1995 Paris

8.3.95

Cinema Europa Pantheon – Rue Victor-Cousin 13.  To see “Farinelli” – not open in London.  Ah, Paris.  Very arty cinema.  The seats all sponsored – all Left Bank do-gooders, doubtless.  The film, well, nice idea, terrible structure.  For me, its main failing was to give no idea of the overmastering power of the castrato’s voice: the one thing that drove everyone nuts.   The sound quite plausible.

9.3.95

Cité de la Musique – which doesn’t exist, and what does exist isn’t open.  Strange location, on the edge of things, surrounded by 19th century buildings, glass and steel à la Crystal Palace and the rest.

Bad night – something dodgy inside wanting to come out.  Fine sunny day, cold.

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1992 Paris

1993 Paris

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1993 Paris

13.4.93

Théâtre des Bouffes du Nord – finally.  Great interior, rather like Almeida Theatre and then some.  Crumbling, red/ochre plaster on walls, the palimpsest of stucco, the dubious pillars holding it up.  “L’Homme Qui” – Sacks, of course.  Nice café next door, chaotique ticket sales at the contrôle.  Managed to phone and pre-book.  Useful habit this is getting to be.  Above, a fine, obscured oval.  The stage a deep, high space behind the proscenium.  Must be fun working here.

This morning to FNAC, near Wagram – but Matisse advance tickets sold out, alas.  Have to queue.  Prices of CDs outrageous - £17 to £20.  Book selection disappointing too. To Gare/Musée d'Orsay– we queued for 20 minutes – tiresome.  As is the arrangement of galleries, it has to be said.  I think the spell of  Musée d'Orsay has been broken for me – I love the jeu d’esprit of using a station – but after that the details don’t repay constant visits. Perhaps this is one consequence of having seen London through the proverbial fresh eyes of some guests last weekend – and really liking it.  It looked remarkably clean, well-ordered and often free (museums etc.)  Well done, UK.  

Very Almeida sort of sound here.

14.4.93

Pompidou Centre.  Two hours queuing to get in here, and I realise that this, too, is all facade: the toilets by the café terrible.  Food OK – unlike the Louvre, whose café is an insult.  Is this the terrible secret of Paris?

Huge queues still, will take hours to clear.  Why didn’t this show come to London?  Shame.

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1992 Paris

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1995 Paris

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1994 Paris

26.4.94

Public architecture begins in the Charles de Gaulle Airport – a triumph of form over function (ish), with its weird subterranean links to the satellites and the interlocking glass tubes to luggage retrieval.  Back in the RER. Depressingly, the same ads as a year ago.  Building works in the station.

Back in the Hotel Ares – refurbished, and with rather nicer staff.  The elevated metro here has been repainted.  Nice that feeling of returning, of recognising, and of spotting differences.  Obviously architecture has much to do with this.

To “Le Suffren”, of course, and even here, there’ve been changes – new chairs, new interior – same wonderful dédaigneux waiters, though.  Prices seem higher – perhaps we’re poorer.  Our annual visite here provides a useful index to how things are going.  But what a lovely city nonetheless – the lights, the bloody Gauloises-smoking people in their outrageous shirts and jackets…

27.4.94  The Louvre

Nice inverted pyramid – volumes – stunning use of old foundations – the scale and breadth.  To one of the main sculpture galleries – so light, so successful.  The white marble.  Pretty impressive.  Interesting that the older part of the Louvre is looking distinctly ropey.  

To Galeries Lafayette for fine, filling lunch (72 Francs), then to Galerie de la Musique (Rue Réaumur) where I find an expensive book on French music and musicians.  Then café, then to Printemps, back to hotel – Paris, as ever, is exhausting, but pleasantly so.

28.4.94  Grand Palais

Last night re-found the fine restaurant near Liceo Italiano – La Fontaine de Mars.  Lovely weather now – pale blue sky, cool breeze.  Grass growing greenly before us.

