One thing that was missing from Zoe’s CV was the overseas work experience, which was so vaunted in the TESOL industry, teaching English to speakers of other languages. She had an MA in Applied Linguistics and a Cambridge Certificate in Teaching English Language and she had a good job as a senior teacher at a reputable language school. She had applied for a job as a Director of Studies but missed out. She was asked specifically at the interview about any overseas teaching she had done and she knew the job had gone to another teacher who had spent years working abroad. Most of her colleagues had worked in China or Japan and a few in other countries.
Zoe had put it to Dan, that they should take a trip overseas. Neither of them had done the big OE, that was traditionally regarded almost as a rite of passage for young Kiwis, for those with the initiative to leave the island nation so remote from the rest of the world in pursuit of the supposedly transforming overseas experience.
Zoe had been no further than Australia and Dan had never left New Zealand. He had always been reluctant to leave his job but now that he had been made redundant, it was time to make a move. Zoe reminded Dan also that they’d been talking about starting a family and they’d want to travel before they were encumbered with children. Right Dan?
Zoe snuggled up to Dan on the sofa and said, “So how about it? No, not that. Come on Dan, focus. Okay, maybe later, but let’s discuss this, seriously.”
“Okay. How long are the contracts?” Dan asked.
“Usually two years.”
“Too long away”, Dan said. “I’d have less chance of finding another job here if I was out for that long. And anyway, what about your job?”
“Another alternative is a two month contract at a summer school,” Zoe said. “I could take leave and go back to my job. It would be good for my career. It would give be better prospects for advancement. And a two month job would pay for the trip.”
Dan considered the short stint option and said, “Where do you want to go? I’m not really keen to go to any Asian countries.”
“I’d be happy to go somewhere in Europe,” Zoe said. “July and August. Summer in Europe away from winter in New Zealand.”
“How about Holland?” Dan suggested. “We could visit Bart in Amsterdam. You remember Bart, my old Dutch workmate who played soccer for us.”
“No, not The Netherlands. Everyone already speaks good English there. Although we could take a trip to Amsterdam if we end up somewhere in Europe.” Zoe could see Dan was coming around to the idea and she continued pitching it. “It would be a working holiday for me and a real holiday for you.”
“So what would I do on my own while you’re busy working?” Dan wondered.
“Whatever you like. You could swan around in a foreign country instead of moping around here. You could get back into going to a gym where ever we are. We could go to concerts together. We could go to art galleries and museums. We could go to Paris.” Surely that would appeal. Art and music were their main common interests. It’s what had brought them together.
“Dougal’s been to Paris,” Dan said. “He said it was just miles of dreary suburbs and immigrants and tourists in the city.”
“Only someone as negative as Dougal would say that about Paris,” Zoe said. “Think of the fabulous museums and galleries: the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay.”
“So you want to go to work in Paris?”
“Not necessarily Paris. Once we’re anywhere in Europe we can travel around. I want to travel around anyway if we’re going to go all that way. Like I said, we could go to Amsterdam. We’ve always wanted to see the van Gogh Museum and the Rembrandt Museum.”
That should be the clincher, Zoe thought. Come on Dan. You love all that art. Dan had a very easy going, laid back nature. It had been an endearing quality at the start but he gradually seemed more complacent and docile. And now, since he’d lost his job, he’d become despondent and seemed to have lost interest in just about everything, except sex. Zoe hoped that if she could get him to make the break from New Zealand and go to Europe he would enjoy the new experiences of continental culture, get out of his depression and hopefully get the travel bug.
“So, how would you go about getting a job?” Dan asked.
Yes, now he was onboard. “I just apply online, send my CV, Q and A by email and a Skype interview, if I get that far. Now’s the time to apply for this summer.”
Dan stroked Zoe’s thigh and gazed vacantly at the framed print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night above the piano and said, “Okay then, no harm in applying,” then shifted his gaze to Zoe and said, “And now to the other matter.”
*
Zoe found the summer school jobs were mostly in the UK and the University of Edinburgh was her first pick. It was the most prestigious of those on offer and would look good on the CV.
“Edinburgh, eh,” said Dan thoughtfully.
“I’ve always been interested in going to Scotland,” Zoe said, “to check out my Scottish heritage. You know my grandparents emigrated from Scotland. Having grandparents from the UK entitles me to work there. And Edinburgh in July and August. The Edinburgh Tattoo, the Art Festival and the Fringe Festival. You wouldn’t be short of things to do. It’d be exciting.”
“Well, okay then, let’s see if you get it.” Dan didn’t register excitement.
