More normal winter temperatures have returned to Lyon. Last Wednesday freezing rain caused chaos in and around the city. As I didn't get out until after 10.30 I was largely oblivious to it, but most of la bienheureuse's colleagues arrived at work late with tales of nightmarish journeys. Otherwise it was a quiet week. La bienheureuse had meetings just outside Lyon on Monday & Tuesday, but fortunately (as she was taking the car) not on Wednesday. Another out of town meeting on Thursday was cancelled because more freezing rain was forecast. As it turned out, it was only freezing fog.
Meanwhile, I shivered and beavered away in my own fashion at home. Having rushed to finish roman numèro trois before Christmas so that la bienheureuse could read it during the holiday, I've decided on another rewrite. Prompted partly by a slightly lukewarm reaction by my beloved, but also by a new twist I've thought of which should improve the book. That's my excuse anyway, though I concede it could just be another form of procrastination before I have to get down to trying to sell both latest masterpieces...
Our weekend was also fairly quiet. La bienheureuse cooked while I mused. In search of inspiration. Not for the book but for an application for the best job in the world, which two young ladies in Australia have been harassing me to apply for. Needless to say, I haven't done so yet. Maybe after the skiing holiday.
We did get out once, on Saturday evening for the ritual trip to the pub. Another late show by much maligned hommes d'Arsène Wenger set us up well for some fast food on the way home. Fast food French style. We went to L'Entrecôte, a restaurant with no menu. Only choices to be made, quelle cuisson for the steak, and Bordeaux or Côte du Rhône for the wine. Excellent it was too, though the frites were a bit greasy...
Finally, a small self-congratulatory hurrah. 100 not out and still blogging. Even if it remains largely unread...
19 janvier 2009
14 janvier 2009
La télé sans pub...
The Sarkozy 'reforms' continue apace. Le hyper-président is currently zooming round the country presenting his voeux to various sectors of work and society. Earlier in the week it was education, where reforms have been less than widely welcomed, though protest marches this week by high school students and teachers were somewhat less well attended than those before Christmas. The cold weather gets to us all.
Then it was the health service and more widely denounced reforms. Yesterday it was the world of culture, and the one reform that has received unanimous approval - free entry to museums for all under-25s and teachers. A cultural reform that has been somewhat less applauded has been the banning of advertising on all channels of state owned France Televisions, and the appointment of the head of France Televisions by the president himself. Sarkozy wants a completely publicly funded TV service 'following the BBC model'. Hmm, good idea or not...?
Advertising hasn't been completely banned yet - it's being phased out between now and 2011, but since le 5 janvier, there have been no ads on France 2, France 3, etc between 8pm and 6am. Protesters say the eventual outcome will be a decrease in funding and decline in quality, and with le Président decreeing who the France Televisions boss should be, independence will disappear too. The government counters that the idea is to channel money towards higher quality programming, documentaries and the like. One thing is for sure: privately owned TV channels, in particular TF1, the most widely watched channel in France, have been rubbing their hands in anticipation. France 2 is the second most popular channel: no ads on France 2 equals more advertising revenue for TF1. Sarko-detractors point out that the owner of TF1 is a close chum of Monsieur le Prèsident...
In Lyon, it was the weather causing headlines this morning. Freezing rain in the small hours, falling on frozen ground, caused the entire region to virtually grind to a halt. Road traffic accidents caused 2 deaths & several serious injuries, the three main autoroutes were closed, traffic was snarled up all around the city, lots of people didn't make it into work, and pedestrians were slipping, sliding, falling and breaking limbs all over the place. Apparently. When I went out at about ten-thirty this morning, the pavements in the city centre (perhaps warmed by the rivers) were perfectly negotiable, and the first I knew about it was when the woman on the checkout at the supermarket mentioned the problems she'd had getting there...
Then it was the health service and more widely denounced reforms. Yesterday it was the world of culture, and the one reform that has received unanimous approval - free entry to museums for all under-25s and teachers. A cultural reform that has been somewhat less applauded has been the banning of advertising on all channels of state owned France Televisions, and the appointment of the head of France Televisions by the president himself. Sarkozy wants a completely publicly funded TV service 'following the BBC model'. Hmm, good idea or not...?