Rather a failed morning: both Petit Palais and Grand Palais are extra to our tourist tickets, and expensive.  To FNAC – nice and cool, but without the mad excitement of London.  Then try to see Brassaï – also extra.  Metro to hotel – to find a bottle of champagne from the wise hotel manager (he recognised us).  Back in the Grand Palais (yo! Press card).  Origine de l’Impressionisme.  Curious pic by Bazille: atelier with pianist in the corner – new twist on pianist in a brothel.  The massive pix of Monet and Manet – new to me, particularly attractive.  One – “Marine: orange” has precisely the colours and contrast of sea we saw at the beach near Merida.

29.4.94

Back in the serene, majestic Louvre.  The other sculpture court.  Bosio: amazing effect of weather on bronze in his Hercules fighting Acheloos.  Lovely serpent.  Fine Mesopotamian collection – that sense of how much was achieved 4000 years ago.  To the restaurant – surprisingly good, and well executed. Cool here, even though there is ravishing sun outside.

To Denfert-Rochereau – for “Prospero’s Books” (ha!).  After lunch at the Louvre (a really happening place) to Île de la Cité for nice sit in the sun (very warm today), then to here.  The open air cafés – or rather the tables on the street – a part of the French love of la vie en publique.  Small arts cinema (30 Francs/seat), playing “Nozze di Figaro” – too low/slowly – of a kind almost extinct in UK.  A nation of cinephiles.

To the Café du Rendez-vous Denfert-Rochereau, typical French roadside café .  Good caffe (I’ve been spoilt by Italy for most) and crepes.  Classic facade opposite, six storeys, white wall of sun, trees breaking into leaf. Impressionism eat your heart out.

30.4.94 Tour Eiffel

Sunny but cool. Slightly hazy.  Waiting for the third étage lift.  Of course, the Eiffel Tower is pure architecture – without form or function, pure third dimension – which is the defining characteristic of architecture.  From the top: again, striking how tall French buildings are – not skyscrapers, but blocks of flats – the characteristic grey roofs.  Looking towards Bois de Boulogne.  More than any other city I know, Paris is a city of lines – Haussmann, Mitterrand et al.

Also very noticeable is that the flats – the great blocks everywhere – have very strong horizontal and vertical lines: everything is like a grid.  Due in part to the absence of detached houses or low maisonettes that might change the rhythm.  The overall effect is very like a synthetic cubist pic: an image full of clashing lines that hover and blur.  Also: there are very few office blocks here – mostly towards the periphery.  This is a city for living.  Down on the first étage – feels very low and open.  Descending, very noticeable the diagonals of struts – a huge Piranesian nightmare.  

To the Institut du Monde Arabe.  Rather fine building.  To the café on the top – view from the roof over the Seine.  Nice artichoke.  Fascinated by the regulation system for the lighting: photoelectric cells control hydraulic pumps that move rotating plates, opening and closing apertures.  I’ve yet to see it in action: lots of Arabic gutturals around.

To the Syrian exhibition (last day today).  Generally disappointing, but a nice feel of tens of empires – Hittites, Hattites, Akkadians etc hurtling together, contesting this parcel of fertile land, inventing the city, writing…

Now drinking thé à la menthe on the terrace.  Very hot, very nice.  Next to us, three ladies of a certain age discuss computers remarkably sensibly.

On the Bateau-Mouches – an eternal cadence in six languages.
The smell in the Metro, pinned down: burnt wood…

1.5.94

Everything closed, of course.  Blue sky, but slight chill in the air.  Outside Saint-Roch, away form the bloody marchers.  To Le Marché aux Puces, Porte de Clignancourt.  A huge modern-day souk.  Wonderful.

2.5.94

La Samaritaine.  Fine view, good coffee.  A walk from the waxworks museum through some wonderful galleries, Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois, to here.  So much to see in Paris, I feel.  Ashamed for London – whether justifiably or not is hard to say.

