The third Thursday in November is a notable day in the Lyonnais calendar - le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé. The first barrels duly floated down the Saône to be opened at midnight in Place Bellecour last night, despite what has been termed a difficult summer for les viticulteurs. Poor weather has apparently halved the grape harvest in the Beaujolais with a subsequent knock-on effect for wine production and could result in around 300 of the 2300 producers going out of business. On top of that they had to put up with Marine Le Pen paying them a publicity-seeking visit. Adding insult to injury, a view shared by the president of the traditional Beaujolais Nouveau fête in Beaujeu, capital of the region - "I hope I don't bump into her…"
Fortunately the bad weather and the presence of the National Front leader haven't soured the quality of this year's vintage, which apparently tastes of banana, strawberry and sweets.
Domestic wine consumption over the weekend was more restrained than normal because I was across the Channel for another overnight pilgrimage to the home of football. Normally the reverse would be true due to my hosts' generous hospitality, but on this occasion the morning flight and two pints of beer to accompany a very tasty pre-game lunch in the Snooty Fox resulted in a mild hangover before the evening was out. The upside was that it was gone by the morning. Overall, a splendid weekend, bar the topsy-turvy result against the Cottagers.
Meanwhile, back in Lyon les deux filles were having a good weekend without me, despite la petite suffering the beginnings of yet another cold. Fortunately it seems to be a less virulent variant, having almost run its course already. Even at its worst on Sunday I was treated to a beaming smile when I was picked up at the airport. Ahh...
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est restaurants. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est restaurants. Afficher tous les articles
15 novembre 2012
25 septembre 2012
Sun, sea and sand 2012
So it was, in our brand new voiture, that we set off on the annual week's holiday on the Côte d'Azur. Loaded almost to the gunnels, the new car swept silently down the autoroute like a dream, la petite more or less behaved herself and enjoyed the view from her new, higher perch, and we arrived in La Favière late on Sunday afternoon. After a quick drink at the corner café in the 28C sunshine, we successfully retrieved the keys to the apartment from the safe box outside the immobilier, and settled into our old/new home for the week. Three hours later, NI Soggydiver and new Scottish consort arrived and we all enjoyed beer and takeaway pizza for dinner as we watched the sun go down from the terrace.
Lazy Monday morning, though a somewhat earlier start than hoped for due to a toddler waking up and excitedly finding her parents in the same room, and slightly marred by the downstairs neighbour complaining about the noise. Shut that young child up…
And so to the first dive of the week and the discovery of the Bormes boys new headquarters. La bienheureuse generously volunteered for baby-sitting and beach life-guard duty leaving me to enjoy a trip in the afternoon sunshine to Pointe de la Galère with our two buddies. Pleasant enough pootle, though current and depth restrictions limited us to the less interesting west side of the point. In the evening, a return to a favourite haunt, la Brasserie du Port. Soupe de Poisson and Mousse au Chocolat naturally on the menu and, despite her parents' apprehensions, la petite coquinette displayed almost perfect table manners, albeit aided and abetted by a portable DVD player. Once again la bienheureuse chose the short straw and took baby home to bed, though the rest of us weren't too far behind. Wine, beer and a few traditional games of peanut-head followed. A girls off-night at the card table.
An early start the next morning because it was decided to do the morning dive. La mère plongeuse eventually overcame the apprehension at her first dive in over two years and accompanied the Soggy diver on the trip to Pointe de Montremian. The ski slope delivered its usual lovely dive though a National Instructor's current phobia put paid to the plan to swim out to the pinnacle. Meanwhile, la petite napped, papa lazed, and the RNLI cox explored Le Lavandou. Late afternoon was spent at the seaside, where la petite travailleuse busied herself in an ultimately fruitless attempt to transfer all the sand from the beach to the sea.
Dinner in that night, and we settled for two reliable old favourites - poulet au lait & tarte tatin. Or not-so-reliable old favourites. Though both dishes turned out to be tasty enough, a lack of suitable utensils and ingredients meant the chicken wasn't quite up to usual standards (bad chefs always blame their equipment), and an exploding masquerading-as-Pyrex dish put paid to the caramelisation process for the dessert.
We chose Wednesday for a day off diving. The East Lothian contingent decided on a day checking out the plastic surgery on display at St Tropez while les lyonnais spent the morning wine shopping. Or rather spent the morning on a scenic but hairy drive up and over the Col du Canadel in the hope that la petite would nap on the way to the vineyard. She eventually did, but not before her mother had spent an anxious half hour piloting a new car along a road barely wide enough for one old car, let alone two, with a precipitous drop on one side and a ditch and rock wall on the other. We eventually reached the Domaine de l'Angueiroun with nerves jangling but intact, and enjoyed a wine tasting session which ended with this so-called connoisseur choking (accidentally, I hasten to add) and the purchase of two cases.
After a much needed nap for all of us, ice creams in the village were followed by fun and frolics for the smallest member of the family in the fountains that are set into the floor of the village square. Once the NB lifeboat crew returned from glitz of St Tropez, we all went out for dinner again to the Tropicana Beach. Living the high life.
A lazy Thursday morning for la petite famille ensued, while the chefs for the day got busy at the supermarket and in the kitchen. The sun shone and the wind howled outside but the afternoon dive still went ahead. Papa and Auntie Sogs learned with a groan that the site was Pointe de la Galère, chosen for its protection from the easterly gale. However, it turned out to be the best dive of the week for me, as I managed to drag my buddies (a random stranger had joined us) over to the east side of the point, which rewarded us with a ring-side view of a large school of patrolling barracuda. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, la petite coquinette was amusing herself and her mother with a game of hide and seek in the living room dresser, and a gin palace amused everyone by coming adrift from its mooring and being battered by the waves on the beach. Rich boys should learn to tie knots.
The results of the morning's labour in the kitchen was seen in the evening - delicious spicy lamb tajine followed by sweet Eton Mess. Lovely. And more beer, wine and games of peanut-head to follow.
On Friday, mama once again generously put toddler time ahead of time and depth, and allowed the other three divers to enjoy a full day out at Port Cros. Which was indeed enjoyable, though still-stiff easterlies restricted diving to the lee-side of la Gabinière and Pointe de la Croix, neither of which are noted as particular gems of the region. Lunch in a Port Cros café in the warm sunshine was very pleasant though.
Meanwhile, back on the mainland, la bienheureuse et la petite set off after lunch to collect the Margarita Man, delayed by bereavement but nonetheless keen to pay a flying visit. The half hour trip each way to the airport didn't allow la petite coquinette an afternoon nap, but the additional entertainment provided by her favourite builder kept her amused and mostly even-tempered until the evening. The core La Fav gang thus reunited, we had dinner at La Rade in the port. Tasty food but slow service meant papa only had one course before it was his turn to take the tired toddler home to bed. The compensation, with no diving the next day, was more beer, wine and peanut-head once the rest of the card school returned.
Our last full day was spent on a brief dip in the pool in the morning - brrr, water colder than the sea - and, after lunch and naps, on a wander along the coastal path towards Le Lavandou and back in the perennial sunshine, followed by more playing in the water jets.
For the last supper it was back to La Brasserie, where a fine week was celebrated with champagne. A rather more leisurely final morning than usual was possible the following day thanks to the Sunday checkout and consequent lack of time constraints. Thus we were all able to have lunch together one last time in the Provençal sunshine before going our separate ways - Nice airport via one final shower for the Scottish party, Lyon via Hyères airport to drop off uncle Margarita for the Lyon lot. And a fast, smooth, quiet drive (albeit on an autoroute busier than expected) got us home by seven, tired but happy after yet another great week on the Côte d'Azur.
Lazy Monday morning, though a somewhat earlier start than hoped for due to a toddler waking up and excitedly finding her parents in the same room, and slightly marred by the downstairs neighbour complaining about the noise. Shut that young child up…
And so to the first dive of the week and the discovery of the Bormes boys new headquarters. La bienheureuse generously volunteered for baby-sitting and beach life-guard duty leaving me to enjoy a trip in the afternoon sunshine to Pointe de la Galère with our two buddies. Pleasant enough pootle, though current and depth restrictions limited us to the less interesting west side of the point. In the evening, a return to a favourite haunt, la Brasserie du Port. Soupe de Poisson and Mousse au Chocolat naturally on the menu and, despite her parents' apprehensions, la petite coquinette displayed almost perfect table manners, albeit aided and abetted by a portable DVD player. Once again la bienheureuse chose the short straw and took baby home to bed, though the rest of us weren't too far behind. Wine, beer and a few traditional games of peanut-head followed. A girls off-night at the card table.
An early start the next morning because it was decided to do the morning dive. La mère plongeuse eventually overcame the apprehension at her first dive in over two years and accompanied the Soggy diver on the trip to Pointe de Montremian. The ski slope delivered its usual lovely dive though a National Instructor's current phobia put paid to the plan to swim out to the pinnacle. Meanwhile, la petite napped, papa lazed, and the RNLI cox explored Le Lavandou. Late afternoon was spent at the seaside, where la petite travailleuse busied herself in an ultimately fruitless attempt to transfer all the sand from the beach to the sea.
Dinner in that night, and we settled for two reliable old favourites - poulet au lait & tarte tatin. Or not-so-reliable old favourites. Though both dishes turned out to be tasty enough, a lack of suitable utensils and ingredients meant the chicken wasn't quite up to usual standards (bad chefs always blame their equipment), and an exploding masquerading-as-Pyrex dish put paid to the caramelisation process for the dessert.
After a much needed nap for all of us, ice creams in the village were followed by fun and frolics for the smallest member of the family in the fountains that are set into the floor of the village square. Once the NB lifeboat crew returned from glitz of St Tropez, we all went out for dinner again to the Tropicana Beach. Living the high life.
A lazy Thursday morning for la petite famille ensued, while the chefs for the day got busy at the supermarket and in the kitchen. The sun shone and the wind howled outside but the afternoon dive still went ahead. Papa and Auntie Sogs learned with a groan that the site was Pointe de la Galère, chosen for its protection from the easterly gale. However, it turned out to be the best dive of the week for me, as I managed to drag my buddies (a random stranger had joined us) over to the east side of the point, which rewarded us with a ring-side view of a large school of patrolling barracuda. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, la petite coquinette was amusing herself and her mother with a game of hide and seek in the living room dresser, and a gin palace amused everyone by coming adrift from its mooring and being battered by the waves on the beach. Rich boys should learn to tie knots.
On Friday, mama once again generously put toddler time ahead of time and depth, and allowed the other three divers to enjoy a full day out at Port Cros. Which was indeed enjoyable, though still-stiff easterlies restricted diving to the lee-side of la Gabinière and Pointe de la Croix, neither of which are noted as particular gems of the region. Lunch in a Port Cros café in the warm sunshine was very pleasant though.
Meanwhile, back on the mainland, la bienheureuse et la petite set off after lunch to collect the Margarita Man, delayed by bereavement but nonetheless keen to pay a flying visit. The half hour trip each way to the airport didn't allow la petite coquinette an afternoon nap, but the additional entertainment provided by her favourite builder kept her amused and mostly even-tempered until the evening. The core La Fav gang thus reunited, we had dinner at La Rade in the port. Tasty food but slow service meant papa only had one course before it was his turn to take the tired toddler home to bed. The compensation, with no diving the next day, was more beer, wine and peanut-head once the rest of the card school returned.
Our last full day was spent on a brief dip in the pool in the morning - brrr, water colder than the sea - and, after lunch and naps, on a wander along the coastal path towards Le Lavandou and back in the perennial sunshine, followed by more playing in the water jets.
