Young Fleur's adventures around the world. Book one. Françoise de Chambord

Ludmila

      Like a world of mysterious dreams I dive, closing my eyes, into the land of sand pages, into the land of weightless ice. I run with my kite flying away, taking me into the distance. I'll tell you a story about the country I found in my heart…

      Fleur

      Chapter 1.

      The beginning

      I never thought that the train from London to Paris was so fast. We had a lovely seat by the window.Mum said: “Fleur, cuddle up to me and don’t be intimidated by the dark. We’re passing under the English Channel.” This was a new experience for me. I quickly snuggled up to my mother, and soon we were in a dark tunnel. My mum started to talk. I am always interested in hearing her stories and she is always interested in listening to mine.

      I was surprised to learn that the English Channel is the famous stretch of water between the coasts of France and England. The word La Manche or English Channel means “sleeve” in French and it has been called this since the 17th century. It seemed strange to me travelling under water in a tunnel, but soon we saw the sun’s rays and very soon… we were in Paris. I was surprised to learn that the English Channel is the famous stretch of water between the coasts of France and England. The word La Manche or English Channel means “sleeve” in French and it has been called this since the 17th century. It seemed strange to me travelling under water in a tunnel, but soon we saw the sun’s rays and very soon… we were in Paris.

      I was looking forward to my first meeting with this city. My mother lived in Paris for a long time and said: “I will forever leave a piece of my heart there”. I didn’t quite understand what she meant, but I had high expectations.

      A small red trench coat, black shiny shoes, white cotton tights and a black velvet hairband. This is what I remember from the children’s books that mummy and I read every night before going to bed. The book is about a little girl ’s adventures. They are funny, easy and teach you a lot. The girl in the books has the most incredible adventures and always sees a new city through the most unexpected things, i. e. historical treasure, cultural values, fashion or culinary recipes.

      Just so you know, a trench coat is a short coat introduced at the beginning of the 19th century by a Scottish chemist. My grandmother was born and raised in Scotland and she told me this. I will definitely tell you more on the next pages of my travel stories.

      Chapter 2. Ballet shoes, or the tale on the Neva

      Every year we go to St. Petersburg. There are many beautiful poems, songs and legends written about the city. My grandmother loves St. Petersburg with all her heart and often talks to me about it. It was the Russian Emperor Peter the Great who built this capital city on the delta of the Neva River.

      In 1703 construction began with St. Petersburg’s fortress. The fortress and the city were named after the Emperor Peter and in honor of the Holy Apostle Peter. The wonderful project grew quickly, as if by magic. Petersburg is often called the Venice of the North because it has many rivers, canals and bridges. Citizens and tourists are happy to navigate the water in boats and river taxis to admire the spectacular views.

      My grandmother’s city is shrouded in all kinds of myths and secrets. Many come to life between June and August, during the White Nights, when a romantic twilight descends on the city and you do not want to sleep at all, unlike the darkness in the winter months. During the White Night we would travel under the snow-white sails of our boat down the Neva River through the Gulf of Finland to make our way to the shores of Finland. On the boat my brother has a compass, a telescope and a dagger. When he steps on the deck, he straight away becomes the real captain.

      The entire historical centre of St. Petersburg is included in the list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites, including the Hermitage (Winter Palace). A long time ago, this magnificent palace was the residence of the Russian emperors, and now it is a famous museum. The noun hermitage has origins in the French word hermit, meaning “hermit,” a person who lives alone, far from society. Hermitage can describe the place where a hermit lives, or a dwelling occupied by an isolated religious group that prefers solitude.

      Don’t believe the name… There are over three million exhibits in its collection. You are never bored! And when grandmother suggests going to the museum, we gladly agree. Both my brother and I love to visit the Hermitage, so we become very “obedient” amazingly quickly.

      Holding hands, we go up the wide, red-carpeted white marble staircase. The huge granite columns open into the spacious halls and endless galleries. So many pictures! I soon find what interests me. How beautiful are the fluffy dresses and silk shoes the ladies wear in the old portraits. I wish I could try these clothes on! I imagine I am a little princess. Meanwhile my brother pulls grandmother by the hand into the hall to see the armour and weapons of medieval knights.

      There’s even a collection of armour for war horses! We dressed up in medieval costumes which my brother had made especially for visiting the knight’s hall. My grandmother always supports her beloved grandson and encourages his passion for creating new roles. She’d find special theater workshops which designed unique costumes together. A year later my older brother began to play in youth productions of the Royal Theater in Covent Garden London, but for now he spends hours telling me about the famous military victories and valiant warriors.

      Back in the Hermitage is an entire division of little four-legged workers with tails. Of course, these are the Hermitage cats! Each Ermik (that’s the name given to the museum pets) has their own passport and personal veterinary card. The cute animals control and annoy the museum mice.

      In the very heart of the city, on Architect Rossi Street, is one of the real pearls of St. Petersburg – the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet, it is one of the oldest ballet schools and enjoys worldwide recognition. I always wanted to dance like a ballerina to classical music.

      On one of the wonderful days before Christmas, we were taken to the Mariinsky Theater to see the Nutcracker ballet. It is based on the fairy tale by Hoffmann. At home, my grandmother read us the ballet libretto, so we learnt about the plot and the characters, and the story was very clear to us. The luxurious sets and costumes, the brave prince and the evil Mouse King – in fact all of this impressed my brother. I did not take my eyes off the ballet’s main character, Marie, who is gentle and noble. She was delightfully graceful and beautiful, and her pointe shoes barely touched the ground! That night I danced to Tchaikovsky’s magical music in my dreams.

      From then onwards I danced everywhere, and my parents enrolled me in a ballet club. It turned out that dancing is a serious job, but sometimes I just wanted to frolic with my friends. At such moments, my parents gently remind me about my dream. My ballet shoes mustn’t be neglected, and the games can wait!

      Recently the whole family watched the animated film “Ballerina”, which is about a girl from an orphanage. She had only one dream – to dance on the stage of the Grand Opera. To this end she trained very hard. Maybe I’m too naive, but I believe in my dream and know that anything is possible. My grandmother says: “If you really want something, you will succeed.”

      I know that my loved ones always support me, and this is the most important thing…

      Chapter 3. A taste of Paris

      Here we are in Paris. My parents bought me everything I dreamed of, such as a small black dress with tiny sleeves, a white collar and two sewn-on pockets, and a red clutch bag with a long strap from “Petite bateau” store on the Champs-Elysees.

      The weather was sunny, and we enjoyed our walk. My older brother wanted us to eat some cakes and our parents agreed. It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon, which means that in England it is already time to drink tea with cucumber sandwiches and scones. We went into the oldest Parisian pastry shop “Ladurée” up to the second floor and found a suitable round table in the corner on the veranda. There are five of us – my dad, mum, older brother, younger brother and me. My parents ordered coffee-gourmet which came with lots of tiny cakes, and we ordered colourful macarons. When my little brother knocked over a glass of orange juice, we decided it was time to go home.

      Our house is on Rue du Bac, not far from the famous Musée du Louvre. This is where we live in our little