Lunch in Galeries Lafayette.  Walk down to La Madeleine – first time I’ve seen it: large, classical, covered in scaffolding.  Towards Boullée’s only surviving construction in Paris.  To 16, rue de la Ville l'Évêque – very strange, a bank now, with a glass portico, through which we can see Boullée’s sad remains.  Now crushed between two dull concrete slabs.  Seems to be the dining room of the bank now. Nice swags in the Corinthian columns’ eyes.  Corinthian passing to Doric. Sad.  Fine freizes in the portico, two sphinxes on the six steps.

Inside the Madeleine – much grander than I expected.  So many columns and arches and domes.  Light falls from the ceiling as if liquid.  A sea of open-backed raffia-seat chairs, surprisingly delicate, giving a refined ripple through the space.  Outrageous chandeliers like golden vines and creepers.

Outside the Madeleine, to a café behind it (or the restauration).  Ridiculously noisy, but hell, it’s the principle that counts.  

3.5.94  Carrefour Buci

Very characteristic quarter.  Sitting in the warm sun.  Clear blue sky.  Nice that though we leave at 5.30pm this evening we can enjoy Paris in this relaxed way.  Very noticeable how pleasant just walking in Paris is (from Le Bon Marché to here).  Cf. Köln or Stuttgart – dead boring, depressing even.  Here just being – L’être – basta.

To Loubnane, Rue Galande, for mezedes.  The parking here:  if there is two metres of road a junction, this is enough for a BMW.  Rich Turkish coffee – reminds me of Egypt.

Returning to UK, the contrast with France is clear: fluffy explosions of trees everywhere below us.  And on the tube bringing us in, greenery everywhere.  London is organic, Paris is planned and man-made.  Also noticeable how the Underground sprawls out into the suburbs – weed-like, and asymmetrically.  Le Métro is more dense and orderly, as strictly within the Périphérique – a name that says it all.

More destinations:

1991 Paris

1992 Paris

1994 Paris

1994 France

1995 Paris

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2023 Shetland

The west coast of Shetland

26.10.23 London Heathrow

Sitting in a dinky twin turboprop Loganair to Sumburgh in Shetland, via Dundee.  Just 50 seats.  Last time I was in a turboprop plane was in Mexico – and that was very turbulent.  The six-blade propeller just moved, then stopped… Another delay, sitting on the stand for 15 minutes more… Pushing back, props spinning up rather fast just outside my window (row 4).  Blades invisible, as you’d expect, except for a blur near the engine.  Reminds me that jets are almost magical in their invisible power.  Props make that power visible, just…  As we taxi out to the runway, Concorde is visible.  Beautiful plane, pity about the pollution. 

Loganair plane after landing in Sumburgh

Pretty impressive acceleration, lifting off quickly.  Brief stop in Dundee, where most got off.  Only around 10 people going on.

Doing a go-around at Sumburgh – almost  landed, but apparently there were “birds on the runway”.  Makes a change from leaves on the line.  Cloudy, but not actually raining at the moment.  Nice sun – above the clouds.

Landed in Sumburgh.  Picked up hire car – quickly, since I was the only one doing so.  Made a nice change from the long-drawn out process at some places – samples of blood, birth certificates etc…

Wind pretty strong, but I imagine it gets much stronger.  The road from Sumburgh to here – Hillswick – hard to mistake, since it is the road running the entire length of the mainland like a spine.  The landscape fairly unchanging – moorland, smooth valleys, low hills.  Reminds me of Harris a lot.  Road good, practically no traffic.  Further north, after the metropolis of Brae – even has a Chinese takeaway – the land begins to buckle and fold, become more beguiling.  The sea makes its presence felt in various directions as the inlets – the voes – poke in.  One is Sullom Voe, which I’d known of for nearly half a century since North Sea oil was a thing.  It’s a pretty exhausted thing now, but apparently brought prosperity to Shetland at the time.

We found our Airbnb easily – it was the end of the road – not just in Hillswick, but almost of the mainland.  The accommodation a well converted barn, mercifully warm, and with good Internet connection.  Right by the sea, which runs west uninterrupted to Canada (?).  In fact we are well north: above Stavanger, where we were last year, close to Norway and the Faroes.