For the last supper it was back to La Brasserie, where a fine week was celebrated with champagne. A rather more leisurely final morning than usual was possible the following day thanks to the Sunday checkout and consequent lack of time constraints. Thus we were all able to have lunch together one last time in the Provençal sunshine before going our separate ways - Nice airport via one final shower for the Scottish party, Lyon via Hyères airport to drop off uncle Margarita for the Lyon lot. And a fast, smooth, quiet drive (albeit on an autoroute busier than expected) got us home by seven, tired but happy after yet another great week on the Côte d'Azur.
09 avril 2012
Upswing, down river
Seems two weeks of toddler grouchiness was probably brought on by feeling under the weather and teething. No different to adults then, apart from tooth problems being caused by them falling out or going rotten rather than growing. Anyway, la petite suddenly went from being a grumpy little monster to a sweet little angel in the space of 24 hours, the same day she was finally clear of illness and a seventh tooth made an appearance. However, cold number two has already started to snuffle its way through the nasal passages, so the good behaviour may not last long…
Out in the wider Lyonnais world, the big event of the Easter weekend was the opening of the new Confluence shopping and entertainment centre, part of the latest grand project in Lyon, the renovation of formerly derelict warehouses and docks at the southern tip of the Presqu'île where the Saône and Rhône rivers merge. We wandered out on Saturday to look at some of the festivities to mark the grand opening, including a float with water jets and mime artists on a giant umbrella on the Rhône, a flotilla of strange water craft (cars, beds, desert islands and giant hexapods topped by animal skulls) on the Saône, and a parade with a stuffed polar bear, marching bands and assorted strange machines in Place Bellecour.
Later in the evening I headed downriver again to Gerland, where OL eked out a turgid 2-1 victory against bottom club Auxerre thanks to two penalties earned and converted by Lisandro. The footballing entertainment on offer the following day was of rather higher quality, at least from the home team. The highly satisfying late victory against the oil-money wasting light blue Mancunians was preceded by a seven hour train journey across France and under the Channel, leaving just enough time for a quick pre-match pint in the pub with fellow gooners, grand et petite, who had just enjoyed an epicurean Easter lunch.
After the match we went our separate ways. I strolled north to chez the McBhoy and la Palombe, my hosts for the night. Turkish dinner was on the Sugar Lounge menu in the evening, followed by Match of the Day, sleep and an unaccustomed lie-in. Then it was time for me to make my way homeward through the London rain via tea-purchasing duties at Tescos, a crowded St Pancras, Eurostar, a time-pressed trip across Paris and a Lyon bound TGV caught with two minutes to spare. But all was well that ended well, and I was home little more than 5 hours after leaving London.
Out in the wider Lyonnais world, the big event of the Easter weekend was the opening of the new Confluence shopping and entertainment centre, part of the latest grand project in Lyon, the renovation of formerly derelict warehouses and docks at the southern tip of the Presqu'île where the Saône and Rhône rivers merge. We wandered out on Saturday to look at some of the festivities to mark the grand opening, including a float with water jets and mime artists on a giant umbrella on the Rhône, a flotilla of strange water craft (cars, beds, desert islands and giant hexapods topped by animal skulls) on the Saône, and a parade with a stuffed polar bear, marching bands and assorted strange machines in Place Bellecour.
After the match we went our separate ways. I strolled north to chez the McBhoy and la Palombe, my hosts for the night. Turkish dinner was on the Sugar Lounge menu in the evening, followed by Match of the Day, sleep and an unaccustomed lie-in. Then it was time for me to make my way homeward through the London rain via tea-purchasing duties at Tescos, a crowded St Pancras, Eurostar, a time-pressed trip across Paris and a Lyon bound TGV caught with two minutes to spare. But all was well that ended well, and I was home little more than 5 hours after leaving London.
04 janvier 2011
Loose ends
Hangovers were pushed to the back on News Year's Day with a visit to Les Halles, where la cuñada and I feasted on oysters, prawns and Chablis while the others watched. The afternoon was spent recovering, with leftover duck on the menu for dinner. Sunday was an even lazier day, apart from our guests rousing themselves early to do the croissant run and purchase tartiflette provisions for dinner. A day of snoozing and DVD watching.
Monday la bienheureuse was technically back at work, though at home, her boss having granted permission for home working for the final two weeks before confinement. While la belle-mère busied herself with some sewing, our other guests decided they ought to do some more sightseeing. I acted as demanding guide on a wide-ranging round tour - Bellecour, Vieux Lyon, Places Celestins & Jacobins, le mur des lyonnais and a gruelling ascent to the Croix Rousse. Then a steep descent to the banks of the Rhône where little legs decided they were too tired for a further detour via the park.
La bienheureuse and I had another antenatal session in the early evening, so once breathing and pushing were mastered we met the others for a farewell dinner at Les Oliviers. Thanks to our generous guests for a lovely meal and visit.
This morning I was up early to go and consult a man about a rear end checkup and home in time to see off our visitors as they headed towards the station via a cheese and meat lunch in Les Halles. Quiet re-descends, leaving us to contemplate a busy few days and a busy year.
In the wider world, a few stories were in the process of winding up towards the end of the old year. Bettencourt mere et fille called a truce in their inheritance war, though the richest woman in France is still facing investigation over tax evasion. Meanwhile, recriminations over the way the country grinds to a halt in bad weather continue (sound familiar?), and the investigation into the Karachi affair rumbles on.
Monday la bienheureuse was technically back at work, though at home, her boss having granted permission for home working for the final two weeks before confinement. While la belle-mère busied herself with some sewing, our other guests decided they ought to do some more sightseeing. I acted as demanding guide on a wide-ranging round tour - Bellecour, Vieux Lyon, Places Celestins & Jacobins, le mur des lyonnais and a gruelling ascent to the Croix Rousse. Then a steep descent to the banks of the Rhône where little legs decided they were too tired for a further detour via the park.
La bienheureuse and I had another antenatal session in the early evening, so once breathing and pushing were mastered we met the others for a farewell dinner at Les Oliviers. Thanks to our generous guests for a lovely meal and visit.
This morning I was up early to go and consult a man about a rear end checkup and home in time to see off our visitors as they headed towards the station via a cheese and meat lunch in Les Halles. Quiet re-descends, leaving us to contemplate a busy few days and a busy year.
In the wider world, a few stories were in the process of winding up towards the end of the old year. Bettencourt mere et fille called a truce in their inheritance war, though the richest woman in France is still facing investigation over tax evasion. Meanwhile, recriminations over the way the country grinds to a halt in bad weather continue (sound familiar?), and the investigation into the Karachi affair rumbles on.
01 janvier 2011
New Year revisited
More guests arrived two days before the nouvel an. I met le petit frère and la new cuñada at Part Dieu early on Wednesday evening and dragged them and suitcases back to the apartment where succulent lamb tajine and a bottle of champagne awaited. Unsurprisingly, it was midday before the fast was broken and we were ready to head out for a tourist stroll through Lyon. Up to Fourvière (senior citizens and pregnant women via the funicular, the more able-bodied via a slog up the 399 steps and hill) for a look at the view and basilica, then back down to the old town via the Roman amphitheatre. A very late lunch in A La Traboule where the entrées were filling enough to serve as an entire meal. Then back home via Places Terreaux and Lyautey. Siestas and a light quiche and salad dinner followed.
Lazy last day of the year, which we'll blame on a headache the sufferer put down to eye problems. Or vice versa. Fortunately the pain was gone by the evening, to allow full participation in celebrating the coming of the new year. Double roast duck with sausage, apple and chestnut stuffing for dinner, followed by a second Christmas as presents were exchanged, mostly in one direction and mostly baby related. Two bottles of champagne and a red wine or two later, we were all enjoying a magnetic game. The new year was seen in with party poppers and roman candles, and the building almost burnt down. The new year was more than 2 hours old by the time we all fell into bed. Even la bienheureuse managed to last until one.
Lazy last day of the year, which we'll blame on a headache the sufferer put down to eye problems. Or vice versa. Fortunately the pain was gone by the evening, to allow full participation in celebrating the coming of the new year. Double roast duck with sausage, apple and chestnut stuffing for dinner, followed by a second Christmas as presents were exchanged, mostly in one direction and mostly baby related. Two bottles of champagne and a red wine or two later, we were all enjoying a magnetic game. The new year was seen in with party poppers and roman candles, and the building almost burnt down. The new year was more than 2 hours old by the time we all fell into bed. Even la bienheureuse managed to last until one.
22 novembre 2010
Recurrent nightmares
Sometimes ideal worlds implode. It happens often enough to a football fan that you might have thought it would become banal. Not so. Recurrent bad dream, part n, occurred on Saturday. And it had all started so well; at half time the 2 goal lead was scant reward for forty-five minutes of total dominance. Unfortunately, with it came complacency, and with complacency came barely believable reversal. And afterwards we had to endure a journey home sardined into a train along with thousands of fellow gloomy gooners. Barely enough room to blink away the tears.
The rest of the weekend kept to the ideal plan. Flights both ways landed early, the outbound one early enough for me to catch a train that was due to depart simultaneously with the plane's arrival. I thus made it to Cambridge by 10pm, enabling me to surprise Professor Margarita and H in a cosy dinner for two. A bumper breakfast the next morning preceded the nightmare, then dinner afterwards started the recovery period. Delicious fare at Cocum, in the convivial company of J&J.
Sunday morning I awoke with a faint glimmer of hope that it had all been a bad dream. Alas no, but the weekend continued to get better. Canonier conferères J&C had recovered sufficiently from the previous day to come out for a yomp through the fields and along the river, and then the builder-chef treated us to home-made bean soup and bread for lunch before kindly chauffeuring me to the airport.
I returned to Lyon to find la bienheureuse introducing the bump to 'Arry Pottère part 5, and to find that les gones had had a better weekend than les gooners. A 3-1 win at Lens puts them in 8th, a mere two points off the top. Ligue 1 is even tighter than the Premier League.
The rest of the weekend kept to the ideal plan. Flights both ways landed early, the outbound one early enough for me to catch a train that was due to depart simultaneously with the plane's arrival. I thus made it to Cambridge by 10pm, enabling me to surprise Professor Margarita and H in a cosy dinner for two. A bumper breakfast the next morning preceded the nightmare, then dinner afterwards started the recovery period. Delicious fare at Cocum, in the convivial company of J&J.
Sunday morning I awoke with a faint glimmer of hope that it had all been a bad dream. Alas no, but the weekend continued to get better. Canonier conferères J&C had recovered sufficiently from the previous day to come out for a yomp through the fields and along the river, and then the builder-chef treated us to home-made bean soup and bread for lunch before kindly chauffeuring me to the airport.
I returned to Lyon to find la bienheureuse introducing the bump to 'Arry Pottère part 5, and to find that les gones had had a better weekend than les gooners. A 3-1 win at Lens puts them in 8th, a mere two points off the top. Ligue 1 is even tighter than the Premier League.
