Author Archives: the dragonfly

About the dragonfly

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...wrapping words around travel, business, life and writing adventures.

Eat, sleep, play… in Paris

St-Germain des Pres From the moment EB and I stepped out of our quaint, oh-so-Paris apartment on the Ile Saint-Louis this morning, I knew I was ‘home’.

It just felt like the right fit for me in every way, and I immediately felt myself relaxing.

I love the way women dress here – relaxed, understated and not a nose-bleed-height heel in sight. Except on tourists who are willing to risk their ankles on the uneven cobblestones.

And in spite of the bad wrap Parisians often get, we’ve found them friendly and helpful. They don’t gush and they don’t try to impress, but they seem comfortable in their own skin and I like that.

Best of all, after years of having conniptions over conjugations, I’m finally speaking French without hyperventilating… ordering breakfast, asking a man on the street for directions (and even understanding the answer!), and buying supplies at the marché.

Later, exploring the deliciously charming streets of St-Germain de Prés and nearby Left Bank neighbourhoods, I could very well have been in heaven.

At the end of our first day in Paris, EB has already walked my legs off… and hopefully the day’s indulgences.

I suspect tomorrow will involve, among other things, not taking the lift up the Eiffel Tower. As if 88 stairs up to our apartment isn’t enough already. Not that we’ve counted.


Shape-shifting, EB style.

EB in Hong KongWhen EB was in Italy, he looked kind-of Italian. Even when we were wandering through a dodgy part of Florence around midnight, the gangsta-esque locals would nod at us as we passed.

In Asian countries, he shifts again and manages to blend into the surroundings. Even walking through South Bank in Brisbane, a young Aboriginal man passes and calls him brother, acknowledging him like he’s a respected Elder.

Put him with kiwis or islanders and the ‘bro’ chat is flowing thick and fast. Then he’ll be at a wine tasting somewhere and he transforms into an arty, vino-savvy bro (without the nauseating arrogance!)

Some people are just at home in the world. EB is one of them.

And I get to travel with my own shape-shifting superhero. Bonus.


Peak experience…

The Peak - Hong Kong (Copyright: Louise Ralph)

View from the Peak

The guidebooks say you shouldn’t leave Hong Kong without taking the tram up to the Peak.

In the nineteenth century, privileged Hong Kong residents escaped the city heat here. But today, it’s the views of this sprawling city shrouded in haze that draw you in and take your breath away.

It’s hard to put away your camera – and impossible to capture the essence of this endless, cavernous city and the millions of people who live here.

View from the Peak, Hong Kong (C. Louise Ralph)The countless high-rise apartment buildings disappear into the horizon, crammed together like stalagmites.

The 3km walk around the Peak is a must. Along the way, you’ll catch glimpses of the city that expand in places to 180 degree views.

Dog latrine

the perfect solution to pooch poop…

You’ll pass by some of the most valuable real estate in Hong Kong and a few posh houses, some well past their prime.

You’ll walk through rainforest and past locals doing Tai Chi or out for their daily constitutionals.

And then there’s the dog latrine – a weird pooch sandpit complete with very suspect used toilet paper or tissues. What’s that about?

If you’re up for some fabulous views with your noodles or coffee (after that? Hmmm), you’re into Madame Toussauds’ waxwork wonders, or you feel like a spot of shopping, it’s all there.

For us, it was back down the mountain and, you guessed it, more street walking…


Impressions of Hong Kong

Hong Kong central (copyright Louise Ralph)Apart from oddly-named businesses like Wrong Design for a graphics company, Wanka for a women’s clothing store or Homeless for a homewares outlet, the first thing we notice about Hong Kong is the distinct lack of bicycles and scooters.

Instead, the streets are bursting with red taxis and double-decker buses. We’re told by a couple of expats that HK$20 (around AU$2.50) should get you just about anywhere in the city – and that taxi drivers are touching you up if they charge you HK$100 (unless they’re taking you to mainland China).

We prefer to walk and, apart from the occasional tailor determined to craft an amazing suit for you, it’s a relaxing place to hang out. The locals have a wonderful talent for being polite and helpful, yet absolutely indifferent to your existence.

Strolling through the city and down along the waterfront is also a surprise. Not only are the streets completely litter-free, but the harbour itself is pristine and there’s not a stroke of graffiti to be seen.

And then there are the luxury cars – Rolls Royces, Porches, BMWs, Mercedes, and more. And I mean ‘more’. Not just a couple, but rows of them parked along the streets.

There is serious money here, but the flipside is obvious. One local snorted when we asked her if Hong Kong was a nice place to live.

“Too expensive,” she said. “Too hard to live. Good for people with good wage, but for us, not so good.”

It’s an in-your-face reality here – one that most appear to accept with equanimity. And in a city like Hong Kong, it’s easy to see why the locals go with the flow.


Meditation in flight…

September 4: Finally, we’re on the plane, in the air, on the way…

Flights are a bit like meditation. The seat isn’t exactly a cushion on a wooden floor, but after an hour it’s just as uncomfortable. The thoughts come into your head and, according to Zen-lore, you’re not supposed to follow them…

Okay, I can do that… can’t I?

Whoosh – work floats in, huffs and puffs, then departs. I’m trying not to follow the train of thought. The express train. Not follow, not follow. Then the next one arrives – all mother-love and sooky stuff. It’s an all-stops. Stand clear, all doors are closing. Whoosh.

So here I am, thousands of feet up in the air, and still at the mental workstation or dealing with separation anxiety… Sheesh.

Distraction is required. My exclusive veggo meal arrives on cue. When did vegetarian equal gluten free, flavor free, chocolate free?

So EB eats vegetarian pizza (I kid you not, vegetarian…) and fresh fruit and chocolate. And I eat some strange cauliflower cous-cous conglomeration and a chemical-infused blueberry muffin which I suspect would survive a plane crash, along with the black box.  Perhaps they should coat planes in muffin batter?

I have a couple of vino chasers to eliminate the after-burn…and the journey continues.


The count down begins…

Only a week and a bit before Frankly (aka the Energiser Bunny or EB) and moi take off for our French adventure. Can’t wait to shake off the busy-ness, take a deep breath and bolt…

Did I mention I hate packing? Grrr. I was obviously traumatised as a child, when my mum and dad went psycho at each other before every camping trip. Mum always wanted to take the kitchen sink, apparently.

In those days (ancient as I am), cars didn’t have seatbelts or airbags. But mum made up for it. Us kids had so much stuff jammed around us, they’d have had to dig us out if we’d ever had
an accident.

So. Packing. Tell me it gets better with practice…