Ten days of contrasts - sub-zero temperatures in Lyon four days before Christmas, pleasant upper twenties sunshine on boxing day in Melbourne, and today the thermometer is 38C and still rising...
A flying visit to the home of football the weekend before Christmas avoided the sundry travel problems in snow-bound Blighty. The toothless Tigers were duly tamed by the mighty Gunners Saturday evening, quick beer and curry and overnight stay with McBhoy and the Peace Bird, and I was home by Sunday afternoon. La belle-mère flew out to France Monday, escaping the snow and ice with a mere 2 hour delay to her flight. Earlier the previous week, the BA cabin crew strike was declared illegal, so three days later we had only the British weather to worry about as we set off on the 31 hour journey down under. In the event, the only problem encountered was by one suitcase, which somehow missed the connection in Heathrow (T5, so perhaps no surprise). We even managed a reasonable amount of sleep between London and Singapore, and the prodigal baggage turned up 36 hours later.
Christmas day passed virtually unnoticed in the air, and we finally arrived in Melbourne at 6.30 boxing day morning. Found our way to chez frère numèro 2 et famille by nine am to find brother up but las chicas still in bed after a late night Christmas day party. Las sobrinas finally appeared sleepy-eyed but 3 years older, taller and lovelier. Lunch, a bad session of Band hero - out of time, out of tune - and dinner with the Swiss family Robinson followed in a jet-lagged blur, and we finally fell into bed and blessed sleep at 9pm.
The following day we had the pleasure of accompanying les nièces shopping at Chaddies, while la cuñada went out to work and le frère enjoyed a couple of hours peace and quiet. Sunday we set off to Melbourne zoo. Nice idea, wrong day. Full car parks and an entry queue stretching several hundred yards quickly persuaded us that a stroll round Albert Park would be a quieter option. Home for lunch, then an afternoon defeat to la petite nièce at one-on-one basketball.
Lazy Monday morning, followed by a cool afternoon at the cinema, Lovely Bones and the Chipmunks part of the varied viewing program. Today it was hot. Too hot to do much, so we contented ourselves with a short stroll along the Port Philip Bay waterfront and a paddle in the sea. This evening a swim is on the agenda. As long as it cools down enough...
It was l'anniversaire de ma bien-aimée yesterday, and I treated her in romantic fashion with a trip to Gerland to watch OL's latest struggle. Followed by dinner at the Ninkasi. What more could a girl want?
Actually, the dinner was rather nice. Steak, foie gras and Côte du Rhône. It was a freezing night, with a sparse scattering of snowflakes drifting down the whole evening. In the half-empty stadium the atmosphere was even more frosty. Fed up, the Lyon fans decided to demonstrate their discontent by either not turning up, or not singing or chanting. It was a somewhat bizarre experience, a bit like a pantomime, as la bienheureuse commented. The baddies were roundly booed. Normal, except the three principal bad guys were two particular home players (for no real reason other than that they aren't very good), and the coach.
On the pitch, the players eventually responded by eking out a victory against the team 2nd from bottom, with two late goals. Relief of sorts, first league win in 6, first home league win since September, up to 4th from 9th. Elsewhere Bordeaux stretched their lead at the top to six points...
We got home to find yet another rejection from a literary agent in the post box. However, for once there was some encouraging personal feedback, scribbled on my introductory letter. Started off well - "This is entertaining..." - but then came the criticism - "takes too long to get going though... strange glitches in the writing...", etc, etc. And finally a suggestion to "let me know if you work this up". Whatever that means. The barely legible writing conjures up an image of an old-school agent, sitting in an office piled high with manuscripts and books, fag in mouth, whisky bottle in filing cabinet, clinging stubbornly to pen & paper or a battered old typewriter for communication, rather than one of those new-fangled computer things which everybody else uses to churn out form rejection letters. If only they were all like that...
Winter has arrived with a vengeance, temperatures in Lyon are reaching the heady heights of zero degrees Celsius at the moment. Rather chilly in Hungary too I imagine, where la salariée is currently on her latest work jaunt. It involved getting up at 5.15am on Monday morning (for me too, as I gallantly offered to walk her to the station) in order to catch a TGV just after six to CDG airport, thence a connection to Budapest, followed by a four or five hour car journey to Lake Balaton. The early start meant she forewent a trip to Gerland on Sunday evening. Instead I was accompanied by un voisin for the latest échec of a poor season for the former 7 time French champions. It was the team who usurped OL's throne, Bordeaux, who delivered the latest defeat, 1-0, which means les gones haven't won a home league match since late Septembre. The fans are not amused, and not happy with the coach. Loud chants of "Puel, démission!" could be heard at the end of the match. Otherwise it was a good weekend, football and otherwise. A happier trip to the pub earlier in the evening was preceded by a visit to the Christmas market on Saturday, even if the Christmas shopping was less than successful.