15 novembre 2010
Warming pictures
What a difference a week makes. La belle-mère comes to visit bearing gifts, and suddenly things are looking up. Unseasonably warm weather and plenty of sunshine for the long bank holiday weekend, and a warmer glow to the football season too.
mardi 9: l'AG continued. After some confusion over venue and indeed whether the meeting was taking place at all, we troop upstairs, listen to the man from the syndic report on progress made on various issues and eventually decide to give him a second chance. Contract extended for 18 months.
mercredi 10: collect la belle-mère from the airport after a fruitless drive through town in search of a petrol station. Usual one closed down, next one closed temporarily by road works. Which are currently all over Lyon. Sufficient fumes in the tank to make it to the garage at the airport.
jeudi 11: jour ferié, the sun is shining, the day mild and we take advantage with a stroll round the park to test the newly presented toy. The leaves are falling, the colours fading, but plenty of pretty pictures to be had before the clouds roll in.
vendredi 12: bridging day, so la bienheureuse is off work again. The exception to the good weather theme. Overcast but dry, so the ladies go shopping, taking a break to meet meet me for a nice pique nique en ville. Roast lamb and a rather palatable Côtes du Rhône for dinner.
samedi 13: stunning day. 20 degree sunshine in the middle of November can't be bad. We jump in the car and eventually find our way to the domaine de Lacroix-Laval, a large area of parkland just outside Lyon. Another opportunity for more autumn snaps with the new appareil photo reflex. Lovely stroll through the park and grounds of the publicly-owned château, then home for a late lunch and a lazy afternoon. Defrosted fish dinner, tasty fare even so.
dimanche 14: still very mild, but very windy too. The sun is less in evidence but we venture out up to the Croix Rousse for the view and a stroll through the market. Home to wolf down lunch in time for a rather more satisfactory visit to the pub, leaving la bienheureuse et sa mère in the kitchen. Second battling away win of the week. The boys are toughening up. Roast chicken awaits my return, then I fly the coop again in the evening, this time for live football. OL grind out a 1-0 win in the wind.
lundi 15: end of the fine weather interlude. Rain all morning.
mardi 9: l'AG continued. After some confusion over venue and indeed whether the meeting was taking place at all, we troop upstairs, listen to the man from the syndic report on progress made on various issues and eventually decide to give him a second chance. Contract extended for 18 months.
mercredi 10: collect la belle-mère from the airport after a fruitless drive through town in search of a petrol station. Usual one closed down, next one closed temporarily by road works. Which are currently all over Lyon. Sufficient fumes in the tank to make it to the garage at the airport.
jeudi 11: jour ferié, the sun is shining, the day mild and we take advantage with a stroll round the park to test the newly presented toy. The leaves are falling, the colours fading, but plenty of pretty pictures to be had before the clouds roll in.
samedi 13: stunning day. 20 degree sunshine in the middle of November can't be bad. We jump in the car and eventually find our way to the domaine de Lacroix-Laval, a large area of parkland just outside Lyon. Another opportunity for more autumn snaps with the new appareil photo reflex. Lovely stroll through the park and grounds of the publicly-owned château, then home for a late lunch and a lazy afternoon. Defrosted fish dinner, tasty fare even so.
27 septembre 2010
Stunning friends
The transition from Tobago holiday mode to normal life in Lyon was achieved via a three day stopover in dear old Blighty. Rain greeted us at Gatwick, accompanied us on the drive to Bexleyheath via Bromley and continued the rest of the day. Not much change there. After being welcomed by the good Doctors C, we gave them the news. Delight & surprise all round but a special mention for the Lovely L for being the first to complement la bienheureuse's usual leaky eyes. We took a two hour siesta after lunch to recover and gird ourselves for the return from school of the mini-JeZoids. They duly burst into the bedroom and inflicted an awakening that was rude in more ways than one. Bless 'em.
A pleasant afternoon and evening followed. With the Z-fils-cadet beavering for a couple of hours, his older brother was markedly calmer. We watched the rain fall, the squirrels bury nuts in the lawn, the fox climb over the garden shed, and the parakeets flock in the trees. Tired and jet-lagged we may have been, but we really weren't dreaming we were still in the tropics. Eventually we found our way to bed and real dreams, this time slightly less rudely interrupted by the Doctors' sons before they were dragged off to school the next morning.
Goodbyes said, after lunch we made our way to Cambridge via a somewhat unsuccessful specialist clothes shopping sortie to Bluewater. The relevant fashion sections seem rather small given that about 10% of the target clientele is concerned at any one time. We soon gave up and headed into the Friday afternoon traffic on the M25. Three hours later, we made it to Cambridge. Queue for the Dartford crossing - not too much worse than expected; traffic jam further round the M25 due to road work - not unexpected and a mere 20 minute delay or so; queue coming off onto the M11 lasting all the way (5 miles) to Harlow turn off - entirely vexing and unexpected, due to accident just off the motorway. Teach us for travelling on UK motorways late on Friday afternoon. Ritual gripe: in France they have a radio station dedicated to autoroute traffic, which keep motorists bang up to date with traffic conditions. In the UK we have to rely on patchy, out of date bulletins that may or may not be intermittently issued by random radio stations
The rest of the evening made up for the motorway hassle. A highly convivial evening, first chez J&C with a bottle of celebratory fizz cracked open and a belated birthday present, then a lovely Thai meal at the Lemongrass, with additional guests, Professor Margarita and the two Js. Ms Beaucoup made a game of leaking the news, which completely foxed the others, with the exception of the experienced Crystal Tipps, until some heavy hints were added. Reactions over the weekend ranged from Soggy stunned disbelief all the way through to shrieking delight. No less than expected.
The merrymaking continued back at Cherry Hinton with more fizz, brandy and beer finding its way down my throat while la bienheureuse looked on enviously (of the bubbly stuff, anyway). In the morning I thus felt a little the worse for wear, but a couple of pills and a huge and hearty brunch soon cleared that up. Shortly after noon I was being chauffeured to towards Mecca by the girls while le grand gooner generously forewent his seat and stayed behind to suffer the radio commentary. Suffer being the operative word for the abject defeat against the Lancashire Latics, who for a change won by playing football. Afterwards we put the finishing touches to my fiftieth gooner gift and sloped off home. Fortunately le grand chef had done his usual thing and cooked a delicious, consoling meal. A few glasses of wine did the rest.
A noon flight meant we were up early on Sunday morning. We bade our hosts goodbye, suffered the Easyjet Stansted check-in shambles, but were nonetheless back home in Lyon by mid afternoon. It was raining.
A pleasant afternoon and evening followed. With the Z-fils-cadet beavering for a couple of hours, his older brother was markedly calmer. We watched the rain fall, the squirrels bury nuts in the lawn, the fox climb over the garden shed, and the parakeets flock in the trees. Tired and jet-lagged we may have been, but we really weren't dreaming we were still in the tropics. Eventually we found our way to bed and real dreams, this time slightly less rudely interrupted by the Doctors' sons before they were dragged off to school the next morning.
Goodbyes said, after lunch we made our way to Cambridge via a somewhat unsuccessful specialist clothes shopping sortie to Bluewater. The relevant fashion sections seem rather small given that about 10% of the target clientele is concerned at any one time. We soon gave up and headed into the Friday afternoon traffic on the M25. Three hours later, we made it to Cambridge. Queue for the Dartford crossing - not too much worse than expected; traffic jam further round the M25 due to road work - not unexpected and a mere 20 minute delay or so; queue coming off onto the M11 lasting all the way (5 miles) to Harlow turn off - entirely vexing and unexpected, due to accident just off the motorway. Teach us for travelling on UK motorways late on Friday afternoon. Ritual gripe: in France they have a radio station dedicated to autoroute traffic, which keep motorists bang up to date with traffic conditions. In the UK we have to rely on patchy, out of date bulletins that may or may not be intermittently issued by random radio stations
The rest of the evening made up for the motorway hassle. A highly convivial evening, first chez J&C with a bottle of celebratory fizz cracked open and a belated birthday present, then a lovely Thai meal at the Lemongrass, with additional guests, Professor Margarita and the two Js. Ms Beaucoup made a game of leaking the news, which completely foxed the others, with the exception of the experienced Crystal Tipps, until some heavy hints were added. Reactions over the weekend ranged from Soggy stunned disbelief all the way through to shrieking delight. No less than expected.
The merrymaking continued back at Cherry Hinton with more fizz, brandy and beer finding its way down my throat while la bienheureuse looked on enviously (of the bubbly stuff, anyway). In the morning I thus felt a little the worse for wear, but a couple of pills and a huge and hearty brunch soon cleared that up. Shortly after noon I was being chauffeured to towards Mecca by the girls while le grand gooner generously forewent his seat and stayed behind to suffer the radio commentary. Suffer being the operative word for the abject defeat against the Lancashire Latics, who for a change won by playing football. Afterwards we put the finishing touches to my fiftieth gooner gift and sloped off home. Fortunately le grand chef had done his usual thing and cooked a delicious, consoling meal. A few glasses of wine did the rest.
A noon flight meant we were up early on Sunday morning. We bade our hosts goodbye, suffered the Easyjet Stansted check-in shambles, but were nonetheless back home in Lyon by mid afternoon. It was raining.
06 septembre 2010
Nail biter
And so, the brave new blue dawn on Friday was obscured by dark clouds of disappointment. The new era of Les Bleus under Laurent Blanc stuttered to a home defeat against lowly Belarus. Tomorrow evening, they must pick themselves up and win on hostile territory against Bosnia, arguably the strongest team in the group. No easy task when all three strikers used on Friday are now injured…
We are also biting our nails about travel problems tomorrow. The national journée de mobilisation against pension and retirement reforms is likely to include some action by air traffic controllers. Learning this on the evening news last night threw us into a bit of a panic, given that a Caribbean holiday is in the balance if we don't make it to Gatwick by Tuesday evening. Two options presented themselves:
a) hope our flight is unaffected, turn up at the airport tomorrow morning, with a long drive and ferry from Dover as an emergency backup plan if the flight is cancelled.
b) rebook our flight for the evening flight today.
Both choices risk costing in excess of 300 euros, and occasioned much internet searching, much anxious cussing and ranting, and a hasty bit of early packing. In the end I gave in to common sense and took la bienheureuse's advice: on calling Easyjet (no easy task as they do their level best to hide the call centre number on their web site - cue more cussing and ranting), I was told that flights from Lyon would be unaffected and that the Gatwick flight was certain to go. Hoorah. Revert to plan A. The Easyjet web site this morning appears to confirm that the Gatwick flight is going, though three other flights outbound from Lyon are cancelled tomorrow. All fingers tightly crossed…
The weekend otherwise was very pleasant. Warm sunshine induced us out to lunch on Sunday, pizza and salad at La Pie riverside restaurant, followed by a stroll up river to La Cité Internationale to watch the special version of the most successful film of all time, la bienheureuse being the one person in the whole of France not to have seen the original.
We are also biting our nails about travel problems tomorrow. The national journée de mobilisation against pension and retirement reforms is likely to include some action by air traffic controllers. Learning this on the evening news last night threw us into a bit of a panic, given that a Caribbean holiday is in the balance if we don't make it to Gatwick by Tuesday evening. Two options presented themselves:
a) hope our flight is unaffected, turn up at the airport tomorrow morning, with a long drive and ferry from Dover as an emergency backup plan if the flight is cancelled.
b) rebook our flight for the evening flight today.
Both choices risk costing in excess of 300 euros, and occasioned much internet searching, much anxious cussing and ranting, and a hasty bit of early packing. In the end I gave in to common sense and took la bienheureuse's advice: on calling Easyjet (no easy task as they do their level best to hide the call centre number on their web site - cue more cussing and ranting), I was told that flights from Lyon would be unaffected and that the Gatwick flight was certain to go. Hoorah. Revert to plan A. The Easyjet web site this morning appears to confirm that the Gatwick flight is going, though three other flights outbound from Lyon are cancelled tomorrow. All fingers tightly crossed…
The weekend otherwise was very pleasant. Warm sunshine induced us out to lunch on Sunday, pizza and salad at La Pie riverside restaurant, followed by a stroll up river to La Cité Internationale to watch the special version of the most successful film of all time, la bienheureuse being the one person in the whole of France not to have seen the original.
30 août 2010
Green yo-yo dreams
It's unseasonably cool in Lyon today. Not exactly warm over the weekend either, though I might just about still describe it as shorts and t-shirt weather. Since the hot spell ended ten days before the end of July, temperatures have been up and down like a yo-yo. Up at 36C on Thursday, back down to 24 by Saturday, a mere 20 today, but forecast to be back in the upper twenties by Thursday.