Advertising hasn't been completely banned yet - it's being phased out between now and 2011, but since le 5 janvier, there have been no ads on France 2, France 3, etc between 8pm and 6am. Protesters say the eventual outcome will be a decrease in funding and decline in quality, and with le Président decreeing who the France Televisions boss should be, independence will disappear too. The government counters that the idea is to channel money towards higher quality programming, documentaries and the like. One thing is for sure: privately owned TV channels, in particular TF1, the most widely watched channel in France, have been rubbing their hands in anticipation. France 2 is the second most popular channel: no ads on France 2 equals more advertising revenue for TF1. Sarko-detractors point out that the owner of TF1 is a close chum of Monsieur le Prèsident...
In Lyon, it was the weather causing headlines this morning. Freezing rain in the small hours, falling on frozen ground, caused the entire region to virtually grind to a halt. Road traffic accidents caused 2 deaths & several serious injuries, the three main autoroutes were closed, traffic was snarled up all around the city, lots of people didn't make it into work, and pedestrians were slipping, sliding, falling and breaking limbs all over the place. Apparently. When I went out at about ten-thirty this morning, the pavements in the city centre (perhaps warmed by the rivers) were perfectly negotiable, and the first I knew about it was when the woman on the checkout at the supermarket mentioned the problems she'd had getting there...
12 janvier 2009
Cold feet
It's still freezing. I find one of the most reliable temperature indicators available to man is bare feet. It is thus clearly cold when I'm forced to start wearing socks around the apartment. Anyone who knows about my relationship with socks will be aware of the significance. And we have turned the heating up, it's just still cold.
More normal winter temperatures are forecast later this week. But in the meantime it was cold over the weekend. We trekked down to Gerland well equipped for the weather - long johns, thermal underwear, three other layers, hats and gloves. Sweltered on the metro, but stayed warm for most of the match. My toes were cold by the end though. Perhaps I should have faced phobia and worn two pairs of socks...
The match itself wasn't terribly warming either. OL scored early, star striker Benzema missed at least 3 other first half chances he would normally have snapped up, Lorient dominated most of the rest of the match and got a deserved 2nd half equaliser. In mitigation, with their cup game twice frozen off last week, les lyonnais hadn't played since the 3rd week in December.
Earlier in the afternoon I was somewhat warmer watching football in the pub. Another match to not exactly warm the spirit, but I left with a little glow after the late winner for the forces of footballing good. All the more gratifying because I was forced to endure three typically loud-mouthed Brits abroad behind me spend the whole game decrying les cannoniers.
More normal winter temperatures are forecast later this week. But in the meantime it was cold over the weekend. We trekked down to Gerland well equipped for the weather - long johns, thermal underwear, three other layers, hats and gloves. Sweltered on the metro, but stayed warm for most of the match. My toes were cold by the end though. Perhaps I should have faced phobia and worn two pairs of socks...
The match itself wasn't terribly warming either. OL scored early, star striker Benzema missed at least 3 other first half chances he would normally have snapped up, Lorient dominated most of the rest of the match and got a deserved 2nd half equaliser. In mitigation, with their cup game twice frozen off last week, les lyonnais hadn't played since the 3rd week in December.
Earlier in the afternoon I was somewhat warmer watching football in the pub. Another match to not exactly warm the spirit, but I left with a little glow after the late winner for the forces of footballing good. All the more gratifying because I was forced to endure three typically loud-mouthed Brits abroad behind me spend the whole game decrying les cannoniers.
09 janvier 2009
A Caribbean footnote - St Martin
With the temperature in Lyon still below zero (though the winter sun has at last broken through the thin cloud), it's time for the final chapter of our Caribbean interlude...
Our evening arrival in le petit hotel in Grand Case had one small drawback: we couldn't figure out how to open the door to the balcony. Come daylight, the mystery was solved when I discovered a length of wood blocking the rail on which the door slid. A rudimentary, but very effective locking system. Remove the wood and hey presto! the door slides open. Ho, hum. Anyway, it allowed us to eat breakfast on the balcony gazing out at the white sand, turquoise sea and blue, blue sky.
Later in the morning we took a taxi to La Lotérie Farm, a former sugar plantation which now has gardens, restaurant, a treetop assault course, and several marked walking routes through the forest towards the top of the highest peak on the island, Pic Paradis. We chose the latter. We didn't quite reach paradise but enjoyed a lovely three hour walk which included some stunning views of west, south and east coasts.
