I think I'm nearly done, another section opens up and because I have serious fomo (fear of missing out), I become utterly exhausted. I find another cafe and have lunch only to discover on the way out, the Egyptian, Greek and Roman sections. I have to see them, don't I? In the end, it's all too much, I am numbed by the endless beauty and discoveries. It is three o'clock as I make my way back to the hotel and I sit in the breakfast room, slumped in the carmine red velvet chair. Another manageress has replaced Audrey, she is all French glamour, immaculate, all in white, hair in a turban, perfect makeup. I must look a sight, she asks if I'd like a tea and then points to where I can make it myself. I love the look of this hotel but the staff are not the friendliest I have encountered.

I have booked a cabin on the train with three others. I am going to test my anxiety levels. I figure that I'll be so exhausted that I'll sleep regardless. This train is nothing like the one I arrived on. It's seen better days. My companions are a big bear of a Russian man, in his late twenties; and a Chinese couple who speak no English but the Russian speaks Italian. Somehow we manage to introduce ourselves. He's on a scholarship here and has a photographic exhibition opening in a week's time. His mother is with him, she's an artist and they'll be exhibiting together. His exhibition is called - Down the Rabbit Hole. We exchange Instagram names and check out each other's work. He's on his way to Carnevale in Venice. We have all packed snacks for the journey and various smells permeate the cabin as the doors are closed and the aircon is almost non existent. So is the wifi. When the conductress pops her head in, we ask her about the Wifi and she laughs. "You will have wifi when you get to Venice." she says wryly and continues on her way. We make our own beds up and the Russian gives up his bottom bunk for me as I've been given the top one. I think of myself going up and down the little ladder in the night, as when I'm anxious, I have to pee a lot, and I thank him profusely. He offers me his chicken that his mother has prepared for the trip, (he's 28!) I decline, take a sleeping pill and manage a few hours sleep , (even with the snoring Russian below me), before we pull into Venice at dawn. I feel I have ticked off another box. I have forced my anxiety into a situation that it will excel in but I have slightly tamed it's enthusiasm.

Click arrows to view. Last photo shows someone attending to her feet after spending the day at the Louvre.

Colmar. Tales from a year abroad.

I arrive in Colmar on a Sunday morning and a cacophony of church bells welcome me. I’m early, my room won’t be ready until one, so off I go to discover the Colmar of the internet, postcard views, canals, medieval black beamed and brightly hued houses. Beautiful little shops with stork paraphernalia and touristy storky things; caramel shops, kugelhoff and flambe tarte shops. I wander till I can wander no more and then go in search of a cafe and find a pink art nouveau one with beautiful old teapots and tins, Au Dore, An old lady, who must be 80 at least, is at the front of house, taking orders, delivering, collecting the money. A woman with a mission, who has found a place in life. I’m envious. I have a cafe creme and a large pistachio macaron and return to find out the room won’t be ready until 4! I think the concierge must have seen my face and taken pity on me. She upgrades me to a room with a view of the canal and a jacuzzi. I take it. I should be delighted but a vague sense of unease is back. It’s what I’ve had since the operation but before I arrived here it was accompanied by extreme anxiety. Thankfully, that’s left but the unease is back. I try to deep breathe my way out of it but has infiltrated deeply.

I decide to walk it out before it darkens. I find another street of pistachio, strawberry, mango and bubblegum blue houses reflecting into a shallow canal but even after another hour of walking, it’s still not early enough for the restaurants to open. Exhausted, I end up sitting on a bench with a Japanese girl who is probably hungry and waiting as I am. Finally, the restaurants start to open. I find one and have a chicken and cider pie, alone without a stuffed rabbit to converse with. I return to have a spa bath and listen to Mumford & Sons Delta to calm me down.

I now have an extra day here so I look up tours only to realise that at this time of the year, there are none available. I stumble upon one and email them and they said they're just starting out and would love to take me. In my anxiety infused state, I feel it's best if I'm out and about with humans.

They pick me up the next morning, a husband and wife team. They're having a seachange, having both given up their careers to pursue this line of work. The were sick of working in offices and wanted to be happy. She speaks Portuguese, German, Italian and French and is happy to try out her rusty English with me. They discover I haven't had breakfast and are horrified. Even though I say I'm fine, they insist on stopping at a cafe and picking me up a coffee and a croissant. "In France you must take breakfast."

Our first stop is Hunawihr, in the Alsace wine area. They're passionate about wine and point out the vineyards and how everyone in the area is worried because summer has come early and they are behind in the getting the vines ready. Next stop is Riquewihr and Ribeauville, both villages that inspired Beauty and the Beast. The colours are candied; strawberry, watermelon, lime. I'm told that in the medieval days, buildings were taxed on the ground level meterage, so to overcome paying extra, the second and third floors jut out slightly. My guide also points out the oriel windows, an early form of the bay window for the richer inhabitants, who used them to watch the passing crowds and gather gossip.