A pleasant weekend started on Friday evening with a cinema trip to watch a film about the manipulation of dreams. No, not a political documentary but a clever thriller. We followed it with dinner at the Place des Sens, which despite the name is not a massage parlour but an organic restaurant. A very nice meal it was too, though slightly on the bland side. We kept up the green theme of the weekend yesterday with an amble along the river and through the park to the garden centre in vain search of citronella candles.
Saturday required a ritual visit to the pub to watch a gratifying victory for the guardians of good football against the kick and lump disciples of Big Fat Sam. In the evening, the debut of the new lyonnais messiah failed to prevent les gones stumbling to another defeat in Bretagne. Gourcuff senior 2, Gourcuff junior 0. Four games, four points, fourth from bottom. Things can only get better.
A pleasant weekend started on Friday evening with a cinema trip to watch a film about the manipulation of dreams. No, not a political documentary but a clever thriller. We followed it with dinner at the Place des Sens, which despite the name is not a massage parlour but an organic restaurant. A very nice meal it was too, though slightly on the bland side. We kept up the green theme of the weekend yesterday with an amble along the river and through the park to the garden centre in vain search of citronella candles.
Saturday required a ritual visit to the pub to watch a gratifying victory for the guardians of good football against the kick and lump disciples of Big Fat Sam. In the evening, the debut of the new lyonnais messiah failed to prevent les gones stumbling to another defeat in Bretagne. Gourcuff senior 2, Gourcuff junior 0. Four games, four points, fourth from bottom. Things can only get better.
20 juin 2010
Corsican idyll
Birthday holiday fortnight, part 2. Toulon to Ajaccio, a week in Corsica, Ajaccio to Nice to Toulon to Lyon.
Saturday 12th
The 6am wakeup and belated car packing don't make for an ideal start to the week, but the trip to the ferry terminal and boarding go smoothly, so shortly after 8.30am we sail out of Toulon harbour past a Spanish aircraft carrier and into the calm, open water of the Mediterranean. A 90 minute nap revives a grumpy Sogwig, we successfully negotiate lunch with a grumpy Italian waiter and get our first sighting of l'Île de Beauté. Shortly after two in the afternoon, the ferry docks, disgorges its load, and we successfully navigate through the narrow streets of Ajaccio and onto the Route des Sanguinaires. Fifteen minutes later we find our home for the week and relax in the sun dappled garden for the next hour while the caretaker finishes cleaning and grumbling about the previous week's occupants leaving late.
At last we're in, and a lovely villa it is too, the sea twenty yards from the front door (albeit over a road and down a small precipice). Bedrooms are rapidly seized, we unpack and settle in before venturing out to the nearest supermarket to do some provisions shopping. Early evening we receive word and an ETA from the Cherry Hinton gooners, en route from Bastia, with la petite beaucoup suffering a touch of motion sickness as her driver enjoys the switchback mountain road in an attempt to arrived before England's opening match kicks off in South Africa. He almost makes it and we immediately tuck into barbecued lamb, sausages and salad. Several G&Ts, bottle of champagne, a box of rosé and a goalkeeping blunder later the match result seems immaterial. We eventually all fall into bed exhausted.
Sunday 13th
A lie-in and breakfast in the sunshine on the terrace are cut short as la bienheureuse and I drive north to collect le frère aîné from Bastia airport. As we leave Ajaccio behind us and climb into the mountains, the sun disappears behind threatening clouds. The route is winding and impressively scenic nonetheless, and we reach the airport two hours later. Big brother is retrieved, and we make the return trip intending to stop off for lunch en route. A thunderstorm puts paid to that idea and we content ourselves with refuelling on quiche and pastries in Bocognano. We return to the house to find the sun hiding behind clouds and our companions all having siestas. Hard work being on holiday.
Sunshine makes a late afternoon reappearance, which means a game of boules in the garden and another BBQ on the dining agenda. G&Ts followed by dinner taken in the conservatory - salmon and cream cheese hors d'oeuvres, slow cooked meat accompanied by a tasty tomato sauce rustled up by the master chef, cheese, with chocolate tart to finish. Never under feed when you can over eat.
Monday 14th
Clear blue skies greet us on our first day of Corsican diving. Early breakfast and by 9am we are milling around at the dive centre on an Ajaccio beach itching to get into the water. Our hosts are impressed by the 4 stars on the First Class Diver's qualification card, but less impressed when she almost drowns before we even leave the beach. Fortunately I'm on hand to effect a rescue and we are soon zipping across the water on a large RIB with inboard engine towards the first dive site, Campanina, a large rock hosting a navigation beacon on the opposite side of the gulf of Ajaccio. A lovely dive, with spectacular underwater topology, sundry scorpion fish, moray eels, groupers and hundreds of transparent sea squirts.
After pizzas for lunch in a beachside paillotte, we return for a second dive. This time, having been assessed as competent during the morning, we are allowed to dive unaccompanied at a site only a couple of hundred metres from the first. E sette nave is another series of spectacular rock formations, above and underwater, at the Pointe de l'Isolella. More scorpion fish and morays, fewer tunicates, but an impressive pinnacle and a lovely swim through in shallow water are the highlights. We return to the north side of the bay dive-satisfied and arrange to return on Wednesday. Meanwhile the cycling chef has completed his first 100km jaunt of the week, and le frère and Ms Beaucoup have been for a stroll in Ajaccio and an abortive attempt to find the walking path in the hills behind.
For dinner Sogwig consults her cooking oracle, pater, and comes up with delicious roast chicken stuffed with onions, garlic, basil and lemon, while ma bien-aimée prepares a goat's cheese tart for starter. The Margarita man prepares a strong sample of his signature cocktail to oil the cuisine and dining, more cheese and chocolate tart are consumed, and one by one, or two by two, we all eventually retire, replete and well soaked.
Tuesday 15th
The clouds roll in overnight, and we all rise late. By late morning hangovers have receded enough to get everybody moving, and we set off for a drive along the coast road towards Porto. Despite the overcast skies, the scenic coastal and mountain route is enchanting, and we stop for lunch in a pleasant restaurant in Sagone. Pressing on, we reach our main objective, les Callanche de Piana by mid afternoon. Spectacular is an inadequate word to describe the views of the Golfe de Porto and the red rock cliffs and calanques. We eventually find space to park on the precipitous, winding, tourist-clogged road and get out to gape and snap. Drinking in the scenery reminds us of other things to imbibe, and we carry on down into Porto. Abandoning the soggy diver to sleep and fret in the car we stroll around the port and finish up in a restaurant terrace overlooking the harbour.
The rain starts to fall on the return journey, and as we take the hilly, back route through Ajaccio the streets turn into the rivers and the storm drains into geysers. Back at the villa the thunder and lightning roar. No matter, inside the G&Ts and rosé wine continue to flow, and we feast on leftovers and cheese.
Wednesday 16th
A cloudy start to another diving morning, but as we leave the beach in Ajaccio, the sun makes a welcome return. The boat heads in the same direction as Monday but stops a hundred metres short of the coast at a site known as the Tête de Mort. A pinnacle that rises from 40 metres to a few centimetres below the surface, it has snared many an unwary fishermen in the past, hence the name. And a stunning dive it is too. Plunging walls, schools of bream, morays, scorpion fish, an arrow-head shaped rock and a trapped bubble of air beneath an overhang.
While we play beneath the waves, the above water trio head upwards to explore the hills above the route des Sanguinaires and watch the surf rolling in on the isolated beach of Minaccia. We regroup at the villa and spend the afternoon relaxing in the sunshine. In the evening G&T aperitifs have to be necked rather quicker than intended as a late rush to find an alternative taxi company results in travel into Ajaccio a few minutes earlier than planned. We thus arrive at 20123 in high spirits, and a highly enjoyable dinner and evening follows. The restaurant is named after the post code of the mountain village it was transplanted from, and recreates the square village in-house. The fixed menu of vegetable soup or cheese & ham quiche, roast lamb or veal ragout, cheese and dessert is delicious, and all the while we are entertained by a tuneful Corsican cappella group.
Thursday 17th
For our final dive of the fortnight we head out in the same direction, and after a minor communication problem is resolved we end up back at Death's Head. Another great dive ends, and we reluctantly bid goodbye to the Ragnole beaux gosses. They send us off in traditional Corsican fashion with midday aperitifs of Cap Corse and pastis. Meanwhile the non-divers have been into town to visit the market.
All bar the cycling chef (off out for another short 100km ride through the hills) head back to the villa to relax, but the peaceful afternoon is shattered by the sound of low flying aircraft. We rush out just in time to see the third Canadair water bomber fly over barely 100 feet above our heads. Amid much excitement we watch the three amphibious aircraft circle out into the bay and, one by one, skim across the water filling their tanks before lifting off again. Three times they repeat the exercise, apparently dumping water each time, and we decide they are on a training run rather than real life fire-fighting.
In the evening it's la chef Beaucoup's turn to cook. The morning visit to the market has produced three large bream, which she stuffs with onion and parsley. Meanwhile la bienheureuse gives a master chef lesson on tarte tatin making to Prof Margarita, and I busy myself preparing caipirinhas, a long and labour intensive process. Fortunately the fish takes rather longer to cook than expected, so we all have time to sup Brazilian rum and lime at our leisure. The bream and the tarte tatin are worth the wait and, as the drinking goes on deep into the night, the five litre box of rosé empties…
Friday 18th
Alack and alas, last day of the holiday. Late breakfast and a lazy morning (a quick cycle ride, and shopping trip to Ajaccio aside) are followed by a drive out along the route des Sanguinaires in search of a paillotte recommended by our dive centre friends. We end up in one which turns out not to be the one intended, but have a lovely lunch all the same in an idyllic beachside setting. Afterwards we continue to the end of the road, to la Pointe de la Parata to gaze out at the Îles des Sanguinaires. We stroll along the path round the point and the Genoese tower and then head up over the hills to swim and sunbathe on the Plage de Minaccia.
Then, alas, it's time to head home and start packing. In between we fit in a final sumptuous barbecue dinner - lamb and merguez sausages, aubergine bake, enormous salad and chocolate mousse - and watching drab England grind their way to another World Cup draw. Finally, it's time for bed and goodbyes, as the La Favière four have another early alarm call the following morning for the 8.30am ferry to Nice. The end of a wonderful week, capped by the crowning of FCD Cacatête six times in a row.
Saturday 19th
Ferry to Nice, drive around Nice trying to find the autoroute, make it to Toulon, somehow find the Margarita Man's hotel without map or directions, drop him off and then hit the road back to Lyon. We arrive just before nine in the evening, unload the car and eventually fall exhausted into bed, looking forward to a Sunday lie-in. No such luck. The soggy diver has an early flight the next morning, which means I'm up at 6am again for the trip to the airport. Looking forward to a relaxing week of lie-ins, back in the normal routine...
Saturday 12th
The 6am wakeup and belated car packing don't make for an ideal start to the week, but the trip to the ferry terminal and boarding go smoothly, so shortly after 8.30am we sail out of Toulon harbour past a Spanish aircraft carrier and into the calm, open water of the Mediterranean. A 90 minute nap revives a grumpy Sogwig, we successfully negotiate lunch with a grumpy Italian waiter and get our first sighting of l'Île de Beauté. Shortly after two in the afternoon, the ferry docks, disgorges its load, and we successfully navigate through the narrow streets of Ajaccio and onto the Route des Sanguinaires. Fifteen minutes later we find our home for the week and relax in the sun dappled garden for the next hour while the caretaker finishes cleaning and grumbling about the previous week's occupants leaving late.