And get it she did. Dan assented. The contract was signed and arrangements made. The mild excitement and anticipation of the two-day journey from Auckland, with stops in Hong Kong and London, soon gave way to the boredom of long hours in the air, relieved by meals, refreshments, movies and reading.
An email had come from one of the university teaching staff, an Italian teacher, going back to Italy for the summer. She asked if Zoe would like to take over her flat while she was away. Central location: Spittal Street, not far from the university, close to the castle. Very close as it turned out, virtually in the shadow of the famous Edinburgh Castle, venue of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo. The flat was in one of the typical old, grey stone buildings that gave the city a drab appearance, together with the often pewter grey skies and cool damp days even in the height of summer. But the city was all overlaid with a festive vibrancy, at least in the summer festival season, when the streets were full of buskers, entertainers and tourists.
Zoe’s teaching job was in two blocks in the IALS department, the Institute of Applied Language Studies, with a week off after the first block. Her students were mostly Spanish and Italian, which was a change from the mostly Asian students she had in New Zealand. The university had various campuses around the city and Zoe’s first block was in the Hill Street campus.
Dan explored the Old Town by walking down the Royal Mile, from the Lawnmarket to the High Street and Canongate. The very stones of the streets, the buildings and the city wall exuded history, going back to the medieval origins of the city. New Zealand had nothing like it, as it had such a short European history. Passing through the city wall at Canongate, Dan noticed a plaque commemorating the house in the wall where Tobias Smollet had stayed with his sister in 1766. It was nothing grand, like the ornate Sir Walter Scott memorial; it was just by the way – another bit of local history. The Canongate had not been for the conveyance of artillery as Dan had supposed. It was the thoroughfare for the canons of the Church, walking from Holyrood Abbey to Edinburgh, back in the twelfth century.
Newtown, Dan discovered, was not that new either, having been constructed in the eighteenth century. He was also puzzled at first by the Dunedin signs around the city. A reference to New Zealand’s Scottish city in the antipodes? Turns out Dunedin was an older name for Edinburgh.
Dan found the Scottish accent difficult to understand at first and the locals had difficulty understanding him. On some occasions he had to imitate their accent to be understood, as when he asked directions to Lothian Road and got a puzzled look. He tried again, concentrating on enunciating a long, low o with a falling intonation.
“Ah, Lothian Road. Why didn’ ye say?” and the directions were forthcoming.
After exploring the city in the first week, Dan settled into a routine of sorts. Once he’d signed up for a six-week membership at a gym, he went there most mornings. He often walked to the end of Spittal Street, round the bottom of Castle Hill, along King’s Stable Road to the Princes Street Gardens, where he sat and watched the free day time concerts at the Ross Bandstand. The Air Force band playing jazz was a surprising standout performance. He also spent quite a lot of time reading in the public library.
The main event of the year in Edinburgh, The Military Tattoo, was already nearly booked out and the remaining tickets were being sold at a ticket office in the city. Dan joined the queue of other hopeful punters but the last ticket was sold a little further up the queue. If he’d known sooner he’d be going to Edinburgh he might have booked online. So Dan and Zoe didn’t get to see the Edinburgh Tattoo but they could hear the noise of the show from their flat and they watched the fireworks from their front doorstep.
They attended various concerts in the evenings and were spoilt for choice with the hundreds of festival events on offer. They went to a Fringe Comedy show, which featured a new act from New Zealand called The Flight of the Conchords. The two Kiwi performers were such a hit that they were nominated for the Best Edinburgh Comedy Award. Dan and Zoe attended mainly musical shows, of which there was a good variety: chamber music, piano recitals, the Soweto Gospel Choir, Abraham Laboriel. The Van Morrison concert at the Edinburgh Playhouse was a particular highlight.
*
Dan and Zoe also attended the ceilidh that the IALS put on to give the international students an experience of traditional Scottish culture. Students and staff gathered in the Grand Hall of the Holyrood campus for a night of festivities that featured Scottish country dancing, jigs and reels, with lots of boisterous skipping and twirling and a confusing melee of ‘stripping the willow’. It was at the ceilidh that Dan met Zoe’s IALS colleague, Howard McClelland and his wife, Michelle and their twin boys, fellow Kiwis, from Hawke’s Bay. They were all thrown together in the dancing, with all the hand holding and arm linking, which brought a unique physicality to the introductions.
The McClellands had been living in Barcelona, where Howard was the principal of an international school and Michelle was the Director of Studies at a language school. They had decided to go to the Edinburgh Tattoo and holiday in Scotland before returning to New Zealand, “to visit the old country, the land of my ancestors too,” as Howard had told Zoe. The McClellands had finished their contracts in Barcelona and would take up new jobs in Brazil. “Same positions, different location,” Howard said.
