As the temperature climbed last week, reaching 34C on Friday, we decided to stick to our original plan of a weekend in the mountains despite a less than optimistic forecast. And so, in the afternoon, we headed east, air-conditioning on max, and arrived at Meribel shortly after five pm. After settling into our accommodation for the weekend, courtesy of une amie de la bienheureuse, we headed straight for a cooling dip in the small pool that is part of the apartment complex. Very nice it was too.
Thunder rumbled ominously overnight and Saturday morning dawned cool and damp. At least I think it did - hard to tell with shutters closed and a toddler who remarkably slept until after eight in the morning. Luxurious lie-in. Thereafter the rain cleared and the pattern for the rest of the weekend was set: gradually clearing skies, morning sortie, lunch, attempt to give a nap to the youngest member of the family, swim in the pool, dinner, bed.
The first morning we hiked up from La Chaudanne to Mottaret, roughly following what in winter is the Truite piste. Nice easy green run down on snow, bit of a slog up on foot, particularly carrying a 11 kilo wriggling bundle on your back. We hadn't necessarily intended to go all the way to Mottaret but chose to follow a newly constructed path along the Doron stream and there was no way off it before we reached the top. All good exercise, and we recovered with a very pleasant outdoor lunch at one of the cafés in Mottaret. La petite coquinette then unsurprisingly fell asleep on her mother's back on the way down, albeit for only ten minutes, but that was enough to persuade her that any further nap that day was unnecessary. She did however, stay happily enough in bed for 40 minutes while mama read and papa napped in the sunshine on the terrace outside.
On Sunday, it was cooler still, but with the sun coming and going it was nice enough to contemplate another walk in the mountains. Actually, we chose one that was more or less flat, a pleasant stroll along the banks of Lac Tueda, with another nice café lunch, though the cold breeze forced us indoors on this occasion with traditional mountain fare, tartiflette, on the menu. Another brief nap on the way home, this time in the car, put paid to any ideas these concerned parents might have had about their daughter getting enough sleep. Another sleepless half hour in bed this time ended in vociferous complaint.
Uninterrupted sunshine was forecast for Monday and we were having such a good time the next that we decided to stay an extra night. We thus fitted in another walk the following morning, driving up to Altiport for a slow wander in the woods (little legs don't always follow straight lines) around the 'sentier des animaux'. And then alas, it was time to head back down to the stifling heat of Lyon. La petite was a little less cooperative in the car this time - slept the first 45 minutes and then screamed for the next half hour necessitating an emergency refreshment stop. Car journeys still aren't her favourite way of passing the time...
A British victory in the Tour de France - a bit like a Frenchman scoring a century at Lords. Wiggins does seem to have won over the French public though, with his somewhat crooked sense of humour, quirky personality and willingness to give interviews in reasonably fluent French. And his triumph in what the French see as the ultimate sporting challenge has been welcomed, albeit somewhat grudgingly. Articles I've read have praised the professional, pragmatic way the Sky team controlled the race but at the same time bemoaned the way the spectacle was thus rendered somewhat less exciting than normal. This year's race has been described more than once as one of the most boring ever.
On the other hand, French commentators have also heralded it as a great year, largely due to the French success in winning five stages. In contrast to the boring Brits, the likes of Thomas Voeckler have been hailed for their panache and daring. French flair, quoi…
The weekend past was taken up with a flying visit across the Channel, Cambridge the destination, a barbecue to celebrate the half-century of la petite beaucoup the prime reason. We left warm, 27C Lyon sunshine behind on Friday afternoon and arrived in Stansted four hours later and twelve degrees cooler. There was at least a glimpse of sunshine as we drove the hire car towards Cambridge, where the welcome was as warm as usual. And habitually convivial, which meant the grey skies that greeted us in the morning matched the grey fuzz clogging up my skull. It was as usual though la bienheureuse who dragged herself out of bed to deal with the chirping coming from the room across the landing at seven o'clock on the dot. Young children obviously automatically recognise time zones.
The clouds soon brought forth rain, rain and more rain. Not the ideal weather for a BBQ, but while our hosts toiled in the kitchen we made a quick trip to the local supermarket to restock on vital British supplies and then kept la petite amused indoors. And then, as if by prior arrangement, as the first guests started arriving in the late afternoon the rain stopped. And then, as if by miracle, as the JeB sausages, lamb and pork sizzled in the grill the sun came out and dried up all the rain. Well, enough of it to make sitting and consuming but a small proportion of the provided feast outside feasible. And a great time was had by all, particularly one particular toddler who had twenty odd adults and a dog to amuse and be amused by.
We spent the next day consuming barbecue leftovers, took la petite coquinette to the local park, and otherwise enjoyed a lazy Sunday afternoon chez des chers amis. The next morning our travel alarm was already in the process of adjusting for the trip home because she woke up half an hour before the traditional hour of seven. Which did at least mean we had an unrushed morning before we bade a fond farewell to the lady of the house and weekend, and set off homeward bound. Apart from longer than usual queues at the airport, we had a smooth trip and were back in warm, sunny Lyon soon after 5pm.
