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	<title>burabura &#187; Paris</title>
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	<description>Glory comes from daring to begin</description>
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		<title>VIII: The Lourve and Dirty Old Men</title>
		<link>http://burabura.me/2009/11/11/vii-the-lourve-and-dirty-old-men/</link>
		<comments>http://burabura.me/2009/11/11/vii-the-lourve-and-dirty-old-men/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 10 Nov 2009 18:44:06 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Gloria</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Europe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[France]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Paris]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[craperie]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[crepes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Eurail]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[louvre]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sleepers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sudoku]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://burabura.me/?p=464</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[
			
				
			
		

I figured I’d better finish writing about my Europe trip now  even though I’m really keen to write about my adventures in China. Here  goes!
Lucky me, I had the cabin all to myself on my way back to Paris! The  sleepers are actually quite comfortable if the ceiling isn’t right in  [...]]]></description>
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<p>I figured I’d better finish writing about my Europe trip now  even though I’m really keen to write about my adventures in China. Here  goes!</p>
<p>Lucky me, I had the cabin all to myself on my way back to Paris! The  sleepers are actually quite comfortable if the ceiling isn’t right in  your face.</p>
<div id="attachment_499" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 490px;"><img class="size-full wp-image-499" title="Lower" src="../wp-content/uploads/2009/10/sleeper.jpg" alt="Lower" width="480" height="360" /></p>
<p class="wp-caption-text">Lower</p>
</div>
<div id="attachment_500" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 490px;"><img class="size-full wp-image-500" title="Sudoku" src="../wp-content/uploads/2009/10/sudoku.jpg" alt="Sudoku" width="480" height="360" /></p>
<p class="wp-caption-text">Killing  time</p>
</div>
<p>Train conductor came to have a chat with  me, I forgot what we talked about. As part of the Italian culture, I  allowed him to kiss me twice (once on each cheek) when we bade goodbye,  but he requested a kiss on the lips saying two kisses is for  French/Italian (I forgot) and three kisses is for Italian/French! Nice  try. I refused and locked my cabin door once he left.</p>
<p>I found this amazing little craperie that was located literally  around the corner at 2 rue sauval.</p>
<div id="attachment_512" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 490px;"><img class="size-full wp-image-512" title="Creperie St Eustache" src="../wp-content/uploads/2009/10/creperie.jpg" alt="Creperie St Eustache" width="480" height="321" /></p>
<p class="wp-caption-text">Creperie St Eustache</p>
</div>
<p>I LOVE CREPES! “Very thin pancakes,” as Hert would put it. Can’t  resist a nutella crepe every now and again in Paris and London. They  served both savoury and dessert crepes here and the owners were really  kind and friendly towards me.</p>
<p>So I was walking about around The Louvre when an elderly man  approached me and asked if I’m going to the museum. I wasn’t because I  thought it was closing, it closes at 10pm on Wednesdays and Fridays. He  told me he’s a teacher and he has some special teacher’s pass to the  museum and that he’d meet me near the Mona Lisa if I’d like and give me a  little tour. I thought it’s not a bad idea. He asked for my name shook  my freezing hand, then began warming my small palms. I still thought he  was just being nice.</p>
<p>We met near the Mona Lisa and one interesting bit he told me was that  if you walked from one side to another while looking at her, her eyes  seem to follow you. It’s true! The Mona Lisa was way smaller than I’d  imagined and it’s protected quite a distance behind glass and you don’t  get to stand up-close to view it . Here’s where it starts getting  creepy. He wanted to hold my hand during the tour of the museum claiming  I’m cold and he wants to keep me warm. We walked around the museum  while he gave me some insides on some of the painting before he had to  leave for class, that’s when he said, “Would you like to come to my  place to see my tower after my class?” Fuck, no?!</p>
<p>That’s the end of this entry. More about London next.</p>
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		<title>I: Paris to Roma</title>
		<link>http://burabura.me/2009/10/14/i-paris-to-roma/</link>
		<comments>http://burabura.me/2009/10/14/i-paris-to-roma/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 14 Oct 2009 08:44:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Gloria</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Europe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[France]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Paris]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bercy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[CDG]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Charles de Gaulle]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[digital]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Eurail]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Gare de Lyon]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[overnight train]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[P&S]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[retardo]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Roma Termini]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Schipol]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[T3]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[transit]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://burabura.wordpress.com/?p=358</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[
			
				
			