“Not exactly the same,” Michelle corrected. “Howard will still be a principal and I’ll be the Head of the English Department.”
“The new contract starts in January,” Howard said, “so we’re taking an extended break. In the meantime I’m having a working holiday and enjoying being an ordinary teacher again.”
“And I’m enjoying being the non-working accompanying spouse, looking after the boys,” Michelle said.
Michelle was a hanger-on, like Dan, with free time and they arranged to meet, for more of a chat, the next day, at a café Michelle had been frequenting. Dan and Michelle were in obviously similar situations and their experiences of Edinburgh had much in common. Michelle had also been going to the Princes Street Gardens for the free concerts, so they started meeting together there. They also took some diversions to a playground and a bus to the zoo, for an afternoon. The twins were quite self-reliant and easy company, apart from occasional sibling bickering. They were not identical twins. Justin was blond and pale like his father and Stefan was dark complexioned like his mother.
Michelle was an attractive middle-aged woman with quite an unusual look. She had an olive complexion and black hair but her eyes were pale blue. It struck Zoe as quite an alluring look, so wouldn’t Dan be allured? Zoe felt a bit uneasy about all the time they were spending together but her fears were somewhat allayed, knowing that Michelle was several years older than Dan and she had her children with her. Fears? Insecurities perhaps. Jealousy. She was enjoying her work and it was what she had wanted but she had to admit she was feeling jealous now that Dan was hanging out with Michelle while she was working. Howard seemed unperturbed, and a bit over familiar since the ceilidh, she felt. Zoe resolved to put all those thoughts out of her mind and get on with the job.
She and Dan still had their evening outings together and Dan was attentive and supportive. He even said he admired her energy and stamina, working during the day and still going out at night. Zoe replied that she was running on nervous energy, adrenalin and caffeine. “There’s an espresso machine at work,” she said, “It grinds the beans on demand and spits out good coffee. The students pay 50p but the staff just get the key from the servery. I have two cups when I arrive at work, one at morning break, one with lunch, again at afternoon break and one for the road before I come home.”
“Six cups a day,” said Dan. “No wonder you seem a bit wired.”
*
Howard suggested Zoe and Dan join their family outing to the Highlands. It was a relaxing one-day guided tour on a Saturday in a minivan from Edinburgh to Stirling Castle, Glencoe, a view of Ben Nevis, and a boat cruise on Loch Ness. The hilly landscape was similar to the New Zealand countryside minus all the bush. The travellers were able to chat together on the journey despite the full on music emanating from speakers all round the van. Kenny the driver was an affable and knowledgeable guide and an avid fan of the Celtic folk rock band Runrig, whose songs accompanied them for the day.
Zoe was pleased to see Dan and Howard engaging more with each other, especially at the whisky distillery stop. She chatted with Michelle about her time in Edinburgh and with the boys about what they had been up to with their mother on their outings with Dan. She was particularly interested to get the boys’ view of their time together but didn’t discover much that Dan had not already told her.
Michelle turned the conversation to Zoe’s plans. “You must be looking forward to your trip to Paris,” she said. “Where are you going to stay?”
“We haven’t booked anything yet. I’m leaving that to Dan. I’d better get on to him about it, actually.”
“He’s really a one day at a time kind of guy, isn’t he,” Michelle remarked.
“Yes, it can be a bit frustrating,” Zoe said.
“I didn’t mean that as a criticism,” Michelle said, sensing some unease. “He’s been good company for me and the boys, when we were at a bit of a loose end.”
“It’s been good for Dan to have some company too.” Zoe’s tone was reserved and polite.
“Howard’s just the opposite,” Michelle said. “He’s a planner and organiser and a workaholic.”
Howard had a resonant voice that seemed to carry effortlessly and Zoe could hear him at the bar talking about his and Michelle’s work and their travels. Dan, for his part was asking a lot of questions, though Howard didn’t need much prompting. Zoe had already come to know Howard as a man accustomed to talking about himself, at ease in any such conversation.
As so often in mixed company, the men had paired off and so had the women, and eventually they came together as one group. The conversation about the McClellands’ lifestyle continued when they were all seated in the lounge, and the twins went off exploring the grounds. They had been living in Barcelona for four years and before that Lebanon and Thailand.
“Yes, if you like travelling, working in international schools is a good way to experience different countries and different cultures,” Howard reflected. He poured a dash of water to his glass of whisky and held it up to the light. “And they pay well,” he added. “When we’re both working, we’re salting it away in our New Zealand bank account and we’ve got our farm in Hawke’s Bay.” He took a draught of his whisky and was patently satisfied with the taste, and with his life.
“They look after you well,” Michelle added. “Insurance, health care, everything’s taken care of. Airfares are paid for and you get a free flight back to your home country every year.”