Given that the taxi ride had lasted barely five minutes, we decided to walk back to the hotel. We hadn't got far along the main road when a 4x4 pulled over and the driver offered us a lift. It was a mother heading home from church with her family. Eyeing the seven children already crammed in the back, we politely declined, but she insisted, so we squeezed into the back seat alongside four wide-eyed enfants and rode the last couple of miles to Grand Case. A true good samaritan.
In the evening we walked along the beach and eventually found the Zen It, the particular bar we were looking for. It was empty but open, but nontheless we walked in and dined on tapas accompanied by a magarita or two. And then we walked back to the hotel along the beach, on the way disturbing herons fishing by the light of beachside cafés.
The next day was the first of December and last full one of our holiday. We took another taxi ride into Marigot, the main French town on the island, wandered around the market, climbed the hill to the fort, wandered some more, and then decided to try catching a minibus back to Grand Case. Guidebooks informed us that one simply has to hail a bus heading in the right direction and hop on. The problem was we'd chosen a spot just past a large school, just after the end of the school morning. Thus every bus that went past was full to bursting. Eventually though, one did stop and we took the last two remaining seats. The $1 ride home was regularly punctuated by calls of 'stop please' to the driver. Then everybody between the alighting passenger and the door would get out and get back in again. Cheap and cheerful way to travel.
Back in Grand Case we ate lunch at a lolo - a local grill serving cheap, cheerful and plentiful food. Later in the afternoon we trekked up the hill to L'Esplanade, the sister hotel of le Petit Hotel, to claim our free poolside cocktail. Foolishly, we suggested the barman mix a drink of his own choosing for us, and then watched with growing alarm and anticipation as he added four different types of rum and a splash of fruit juice. Some time later we rolled glassy-eyed back down the hill, watched the sun set over the beach and managed to get out again for dinner. An earlier resolution to eat more cheaply went west with the sun, and we ended up in another of Grand Case's gastronomic establishments, where we enjoyed another delicious meal and a discussion of French and English football with one of the waiters, and finally endured a marriage proposal on the next table. Fortunately, she said yes and moments later was on the phone to her mum. Americans, needless to say.
And that was more or less it. On the final morning I fought my way through the undergrowth to the top of the hill at the end of the bay while la bienheureuse packed, we went out for one final beachside café lunch, and then it was time for the taxi back to the airport. Ten hours later we landed in Paris at five in the morning, and it was snowing. Still, at least we got home with all our luggage...
Our evening arrival in le petit hotel in Grand Case had one small drawback: we couldn't figure out how to open the door to the balcony. Come daylight, the mystery was solved when I discovered a length of wood blocking the rail on which the door slid. A rudimentary, but very effective locking system. Remove the wood and hey presto! the door slides open. Ho, hum. Anyway, it allowed us to eat breakfast on the balcony gazing out at the white sand, turquoise sea and blue, blue sky.
Later in the morning we took a taxi to La Lotérie Farm, a former sugar plantation which now has gardens, restaurant, a treetop assault course, and several marked walking routes through the forest towards the top of the highest peak on the island, Pic Paradis. We chose the latter. We didn't quite reach paradise but enjoyed a lovely three hour walk which included some stunning views of west, south and east coasts.
Given that the taxi ride had lasted barely five minutes, we decided to walk back to the hotel. We hadn't got far along the main road when a 4x4 pulled over and the driver offered us a lift. It was a mother heading home from church with her family. Eyeing the seven children already crammed in the back, we politely declined, but she insisted, so we squeezed into the back seat alongside four wide-eyed enfants and rode the last couple of miles to Grand Case. A true good samaritan.
In the evening we walked along the beach and eventually found the Zen It, the particular bar we were looking for. It was empty but open, but nontheless we walked in and dined on tapas accompanied by a magarita or two. And then we walked back to the hotel along the beach, on the way disturbing herons fishing by the light of beachside cafés.