Sunday 13th
A lie-in and breakfast in the sunshine on the terrace are cut short as la bienheureuse and I drive north to collect le frère aîné from Bastia airport. As we leave Ajaccio behind us and climb into the mountains, the sun disappears behind threatening clouds. The route is winding and impressively scenic nonetheless, and we reach the airport two hours later. Big brother is retrieved, and we make the return trip intending to stop off for lunch en route. A thunderstorm puts paid to that idea and we content ourselves with refuelling on quiche and pastries in Bocognano. We return to the house to find the sun hiding behind clouds and our companions all having siestas. Hard work being on holiday.
Sunshine makes a late afternoon reappearance, which means a game of boules in the garden and another BBQ on the dining agenda. G&Ts followed by dinner taken in the conservatory - salmon and cream cheese hors d'oeuvres, slow cooked meat accompanied by a tasty tomato sauce rustled up by the master chef, cheese, with chocolate tart to finish. Never under feed when you can over eat.
Monday 14th
Clear blue skies greet us on our first day of Corsican diving. Early breakfast and by 9am we are milling around at the dive centre on an Ajaccio beach itching to get into the water. Our hosts are impressed by the 4 stars on the First Class Diver's qualification card, but less impressed when she almost drowns before we even leave the beach. Fortunately I'm on hand to effect a rescue and we are soon zipping across the water on a large RIB with inboard engine towards the first dive site, Campanina, a large rock hosting a navigation beacon on the opposite side of the gulf of Ajaccio. A lovely dive, with spectacular underwater topology, sundry scorpion fish, moray eels, groupers and hundreds of transparent sea squirts.
After pizzas for lunch in a beachside paillotte, we return for a second dive. This time, having been assessed as competent during the morning, we are allowed to dive unaccompanied at a site only a couple of hundred metres from the first. E sette nave is another series of spectacular rock formations, above and underwater, at the Pointe de l'Isolella. More scorpion fish and morays, fewer tunicates, but an impressive pinnacle and a lovely swim through in shallow water are the highlights. We return to the north side of the bay dive-satisfied and arrange to return on Wednesday. Meanwhile the cycling chef has completed his first 100km jaunt of the week, and le frère and Ms Beaucoup have been for a stroll in Ajaccio and an abortive attempt to find the walking path in the hills behind.
Tuesday 15th
The clouds roll in overnight, and we all rise late. By late morning hangovers have receded enough to get everybody moving, and we set off for a drive along the coast road towards Porto. Despite the overcast skies, the scenic coastal and mountain route is enchanting, and we stop for lunch in a pleasant restaurant in Sagone. Pressing on, we reach our main objective, les Callanche de Piana by mid afternoon. Spectacular is an inadequate word to describe the views of the Golfe de Porto and the red rock cliffs and calanques. We eventually find space to park on the precipitous, winding, tourist-clogged road and get out to gape and snap. Drinking in the scenery reminds us of other things to imbibe, and we carry on down into Porto. Abandoning the soggy diver to sleep and fret in the car we stroll around the port and finish up in a restaurant terrace overlooking the harbour.
The rain starts to fall on the return journey, and as we take the hilly, back route through Ajaccio the streets turn into the rivers and the storm drains into geysers. Back at the villa the thunder and lightning roar. No matter, inside the G&Ts and rosé wine continue to flow, and we feast on leftovers and cheese.
A cloudy start to another diving morning, but as we leave the beach in Ajaccio, the sun makes a welcome return. The boat heads in the same direction as Monday but stops a hundred metres short of the coast at a site known as the Tête de Mort. A pinnacle that rises from 40 metres to a few centimetres below the surface, it has snared many an unwary fishermen in the past, hence the name. And a stunning dive it is too. Plunging walls, schools of bream, morays, scorpion fish, an arrow-head shaped rock and a trapped bubble of air beneath an overhang.
While we play beneath the waves, the above water trio head upwards to explore the hills above the route des Sanguinaires and watch the surf rolling in on the isolated beach of Minaccia. We regroup at the villa and spend the afternoon relaxing in the sunshine. In the evening G&T aperitifs have to be necked rather quicker than intended as a late rush to find an alternative taxi company results in travel into Ajaccio a few minutes earlier than planned. We thus arrive at 20123 in high spirits, and a highly enjoyable dinner and evening follows. The restaurant is named after the post code of the mountain village it was transplanted from, and recreates the square village in-house. The fixed menu of vegetable soup or cheese & ham quiche, roast lamb or veal ragout, cheese and dessert is delicious, and all the while we are entertained by a tuneful Corsican cappella group.
Thursday 17th
For our final dive of the fortnight we head out in the same direction, and after a minor communication problem is resolved we end up back at Death's Head. Another great dive ends, and we reluctantly bid goodbye to the Ragnole beaux gosses. They send us off in traditional Corsican fashion with midday aperitifs of Cap Corse and pastis. Meanwhile the non-divers have been into town to visit the market.
All bar the cycling chef (off out for another short 100km ride through the hills) head back to the villa to relax, but the peaceful afternoon is shattered by the sound of low flying aircraft. We rush out just in time to see the third Canadair water bomber fly over barely 100 feet above our heads. Amid much excitement we watch the three amphibious aircraft circle out into the bay and, one by one, skim across the water filling their tanks before lifting off again. Three times they repeat the exercise, apparently dumping water each time, and we decide they are on a training run rather than real life fire-fighting.
In the evening it's la chef Beaucoup's turn to cook. The morning visit to the market has produced three large bream, which she stuffs with onion and parsley. Meanwhile la bienheureuse gives a master chef lesson on tarte tatin making to Prof Margarita, and I busy myself preparing caipirinhas, a long and labour intensive process. Fortunately the fish takes rather longer to cook than expected, so we all have time to sup Brazilian rum and lime at our leisure. The bream and the tarte tatin are worth the wait and, as the drinking goes on deep into the night, the five litre box of rosé empties…
Friday 18th
Alack and alas, last day of the holiday. Late breakfast and a lazy morning (a quick cycle ride, and shopping trip to Ajaccio aside) are followed by a drive out along the route des Sanguinaires in search of a paillotte recommended by our dive centre friends. We end up in one which turns out not to be the one intended, but have a lovely lunch all the same in an idyllic beachside setting. Afterwards we continue to the end of the road, to la Pointe de la Parata to gaze out at the Îles des Sanguinaires. We stroll along the path round the point and the Genoese tower and then head up over the hills to swim and sunbathe on the Plage de Minaccia.
Saturday 19th
Ferry to Nice, drive around Nice trying to find the autoroute, make it to Toulon, somehow find the Margarita Man's hotel without map or directions, drop him off and then hit the road back to Lyon. We arrive just before nine in the evening, unload the car and eventually fall exhausted into bed, looking forward to a Sunday lie-in. No such luck. The soggy diver has an early flight the next morning, which means I'm up at 6am again for the trip to the airport. Looking forward to a relaxing week of lie-ins, back in the normal routine...
19 juin 2010
A bell tinkles 50
Two weeks of sun and wind, diving and driving, eating and drinking, walking and cycling, tinkling and snapping: what better way to celebrate ma cinquantaine, and what better place to do so than the Côte d'Azur and La Corse.
A wonderful holiday in two parts. The first week went something like this:
Saturday 5th: having collected the Sogwig from the airport late on Friday night, the three of us pack the car and the roof box and head south in warm sunshine for the 420km drive to La Favière. Four and a half hours later we arrive, collect the keys for the waterside apartments and settle in to await the arrival of the DenEfamily. Two hours after they are expected, I finally receive a phone call from the DenEdad, lost in a hire car somewhere between Marseille airport and La Favière without a map or a satnav. The trio finally reach their destination and the DenEmum, with calm control, relates the reason for the additional delay - her husband had hired a car with no idea from which hire company. The local mairie puts on a fireworks show on the water yards from our balcony to celebrate everyone's safe arrival.
Sunday 6th: a day of relaxation and recovery, interrupted by a short drive to Toulon airport to collect Professor Margarita, the final participant in the first week of celebrations. The weather holds, the Tinkler discovers the joys of sand castles on the beach and six adults to share his dinky cars with. Everyone enjoys a swim in the pool despite a non-functioning electronic key. The eating and drinking begin in earnest with dinner at La Rade, a quayside restaurant. The soupe de poisson earns a mere 6.0 but the dark chocolate mousse has the Sands of North Berwick in raptures.
Monday 7th: the first day of diving. A gentle start - a potter round La Formigue in the morning and an aborted trip to la Pointe du Vaisseau: the French military is carrying out test missile firing, so we make do instead with a gentle pootle up and down la Pointe de la Galère. Dinner in this evening - G&T aperitifs with delicious roast chicken and salad followed by a la bienheureuse special dessert. Cherry clafoutis, mmmm.
Tuesday 8th: a great day of diving - a trip to the Rubis laid on by the dishy Bormes Plongée boys by special birthday request, followed by the delayed rendezvous with the groupers at la Pointe du Vaisseau in the afternoon. Another restaurant dinner in the evening, a stroll out to an old favourite, the Copacabana Beach, where the DenEson discovers the delights of digital cameras and spends the evening amassing an entertaining portfolio of interestingly composed photos. The soupe de poisson earns a 7, alas no mousse au chocolat but the colonels provide cool consolation and leave everybody decidedly happy.
Windy Wednesday 9th: the big day dawns fresh and rather breezy. The boat surprisingly makes the trip out to Port Cros, battling through the wind and big waves, and we enjoy a lovely dive on the ski slope and pinnacle of la Pointe de Montremian. It is post dive that the problems begin. Large swells make getting back on board rather interesting. The more sensible among us hang about at three metres waiting for a free ladder and the boat to swing back towards us. Others with little legs and a suspect finning action are swept away by the wind and waves at the surface and are rescued by a heroic divemaster. A few poor travellers spend the trip back to port looking distinctly green but manage to keep their breakfast down, only to see it make the return journey as soon as we reach the haven of the marina.
Diving for the afternoon is cancelled, so we all go swimming in the pool even though the non-functioning key is still theoretically bars entry. In the evening I receive gifts including a silver topped marmite jar and an evening at the Ritz, sit back, watch and am waited on while my friends cook a bountiful birthday meal. While we sup caipirinhas and nibble breadsticks and dip-dip, The Margarita Man and the Soggy Diver prepare salmon, cream cheese, tomato and mozzarella toast for starters. Then the DenEmasterchef conjures up a marvellous main course - succulent steak and salad - while for dessert ma bien-aimée creates another specialty, the birthday boy's favourite, tasty tarte tatin. All washed down with champagne and wine. Delicious. An excellent evening ends with chocolate birthday cake and stuffed but satisfied tummies.
Thursday 10th: the wind still howls, the yacht riggings still clink, and the diving is cancelled again. We spend the morning on the windswept beach, where the DenEboy and the builder-gardiner build boats and planes respectively in the sand for the DenEtinkler, and la bienheureuse spends hours driving the sand-boat at its owners request. In the evening I enjoy birthday meal number two. Dinner out this time, at the Brasserie du Port with the mecs de Bormes Plongée who had graciously accepted the invitation to help celebrate my 50th year and our 9th year of diving with them at La Favière. They surprise me with a lovely gift - a marvellous picture of the Rubis, made of up 80 separate underwater photos. A great time is had by all, the soupe de poisson and the mousse au chocolate both earn an 8, and le beau belge is persuaded to take us to La Gabinière the next day despite being fully booked.