“This year we decided to stay in Europe,” Howard said, “and just bank the airfare to New Zealand.”
“What about your boys?” Zoe asked. “What about their education?”
“That’s another perk,” Howard said. “They go to top quality international schools, fees free. And their education includes so much life experience. And they’re learning other languages at a young age. They speak Spanish and a bit of Thai.”
“We had a live in housekeeper in Thailand,” Michelle said, “and a nanny in Lebanon.”
“It does sound like an appealing lifestyle,” Zoe said, and looked to Dan for agreement.
“Dan nodded thoughtfully and tossed back the last of his whisky.”
Their driver appeared in the lounge with the twins just as Howard was saying, “I hope Kenny hasn’t abandoned us here.”
*
The travellers returned to Edinburgh and returned to work and to leisure. Dan spent a day at home on his laptop investigating flights and accommodation for Amsterdam and Paris. Zoe seemed to think it all had to be done urgently. Jetstar and Ryan Air, he discovered, offered quite cheap flights, though the prices varied from day to day and you might have to book at short notice to get a bargain fare. On some flights the taxes were more than the actual airfare. It was often cheaper to fly than to go by road or rail but Dan liked trains and was keen to travel at least once by high speed train. It was an interesting exercise and took a few hours but it was not too onerous. Accommodation in Amsterdam was easy. He called Bart to say they were coming and Bart said they were welcome to stay at his home. He would even pick them up at the airport.
Zoe’s first teaching block finished on the Friday afternoon, and she and Dan boarded their flight to Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, on Saturday morning. Bart and his partner, Marja, gave them a warm Dutch greeting at the airport, with lots of kissing of cheeks.
“Two days!” Bart exclaimed. “It’s like a whistle stop. What can you see in two days? You need more like two weeks.”
“We’ve only got a week before Zoe has to go back to work,” Dan said, “and there’s so much we want to see in Paris.”
“Oh yeah, all the art galleries. We’ve got the best galleries right here in Amsterdam,” Bart boasted. “Who needs the Louvre?”
“Besides, we wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome here,” Zoe said.
“But you are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Marja said, “and return whenever you like.”
On the road from the airport to Bart and Marja’s apartment in the Eastern Docklands, Dan asked Bart, “What’s that music you’re playing?”
“That’s Doe Maar. Very popular in Nederland. You like them?”
“Yes, very cool,” said Dan. “Dutch reggae. Who would have thought?”
“We have lots of English pop music but Doe Maar sing always in Dutch. I’ll copy a CD for you.”
“I don’t understand the lyrics,” Dan said, “but I can hear Cannabis Sativa Hollandia.”
“Oh yeah. This song is called Nederwiet. Like Dutch weed. It’s like the stoners’ anthem. We can take you to one of the cannabis coffee shops if you’re interested.”
“Uh, no thanks, we won’t have time for that. Doe Maar, eh. What does it mean?”
“It means, like, Go on. Do it.”
“A good name.”
“And this next song is Is Dit Alles”.
“What does that mean?”
“Is this all? Like, Is this all there is to life?”
Bart and Marja took Dan and Zoe to a market near their home for a lunch of maatjesharring, a traditional Dutch dish of soused herring, if it can be called a dish. “You pick it up by the tail like this,” Bart demonstrated, “hold it above your head, look up, open your mouth and drop it in.”
“You always eat fish like this?” said Dan, “like a gannet?”
“Only the herrings,” said Bart, “not with the big fish. It would be tricky with a marlin.”
Bart and Marja’s home was a modern apartment but still on three levels like the traditional houses in the old part of the city.
“So it’s the museums tomorrow,” said Bart. “What about tonight? After dinner we could tram into town,” he suggested, “and you can see some of the curiosities of the city at night.”
There were several walking streets in the town, including one that led into the neon lit red light district, where scantily clad women were on display in the shop windows as goods for sale. One caught Dan’s eye and beckoned him to come in. Dan shook his head, both in refusal and disbelief.
“Watch out for pickpockets here,” Bart cautioned. “De Wallen is a dodgy part of town. And still it has these beautiful old houses and cafés here and the Oude Kerk.
“That big Gothic church.”
“Yes. All happily side by side.”
“I’ve seen enough,” Zoe said. “Let’s move on.”
“We could go to a café,” Bart suggested.
“Not for coffee or weed,” Zoe said. “Either would keep me awake all night.”
“A bar then,” said Bart.
And so they sat in a canal side bar and enjoyed a night cap of Amstel beer.