The next day was the first of December and last full one of our holiday. We took another taxi ride into Marigot, the main French town on the island, wandered around the market, climbed the hill to the fort, wandered some more, and then decided to try catching a minibus back to Grand Case. Guidebooks informed us that one simply has to hail a bus heading in the right direction and hop on. The problem was we'd chosen a spot just past a large school, just after the end of the school morning. Thus every bus that went past was full to bursting. Eventually though, one did stop and we took the last two remaining seats. The $1 ride home was regularly punctuated by calls of 'stop please' to the driver. Then everybody between the alighting passenger and the door would get out and get back in again. Cheap and cheerful way to travel.
Back in Grand Case we ate lunch at a lolo - a local grill serving cheap, cheerful and plentiful food. Later in the afternoon we trekked up the hill to L'Esplanade, the sister hotel of le Petit Hotel, to claim our free poolside cocktail. Foolishly, we suggested the barman mix a drink of his own choosing for us, and then watched with growing alarm and anticipation as he added four different types of rum and a splash of fruit juice. Some time later we rolled glassy-eyed back down the hill, watched the sun set over the beach and managed to get out again for dinner. An earlier resolution to eat more cheaply went west with the sun, and we ended up in another of Grand Case's gastronomic establishments, where we enjoyed another delicious meal and a discussion of French and English football with one of the waiters, and finally endured a marriage proposal on the next table. Fortunately, she said yes and moments later was on the phone to her mum. Americans, needless to say.
And that was more or less it. On the final morning I fought my way through the undergrowth to the top of the hill at the end of the bay while la bienheureuse packed, we went out for one final beachside café lunch, and then it was time for the taxi back to the airport. Ten hours later we landed in Paris at five in the morning, and it was snowing. Still, at least we got home with all our luggage...
Le juge mort, le père mystère et la neige
A seismic shock to the French legal system. Monsieur le Président has just announced the end of the famous and particular institution, le juge d'instruction. I must admit I've never completely grasped exactly what his/her role is - my best guess is to first act as a sort of liaison between police & prosecution on one side, and accused & defence lawyers on the other, and finally to arbitrate about whether a case goes to court. Though if you believe various French TV crime series, the juge d'instruction is the ultimate crime buster. The equivalent exists nowhere else in the world...
Whatever, Sarko's announcement has caused a flurry of disquiet and denunciation. Political opponents, lawyers and juges alike have called it yet another example of the accelerating erosion of judicial independence under the current regime. Water off a duck's back to Sarkozy...
Staying in the French judicial system, the Justice minister Rachida Dati is also causing a bit a stir at the moment. Five days after giving birth she was back at work, not in itself worthy of more than a passing comment, but allied to the fact that she's Muslim, single, and not revealing who the father is, created a storm of interest. One magazine has already been slapped with an injunction for reporting the rumour that Sarko's brother is the mystery dad after he was seen visiting Mademoiselle Dati in hospital. I never even knew Monsieur le Président had siblings...
Meanwhile France still shivers in the coldest snap for over twenty years. The thermometer hasn't climbed above zero for several days here, though Lyon hasn't seen any snow to speak of. Nor have the northern French Alps, but elsewhere there was snow on the Cote d'Azur, and Marseille ground to a complete halt a couple of days ago when more than 15cm of snow fell in one day.
Whatever, Sarko's announcement has caused a flurry of disquiet and denunciation. Political opponents, lawyers and juges alike have called it yet another example of the accelerating erosion of judicial independence under the current regime. Water off a duck's back to Sarkozy...
Staying in the French judicial system, the Justice minister Rachida Dati is also causing a bit a stir at the moment. Five days after giving birth she was back at work, not in itself worthy of more than a passing comment, but allied to the fact that she's Muslim, single, and not revealing who the father is, created a storm of interest. One magazine has already been slapped with an injunction for reporting the rumour that Sarko's brother is the mystery dad after he was seen visiting Mademoiselle Dati in hospital. I never even knew Monsieur le Président had siblings...
Meanwhile France still shivers in the coldest snap for over twenty years. The thermometer hasn't climbed above zero for several days here, though Lyon hasn't seen any snow to speak of. Nor have the northern French Alps, but elsewhere there was snow on the Cote d'Azur, and Marseille ground to a complete halt a couple of days ago when more than 15cm of snow fell in one day.
