As the temperature climbed last week, reaching 34C on Friday, we decided to stick to our original plan of a weekend in the mountains despite a less than optimistic forecast. And so, in the afternoon, we headed east, air-conditioning on max, and arrived at Meribel shortly after five pm. After settling into our accommodation for the weekend, courtesy of une amie de la bienheureuse, we headed straight for a cooling dip in the small pool that is part of the apartment complex. Very nice it was too.
Thunder rumbled ominously overnight and Saturday morning dawned cool and damp. At least I think it did - hard to tell with shutters closed and a toddler who remarkably slept until after eight in the morning. Luxurious lie-in. Thereafter the rain cleared and the pattern for the rest of the weekend was set: gradually clearing skies, morning sortie, lunch, attempt to give a nap to the youngest member of the family, swim in the pool, dinner, bed.
The first morning we hiked up from La Chaudanne to Mottaret, roughly following what in winter is the Truite piste. Nice easy green run down on snow, bit of a slog up on foot, particularly carrying a 11 kilo wriggling bundle on your back. We hadn't necessarily intended to go all the way to Mottaret but chose to follow a newly constructed path along the Doron stream and there was no way off it before we reached the top. All good exercise, and we recovered with a very pleasant outdoor lunch at one of the cafés in Mottaret. La petite coquinette then unsurprisingly fell asleep on her mother's back on the way down, albeit for only ten minutes, but that was enough to persuade her that any further nap that day was unnecessary. She did however, stay happily enough in bed for 40 minutes while mama read and papa napped in the sunshine on the terrace outside.
On Sunday, it was cooler still, but with the sun coming and going it was nice enough to contemplate another walk in the mountains. Actually, we chose one that was more or less flat, a pleasant stroll along the banks of Lac Tueda, with another nice café lunch, though the cold breeze forced us indoors on this occasion with traditional mountain fare, tartiflette, on the menu. Another brief nap on the way home, this time in the car, put paid to any ideas these concerned parents might have had about their daughter getting enough sleep. Another sleepless half hour in bed this time ended in vociferous complaint.
Uninterrupted sunshine was forecast for Monday and we were having such a good time the next that we decided to stay an extra night. We thus fitted in another walk the following morning, driving up to Altiport for a slow wander in the woods (little legs don't always follow straight lines) around the 'sentier des animaux'. And then alas, it was time to head back down to the stifling heat of Lyon. La petite was a little less cooperative in the car this time - slept the first 45 minutes and then screamed for the next half hour necessitating an emergency refreshment stop. Car journeys still aren't her favourite way of passing the time...
A British victory in the Tour de France - a bit like a Frenchman scoring a century at Lords. Wiggins does seem to have won over the French public though, with his somewhat crooked sense of humour, quirky personality and willingness to give interviews in reasonably fluent French. And his triumph in what the French see as the ultimate sporting challenge has been welcomed, albeit somewhat grudgingly. Articles I've read have praised the professional, pragmatic way the Sky team controlled the race but at the same time bemoaned the way the spectacle was thus rendered somewhat less exciting than normal. This year's race has been described more than once as one of the most boring ever.
On the other hand, French commentators have also heralded it as a great year, largely due to the French success in winning five stages. In contrast to the boring Brits, the likes of Thomas Voeckler have been hailed for their panache and daring. French flair, quoi…
The weekend past was taken up with a flying visit across the Channel, Cambridge the destination, a barbecue to celebrate the half-century of la petite beaucoup the prime reason. We left warm, 27C Lyon sunshine behind on Friday afternoon and arrived in Stansted four hours later and twelve degrees cooler. There was at least a glimpse of sunshine as we drove the hire car towards Cambridge, where the welcome was as warm as usual. And habitually convivial, which meant the grey skies that greeted us in the morning matched the grey fuzz clogging up my skull. It was as usual though la bienheureuse who dragged herself out of bed to deal with the chirping coming from the room across the landing at seven o'clock on the dot. Young children obviously automatically recognise time zones.
The clouds soon brought forth rain, rain and more rain. Not the ideal weather for a BBQ, but while our hosts toiled in the kitchen we made a quick trip to the local supermarket to restock on vital British supplies and then kept la petite amused indoors. And then, as if by prior arrangement, as the first guests started arriving in the late afternoon the rain stopped. And then, as if by miracle, as the JeB sausages, lamb and pork sizzled in the grill the sun came out and dried up all the rain. Well, enough of it to make sitting and consuming but a small proportion of the provided feast outside feasible. And a great time was had by all, particularly one particular toddler who had twenty odd adults and a dog to amuse and be amused by.
