From Paris to London (III): undersea travels, cheese and sweet wine

Many people know there is a submarine tunnel that bridges Paris and London, few people I know have actually merged into the darkness of the earth to come out again in the light of the surface. Here is the website for the booking: Eurostar

Already Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821) planned to excavate a dugout to reach an elusive bartender, for his unsuitable thirst. Because of the available technologies, the plan was abandoned and the enterprise to the cold ice-cream of Russia brought to a sad end a glorious moment for continental Europe. Despite his arrogance and his final defeats, in Italy Napoleon is praised as an hero and he is the last Emperor we addressed with his baptism name.

Napoleon on the imperial throne by Ingres

The day after the flamboyant wedding, still dizzy by the cling of toasts and by the night's raids in the metro, my French days regrettably expired, so that I had to leave behind myself the majestic splendor of Paris, for the more put-together charm of London. It is incredible how two so close towns developed such different souls. Paris, the home of French Revolution, seems a city made by giants. London, the place that hosts one of the more ancient monarchies of the world, is a practical city, thought for commerce and adapted to tourism. Perhaps for this metaphysical reason the tunnel under the Channel is so peculiar: it has to bridge two mind-dimensions.

LeRoy Neiman: even the Beatles may look like workaholic yuppies.

Moreover, that's possibly why London is a city which encourages evasion, as in Peter Pan with flying skills, in Sherlock Holmes with opium, in Dickens with countryside trips. On the other side, Paris, though drenched in danger, works as a magnet for people coming from all over the fair nation: Paris sucks your energies and your wealth out, and spits what remains of you like Pinocchio's whale, such as in L'education sentimentale by Flaubert or Les illusions perdues by Balzac.

When fairy powder makes your flee-dreams come true.

Luckily the shark whale is not hominivorous (a men eater),
he prefers krill and plankton.

What I found fascinating was the duty free: the train that runs under the sea is treated as an airplane. Your suitcases are scanned and your physical body as well. I was lucky to spend only 50€, because of the low season: we were in early december. This unexpected duty-free consented me to find luxury food-goods: a truly finest selection for gourmets. A couple of affluent and eccentric British citizens in a totally unconcerned manner spent a sensible fortune. I felt luckier having an allocated budged. I came out with two gems: a cœur Neufchâtel (pronounced as if the f was silent), an fromage artisanl from Haute-Normandie. It has the typical shape of a heart and it is a product provided with the Appellation d'origine contrôllée, which means it has a specific certification of reliability, as for Parmigiano in comparison with the unfair Parmesan. The second choice was a fine bottle of a sweet dessert wine, whose indication allowed the drinker to spouse it with cheeses as well: it was a Sauternes of the winemaker Calvet, as sort of guarantee in itself.

My host could not restrain himself: he is a cheese lover
and more importantly an unstoppable cheese eater:
the soft heart of the heart, pardon the word pun, as beyond
my descriptive ability.

Porcini mushrooms are very cheeky and they asked
to be immortalized next the Sauternes. An excellent risotto
completed our dinner, along with a mixed salad.

My voyage under the sea level was intense and quick. The tunnel is darker than oblivion, but the train in extremely comfortable. I was actually wishing to find a porthole in the tunnel structure to observe the abyss, but I guess it would have been seriously too dangerous. Another astonishing surprise was the high quality of the train cafe. I had some pain perdu with cheese inside...unbelievable:

While eating it all the sorrow of life were washed away like timid waves
onto the face of a sea-rock. The recipe is very easy, the result so intense!

Finally, we came out again to see the stars, E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle (Dante, Inferno, XXXIV, 139).

In London, I rejoiced two incredible friends of mine. Harriet who is from London: we met during my Erasmus in Edinburgh and then she came to Bologna as an Erasmus as well. It was shocking when, after almost two years, our friendship had to find a new balance, based on distance. Fabriz, her boyfriend, comes from the hatred Modena (jokes) and despite he is an engineer, he also has an exceptionally versatile and humanist side: he is very attentive to nuances of life and languages, he is phenomenally sarcastic, and he wishes to pinch the typical British calm with it. While waiting for Harriet at St Pancras international station, I found a pink piano, that someone was playing particularly well, and above all a stationary shop that I recommend to all paper lovers: Paperchase

The following day, the only full day in London, it was Sunday, so we strolled around, particularly going to Hampstead park, a huge estate full of wild life (huge squirrels), swans, woods and promenades paths: it would be difficult (and somehow against privacy) to evoke back all the topics we went through, nonetheless I recall I learned a new word "daunting".

Since that departure I am planning to go back to London and visit my friends unsuccessfully, but perhaps this July I shall succeed. In the meanwhile I keep looking the pictures I took, sighing

A Mondrian-esque tree

The skyline fo the City

Eating time: voracious and plump. Shouldn't you be hibernating?

VIP squirrels: time to run away from photos

Why not? More cheese! And cherry tomatoes
on La maison du monde saucer, bought in Bologna,
but you can find it here

AND MY WEDDING CAPTAL TRIP CAN BE DECLARED CONCLUDED.