Elsewhere on Sunday, an event that has shocked Lyon was taking place. An innocent 12 year bystander was shot dead during a drive-by shooting in what is thought to be the escalation of a fight between gangs of youths from different 'quartiers sensibles' on the eastern outskirts of Lyon. After an earlier pitched battle involving mere base-ball bats, hammers and stones, apparently some of the antagonists returned in a car, armed with a rifle and semi-automatic pistol. At least 14 bullets were recovered by police. Sounds like a minor miracle only one other person, a 17 year old youth, apparently also uninvolved, was hit.
Meanwhile, France as a whole anxiously hangs on every bit of news relating to the health of Johnny. Every news bulletin since last week has led with a report on the latest news from the hospital in Los Angeles where France's living Elvis is being treated. Sigh of relief that he is now out of the artificially induced coma. Maybe we'll get some other news on the telly at last...
The lights went down on Tuesday, and Wednesday evening it was back to the weekly routine with a trip to Gerland to watch the final Champions League group game. OL duly did a routine job, 4-0 winners without ever having to play well against one of only two teams to finish the competition with nul points.
Two less than routine things happened on the way home. We bumped into two of our neighbours in the metro queue, the fact that there was a long queue being the second unaccustomed event. Normally we leave on the final whistle and our seats at the metro end of the ground allow us to beat the queues. Not on this occasion. There were plenty of early leavers with the fans more interested in what was going on at Anfield, where the Scousers duly failed to live up to expectations and allowed Fiorentina to finish as group winners. That means OL will draw either an English or Spanish team in the first knockout round. Few in France expect them to go further...
The metro also seemed to be running slower than usual, symptomatic of the last week or so. There was a strike over the weekend, timed to coincide with the Fête des Lumières, though it didn't have a huge effect. Then yesterday, the automatic metro line that la bienheureuse often takes into work was out of action all morning, leaving the buses overcrowded. Ma bien-aimée was forced to walk...
Strikes elsewhere in France are in the headlines at the moment. A train strike is upsetting Parisian commuters, and lorry drivers are threatening to strike in the run-up to Christmas. A measure of how serious this would be is that the employers appear to have quickly made concessions...
However, what's really preoccupying greater France at the moment is the news of Johnny Hallyday's emergency operation in California, after complications following an operation on a herniated vertebral disc in Paris a couple of weeks ago. Johnny's agent announced today that the American surgeons had told him they'd had to repair the damage done by the original operation, which they called a 'massacre'. There is talk of suing the well-known French 'surgeon to the stars' who carried out the operation in Paris. Apparently won't be the first time he has had to pay damages to a patient...
In a blur of lights, food, wine and lots of fun, the week flew by. Our guests for the 2009 Fête des Lumières were up at 5am on Saturday morning to catch an early flight to Lyon. They were duly met at the airport (nice drive out, Mont Blanc clearly visible), transported home, fed a gourmet picnic lunch with Gewürztraminer, and then it was time for their afternoon nap. Prof Margarita and I huddled round a dodgy internet feed of the Potters getting snookered on the green baize of North London, and then finally it was time to hit the streets and the lights of Lyon.
The Lights this year were designed to be more eco-friendly and intimate, so after our first taste of the impressive projections on the Prefecture du Rhône, we opted for a stroll along the river towards Parc de la Tête d'Or. There were various small installations along the way, the most popular being a video projection with manipulated images of spectators. In the park itself, the trees were bathed in light snow (or snow light) and there was a fairly effective display of neothlithic caves and paintings.
Afterwards we wandered back to the Poivre d'Âne for a late dinner, créme de St Jacques and duck burger among the delights on the menu, washed down with a rather nice St Joseph. Regrettably, I no longer feel able to claim that the famous moelleux au chocolat is the best in the world. And thence back home, for digestives and bedtime around 1.30am. Long day for the travellers...
Lie in on Sunday morning, followed by a trip to Les Halles de Lyon to effect purchases for Sunday dinner and chocolates for Christmas back home. For lunch we had une petite degustation of a Lyonnais specialty, quenelles. Afterwards the Caipirinha Kid and the Margarita man tried to walk it off with a stomp round the zoo and park while I dozed at home with Ms H and la bienheureuse prepared dinner. Early in the evening, we ventured out into the crowded streets. First objective was the display in Place des Terreaux, but with more people than ever, access was restricted so we abandoned the idea of queueing and headed instead for the Saône quayside to watch the fireworks, held over from the abandoned 14 juillet display. The Crack Fox was more of a delight for certain among our number...