The lady of the nearby house, who owns and runs the barn, came to say hello.  I was surprised – absurdly – when she spoke with a juicy Scottish accent.  Somehow I imagine people here speaking with Norse twang…

27.10.23 Lerwick

In the Peerie Shop café, upstairs.  Raining down to Lerwick, past the mysterious still wind turbines.  Lots of them, and big – so I’m guessing they are a new installation.  Also lots of works signs – lorries carrying material…

Lerwick seen from its harbour

Lerwick bigger than expected – we drove and drove, and finally found the centre after a few wrong turnings.  Parked by the harbour, big ships booming.  A quick walk around the old part of the town, then to here for a coffee – and warmth.

Along Commercial Street – where prices are indeed pretty commercial.  The Shetland Times Bookshop excellent – lots of local titles – “Lerwick’s Lanes” or some such – but I am brave, and manage not to buy anything.  Walking north along the street, a rainbow arch before us – rain and sun, but the rain soon passes, leaving us an un-Shetland sunny day.  Lots of cafés and restaurants here – must be busy in summer.

On the way, what is I presume a very Scottish road sign: “It is an offence to drink alcohol in designated places in Lerwick.  This area is a designated place for the purpose of this bylaw.  Maximum penalty £500”.

The Broch of Clickimin

Past the modern Mareel arts centre to the Shetland Museum.  Quite small – two floors – but well presented, especially the early stuff.  Interesting to read about Norn…  Then back along Commercial Street to The Dowry restaurant.  Busy here, a good sign, one hopes.  The street that runs through Lerwick – Commercial Street – reminds me of Reykjavik and of St. Ives – but rather livelier and more attractive compared to the latter.  To the Broch of Clickimin, conveniently placed near Tesco, with big thick walls, chambers – and two mysterious footprints in a stone slab, possibly for ritual purposes.

Two mysterious footprints in the stone

Then to Scalloway, the old capital of Shetland.  Small, tranquil, with a ruined castle under repair.  The sun begins to fall down to the west, still warm now that the clouds have all gone.  By the car park, a small public garden, with strange trees.  With the low sun streaming through interlocking twig fingers creating a magic garden.  A tidy house sits behind.

The harbour at Hamnavoe

Down to Hamnavoe, crossing two narrow causeways to and from Trondra.  A small but packed harbour.  And a seal bobs up the other side of the harbour wall – huge, 2 metres long.  As we take photos, it turns to regard us with what looks like supercilious contempt.

Sunset over the Atlantic

Driving back, the setting sun starts producing its customary conflagration over the Atlantic, the nearby hills tinged with orange and pink.   Up to Brae to take advantage of a rare petrol pump.  Tank now full for tomorrow’s great odyssey to the ends of the earth.

28.10.23 Toft

Waiting at Toft harbour.  Rain as we came down, now miraculously clearing.  The ferry opened its whale-like maw on arrival, disgorging a dozen or so (maybe two dozen) cars and coaches. Long valley down to Toft – felt very Viking, very Iceland. A strange effect: the wind-blown water surface alongside us make it feel like our car is moving…  Boarding soon for 9.45am sailing to Yell… on Dagalien.

Looking back to the mainland from Yell

Waiting at Gutcher for 11.20am to Unst.  Rained quite hard as we came off the Toft ferry, then gradually cleared.  The view back to the mainland fine – the land extending to the north more than I expected.  One main road to here, few villages en route. Flat moorland, heather fine in purple.  Blue sky now winning over the clouds, sun almost visible. Our ferry Bigga arrives – smaller, this one.  It comes in with its jaw wide open.

Skaw beach with its dark brown pool

Sitting by Skaw beach – finally.  Took wrong turn to Hermaness along narrow single-track road, then back to here, along another, poorly made-up road, with plenty of Tajiki-style potholes…  Not raining, but windy.  Skaw beach red and pretty.  The main pool fed by a stream a disconcerting dark brown.  Parked alongside the most northerly house in the UK.  And this point is pretty much the end of the country.  Odd feeling, and quite a trek to get here – which is half the fun.