Friday 11th: recovery in the morning. La bienheureuse sorts out the pool entry problem and we all go swimming again, finally gaining entrance without any arm-twisting of the caretaker or other pool users. The girls then go shopping and return bearing gifts for themselves and me of an afternoon Thai massage. Our final dive of the week is programmed for as soon as the 40 strong diving club return from their afternoon sortie, which just gives us time to fit in three visits to the masseur. It is after 5pm by the time we leave port for La Gabinière. Most of us enjoy an exciting dive on the east wall in a current which proves a little strong for the force finner who spends some time clinging to a rock before la bienheureuse rescues her and provides a tow to calmer water. The benefit of the current is that the bigger fish are all out patrolling - lots of small groups of barracuda, dentis and groupers. Another stunning dive.
And so a great week ended. We ate our final dinner back in the Brasserie du Port with the opening French game of the World Cup going on in the adjoining restaurant, and spent the remainder of the evening cleaning and packing. Saturday it was the return home for some, and the trip to Corsica for the rest. The latter group were up at 6am to finish squeezing three sets of dive kit, four sets of luggage and four adults into one small car and roof box for the 8.30am ferry crossing from Toulon to Ajaccio. Somehow we made it…
A wonderful holiday in two parts. The first week went something like this:
Saturday 5th: having collected the Sogwig from the airport late on Friday night, the three of us pack the car and the roof box and head south in warm sunshine for the 420km drive to La Favière. Four and a half hours later we arrive, collect the keys for the waterside apartments and settle in to await the arrival of the DenEfamily. Two hours after they are expected, I finally receive a phone call from the DenEdad, lost in a hire car somewhere between Marseille airport and La Favière without a map or a satnav. The trio finally reach their destination and the DenEmum, with calm control, relates the reason for the additional delay - her husband had hired a car with no idea from which hire company. The local mairie puts on a fireworks show on the water yards from our balcony to celebrate everyone's safe arrival.
Sunday 6th: a day of relaxation and recovery, interrupted by a short drive to Toulon airport to collect Professor Margarita, the final participant in the first week of celebrations. The weather holds, the Tinkler discovers the joys of sand castles on the beach and six adults to share his dinky cars with. Everyone enjoys a swim in the pool despite a non-functioning electronic key. The eating and drinking begin in earnest with dinner at La Rade, a quayside restaurant. The soupe de poisson earns a mere 6.0 but the dark chocolate mousse has the Sands of North Berwick in raptures.
Monday 7th: the first day of diving. A gentle start - a potter round La Formigue in the morning and an aborted trip to la Pointe du Vaisseau: the French military is carrying out test missile firing, so we make do instead with a gentle pootle up and down la Pointe de la Galère. Dinner in this evening - G&T aperitifs with delicious roast chicken and salad followed by a la bienheureuse special dessert. Cherry clafoutis, mmmm.
Tuesday 8th: a great day of diving - a trip to the Rubis laid on by the dishy Bormes Plongée boys by special birthday request, followed by the delayed rendezvous with the groupers at la Pointe du Vaisseau in the afternoon. Another restaurant dinner in the evening, a stroll out to an old favourite, the Copacabana Beach, where the DenEson discovers the delights of digital cameras and spends the evening amassing an entertaining portfolio of interestingly composed photos. The soupe de poisson earns a 7, alas no mousse au chocolat but the colonels provide cool consolation and leave everybody decidedly happy.
Windy Wednesday 9th: the big day dawns fresh and rather breezy. The boat surprisingly makes the trip out to Port Cros, battling through the wind and big waves, and we enjoy a lovely dive on the ski slope and pinnacle of la Pointe de Montremian. It is post dive that the problems begin. Large swells make getting back on board rather interesting. The more sensible among us hang about at three metres waiting for a free ladder and the boat to swing back towards us. Others with little legs and a suspect finning action are swept away by the wind and waves at the surface and are rescued by a heroic divemaster. A few poor travellers spend the trip back to port looking distinctly green but manage to keep their breakfast down, only to see it make the return journey as soon as we reach the haven of the marina.
Diving for the afternoon is cancelled, so we all go swimming in the pool even though the non-functioning key is still theoretically bars entry. In the evening I receive gifts including a silver topped marmite jar and an evening at the Ritz, sit back, watch and am waited on while my friends cook a bountiful birthday meal. While we sup caipirinhas and nibble breadsticks and dip-dip, The Margarita Man and the Soggy Diver prepare salmon, cream cheese, tomato and mozzarella toast for starters. Then the DenEmasterchef conjures up a marvellous main course - succulent steak and salad - while for dessert ma bien-aimée creates another specialty, the birthday boy's favourite, tasty tarte tatin. All washed down with champagne and wine. Delicious. An excellent evening ends with chocolate birthday cake and stuffed but satisfied tummies.
Thursday 10th: the wind still howls, the yacht riggings still clink, and the diving is cancelled again. We spend the morning on the windswept beach, where the DenEboy and the builder-gardiner build boats and planes respectively in the sand for the DenEtinkler, and la bienheureuse spends hours driving the sand-boat at its owners request. In the evening I enjoy birthday meal number two. Dinner out this time, at the Brasserie du Port with the mecs de Bormes Plongée who had graciously accepted the invitation to help celebrate my 50th year and our 9th year of diving with them at La Favière. They surprise me with a lovely gift - a marvellous picture of the Rubis, made of up 80 separate underwater photos. A great time is had by all, the soupe de poisson and the mousse au chocolate both earn an 8, and le beau belge is persuaded to take us to La Gabinière the next day despite being fully booked.
And so a great week ended. We ate our final dinner back in the Brasserie du Port with the opening French game of the World Cup going on in the adjoining restaurant, and spent the remainder of the evening cleaning and packing. Saturday it was the return home for some, and the trip to Corsica for the rest. The latter group were up at 6am to finish squeezing three sets of dive kit, four sets of luggage and four adults into one small car and roof box for the 8.30am ferry crossing from Toulon to Ajaccio. Somehow we made it…
20 mai 2010
Anticipating celebrations
Seven days in dear old Blighty (and getting dearer still as the Euro plummets): four different beds slept in, five different places visited, ten friends encountered and thirteen assorted relatives gathered. It was a busy, tiring and highly enjoyable week.
After a Tuesday afternoon pilgrimage to the Home of Good Football to watch the mighty, all-conquering young Gunners win their second successive championship in an eight goal thriller, Wednesday morning was spent anxiously watching ash cloud reports. The wind stayed beneficent and the flight of la bienheureuse arrived on time and she duly arrived chez the hospitable J&C in good time and a large hire car without a handbrake. A convivial, if over-lubricated evening ensued. Le grand chef cooked courgette soup and venison for nine, Mlle Beaucoup entertained, ma bien-aimée provided champagne and cheese, and the sundry guests (Professor Margarita and accompanying tax lady, the JEboy & his Jlady, and last but not least Mlle H) brought wine, flowers and drunken conversation.
The following morning we walked into Cambridge to clear heads and do some window shopping in John Lewis. The evening was a distinctly quieter and drier affair between four, but leftover venison tasted just as good. In the morning we bade farewell to our generous hosts and set off for Cheshire in our swish limousine, avoiding hill starts at all costs. Via a stop for provisions in Whitchurch, we reached Tattenhall, settled in and supped on takeaway curry with frère numéro un who was the first guest to arrive for part one of the great fiftieth celebrations (family edition). Baby bro and la colombiana número dos arrived later in the evening, and Saturday morning dawned bright and dry. A squirrel survived a close encounter with a cat and le frère ainé was dispatched to Gawsworth to collect les nièces et neveux while la bienheureuse and I fretted, fiddled and improvised in the kitchen, carrying out preparatory cuisine for the evening banquet.
The afternoon was taken up with a visit to Chester zoo. We met la soeur et les enfants there, and spent a pleasant four hours watching animals, braving bat caves and licking ice cream. Thence back to la maison de la belle mère for dinner. Tartiflette and tarte tatin went down very well, holiday photos from Patagonia were admired, and by eleven pm young eyelids were drooping. Four children and six adults found floor or bed space and slept on full tummies and memories of a happy day.
Sunday morning we all set off for east Cheshire, to meet frère number 3 and la belle-soeur at the Leathers Smithy for a grand lunch en famille. A table for twelve had been booked, la nièce numéro trois took orders, and we feasted on steak, duck, thai green curry and salmon, followed by chocolate fudge cake, sticky toffee pudding and ice cream. After a family photo session and recovery period in Gawsworth, we said our goodbyes and went on our separate ways. La bienheureuse and I drove straight to north Wales for a second family meet-up and yet more food and beer. Digestion continued unabated through the night and into the next morning.
Ma bien-aimée spent the morning restoring her mother's house to order while I helped, hindered, and organised accommodation for the next two nights. Le grand dude and lady K offered us shelter and delicious fruit cake on Monday night, baby T provided entertainment, and the evening was completed by a curry dinner with the Margarita Man and the Caipirinha Kid at Cocum.
On Tuesday we shifted base yet again, in my case completing the circle to return to the house built by the gardiner. Another chicken and salad dinner followed with the former Jogwig, Ken the customs lady and our host. A week of wining, dining and socialising takes its toll, so we felt exhausted as we rose early the following morning. After getting fleeced by the low cost orange airline for 3 kg of excess baggage, we arrived home to sunshine and a chilly northerly gale. It seemed strange to find Lyon cooler than Cambridge, but today the weather is warmer. Summer is at last promised for the weekend…
After a Tuesday afternoon pilgrimage to the Home of Good Football to watch the mighty, all-conquering young Gunners win their second successive championship in an eight goal thriller, Wednesday morning was spent anxiously watching ash cloud reports. The wind stayed beneficent and the flight of la bienheureuse arrived on time and she duly arrived chez the hospitable J&C in good time and a large hire car without a handbrake. A convivial, if over-lubricated evening ensued. Le grand chef cooked courgette soup and venison for nine, Mlle Beaucoup entertained, ma bien-aimée provided champagne and cheese, and the sundry guests (Professor Margarita and accompanying tax lady, the JEboy & his Jlady, and last but not least Mlle H) brought wine, flowers and drunken conversation.
The following morning we walked into Cambridge to clear heads and do some window shopping in John Lewis. The evening was a distinctly quieter and drier affair between four, but leftover venison tasted just as good. In the morning we bade farewell to our generous hosts and set off for Cheshire in our swish limousine, avoiding hill starts at all costs. Via a stop for provisions in Whitchurch, we reached Tattenhall, settled in and supped on takeaway curry with frère numéro un who was the first guest to arrive for part one of the great fiftieth celebrations (family edition). Baby bro and la colombiana número dos arrived later in the evening, and Saturday morning dawned bright and dry. A squirrel survived a close encounter with a cat and le frère ainé was dispatched to Gawsworth to collect les nièces et neveux while la bienheureuse and I fretted, fiddled and improvised in the kitchen, carrying out preparatory cuisine for the evening banquet.
The afternoon was taken up with a visit to Chester zoo. We met la soeur et les enfants there, and spent a pleasant four hours watching animals, braving bat caves and licking ice cream. Thence back to la maison de la belle mère for dinner. Tartiflette and tarte tatin went down very well, holiday photos from Patagonia were admired, and by eleven pm young eyelids were drooping. Four children and six adults found floor or bed space and slept on full tummies and memories of a happy day.
Sunday morning we all set off for east Cheshire, to meet frère number 3 and la belle-soeur at the Leathers Smithy for a grand lunch en famille. A table for twelve had been booked, la nièce numéro trois took orders, and we feasted on steak, duck, thai green curry and salmon, followed by chocolate fudge cake, sticky toffee pudding and ice cream. After a family photo session and recovery period in Gawsworth, we said our goodbyes and went on our separate ways. La bienheureuse and I drove straight to north Wales for a second family meet-up and yet more food and beer. Digestion continued unabated through the night and into the next morning.