We spent the next day consuming barbecue leftovers, took la petite coquinette to the local park, and otherwise enjoyed a lazy Sunday afternoon chez des chers amis. The next morning our travel alarm was already in the process of adjusting for the trip home because she woke up half an hour before the traditional hour of seven. Which did at least mean we had an unrushed morning before we bade a fond farewell to the lady of the house and weekend, and set off homeward bound. Apart from longer than usual queues at the airport, we had a smooth trip and were back in warm, sunny Lyon soon after 5pm.
And there the pleasant weekend ended and a nightmare night started. The travel-weary toddler went to bed as usual but was awake 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep and woke up again 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep again and awoke 45 minutes later. Whereupon she refused to go back to sleep for the next four hours. When finally we did all get back to bed at about three in the morning, the little so-and-so allowed us five hours of uninterrupted rest. I use the word rest advisedly because sleep wasn't easy to come by…
And in the morning, when we were all finally up, the reason for her unrest became clear. A wretched cold, courtesy presumably of cold weather Blighty. Another interrupted night followed, albeit less dramatic, but our own little domestic drama was put into perspective by a real life drama we witnessed on our traditional afternoon outing to the playground yesterday. A group of passersby was gathered around a man lying flat on his back on the footpath along the river. The drama soon became a crisis as two of the helpers started administering artificial resuscitation, heart massage and all. Flashing lights heralded the arrival of the pompiers a few minutes later and they continued the resuscitation for a few minutes before putting the victim into a recovery position. Then a medical emergency team arrived, put on a BP cuff and put in a drip, which I took to mean the unfortunate fellow was alive.
And so la petite and I went home to resume our mundane routine of the mealtime and bedtime battles that have intensified since the return of le rhume...
A fortnight has passed and much has happened. La belle-mère arrived for a two week visit, she and la petite-fille spent three days getting reacquainted in hot Lyon and then we all set off in the petite voiture for a week's holiday in the deep sud-ouest; more specifically the Lot-et-Garonne, a gentle land of green and gold, sunflowers and hazelnuts, ruined castles and hilltop mediaeval villages. We arrived at our base for the week, holiday residences near Monflanquin, after a smooth eight hour journey punctuated by service stops to keep la petite voyageuse from going car-seat crazy. We settled in and the week thereafter followed something of a routine - morning outing, relaxed afternoon, early evening swim, dinner and early to bed.
Monday: the Chateau de Gavaudun was the chosen destination for the day's outing. On a warm sunny day we climbed and wriggled through the narrow entrance in a sheer rock face, and admired the views of the ruined castle and beyond from the top of the castle keep. Thence back to base for a late lunch, and late nap for la petite, which lasted three hours. Unheard of…
Tuesday: on the sunniest, hottest day of the week, we drove to le Jardin des Nenuphars, a calm and pretty garden of water-lilies and lotus flowers. The decision to stay for lunch in the outdoor café was the low point of the day. More than two hours later we finally finished the meal. A coach party of pensioners was the likely cause, but la petite didn't care, she just got ratty. However, the return to Monflanquin was notable for a couple of firsts. We took another scenic route home in the hope that la petite coquinette would sleep, a plan that worked better than our wildest dreams. Firstly she slept one when we stopped to look at a windmill on a hill, and then slept almost all the way home, a total of well over an hour. First time she's stayed asleep for more than 40 minutes in the car. A swim in the pool at the end of a hot day was more than welcome.
Wednesday: the weather broke, and heavy showers that came and went all day persuaded us to stay put and watch the rain coming down from the cover of the apartment. La bienheureuse cured a stir-crazy daughter by taking her for a walk in the rain, and then, like true Brits on holiday, we all went for a swim in a deserted pool despite a 10 degree drop in temperatures from the previous day.
Thursday: even cooler and wetter. Undaunted, we set off on the traditional morning outing, choosing a hazelnut farm with a self-styled 'museum' on the theory that we would be under cover. True enough, though we had a short wait outside while the owner came across from the farm to open the doors for us. Being the only visitors we had the benefit of a personal tour and tasting session, and naturally came away weighed down with nut oil, nut biscuits and nutty sweets. A short stop at another farm shop allowed us to stock up on that other local specialty, prunes. As it was even colder we skipped the swim in the pool on our return.
Friday: an improvement in the weather encouraged yet another outing, to another ruined castle. Le Chateau de Bonaguil calls itself the most beautiful fortified castle in France, and most impressive it was too, even if we were there a day early for the mediaeval fête the following weekend. After a picnic lunch in a shady spot above the chateau, we drove back to base and then, while the three generations of females slept or read according to age, the token male was given time off to finally visit Monflanquin, another plus beaux villages de France perched high on a hill. And very pretty it was too, all narrow alleys and picturesque stone buildings with an impressive central square bordered by arcades.