On the way back from UK's most northerly point

We then reverse our journey.  Back through Haroldswick, still unable to find the famous Unst bus stop, kitted out with comfy chairs and other mod cons.  A fast drive gets us to the ferry earlier enough to take the 13.45 instead of 14.15 – we just squeeze on the last space.  Taking this ferry means we could make the 14.30 back to the mainland. This requires a fast-ish zip across Yell.  Interestingly, there is a convoy of cars from the ferry doing the same – all conscious of how tight it is.  Now waiting to see if there is space for us, since we’re unbooked for this (I booked for 15.30).  And we’re on – sandwiched between a lorry and big van…

The reconstructed Viking house and ship in Haroldswick

Back in our barn in Hillswick, via a detour that took us close to Sullom Voe terminal.  As we passed, we saw a huge tower flaring gas in a bright, twisting flame – an apt, malevolent image for evil fossil fuels, a modern-day eye of Sauron.

As with Tajikistan – fewer than five months ago – I’m all-too conscious of how thin my comments are in the above.  The problem is that I’m driving most of the time, and can only write when we stop.  And today has been under an additional time pressure, since we had four ferries to catch, and ran the risk of ending up stuck on an island if we missed one.

That sense of onward movement felt right in one way, because today was as if hurtling to the edge of the world, or at least this Westerly bit of it.  And the organisation to do that – in terms of getting to Shetland, then getting transport out across the waters to islands and then on – also felt right, as if this was some complex project to land on another planet.  In miniature it was, but microscopic in scale, and without the life-threatening danger.

Lost amidst beauty

Getting lost right at the end was part of this.  The narrow road to Hermaness felt right in its constant narrowing.   And the real road to Skaw, with its pot-holed, neglected surface was also right in its own way.  Skaw beach looked almost too calm, as if there should be huge cliffs and violent waves à la Cornwall.  But of course Skaw beach was on the east coast, looking across to Bergen, not at the vast Atlantic.

One curious feature was that just before the beach and the end of the road, there were building works at a site.  The site of UK’s SaxaVord Spaceport, no less, where 30 metre rockets will be launched from, allegedly.  There was a small sign on the road to that effect, and also one at Sumburgh airport.  By an interesting coincidence, a few days ago I received the official press release announcing this plan.  Not quite sure how they will get 30 metre rockets along the twisty dirt track that leads here – in pieces/by helicopter?

Nearly home

On the way back, as mentioned above, we missed the famous bus stop.  Looking at the map afterwards, and on Google Street View, it is evident that it was easy to miss.  And maybe nicer as a concept than in reality.

We managed to get on the earlier ferries not least because the main road on the islands – each only has one – are in very good condition, so zipping along at a fair notch is both practical and safe.  Well, apart from suicidal sheep that decided to amble across the road without regard for traffic.  I had to brake quite hard a couple of times.  Part of the problem is the sheep’s unpredictability- you’re never sure whether they will keep going or suddenly dart back.  Makes charting a safe route through them tricky.

There are sheep everywhere, far more than cows.  A few Shetland ponies were visible, huddling together against the wind and occasional rain.  Lots of raptors in the air, and geese – who left hundreds of deposits on Skaw beach, along with thousands of footprints.  No seals or whales that we saw, alas, although apparently the latter are visible from time to time, which is a good sign.  Also no otters, but they are shy it seems, so no surprise there.

Moonshine

Night.  The wind rising.  Broken clouds in the sky.  A patch clears, and the full moon shines with surprising brightness.  The sea below shimmers like shook silver foil…

29.10.23 Melby 

In Melby, looking towards Papa Stour

Stunning landscape here, but I can barely hold my pen – my fingers so cold from the whipping wind.  White horses on the waves, pushed into the bay here at Melby.  Long drive here through undulating moors, broken by pools and not much else.  Fab views to the north, and out to Papa Stour.  Stunning weather – we’re so lucky.  Almost clear blue sky, a few clouds, strong bracing wind.