Ma bien-aimée spent the morning restoring her mother's house to order while I helped, hindered, and organised accommodation for the next two nights. Le grand dude and lady K offered us shelter and delicious fruit cake on Monday night, baby T provided entertainment, and the evening was completed by a curry dinner with the Margarita Man and the Caipirinha Kid at Cocum.
On Tuesday we shifted base yet again, in my case completing the circle to return to the house built by the gardiner. Another chicken and salad dinner followed with the former Jogwig, Ken the customs lady and our host. A week of wining, dining and socialising takes its toll, so we felt exhausted as we rose early the following morning. After getting fleeced by the low cost orange airline for 3 kg of excess baggage, we arrived home to sunshine and a chilly northerly gale. It seemed strange to find Lyon cooler than Cambridge, but today the weather is warmer. Summer is at last promised for the weekend…
26 avril 2010
Training weekend
In the end the ash blew away, the rail strike petered out, and whatever mode of transport chosen for the trans-Manche sortie at the weekend would have sufficed. So the TGV and Eurostar it was, and a very smooth trip it was too. The late afternoon kick-off allowed me to rise at my leisure on Saturday morning, leave home at ten for a TGV leaving Lyon half an hour later, and be in London in little more than five hours. My virgin Eurostar experience was thus pleasantly painless, and I arrived to find the Big Smoke bathing in pleasant spring sunshine. Via an interminable supermarket checkout queue in pursuit of vital supplies unobtainable in France (golden syrup), I reached the Marquess only twenty minutes late for the ritual pre-match rendezvous and pint with le grand chef JW.
Thence to the holy ground for a match which had all the air of a training game, apart from a storm of booing which greeted the appearance as substitute of a money-grubbing former player, and even that soon petered out as people gradually dozed off again in the evening sunshine. Bizarrely, for a team allegedly in pursuit of a Champions League place, the Sky Blues made virtually no attempt to win the game. As for the much blighted and maligned Gunners, well a draw was an improvement on the previous three games, and a clean sheet was a welcome bonus.
Afterwards I eventually dodged the crowds and queues and caught the tube to Turnpike Lane, where I was meeting the McBhoy and the Peace Bird for a curry at the Jashan. Very pleasant and tasty it was too, in the company of another friend of theirs. Thence back to chez-eux for my overnight billet of a futon mattress before I was up at 7.30 to make my way back to St Pancras, sharing the underground with apprehensive-looking marathon runners and reclaiming my Eurostar seat from a pair of batty old dears who were in the wrong carriage. "It's our first time, you know."
By 3pm I was being welcomed to a sunny Lyon warm enough for a summer's day by la bienheureuse, whose weekend sans mari was filled by wardrobe and window box purchases. Our brief joint weekend was completed by a stroll through the crowds along the rive gauche du Rhône, and a three course meal - reblochon soufflé, tuna and tomato main course and strawberry patisserie. Delicious fare, prepared as usual by my favourite chef.
Thence to the holy ground for a match which had all the air of a training game, apart from a storm of booing which greeted the appearance as substitute of a money-grubbing former player, and even that soon petered out as people gradually dozed off again in the evening sunshine. Bizarrely, for a team allegedly in pursuit of a Champions League place, the Sky Blues made virtually no attempt to win the game. As for the much blighted and maligned Gunners, well a draw was an improvement on the previous three games, and a clean sheet was a welcome bonus.
Afterwards I eventually dodged the crowds and queues and caught the tube to Turnpike Lane, where I was meeting the McBhoy and the Peace Bird for a curry at the Jashan. Very pleasant and tasty it was too, in the company of another friend of theirs. Thence back to chez-eux for my overnight billet of a futon mattress before I was up at 7.30 to make my way back to St Pancras, sharing the underground with apprehensive-looking marathon runners and reclaiming my Eurostar seat from a pair of batty old dears who were in the wrong carriage. "It's our first time, you know."
By 3pm I was being welcomed to a sunny Lyon warm enough for a summer's day by la bienheureuse, whose weekend sans mari was filled by wardrobe and window box purchases. Our brief joint weekend was completed by a stroll through the crowds along the rive gauche du Rhône, and a three course meal - reblochon soufflé, tuna and tomato main course and strawberry patisserie. Delicious fare, prepared as usual by my favourite chef.
06 avril 2010
Scaling the heights
Seven days that passed in a flurry of football, chocolate eggs, food and wine, the weekend de Pâques and coming back from the dead.
It all started at Gerland last Tuesday. The all French Champions League quarter-final lived up to the hype. After a first 30 minutes in which Bordeaux went behind early, equalised quickly and then played most of the football, Lyon got a second goal on the break and went in 2-1 up at half time. Les girondins were more exposed in the second half, les lyonnais duly scored a third, and the stadium bounced.
The following morning I caught a plane to Gatwick for the most hyped quarter final of all. After a pleasant day wandering round London buying cheese and apple software, some excellent beer and food in the Marquess with le grand chef, the match lived up to expectations. At least one of the teams did. Never before have I seen Arsenal so completely outplayed, and possession so completely dominated by the visiting team. Barcelona truly were the best team in the world. For the first 60 minutes anyway. Somehow it was still 0-0 at half time, so after all their great passing moves in the first half, it was even more galling to see them score twice in the first 15 of the second with simple balls over the top.
Then came the fight back, much to the relief of the sixty thousand. Pace and a goal got Arsenal back in it, and a penalty from our own Catalan king did the rest. Scored with a broken leg, which puts him out of the second leg today, along with Arsenal's four other best players. Objectively we have no chance. But then we had no chance 2-0 down with 20 minutes left of a first leg, which the opposition was totally dominating...
And so to the Easter weekend. I returned to Lyon on Thursday and was back at the airport 24 hours later to pick up the Caipirinha Kid and Crystal Tipps. A couple of glasses of Gewurztraminer and cheese provided sufficient fuel for a wander round Lyon viewing painted walls, crossing footbridges and drinking coffee in the old town. Then it was back home to prepare for dinner with a G&T. Les Oliviers was the excellent choice of venue, and tasty fare, particularly the duckling, was enjoyed by all. Back at home whisky digestifs ensured a mild hangover the following morning.
Thick heads and grey skies weren't going to stop a ritual visit to the mecca of fresh food markets though. Les Halles supplied fish, vegetables and cheese for dinner, and sundry photo opportunities for the new DSLR. Then it was off out into town again, this time the heights of Fourvière the objective, reached via the 798 steps of the Montées de Carmes Déchaussés et Nicolas de Lange. First time I've climbed the hill that way, so I accompanied the others to the top then turned round, leaving them to take an appropriately themed route down via the basilica, Roman amphitheatre, église de St George and cathedral while I took the direct descent into a hell of football watching in the pub lasting 94 minutes, until the great Dane's head relieved the angst.
It was thus safe for the two Js and la bienheureuse to accompany me home, where dinner was cooked, champagne and canapés, cod and olives wrapped in jambon, and two bottles of excellent Gigondas were consumed, and beds were finally fallen into. Strangely, it was with a clear head that we went for a quick stroll round the park the following morning, with frequent pauses for animal photo opportunities. And then it was time to take les invitées back to the airport. We waved goodbye at the end of a spiffing weekend.
Easter Monday passed in a quiet hive of inactivity, apart from a stroll along the river in the afternoon. Today the pub and football on TV awaits again. I maintain an air of realistic fatalism...
It all started at Gerland last Tuesday. The all French Champions League quarter-final lived up to the hype. After a first 30 minutes in which Bordeaux went behind early, equalised quickly and then played most of the football, Lyon got a second goal on the break and went in 2-1 up at half time. Les girondins were more exposed in the second half, les lyonnais duly scored a third, and the stadium bounced.
The following morning I caught a plane to Gatwick for the most hyped quarter final of all. After a pleasant day wandering round London buying cheese and apple software, some excellent beer and food in the Marquess with le grand chef, the match lived up to expectations. At least one of the teams did. Never before have I seen Arsenal so completely outplayed, and possession so completely dominated by the visiting team. Barcelona truly were the best team in the world. For the first 60 minutes anyway. Somehow it was still 0-0 at half time, so after all their great passing moves in the first half, it was even more galling to see them score twice in the first 15 of the second with simple balls over the top.
And so to the Easter weekend. I returned to Lyon on Thursday and was back at the airport 24 hours later to pick up the Caipirinha Kid and Crystal Tipps. A couple of glasses of Gewurztraminer and cheese provided sufficient fuel for a wander round Lyon viewing painted walls, crossing footbridges and drinking coffee in the old town. Then it was back home to prepare for dinner with a G&T. Les Oliviers was the excellent choice of venue, and tasty fare, particularly the duckling, was enjoyed by all. Back at home whisky digestifs ensured a mild hangover the following morning.
Thick heads and grey skies weren't going to stop a ritual visit to the mecca of fresh food markets though. Les Halles supplied fish, vegetables and cheese for dinner, and sundry photo opportunities for the new DSLR. Then it was off out into town again, this time the heights of Fourvière the objective, reached via the 798 steps of the Montées de Carmes Déchaussés et Nicolas de Lange. First time I've climbed the hill that way, so I accompanied the others to the top then turned round, leaving them to take an appropriately themed route down via the basilica, Roman amphitheatre, église de St George and cathedral while I took the direct descent into a hell of football watching in the pub lasting 94 minutes, until the great Dane's head relieved the angst. It was thus safe for the two Js and la bienheureuse to accompany me home, where dinner was cooked, champagne and canapés, cod and olives wrapped in jambon, and two bottles of excellent Gigondas were consumed, and beds were finally fallen into. Strangely, it was with a clear head that we went for a quick stroll round the park the following morning, with frequent pauses for animal photo opportunities. And then it was time to take les invitées back to the airport. We waved goodbye at the end of a spiffing weekend.Easter Monday passed in a quiet hive of inactivity, apart from a stroll along the river in the afternoon. Today the pub and football on TV awaits again. I maintain an air of realistic fatalism...
22 février 2010
Keeping count
As the weather in Lyon finally seems to be tending towards spring, so the winter Olympics dominate the TV and sporting news. La France was rather pleased with itself early on - 7 medals, including 2 golds, garnered during the first 3 days. After the feast, the famine. No French medals to celebrate between Tuesday and Saturday. Redemption on Sunday in the form of the biathlon, again. At last another medal, silver this time.
From sporting escape to goal break. The famous escapee of last year, Jean-Pierre Treiber, was found hanged in his cell on Saturday, so ending his life in a blaze of publicity to match that surrounding 3 months on the run from prison last year and the original double murder of two women (including a well known actress) of which he was accused. In a note allegedly found in his cell, he continues to claim innocence. The truth will probably never be known...
Domestically, life in Lyon trundles along. We had dinner out on Saturday, for the first time in months, and sampled a smart new Italian restaurant a few minutes walk from the apartment. Very nice Mon Bistrot Italien was too, even if it was second choice, suggested by the restaurant I originally chose, which is closed Saturdays. Note to organiser, check opening hours first. The upset stomach suffered afterwards was not believed to be connected with Italian food, rather the bad domestic habit of consuming food well after the sell-by date. HP sauce the prime suspect on this occasion, though the bacon butties were very nice. Thus physical activity on Sunday was restricted to a gentle walk and an afternoon's sleuthing in the cinema.
Finally, a small red letter day today - 10 merveilleux ans de vie ensemble. Congratulations to ma bien-aimée for putting up with me so long. A small celebration in order this evening...
From sporting escape to goal break. The famous escapee of last year, Jean-Pierre Treiber, was found hanged in his cell on Saturday, so ending his life in a blaze of publicity to match that surrounding 3 months on the run from prison last year and the original double murder of two women (including a well known actress) of which he was accused. In a note allegedly found in his cell, he continues to claim innocence. The truth will probably never be known...