Saturday: homeward bound. A seven hour trip, including only two stops for a more travel-hardy toddler, and we were back in warm, muggy Lyon by five pm. The end of a pleasant and more relaxing than might have been expected week…
The last few days of la belle-mère's visit passed quickly for some. La bienheureuse spent 2 days and a night away in the company mother country while la grand-mère et la petite-fille enjoyed each other's company, apart from an extreme reluctance on the latter's part to go to bed. Perhaps the after-effects of a holiday during which she slept a lot during the day and went to bed late. Perhaps she was missing mama, or perhaps she was missing Wednesdays with her little playmates, as our nanny-sharing arrangement with the neighbours has sadly come to an unexpected and abrupt end.
Seems I spoke too soon about the improved mood in the French football camp. No sooner had they gained plaudits for their first two games, than they threw it all away against a team with nothing to play for. Thanks to English luck though, they still made it through to the quarter-finals, where the bad against Sweden went to worse against Spain. It seems the fissures in les Bleus had only been papered over post-Knysna.
The French public and media are reasonably unanimous in condemning the self-centredness and lack of respect displayed by some players. And squarely in the middle of all the blame flying around was one Citizen who shunned footballing idealism for huge reserves of oil-stained lucre. Quite apart from his hate-hate relationship with the French media, even his teammates were accusing him of selfishness. Now where have I heard that before? L'Équipe claims the authorities are considering banning him from the national team for two years. Hohoho…
Watching an otherwise entertaining Euro 2012 unfold on French TV has been something of a trial. Unlike previous major competitions, which have all been available on free-to-air channels, this year a new player muscled in on the scene and bought up a large chunk of the TV rights. And as it's a subscription channel, if you don't pay, you don't watch. In fact half the games, including all the knockout phase are on free channels and I thought I was quids in when the new channel appeared on our cable feed unscrambled during the first weekend. However, three days in the so-and-sos encrypted it, so I was forced to miss half the remaining group games. Which at least offered some relief in certain quarters…
In the domestic arena things trundle along happily. La petite continues to grow and develop at what I might describe as an alarming rate. Most things have to be be done by herself and help from parents is often decidedly unwelcome, which doesn't stop her becoming quickly frustrated and upset when things don't go her way. Favourite activities at the moment include taking dirty mugs and bits of rubbish into the kitchen and wearing papa's underwear.
The last couple of weekends we've kept her amused by taking her swimming on Saturday morning, where she floats and splashes happily when she's not gazing intently at all the other activity going on around her. Last Sunday we also ventured out on a day trip to the Parc des Oiseaux, where she remarkably suffered without complaint an unexpected half hour queue to get in. I guess the thing about queues is that there are always plenty of other people to keep the interest. As for the birds, well they were just birds…
And so, Président Hollande and the Socialists duly won a thumping parliamentary majority in the second round of elections yesterday. Not that 43% of the French electorate cared enough to go out and vote. Media interest has been concentrated on various high profile circonscriptions, such as the one in Northern France where the Front National leader's gratifyingly lost by a whisker to her Socialist rival. Perhaps Mme Le Pen should have grown a beard to go with the voice. Unfortunately, 3 of her similarly inclined colleague, including her 22 year old niece, did win their seats to give the extreme right MPs for the first time.
Elsewhere, Ségolène Royal was soundly beaten in her chosen seat by the dissident Socialist who maintained his candidacy despite being ordered by the party hierarchy to stand down in favour of the 'parachuted in' Royal. The battle was given added piquancy when Valérie Trierweiler, the current partner of Hollande tweeted her support for the rebel Olivier Falorni. Mme Royal was given lukewarm backing by the president and is, of course, his ex-partner and mother of his four children. Miaow…
One novelty this year was the introduction of 11 'foreign' constituencies, among them one for Northern Europe which includes the UK, giving expat French people a minor say in what goes on in their mother country. Anybody in Westminster listening? asks one expat Brit who will lose his right to vote in the UK in less than five years…
Perhaps France was more preoccupied by the European football championships in Poland and the Ukraine, where the national team's campaign has borne a marked contrast to the 2010 World Cup, despite a mere draw with the boring English. The subsequent win over Ukraine has seemingly set les Bleus on course for the quarter-finals, barring an unlikely set of results in the next games.
The football itself was somewhat overshadowed over the weekend by the sudden death of Thierry Roland, the doyen of French football commentators. His enthusiasm for the game will be sorely missed on TV games from now on, even if TF1 had already rather rudely deprived him of his largest audience some years ago. Perhaps the best description of his commentating style was given by another larger than life character in French football, Rolland Courbis, who said he commentated as though he was watching games at home from his own sofa. RIP Thierry.
The first round of the parliamentary elections in France yesterday were inevitably somewhat overshadowed by the presidential election that preceded them a month ago. It wasn't until about 10 days ago that the media started paying much attention at all to them, and that was mainly focused on the more high-profile constituencies such as the extreme right-far left punch-up between Le Pen & Melenchon. And it seems enthusiasm for the vote was duly dampened, perhaps in part by the wet weather yesterday, because the turnout was the lowest ever in the republican era.