*
Bart dropped his guests off in the Museum Square in the morning to ensure they would get their fill of Rembrandt and Van Gogh. The Rijksmuseum was a grand Gothic and Renaissance building housing the treasures of Dutch history and art. It was an imposing building despite the scaffolding erected around the renovations. Dan and Zoe made their way, like pilgrims from the colonies, straight to the collection of paintings from the masterpieces of the Dutch Golden era: Rembrandt, Vermeer, van Ruisdael and so on. In the Hall of the Nightwatch Zoe said, “Wow, I never realised the Nightwatch was so big.”
“Yes, it’s about twelve feet by fourteen feet,” Dan said, authoritatively, “and that’s after it was cropped to fit it into the Amsterdam Town Hall.”
“You’ve been doing your homework, haven’t you.”
“Well, you know, being an unemployed layabout has given me a chance to read up on art and history.”
One could easily spend all day in the Rijksmuseum but the pilgrims made their way across the square to the shrine of the Van Gogh gallery.
In contrast to Rembrandt’s shadowy visages, Van Gogh’s portraits of ordinary people had a radiance of colour that seemed to express something of the essence, the quiddity of the subjects, whether people, sunflowers or landscapes. And the colours were surprisingly brighter and more vibrant than any prints and, there in the flesh, was the texture of the paint in the short, thick brush strokes. The prints adorning the walls of Dan and Zoe’s home were decorative but they were mere references to the original paintings. Only the originals had that transporting quality that touches the soul. Dan felt an emotional, even a physical response, a warm glow and elevated heart beat, standing before such beauty. Zoe was equally absorbed. The trip had all been worth it for those moments.
“Okay, Mr Connoisseur of Van Gogh,” said Zoe, “what do you make of this one, the Wheatfield with Crows?”
“Ah, the wheatfields and the crows,” said Dan, running his hand over the stubble on his chin, and affecting the airs of an aesthete, “Here we see the influence of Millet, whom Van Gogh so admired. Vincent painted this in Auvers near the end of his life, when he had some mental health issues. Most people see portents of death and foreboding in this painting because it’s dark and stormy and the sky is full of crows. But actually Vincent liked being out in storms. He liked everything about nature. He especially liked wheat fields and he also liked crows. He said storms calmed him and cheered him, gave him a feeling of serenity and made him feel wide awake.”
“What about the dead end paths that disappear in the field?” Zoe asked.
“Are they really dead ends?” said Dan. “The middle path disappears into the wheat but look at the gap on the horizon. I reckon it reappears there.”
“You should be a tour guide for the museum,” Zoe said.
“Can you imagine coming to work here every day?” said Dan, resuming his normal demeaner. “I don’t think I would ever tire of it.”
“But for today, I’m pretty tired,” Zoe said. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, we’ll catch a tram back to Bart’s.”
“So, how was your day at the museums?” Bart asked when Dan and Zoe arrived.
“Fabulous!” they both agreed.
“But I’m pretty museumed out,” Zoe said.
“After just two museums?” said Bart. “There is still the Stedelijk Museum of modern art and many more museums in Amsterdam. You’ll have to come back again.”
“Take a rest and we’ll have dinner,” Marja said. “And what about tomorrow? Is there something else you’d like to see?”
“I’d like to visit the Ann Frank House,” Zoe said.
“And maybe a bit of cruising on the canals,” Dan suggested.
“Sure,” said Marja. “We can combine the two. The Ann Frank House is right on a canal stop.”
“Good idea,” Bart agreed. “I’ve never been to Ann Frank’s House.”
“Really?”
“Well, you know, you tend not to go to the tourist attractions close to home,” Bart said. “You know they’re there but you never get round to visiting them. At least I’ve been to the museums”.
*
Dan and Zoe slept soundly and started not too early in the morning with breakfast of fresh buns with ham and cheese and jam and coffee. They trammed to a canal stop with Bart and
Marja and as they cruised the canals Dan commented on the architecture in the old part of town and how the gabled houses were so tall and narrow. Bart explained, “That’s because we have to pay property tax according to street front or canal front.”
At the Ann Frank House, Bart joked about whether there might still be someone in hiding in there in some secret compartment. But once they entered the building they and other visitors to the house fell into a sombre silence. There was a palpable atmosphere, especially on the third floor, of the awful reality of what had occurred there during the war.
Back on the streets, Dan got caught short and went to a public pissoir to relieve himself. It was a bizarre experience to stand in the small round cubicle, semi exposed to all the passersby. He stood with his head and shoulders above the screen watching the pedestrian traffic while he peed. There were no such conveniences for women and Zoe had to use a toilet in a café.