The bleak landscape on the road to Melby

Now sitting in Frankie’s, allegedly the best fish and chip shop in the UK/world or something.  Facing a big haddock in batter, comme il faut…  And rather fine it was, too – sweet and succulent.  Whether it is the best in the UK/world I don’t feel qualified to say...but good enough for me.

The best fish and chip shop in the world?

The journey out east today was enhanced by the weather; I’m sure under rain/sleet/snow it is far less enchanting.  Roads single track after the turn off to Walls, rightly “Waas” = Vagr (Old Norse for "sheltered bay").  The view out to Papa Stour and the Atlantic very fine – I could put up with a house here (provided it was well insulated).

Driving back, we did not go via Aith as we did coming, passing through several tiny hamlets, but continued on the “main” road to Sound, then cutting up through Setter to the actual main road.  This took us past the works on the wind farm.  I discovered this is called “Viking”, will open next year with 103 4.5 megawatt turbines, giving nearly half a gigawatt of peak power.  They are all still now, but the work seems well in hand.  Because they will produce far more power than Shetland needs (enough for 200,000 people, but Shetland has only 20,000) a fat new interconnect to mainland Scotland is being built too.

Back home in Hillswick

Travelling around several islands here, it is striking that BBC Radio 3 is always available; 4G is more localised, but when available is fast.  Impressive.

30.10.23 Sumburgh airport

Waiting for the plane, just not the plane we booked.  The inbound flight from London has an electrical fault, and thus won’t be inbound.  So we have been put on a Loganair flight to Glasgow, and then we will have to take a BA flight to London Heathrow.  All part of the fun…

After leaving our barn in Hillswick, we drove straight down...to the Cooperative supermarket in Brae.  Amazingly, this is open from 6am to 11pm.  What it lacks in depth of offering, it makes up in opening hours.  Then, straight down to St Ninian’s Isle – of which more anon – passing through some quintessential Shetland places.  To wit:

Urafirth
Mangaster
Laxfirth
Tingwall
Veensgarth
Quarff (Easter and Wester)
Fladdabister
Okraquoy
Skelberry
Boddam
Virkie

The otherness of Shetland is evident.  

St. Ninan's Isle

So, St Ninian’s Isle.  A dramatic geography – an island joined to the mainland by a double-headed axe-shaped spit of sand.  To the south, a herd of small islands bunched together like granite elephants.  Some rain, some sun, lots of wind.  Then along the one-track road to Skelberry, rejoining the main road.  

Next task: find the only petrol station below Lerwick – necessary because our hire car was “full to full”.  We saw a sign for the petrol station, and drove on, looking for it.  On and on, until we ended up at Sumburgh airport.  Somehow we missed it – which is hard when there are almost no buildings here.  We turned around, managed to find a spot with 4G, used Google Maps to locate the phantom petrol station, finally found it hiding amongst a clump of nondescript buildings.

Jarlshof, closed alas

Down to Sumburgh, driving straight across the runway (just as you do in Gibraltar), heading to Jarlshof, a prehistoric and Viking settlement.  We park in the Sumburgh Hotel car park, march off towards the ruins – and find that they are closed on Mondays.

And so to here, to be told our plane to London isn’t coming, and that we will be routed via Glasgow.  Now I found out that Booking.com won’t change our taxi pick-up time.  Looks like I will be using them less in the future…

An update: I managed to contact the allotted driver, and we scheduled the pick up.  Then Booking.com phones, rather more helpful than before, so perhaps I was too harsh.  Glasgow airport rather nice – big, bustling, modern.  Lots of people travelling who knows where on a Monday evening.

Looking back to Sumburgh airport after take-off

Sitting on the plane to London Heathrow, but take-off delayed again.  It seems the plane we should be on had a fault, and that this is a replacement <sigh/>….

More destinations:

1987 Isle of Man

1988 Northern England, Glasgow, Isle of Skye

1990 Huddersfield

1992 Northern England, Scotland, Orkney

2020 Scotland: Isle of Skye, Outer Hebrides

Moody's Black Notebook Travels