Travel
Travel is on the mind again, flight availability checked, and emails go back and forth containing ideas, new and old city names, excitement.
For some reason I google the Cervantes Hotel in Paris where we stayed when I was 11, to see if it's still there. It was one of those absolute shockers: dodgy stains on the carpet, miserable, and backing onto a metro station where the shrieking of trains continued through the night.
From TripAdvisor: "The owner was at the desk when we arrived...He barely acknowledged we were there. A shrug of the shoulder when asked if the room was non-smoking as requested on booking."
Love it.
Why do I love travelling so much? I firmly believe it was this trip, aged 11, that injected me with this love of geography. Mum says she wanted, for me, for it to be a family trip; it was far from it. But with my naive young eyes, I didn't see the painful relationship between mum and dad, I saw new places, monuments, cute waiters, different currencies every few days that sparkled in my hands like treasure, restaurants where everything was new, and tasty because of it, hotels that (mostly) seemed like palaces, languages that enchanted. And it fired up my blood for more.
For some reason I google the Cervantes Hotel in Paris where we stayed when I was 11, to see if it's still there. It was one of those absolute shockers: dodgy stains on the carpet, miserable, and backing onto a metro station where the shrieking of trains continued through the night.
From TripAdvisor: "The owner was at the desk when we arrived...He barely acknowledged we were there. A shrug of the shoulder when asked if the room was non-smoking as requested on booking."
Love it.
Why do I love travelling so much? I firmly believe it was this trip, aged 11, that injected me with this love of geography. Mum says she wanted, for me, for it to be a family trip; it was far from it. But with my naive young eyes, I didn't see the painful relationship between mum and dad, I saw new places, monuments, cute waiters, different currencies every few days that sparkled in my hands like treasure, restaurants where everything was new, and tasty because of it, hotels that (mostly) seemed like palaces, languages that enchanted. And it fired up my blood for more.
posted by Julia at 9:16 AM
3 Comments:
Love this, Juls. It reminds me of the little place I stayed in, in Tours (I can't even remember the name now.) It had an open ironwork lift in the centre of the foyer, and a grumpy little woman was the concierge - but I absolutely loved it. I'd go back in a heartbeat.
Oh no, we hated it. We couldn't get out of there fast enough, and didn't care how much the next place was, it just had to be decent. It cost a fortune, but was a truly amazing pad. We were given the attic room, which was gigantic and ancient, with a terrace overlooking the rooftops of Paris, the Tour Eiffel to the right, I will never forget those views (I have the photo on my desk at work, will scan and put up). The floors creaked, and I did my homework on the antique writing desk. The definition of unforgettable.
I love memories like yours :-)
I'm with you Juls. I love traveling, but hate staying in places that make me wish I were home. Am I a diva? Anyhoo, I'm leaving tomorrow to visit my sister in Brussels, and we're staying in Paris for a night on the return. Cannot. Wait.
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