		
&#8220;This is it,&#8221; I thought to myself as I stepped through the customs at Changi International Airport after waving goodbye to my teary-eyed family and friends. Backpacking isn&#8217;t common in Singapore, not to mention alone. It was a blasphemous decision to everyone I knew. When I belted up on the plane and felt the familiar [...]]]></description>
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<p>&#8220;This is it,&#8221; I thought to myself as I stepped through the customs at Changi International Airport after waving goodbye to my teary-eyed family and friends. Backpacking isn&#8217;t common in Singapore, not to mention alone. It was a blasphemous decision to everyone I knew. When I belted up on the plane and felt the familiar vibrations of a take-off, I thought, &#8220;Fuck, this is it. THIS-IS-IT. There&#8217;s no turning back now.&#8221;</p>
<p>Transit at Amsterdam. They wanted to check my hotel reservations, I left everything in my check-in luggage &#8211; a 60 litre backpack I named Mr Tatonka. Lucky I had my iPod Touch on me with my e-mail receipts stored, they let me through. It was cold and quiet in Schipol Airport. My cheery yellow cotton shawl did little to save me in T-shirt and jeans during the 2-hour transit. Time crawled.</p>
<p>Finally, Paris, Charles De Gaulle (CDG). A smile peeked through the gloom as I stepped out of the airport. Paris probably has one of the most complicated train system by far. Doesn&#8217;t help that I don&#8217;t speak French. I took my first train to Gare Paris-Bercy where my next train heads to Rome in the evening. Noted that EUR to SGD was 1.898 and I donated more than I should dropping what I thought were shillings to a not-very-friendly man playing an accordion.</p>
<div id="attachment_359" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-359" title="Paris - Bercy" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/parisbercy.jpg" alt="Paris - Bercy" width="300" height="225" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Paris - Bercy</p></div>
<p>First meal, Bercy Cafe on 118 Rue De Bercy where I ordered one of the set menus at 18.30 Euros. I vaguely recall reading <em>filet </em>on the menu which I mistook for <em>fillet</em>. Slightly surprised when I received steak instead of fish but I kept quiet.</p>
<div id="attachment_362" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-362" title="Pate de Campagne" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/pate1.jpg" alt="Pate de Campagne" width="300" height="225" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Pate de Campagne</p></div>
<div id="attachment_361" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-361" title="Formule E/P" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/filet.jpg" alt="Formule E/P" width="300" height="225" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Formule E/P</p></div>
<p><span id="more-358"></span>Time: 1248hours. My initial plan was to explore Paris for a bit before the night train to Rome but the complexity of the Paris subway threw me off, even though there was absolutely nothing to see around Gare de Lyon. I didn&#8217;t know how to get to Champs Elysee or know how long it&#8217;d take me. Being the virgin backpacker I was, I have to admit that I was afraid of hiccups.</p>
<div id="attachment_363" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-363" title="Gare de Lyon" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/trainstazion.jpg" alt="Gare de Lyon" width="300" height="225" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Gare de Lyon</p></div>
<p>This is the waiting area on the second level of Gare de Lyon. Now that I look at the Eurail timetable again, I realised there are only morning trains and night trains. There wasn&#8217;t a single passenger except me for a long time until a man arrived and slept across a couple of seats. Five more hours to go. The silence, the emptiness, the waiting and the loneliness was driving me crazy! With my backpack strapped to one of my arms, I set my alarm clock and tried to sleep. It got colder, I pulled over another sweater and continued to force myself to sleep.</p>
<div id="attachment_364" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-364" title="Soup machine" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/soup.jpg" alt="Soup machine" width="300" height="225" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Soup machine</p></div>
<p>More and more people gathered at the train station as I drifted in and out of sleep. I think I drank two cups of tomato soup from this vending machine in between. I followed the crowd due for Roma Termini at 1859 to the trains and got out of the station, it was so much colder outside and a wind was blowing. As much as I&#8217;m afraid of the cold, I like it and it got me all excited.</p>
<p>I shared the cabin with a quaint, old Italian lady whose name is Emi, if I recall correctly. I cannot remember her age, probably 70. I remember that she loves cats and she&#8217;s got adorable grandchildren, whose photos she showed to me on her mobile phone. Emi was full of vigour for her age and she stole quite a few cigarette breaks during our ride to Rome. She couldn&#8217;t speak English and I didn&#8217;t understand Italian so our conversations didn&#8217;t get us very far. She taught me to be careful and locked the cabin before we went to bed.</p>
<div id="attachment_365" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-365" title="Non Smoker T3 Lady Upper" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/train01.jpg" alt="Non Smoker T3 Lady Upper" width="300" height="400" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Non Smoker T3 Lady Upper</p></div>
<div id="attachment_366" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-366" title="Emi" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/emi.jpg" alt="Emi" width="300" height="225" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Emi</p></div>
<p>Sleeping on the upper bunk, there wasn&#8217;t any space for me to sit upright. It was dark outside. I was supposed to arrive at 0950 but the train was <em>retardo</em> (delayed). I got hungry. That meal at Paris Bercy was the only meal I had 24 hours ago. I didn&#8217;t buy dinner on the train when they offered because it was like 25 Euros and I thought no way am I gonna pay that sorta money for train food. I nibbled on my only pack of crackers that my sis insisted I bring for the trip and washed it down with the complimentary sparkling water. I don&#8217;t think breakfast was on the menu but they served us coffee and buns. I gobbled them up.</p>
<div id="attachment_367" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-367" title="Breakfast" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/breakie.jpg" alt="Breakfast" width="300" height="225" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Breakfast for Emi and I</p></div>
<p>After about 20 hours on the train and hours of forced sleep, I finally got to Rome.</p>
<p>Someone came to pick Emi at the station, I think it was her son. I wonder how she&#8217;s doing now.</p>
<div id="_mcePaste" style="overflow:hidden;position:absolute;left:-10000px;top:1953px;width:1px;height:1px;">
<div id="attachment_365" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 310px"><img class="size-full wp-image-365" title="Non Smoker T3 Lady Upper" src="http://burabura.me/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/train01.jpg" alt="Non Smoker T3 Lady Upper" width="300" height="400" /><p class="wp-caption-text">Non Smoker T3 Lady Upper</p></div>
</div>
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