The rest of the day passed with more sightseeing, shopping and a restaurant meal. Dan intended to pay for the meals to repay his hosts’ hospitality but Bart insisted they should go Dutch. “Of course Dutch,” said Bart. “This is Holland.” Dan didn’t put up an argument as he found the cost of eating out in Holland disconcertingly expensive. At least he’d shouted the beers. They had a few more drinks at home and a gezellig evening together, a convivial evening would be the nearest English translation. Dan and Zoe enjoyed a gezellig stay with their Dutch friends. Bart and Marja dropped them off at Centraal Station in the morning before going off to work and farewelled them with much kissing again and urging them to return some time and to be sure to stay in touch.
*
Aboard the Thalys from Amsterdam to Paris the flat countryside sped past at three hundred kph. From the Gare du Nord, Dan and Zoe caught a taxi to their hotel. “Do you speak English?” Dan asked the driver.
“Non Monsieur,” he replied. “I am French. Why should I speak English?”
Should he have asked the arrogant frog, Can you speak English? It would probably have made no difference. On arriving at their destination the driver asked for a fare which was in excess of what was shown on the meter. When Dan questioned the driver about the fare he claimed the extra charge was for the luggage. Dan said that this was not standard practice but the driver ceased to be able to understand English and wouldn’t open the trunk of the cab till Dan handed over the money. The driver then released their luggage and sped off.
Zoe stood outside the hotel and said, “Dan, did you do this on purpose?” On one side of the hotel was the Sexodrome Sex Shop and on the other was the Sexorama.
“No, Dan protested. “I didn’t know it was in a red light district. The ad made no mention of that. It just seemed like a good location and good value for the price.”
Not only was the hotel in a dodgy neighbourhood but there were noisy road works going on in the street at the front of the building. “Too late to change now,” Dan said disconsolately. “Maybe we can change later.” At reception the manager, who was a north African Frenchman, said that the road was digging up and no electricity in the hotel now. This was too much for the already disgruntled Zoe. She got up on her hind legs and said, “Well, you will have to find us another hotel.”
The manager had already anticipated this contingency and made a booking for them at another hotel of the same chain, the Tim Hotel, in Montmartre. Zoe and Dan were not familiar with many areas of Paris but they had heard of Montmartre and happily accepted the alternative booking in the more salubrious neighbourhood, at the same price.
The building itself was unremarkable and in need of upkeep, not modernising, which would have spoilt the historic ambience, but maintaining and upgrading the facilities and services. But the location in the Place Emile Goudeau was quite remarkable. Its nearest neighbour was the famous Le Bateau Lavoir, which had been the residence and studio of eminent artists, including Pablo Picasso, Henri Matisse, Amedo Modigliani and many others. It was a five-minute walk to the Sacré Coeur Basilica, the Dali Museum, and the Moulin Rouge. They had a room on the third floor overlooking the square of the Place Emile Goudeau to Le Petit Café, where a violinist and accordionist played romantic French songs. It was all utterly charming. Even the mouse that appeared from the gap in the skirting was charming. Zoe was happy and Dan was vindicated, quite by chance.
There was very little soap in the bathroom and no spare rolls of toilet paper, so Dan went to speak to the concierge, who, unlike the taxi driver, had no English at all. So Dan resorted to his French dictionary/phrasebook and his long dormant schoolboy French to make his request. “Excusez-moi monsieur, je voudrais plus de papier hygiénique et plus de savon, s’il vous plaît.” To Dan’s amazement the concierge fetched the requested items. His fifth form French had not entirely been a waste of time.
*
Dan and Zoe went across the square to Le Petit Café, where they enjoyed a coffee and considered what they might do for the evening. “The Moulin Rouge is nearby,” Dan suggested.
“I’m not going to pay a hundred Euros to see topless dancing girls,” Zoe declared.
“A hundred Euros! Really? I’ve no objection to watching topless dancing girls,” said Dan, “but I agree it’s way overpriced.”
“I’ll dance topless for you,” said Zoe coquettishly, “even bottomless if you like.”
“I’d pay a hundred Euros for that.”
“You won’t have to pay a centime, my kept man.”
Zoe’s buoyant mood had so expanded that she’d become quite amorous and it was decided an evening of entertainment would be had in their hotel room. They could have dinner in one of the local restaurants, or why not just pick up supplies for dining in. In the course of their shopping for groceries Zoe spotted fresh fruit on display outside a grocery store called Chez Collingnon, which looked vaguely familiar as she approached. There is a feeling of accomplishment in finding one’s way to attractions selected from tourism guides and brochures but it is often the attractions one encounters unexpectedly, serendipitously, that are the most gratifying. With a squeal of sudden recognition Zoe said, “Oh, Dan, look it’s the store from Amelie, from the film.” A poster of the film displayed on the wall of the shop confirmed her discovery. They were then on the alert for other locations featured in the movie. Their flâneur a la française of the environs took them past a good many tacky souvenir shops but they also discovered the Café des Deux Moulins, and from the Montmartre hill they took in the view with the Sacré Coeur close by and in the distance, across a cityscape with no skyscrapers, the Eiffel Tower.