My guide is an expert stork watcher. She knows all the nests in the region and her interest, she says, never fades. In the 70’s, due to electricity wires crisscrossing the storks migratory routes, huge numbers were electrocuted. On top of that, there was the famine in Africa, ((which is where the storks migrate during the European winter) which saw more of the storks decline as they became a source of food. France then realised they would have to create sanctuaries and nesting sites to reintroduce them. My guide checks the nests every year to see if the stork couples are returning and they are. I, too, am fascinated. I find out that storks are mute and the clacking sound is the way they use their beaks to attract their mate to the nests they have prepared in advance.

I'm then taken to a winery tasting in the village. I'm the sole tourist! The family has

owned the winery for 500 years and I'm given 10 different varieties of wine to try. I obviously sample only a small amount, learning to swirl and sniff and experience the flavours on my tongue. But by the tenth wine I am decidedly tipsy. I realise I will have to buy a wine and try to appear interested and remember which one I enjoyed the most. They take me into the cellar with the huge old oak vats, each with a different sculpture surrounding the tap and they show me the very tiny arched section that someone small has to climb into at the end of the season to scrape off the sugars that have formed a coating inside the barrel. Claustrophobia springs to mind.

After that, I’m thrilled when they suggest we have lunch as the world has become a shifting place from my intoxication and the streets are cobblestoned and I’m a bit wobbly. I need to soak up the wine. We have the famous spaetzle dish - flour, salt, eggs, milk and salt sieved into boiling water into noodles. This is covered in the Munster cheese of the area and the food acts as the perfect sponge for the ten varieties of wine I had imbibed plus the one they insist on me having to accompany the spaetzle.

After that I am delivered to my hotel, at which time they mention they could do any combination of places I would like to visit the next day; this is their quiet season, so we arrange for an afternoon excursion.

I didn’t think I could eat that night but after another wander around Colmar on dusk, I discovered I had an appetite and found a place that served an old fashioned meal of grilled chicken, green beans and sauteed potatoes! Perfect. I couldn’t bear the thought of another Onion tart or Quiche Lorraine. My company that night was a very cool wooden frog, lounging in a corner, hand holding his froggy chin, debonair, nonchalant and quite an engaging companion I should imagine, if he could talk.

Next afternoon, I'm taken to Chateau du Haut-Koenigsbourg, a medieval castle dating back to 1147, remodelled and added onto over the centuries; an interesting look at life in the middle ages; and then to Kayserberg. This is another beautiful village, nestled along a river, burnished bronze in the late afternoon light, fairytale gelato coloured houses lining the river. Everywhere I go there are souvenirs with the stork theme. I am quite taken with them and buy a few pieces. They remind me of the paintings in a book of fairytales that my mother used to read to me as a child. There were always storks on nests on the buildings. I return for dinner with my Frog companion and my time in Alsace is done. Tomorrow, I'm heading back to Paris.

Eguisheim, Alsace.

I am pre-warned when the taxi driver asks me how long I'll be staying and when I tell him two nights; he says in his broken English - Too long. He drops me at a small hotel but my room is in another part of the town. The hostess walks me there through the winding tiny streets, past the medieval, fairytale coloured Tudor style houses. We are in Beauty and the Beast territory, some of it was filmed here. I drop off my bags, discover there's no wifi and decide to explore. As I walk through the small town, I keep hearing a clacking sound from above. I keep looking up and finally, I see a nest of storks on the spire of the church. I've been seeing them on postcards but now I realise Alsace is an area where they come to nest. They are huge and their nests can weight up to 225 kgs. It's baby stork making time in Eguisheim. The storks fly 15000 kms from Africa, returning to the same nests every year. They're monogamous and the male arrives first to do some home maintenance, making sure the nest is up to scratch for the wife. She arrives and a lot of clacking noises go on, she's probably telling him it's not quite right. I then become a bit of a ornithologist, I research and wander the town looking for nests.

But after half an hour, I have seen the whole town. I have photographed the crocuses beginning to flower, have eaten cake, lunched and walked some more. The taxi driver is correct. I tell the owner that I'm going to leave and she doesn't even charge me for the extra night. Maybe because there's no wifi, the heating doesn't work and it's freezing in my room. I have dinner at her restaurant, my companion a stuffed rabbit with antlers. He's quiet with an inquisitive look in his eye. I am worried about two facts: a) I am considering him as a dinner companion, and b) I would like to ask him how he came about his antlers. Have I been alone too long?