05 janvier 2009
Festive excesses
Twelve days of Christmas back in Blighty passed quickly and quietly with maximum food intake. No sooner had la bienheureuse returned from a weekend in Paris with sa mère, than we were packing for the 770km drive to Calais. An 8.30am departure from Lyon got us to the ferry terminal at 3.30pm, just in time to catch the crossing one earlier than booked. No traffic on the autoroutes, and surprisingly little the other side of La Manche. Even the M25 at 5pm was flowing freely. Wonders will never cease, though the accident that had blocked the anticlockwise carriage several junctions earlier may have had something to do with it...
Whatever, we were in Cambridge by 6.30, for home-cooked dinner with the Margarita Man. Mild hangover the next morning was no more than we expected, and didn't impinge on the drive north to Cheshire. Brief stopover to visit les nièces et neveux, before arriving chez la belle-mère early on Christmas Eve for a special treat - Christmas Pudding!
Christmas day dawned bright and frosty, like most other days during the holiday, and was spent chez le beau-frère, who as usual was chef for the day. And as usual, he produced enough food to feed an army of relatives rather than the mere eight present. Despite heroic efforts, notably on the part of his beau-père and two greedy labradors, turkey leftovers seem likely to be on the menu for weeks to come.
After lunch, once digestion was sufficiently advanced to allow movement, the exchange of gifts took place. In my case, exchange is a relative term, as I always seem to receive a lot more than I give. But it would seem impolite to demur, so I never do. And for once someone else got more than bargained for. La belle-mère du beau-frère (even in French there's no simple term for the mother-in-law of one's brother-in-law) was delighted and horrified in equal measure to be given a life-sized black bear (stuffed of course).
Boxing day we returned to east Cheshire to distribute presents to les nièces et neveux, meeting up with le frère ainé at the same time. As most of the rest of the day was spent playing racing car games on a games console with a name bearing a close resemblance to a bodily function, no prizes for guessing what theme most of the presents came with. All raced out, in the evening we formed a more sedate convoy with le frère for the drive back across Cheshire.
The following day was one of the best of the holiday. La bienheureuse et la belle-mère packed le frère et moi off to undertake a brisk 3 hour stomp along the Sandstone Trail, while they meandered round Beeston Castle and retired to the pub to await us drinking mulled wine in front of a roaring fire. The 7 mile walk however was worth braving the sub-zero temperatures for. With the sun shining down from a clear blue sky on a countryside covered in frost, some of the scenery was spectacular. And we reached the pub in time for a late, very late lunch and more mulled wine.
Sunday was the day set aside to celebrate two milestones - la quarantaine de la bienheureuse (again) and la cinquantaine du frère ainé. La bienheureuse celebrated in her own fashion by staying at home with her mother to cook the evening meal for ten, while my 50-year old brother and I swanned off to meet the rest of the available family at Delamere Forest. When we eventually all got there we enjoyed a pleasant stroll through the trees in the golden late afternoon sunshine, and had fun skipping stones across the frozen lake. Easy to skip stones on ice, you might say, but the principal attraction for doing so was the musical resonance of the ice as the stones skipped across it. So there.
As dusk fell we formed a three car convoy back to east Cheshire where the cassoulet feast cooked by la bienheureuse et la belle-mère awaited us. And the food and party, complete with party hats, crackers and presents (including my favourite of all - a hamper of Marmite and English cheese), was much enjoyed by all. Though exactly how many of the clean plates were due to parental command only the interested parties know. Thanks are due to la belle-mère for providing us with the venue.
Le frère et la soeur returned from whence they came the following day, and la bienheureuse, la belle-mère et moi enjoyed a quiet time over the next couple of days, filled mainly with eating, sleeping and another visit to north Wales to view the soon to be acquired woods of prospective landowner le beau-frère. New Year's Eve was quiet too, though I made the mistake of suggesting we teach la belle-mère how to play tête-de-merde. My disastrous run of luck continued over from Saba to the point where my first new year's resolution ought to have been to never play the wretched game again. But it wasn't...
On the second day of the new year it was time to kiss la belle-mère goodbye and head back down south. After another stopover chez le jardinier in Cambridge and a traditional pub, beer and curry evening, on Saturday it was time to visit the new home of football for the first time since early November. Warmed by the somewhat stuttering but ultimately satisfactory victory over the Pilgrims, we headed down to Kent for an overnight stay chez les docteurs C, ate more curry and drank more wine, and then were up at 7.30 the following morning for the long drive home. 900 odd kilometres and eleven hours later we were back, in a cold apartment and an even colder Lyon. And it's forecast to get colder...