They returned to the hotel with baguettes, camembert, paté, grapes, peaches, and a bottle of Burgundy, all of which they spread on the double bed for an at home picnic, after which they cleared the bed for a repast of lovemaking. Background music for the picnickers wafted in on the balmy air through the open window from Le Petit Café and continued as a serenade for the lovers.
*
In the morning Dan and Zoe took the Metro to the city to begin their tour of the tourist attractions and galleries. The Abbesses Metro station, only a hundred yards from the hotel, was another Amelie location, which they hadn’t recognised on their arrival at Montmartre. They toured the city on the hop on hop off bus and stopped at the obligatory sites: the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame Cathedral. The Louvre was overwhelming and tiring. The Mona Lisa was disappointing. The painting was smaller than expected and could only be viewed from a distance due to the security barrier and the crowds of people. They lost sight of each other for a time in the Louvre and Zoe questioned whose fault it was for wandering off. They began to tire of walking around cathedrals, museums and galleries, and the libidinal energy of the night had dissipated during the day. They began the day buoyed on the crest of a wave but gradually slumped to the trough. The day had also turned unexpectedly cold and Zoe reminded Dan that she had suggested bringing their coats for the day but he had thought they’d be an unnecessary burden. The sites grew less appealing and the mood became somewhat tetchy. It was time to call it a day and return to the comfort of the hotel.
At Zoe’s insistence, they would be more focussed for the next day. Dan had not worked out an actual itinerary. What was it they most wanted to see? The paintings: van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Degas and all the masters. They would go straight to the Musée d’Orsay and spend as much time there as necessary, all day if need be.
The Musée d’Orsay did not disappoint. The building itself, the old railway station, was a work of art. The paintings, the impressionists especially, were a feast for the eyes and the soul, and of course the post-impressionist, pre expressionist, Van Gogh, again. Van Gogh was unique. The celebration of country life, of all life, of human feeling and seeing.
“Van Gogh really did have a genius for seeing and painting,” Zoe commented, “but he couldn’t sell a single painting in his lifetime. And now they sell for millions.”
“Actually he sold one painting,” Dan corrected. “Sorry to be pedantic but I’ve been reading Vincent’s letters to his brother, Theo. He said, “The time will come when people will recognise that my paintings are worth more than the value of the paints used in the picture.” He really did live a life of poverty and some of his paintings are valued now at a hundred million. In another letter he said his pictures were “souvenirs to express a sincere human feeling, a feeling of gratitude for having walked the earth for thirty years.””
“Makes you think,” Zoe said and she went back to viewing more paintings. Another woman was admiring the same paintings, while her partner sat in a viewing seat, attending intently to his cell phone. Dan, meanwhile was walking around the gallery looking disoriented and dazed. He flopped onto a bench and Zoe sat down next to him. “Are you all right Dan?” she said.
“Yeah, all right,” he said, “just a bit of hyperkulturemia.”
“Hyper what? Is that even a word?”
“Yeah, you know, the Stendhal Syndrome.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Just a psychosomatic reaction to stimuli.”
“Maybe you’ve been too affected by all the reading you’ve been doing.”
“No, not the reading. The art. I was just having an art attack.”
*
Zoe also had a particular interest in Art Nouveau and there were some fine examples in the d’Orsay but she thought the glass art was a disappointment. There were only a few Lalique pieces on display. She had seen a more extensive private collection in small town Gisborne, New Zealand, at the home of Dr Jack Richards, at one of his homes, that is to say. The good Professor of Linguistics spent more time with his Korean partner in his other homes in Wellington, Hong Kong, Sydney, Seoul and Pusan.
Richards had accrued a lot of wealth and influence by writing books on Applied Linguistics, the teaching of English and teacher development and course books, especially for the vast Chinese market. He was a collector and a generous patron of the arts and music. Zoe had met Professor Richards at Victoria University in Wellington and again at his Gisborne home when she was a contestant in the Gisborne International Music Competition, which he sponsored and hosted. She well remembered Jack’s mansion on Tiromoana Hill, overlooking Wainui Beach and the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Other memorable features of his home, she recalled were the expansive gardens and towering sculptures and the purpose designed Lalique room with over a hundred René Lalique vases on glass shelves. Jack Richards returns to his home town of Gisborne in the summer and his sister, Jill, who lives next door, is the custodian of the property. Yes, Jack and Jill live up the hill.