And there the pleasant weekend ended and a nightmare night started. The travel-weary toddler went to bed as usual but was awake 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep and woke up again 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep again and awoke 45 minutes later. Whereupon she refused to go back to sleep for the next four hours. When finally we did all get back to bed at about three in the morning, the little so-and-so allowed us five hours of uninterrupted rest. I use the word rest advisedly because sleep wasn't easy to come by…
And in the morning, when we were all finally up, the reason for her unrest became clear. A wretched cold, courtesy presumably of cold weather Blighty. Another interrupted night followed, albeit less dramatic, but our own little domestic drama was put into perspective by a real life drama we witnessed on our traditional afternoon outing to the playground yesterday. A group of passersby was gathered around a man lying flat on his back on the footpath along the river. The drama soon became a crisis as two of the helpers started administering artificial resuscitation, heart massage and all. Flashing lights heralded the arrival of the pompiers a few minutes later and they continued the resuscitation for a few minutes before putting the victim into a recovery position. Then a medical emergency team arrived, put on a BP cuff and put in a drip, which I took to mean the unfortunate fellow was alive.
And so la petite and I went home to resume our mundane routine of the mealtime and bedtime battles that have intensified since the return of le rhume...
A fortnight has passed and much has happened. La belle-mère arrived for a two week visit, she and la petite-fille spent three days getting reacquainted in hot Lyon and then we all set off in the petite voiture for a week's holiday in the deep sud-ouest; more specifically the Lot-et-Garonne, a gentle land of green and gold, sunflowers and hazelnuts, ruined castles and hilltop mediaeval villages. We arrived at our base for the week, holiday residences near Monflanquin, after a smooth eight hour journey punctuated by service stops to keep la petite voyageuse from going car-seat crazy. We settled in and the week thereafter followed something of a routine - morning outing, relaxed afternoon, early evening swim, dinner and early to bed.
Monday: the Chateau de Gavaudun was the chosen destination for the day's outing. On a warm sunny day we climbed and wriggled through the narrow entrance in a sheer rock face, and admired the views of the ruined castle and beyond from the top of the castle keep. Thence back to base for a late lunch, and late nap for la petite, which lasted three hours. Unheard of…
Tuesday: on the sunniest, hottest day of the week, we drove to le Jardin des Nenuphars, a calm and pretty garden of water-lilies and lotus flowers. The decision to stay for lunch in the outdoor café was the low point of the day. More than two hours later we finally finished the meal. A coach party of pensioners was the likely cause, but la petite didn't care, she just got ratty. However, the return to Monflanquin was notable for a couple of firsts. We took another scenic route home in the hope that la petite coquinette would sleep, a plan that worked better than our wildest dreams. Firstly she slept one when we stopped to look at a windmill on a hill, and then slept almost all the way home, a total of well over an hour. First time she's stayed asleep for more than 40 minutes in the car. A swim in the pool at the end of a hot day was more than welcome.
Wednesday: the weather broke, and heavy showers that came and went all day persuaded us to stay put and watch the rain coming down from the cover of the apartment. La bienheureuse cured a stir-crazy daughter by taking her for a walk in the rain, and then, like true Brits on holiday, we all went for a swim in a deserted pool despite a 10 degree drop in temperatures from the previous day.
Thursday: even cooler and wetter. Undaunted, we set off on the traditional morning outing, choosing a hazelnut farm with a self-styled 'museum' on the theory that we would be under cover. True enough, though we had a short wait outside while the owner came across from the farm to open the doors for us. Being the only visitors we had the benefit of a personal tour and tasting session, and naturally came away weighed down with nut oil, nut biscuits and nutty sweets. A short stop at another farm shop allowed us to stock up on that other local specialty, prunes. As it was even colder we skipped the swim in the pool on our return.
Friday: an improvement in the weather encouraged yet another outing, to another ruined castle. Le Chateau de Bonaguil calls itself the most beautiful fortified castle in France, and most impressive it was too, even if we were there a day early for the mediaeval fête the following weekend. After a picnic lunch in a shady spot above the chateau, we drove back to base and then, while the three generations of females slept or read according to age, the token male was given time off to finally visit Monflanquin, another plus beaux villages de France perched high on a hill. And very pretty it was too, all narrow alleys and picturesque stone buildings with an impressive central square bordered by arcades.
Saturday: homeward bound. A seven hour trip, including only two stops for a more travel-hardy toddler, and we were back in warm, muggy Lyon by five pm. The end of a pleasant and more relaxing than might have been expected week…
The last few days of la belle-mère's visit passed quickly for some. La bienheureuse spent 2 days and a night away in the company mother country while la grand-mère et la petite-fille enjoyed each other's company, apart from an extreme reluctance on the latter's part to go to bed. Perhaps the after-effects of a holiday during which she slept a lot during the day and went to bed late. Perhaps she was missing mama, or perhaps she was missing Wednesdays with her little playmates, as our nanny-sharing arrangement with the neighbours has sadly come to an unexpected and abrupt end.