Whatever, we were in Cambridge by 6.30, for home-cooked dinner with the Margarita Man. Mild hangover the next morning was no more than we expected, and didn't impinge on the drive north to Cheshire. Brief stopover to visit les nièces et neveux, before arriving chez la belle-mère early on Christmas Eve for a special treat - Christmas Pudding!
Christmas day dawned bright and frosty, like most other days during the holiday, and was spent chez le beau-frère, who as usual was chef for the day. And as usual, he produced enough food to feed an army of relatives rather than the mere eight present. Despite heroic efforts, notably on the part of his beau-père and two greedy labradors, turkey leftovers seem likely to be on the menu for weeks to come.
After lunch, once digestion was sufficiently advanced to allow movement, the exchange of gifts took place. In my case, exchange is a relative term, as I always seem to receive a lot more than I give. But it would seem impolite to demur, so I never do. And for once someone else got more than bargained for. La belle-mère du beau-frère (even in French there's no simple term for the mother-in-law of one's brother-in-law) was delighted and horrified in equal measure to be given a life-sized black bear (stuffed of course).
Boxing day we returned to east Cheshire to distribute presents to les nièces et neveux, meeting up with le frère ainé at the same time. As most of the rest of the day was spent playing racing car games on a games console with a name bearing a close resemblance to a bodily function, no prizes for guessing what theme most of the presents came with. All raced out, in the evening we formed a more sedate convoy with le frère for the drive back across Cheshire.
The following day was one of the best of the holiday. La bienheureuse et la belle-mère packed le frère et moi off to undertake a brisk 3 hour stomp along the Sandstone Trail, while they meandered round Beeston Castle and retired to the pub to await us drinking mulled wine in front of a roaring fire. The 7 mile walk however was worth braving the sub-zero temperatures for. With the sun shining down from a clear blue sky on a countryside covered in frost, some of the scenery was spectacular. And we reached the pub in time for a late, very late lunch and more mulled wine.
Sunday was the day set aside to celebrate two milestones - la quarantaine de la bienheureuse (again) and la cinquantaine du frère ainé. La bienheureuse celebrated in her own fashion by staying at home with her mother to cook the evening meal for ten, while my 50-year old brother and I swanned off to meet the rest of the available family at Delamere Forest. When we eventually all got there we enjoyed a pleasant stroll through the trees in the golden late afternoon sunshine, and had fun skipping stones across the frozen lake. Easy to skip stones on ice, you might say, but the principal attraction for doing so was the musical resonance of the ice as the stones skipped across it. So there.
As dusk fell we formed a three car convoy back to east Cheshire where the cassoulet feast cooked by la bienheureuse et la belle-mère awaited us. And the food and party, complete with party hats, crackers and presents (including my favourite of all - a hamper of Marmite and English cheese), was much enjoyed by all. Though exactly how many of the clean plates were due to parental command only the interested parties know. Thanks are due to la belle-mère for providing us with the venue.
Le frère et la soeur returned from whence they came the following day, and la bienheureuse, la belle-mère et moi enjoyed a quiet time over the next couple of days, filled mainly with eating, sleeping and another visit to north Wales to view the soon to be acquired woods of prospective landowner le beau-frère. New Year's Eve was quiet too, though I made the mistake of suggesting we teach la belle-mère how to play tête-de-merde. My disastrous run of luck continued over from Saba to the point where my first new year's resolution ought to have been to never play the wretched game again. But it wasn't...
On the second day of the new year it was time to kiss la belle-mère goodbye and head back down south. After another stopover chez le jardinier in Cambridge and a traditional pub, beer and curry evening, on Saturday it was time to visit the new home of football for the first time since early November. Warmed by the somewhat stuttering but ultimately satisfactory victory over the Pilgrims, we headed down to Kent for an overnight stay chez les docteurs C, ate more curry and drank more wine, and then were up at 7.30 the following morning for the long drive home. 900 odd kilometres and eleven hours later we were back, in a cold apartment and an even colder Lyon. And it's forecast to get colder...
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