*
Dan’s and Zoe’s appetite for art was well satiated with their day in the Musee d’Orsay and the many hours spent in the museums and galleries in Paris and Amsterdam. Zoe felt she needed a break from the constant stimulation, the overstimulation in Dan’s case, before returning to work, and for their remaining time in Paris they were intentionally more relaxed. They spent another afternoon and evening in the city, more in cafés than walking about and they boarded a boat on the River Seine for what Bart had called a rondvaart, and Dan mispronounced as a rundfart. They felt they had started a custom of sightseeing by boat at each destination, after Loch Ness and the Amsterdam canals. Paris by night was the tourist cliché of the city of lights. The Eiffel Tower was lit with a myriad of twinkling lights like an enormous Meccano Christmas tree. At one of the many river bank cafés, couples danced in a floodlit outdoor courtyard. It was also that other cliché, the city of romance, and so it would be remembered by Dan and Zoe.
*
They returned to Edinburgh via Glasgow on a Ryan Air flight from Beauvais Airport at some distance from the city. The Beauvais terminal and departure lounge left little doubt that Ryan Air was a budget airline. It had all the comfort and ambience of a tin shed. Still, it was good value for the cheap fare. The train from Glasgow arrived at Waverly Station, which Dan had passed many times en route to Princes Street.
Zoe resumed her teaching work with a new group of students and with a change of venue to the Holyrood campus. Dan returned to the gym and to occasional outings with Michelle and the twins. He and Zoe attended more Fringe Festival events, sometimes with the McClellands. As the end of their stay approached, they all promised to keep in touch and Howard and Michelle invited Dan and Zoe to visit them in Brazil. “And of course you must visit us in Hawke’s Bay, when we’re all back in New Zealand,” Howard said and gave them both a hug, as it was their last meeting.
Dan brought it up later at home. “What do you think about taking them up on it, about going to Brazil?”
It was then that Zoe said she often felt uncomfortable in Howard’s company. “Howard is too huggy and handsy.”
“What? Do you mean he touches you up?”
“No, not exactly. I mean he doesn’t grope me. Just touching and stroking.”
“Where does he touch you?”
“My arms, hands, my face, my hair. Actually, he did pat my bum one day. He’s just a touchy feely sort of guy. It might not bother some people but it bothers me.”
“Have you talked to him about it or talked to anyone at work?”
“No, it would just be really awkward, and anyway, after I got moved to Holyrood we weren’t on the same campus, so it wasn’t a problem anymore. It wasn’t worth making a fuss. Is Michelle like that with you?”
“No, not at all. She’s always quite proper. They’re a bit of an odd couple in some ways.”
“Here’s something funny,” Zoe said. “Now that we’ve come to the end of the course, one of my students asked me to keep touching her. She meant ‘Keep in touch’, but she said “Please keep touching me.”
“That is funny. Didn’t you teach her proper English?”
“Of course I did but you know idioms can be a bit tricky.”
“Are you going to keep in touch with her?”
“Yes, I think I will. She’s really nice. She invited me to visit her in Italy as well.”
“What do you think? Would you like to go to Italy?” Dan asked.
“I wouldn’t mind. There’s a lot of interesting things to see in Italy.”
“What about working there?”
“That’s a possibility,” said Zoe. “Not one that I thought you would consider.”
“I wouldn’t have to just tag along as an unemployed bum. I was talking to Bart about work in Europe. He says there’s plenty of jobs in IT in the Netherlands and I did some online searching. There’s jobs in IT all over Europe. You don’t have to be fluent in foreign languages to be a computer technician. English is the language of computing.”
“So you’re actually looking for a job overseas?”
“I just thought I’d see what’s out there,” said Dan, “just in case you insisted on working overseas.”
“Something to think about,” Zoe said, wearily. “Right now I’m just thinking about going home, I mean New Zealand home.”
*
On the long night flight back to New Zealand Zoe slept soundly. Dan could not sleep properly without lying down. Other sleepless passengers were watching movies and the cabin was dimly illuminated by dozens of small video screens. Dan had watched a few movies on the flight from New Zealand but now he drifted in and out of a twilight state in which a series of images and songs glissaded and faded in review. Runrig melodies echoed in Celtic pride through the hills of the Highlands. An accordion and violin played the rhythms of the ceilidh and the café ‘rhythms of the flesh’. The self portrait faces of Rembrandt and Van Gogh sang unintelligible reggae songs. Vincent disappeared into a wheat field and the Church at Auvers shimmered and dissolved in moonlight to the accompaniment of Van Morrison’s Moondance. A celestial Soweto choir sang Higher Than the World and Van blew harmonica on the bright side of the road.