Domestically, life in Lyon trundles along. We had dinner out on Saturday, for the first time in months, and sampled a smart new Italian restaurant a few minutes walk from the apartment. Very nice Mon Bistrot Italien was too, even if it was second choice, suggested by the restaurant I originally chose, which is closed Saturdays. Note to organiser, check opening hours first. The upset stomach suffered afterwards was not believed to be connected with Italian food, rather the bad domestic habit of consuming food well after the sell-by date. HP sauce the prime suspect on this occasion, though the bacon butties were very nice. Thus physical activity on Sunday was restricted to a gentle walk and an afternoon's sleuthing in the cinema.
Finally, a small red letter day today - 10 merveilleux ans de vie ensemble. Congratulations to ma bien-aimée for putting up with me so long. A small celebration in order this evening...
17 décembre 2009
Cold comfort
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...
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...
10 décembre 2009
Lights, laughter and lack of sleep
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...
Thence back into the throng, via the lights on the façade of the Église St Nizier to the queue for the show in Place Terreaux. The wait was worth it for a display on the Musée des Beaux Arts and the Hôtel de Ville, featuring time and weather, a play on the fact that the French use the same word, temps, for both. From there we dodged our way towards home, via the Christmas market and strike-reduced metro for the boys, where delicious lamb tajine was cooking slowly in the over. A rather fine Coteaux du Tracastin complemented it perfectly, followed by a la bienheureuse special, mmm... Tarte Tatin.
We were all in bed by 12.30 this time, la bienheureuse was up as usual to go to work, while the rest of us arose somewhat more tardily. Then we headed back to Les Halles for a sumptuous fish food platter in one of the restaurants. Oysters, prawns, urchins and king crab. Delicious, and we made it home in time for our guests to share a taxi to the airport with ma bien-aimée. Work trip for her, homeward bound for them.
It seemed quiet, at home on my own afterwards, but I put on a brave face and a waterproof and headed out in the evening to take in some more lights and take on some more water. The streets were much quieter, thanks in no small part to the fact that it poured with rain the whole evening. It was still worth the effort, because the light and sound tribute to the builders of St Jean cathedral was quite stunning, and there was a diverting, if tiring path up Fourvière hill to the basilica, where there was a display on the front façade for the first time.
La bienheureuse was home exhausted in the evening on Tuesday the 8th, the key day in the Fête des Lumières. We put our bougies on the window ledges but didn't make it out for more fireworks on the footbridge just down the road, opting instead for ham and brazed red cabbage, and Marseille losing out to the showboating Madrid galacticos on TV. I did go out later for one last look and photos of the cathedral show.
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...
Thence back into the throng, via the lights on the façade of the Église St Nizier to the queue for the show in Place Terreaux. The wait was worth it for a display on the Musée des Beaux Arts and the Hôtel de Ville, featuring time and weather, a play on the fact that the French use the same word, temps, for both. From there we dodged our way towards home, via the Christmas market and strike-reduced metro for the boys, where delicious lamb tajine was cooking slowly in the over. A rather fine Coteaux du Tracastin complemented it perfectly, followed by a la bienheureuse special, mmm... Tarte Tatin.
We were all in bed by 12.30 this time, la bienheureuse was up as usual to go to work, while the rest of us arose somewhat more tardily. Then we headed back to Les Halles for a sumptuous fish food platter in one of the restaurants. Oysters, prawns, urchins and king crab. Delicious, and we made it home in time for our guests to share a taxi to the airport with ma bien-aimée. Work trip for her, homeward bound for them.
It seemed quiet, at home on my own afterwards, but I put on a brave face and a waterproof and headed out in the evening to take in some more lights and take on some more water. The streets were much quieter, thanks in no small part to the fact that it poured with rain the whole evening. It was still worth the effort, because the light and sound tribute to the builders of St Jean cathedral was quite stunning, and there was a diverting, if tiring path up Fourvière hill to the basilica, where there was a display on the front façade for the first time.
La bienheureuse was home exhausted in the evening on Tuesday the 8th, the key day in the Fête des Lumières. We put our bougies on the window ledges but didn't make it out for more fireworks on the footbridge just down the road, opting instead for ham and brazed red cabbage, and Marseille losing out to the showboating Madrid galacticos on TV. I did go out later for one last look and photos of the cathedral show.
02 novembre 2009
Wine, women, walking and watching balls
A highly enjoyable four day visit from a soggy shark diver, summarised as follows:
Mercredi: pick up small package of Sands from airport in the afternoon, transport home, put leftover pot roast back in the oven and await the return of la bienheureuse, who has been in Milan for three days. A pleasant evening in the company of two lovely ladies, drinking wine, listening to the chatter.
Jeudi: ma bien-aimée goes off to work, leaving me to entertain the shark lady. Fortunately she hits upon a way of entertaining herself for the day and persuades me to purchase tickets for the tennis. We thus spend a pleasant and interesting day at the Palais de Sports at Gerland, watching men hitting balls over a net on a pink and lilac court. Two and a half matches, a stroll in the sunny park in between, all for a bargain 20 euros. Come half past five though, it was high time to walk 200 yards down the road to the Halle Tony Garnier for pink, white and purple items of a somewhat more alluring nature - the salons des vins.
La bienheureuse arrived shortly after we did, and the next two hours passed in a tastebud tingling blur. Champagnes, whites and rosés, with a few reds thrown in. We came away with 3 bottles of champagne, and a couple of boxes of Vacqueyras and Côtes du Rhône from a favourite vineyard ordered and awaiting collection the following day. The evening was spent recovering, with a spag bol dinner. Needs be as needs must.
Vendredi: early return visit to the wine fair. Aim: to purchase a further couple of boxes to restock a dwindling white wine cellar. More tasting, more choosing, looking for easy drinking whites. Eventually we chose a Petit Chablis and a Provençal vin de pays. Oh, and a Banyol rosé from the same vineyard. Impulse buy, which meant dragging home a couple of cases more than intended. Fortunately, notre petite invitée gamely coped with three on a trolley, while I managed four.
In the afternoon I dragged her out on a walking tour of the Croix Rousse and Vieux Lyon. Traboules, painted walls and steps aplenty. At the end of the afternoon we refueled with coffee and crêpes before wending our way home. In the evening we were back out again, for a tasty dinner at Le Summertime close to the opera house.
Samedi: more walking, and more watching sports. In the morning, a walk to view the coloured leaves of autumn in the park, and galloping giraffes and sunbathing lemurs in the zoo. Then we adjourned to the pub and wolfed down lunch while watching the red heroes of north London put their lily white neighbours to flight. A perfect day was rounded off with pink champagne, chicken roast in milk and tarte tatin.
Dimanche: caught the tram to the university campus to visit the foire aux chocolats. The largest tiramisu in the world, and chocolate to suit any woman's taste, even one so demanding as that of our lovely guest. Then another long walk home, via lunch in the garden centre, tea and chocolate cake at home, before it was time to take the great white shark lover back to the airport. Soup, mini-quiches and toast for dinner. All wined out.
Mercredi: pick up small package of Sands from airport in the afternoon, transport home, put leftover pot roast back in the oven and await the return of la bienheureuse, who has been in Milan for three days. A pleasant evening in the company of two lovely ladies, drinking wine, listening to the chatter.
Jeudi: ma bien-aimée goes off to work, leaving me to entertain the shark lady. Fortunately she hits upon a way of entertaining herself for the day and persuades me to purchase tickets for the tennis. We thus spend a pleasant and interesting day at the Palais de Sports at Gerland, watching men hitting balls over a net on a pink and lilac court. Two and a half matches, a stroll in the sunny park in between, all for a bargain 20 euros. Come half past five though, it was high time to walk 200 yards down the road to the Halle Tony Garnier for pink, white and purple items of a somewhat more alluring nature - the salons des vins.
La bienheureuse arrived shortly after we did, and the next two hours passed in a tastebud tingling blur. Champagnes, whites and rosés, with a few reds thrown in. We came away with 3 bottles of champagne, and a couple of boxes of Vacqueyras and Côtes du Rhône from a favourite vineyard ordered and awaiting collection the following day. The evening was spent recovering, with a spag bol dinner. Needs be as needs must.
Vendredi: early return visit to the wine fair. Aim: to purchase a further couple of boxes to restock a dwindling white wine cellar. More tasting, more choosing, looking for easy drinking whites. Eventually we chose a Petit Chablis and a Provençal vin de pays. Oh, and a Banyol rosé from the same vineyard. Impulse buy, which meant dragging home a couple of cases more than intended. Fortunately, notre petite invitée gamely coped with three on a trolley, while I managed four.
In the afternoon I dragged her out on a walking tour of the Croix Rousse and Vieux Lyon. Traboules, painted walls and steps aplenty. At the end of the afternoon we refueled with coffee and crêpes before wending our way home. In the evening we were back out again, for a tasty dinner at Le Summertime close to the opera house.
Dimanche: caught the tram to the university campus to visit the foire aux chocolats. The largest tiramisu in the world, and chocolate to suit any woman's taste, even one so demanding as that of our lovely guest. Then another long walk home, via lunch in the garden centre, tea and chocolate cake at home, before it was time to take the great white shark lover back to the airport. Soup, mini-quiches and toast for dinner. All wined out.
03 juillet 2009
Home swelter
A quiet week since our return from holiday further south, which continued in a way on Saturday evening as we went straight to a 50th birthday party for the husband of a work colleague of la bienheureuse. We almost skipped it through tiredness and the desire to avoid the need to figure out a word play on cinquante ans, a task which the host had set all his guests and involved a public performance. Fortunately we avoided the latter as ma bien-aimée was chosen to sit on the 'judges bench'.
Then Monday rolled round and it was back to work for both of us, this week ending for la bienheureuse with a day trip to Monheim today, and for me with getting book two off to be nicely printed out. Now all I have to do is try and find someone to sell it for me...
The weather has been too hot to do much else, sunshine most of the week and temperatures in the low 30s. A slightly cooler weekend is predicted. Meanwhile, a minor sporting earthquake in Lyon occurred earlier in the week with the transfer of young star striker Karim Benzema to Unreal Madrid. First the title is lost, then Le Phénomène. OL fans are up in arms, and demonstrating their discontent.
Another more welcome change here, hopefully, is the reduction of VAT on restaurant food, which in theory should reduce the cost of eating out by more than 10%. Though reading between the lines, in practice prices are unlikely to come down by that much. Restaurants are free to not pass on the reduction to customers, using it for other things, like staff wages, new equipment, etc, etc. On verra...
And unfortunately, the reduction doesn't apply to alcoholic drinks...
Then Monday rolled round and it was back to work for both of us, this week ending for la bienheureuse with a day trip to Monheim today, and for me with getting book two off to be nicely printed out. Now all I have to do is try and find someone to sell it for me...
The weather has been too hot to do much else, sunshine most of the week and temperatures in the low 30s. A slightly cooler weekend is predicted. Meanwhile, a minor sporting earthquake in Lyon occurred earlier in the week with the transfer of young star striker Karim Benzema to Unreal Madrid. First the title is lost, then Le Phénomène. OL fans are up in arms, and demonstrating their discontent.
Another more welcome change here, hopefully, is the reduction of VAT on restaurant food, which in theory should reduce the cost of eating out by more than 10%. Though reading between the lines, in practice prices are unlikely to come down by that much. Restaurants are free to not pass on the reduction to customers, using it for other things, like staff wages, new equipment, etc, etc. On verra...
And unfortunately, the reduction doesn't apply to alcoholic drinks...
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