The new president seems likely to be given a workable parliamentary majority, even if it is only with the support of the far left. Thanks to the election system, the Front de Gauche are ironically predicted to gain a dozen or so seats, at least four times as many as the Front National despite only getting half the number of votes and Melenchon losing the mediatised battle with Le Pen. Long may it continue…
Chez these particular disenfranchised foreigners, the election more or less passed us by. Other matters demand greater attention:
the weather - the arrival of summer ten days ago turned out to be a mere rumour. Since that blazing hot Saturday, temperatures have dropped below seasonal norms and the rain has been more or less ever present. Taking la petite out for her daily constitutional has become an exercise in dodging the showers. Yesterday we got it wrong. A trip by bike to the local garden centre for lunch and an emergency purchase of wellies for la travailleuse's sugar beet field trip to eastern Germany this week seemed a good idea until we left the shop to find the rain coming down. No waterproofs either. Fortunately it eased enough for us to get home without getting too wet.
toddler health: another routine visit to the paediatrician last week produced familiar results - tears and struggles before the jab but not after, a clean bill of health, another 3cm, another kilo, and a recommendation from the good doctor that la petite take up judo after her demonstration of muscle strength. He also warned of minor after-effects from the MMR vaccine, which possibly explain why la petite succumbed to yet another cold a few days later.
toddler adventure: the cold doesn't stop the little stunt artist from frequent demonstrations of her new found climbing skills. Latest favourite mountains to conquer are the arms of the sofas, from which it's great fun to fall backwards onto the soft sofa cushions. Continual admonishments from mama & papa as they nervously eye the more dangerous fall in the other direction have little effect.
On Saturday, the sun shone, the temperature climbed into the thirties and we spent the afternoon at the Fête de l'Eau, not so much a water party as the Jons village fête. A friend of la bienheureuse was one of the organisers, hence our presence, and we enjoyed delicious paella for lunch in the sweltering heat. Someone had rather thoughtlessly cut down the large trees that had apparently provided shade in previous years, but a giant marquee fortunately sheltered the lunch party from the worst of the sun, even if it also trapped warm air somewhat.
After the rain, the sunshine, which seems to have finally arrived just in time for the first sporting event of summer, the French Open. The third bank holiday weekend in May (though a mere 3-day one this time) was for the most part bathed in warm sunshine. And on Saturday, the warmest day of the year so far, it was our turn to be bathed in blissful cool water. The occasion was an invitation to a BBQ chez une amie de la bienheureuse, where we got a first try of their new pool. Given the recent weather, you'd be forgiven for suspecting the water might have been rather too cool, but some solar heating got it to a more or less bearable 23C. And with a cute little neoprene suit, it was just about warm enough for la petite nageuse, though she was none too sure about her first taste of an outdoor pool at first. And she was perfectly behaved for the rest of a very pleasant evening, obligingly going happily to bed while the rest of us ate a sumptuous barbecue feast before putting up gracefully with being woken rudely at about midnight, carted across Lyon in the car, and put to bed again.
Sunday was recovery day, which was just as well because it was the one day of the weekend when the weather was a little less beautiful. The sun and elevated temperatures were back on Pentecost Monday, which allowed another balade by bicycle along the river to the Parc de la Feyssine. Yesterday, la petite and papa were back in the old routine while maman went off to work, and today le père has a day off while la fille is downstairs, where she has settled in as though it's an extension to home, having fun with her friends and being looked after by the nounou.
The father-daughter days are indeed pretty routine at the moment. La petite coquinette regularly wakes up at 7am, give or take 15 minutes, happily goes down for two daytime naps at regular hours (circa 10am and 2pm), eats fairly willingly (albeit needing a bit of gentle persuasion from time to time) as long as she's given whatever her parents are eating and is allowed to have a go at feeding herself, be it with fingers, fork or spoon. And most of the rest of the time the petit ange plays contentedly on her own or with parent, apart from the odd occasion when she wakes up in a bad mood or tantrums are thrown as a result of frustration with not being able to do something. Dressing herself is one source of annoyance at the moment, or at least trying to. Socks, trousers and tops (not necessarily her own) just won't cooperate at the moment, and she can get very upset when they won't do as she wants. Life when you're less than fifteen months can be tough at times but, fortunately for her parents, bad moods usually pass as quickly as they arrive…
Before three days of almost continuous rain arrived, the last two days of last week were reasonably mild and sunny, which made for a pleasant start to the long Ascension bank holiday weekend. On both days we took advantage of the good weather with afternoon outings on the bicycles. On Thursday we cycled to the Parc de la Tête d'Or, a pleasant little trip, which had an undesirable ending. On returning to the garage the keeper of the keys (he that wears shorts with zip-closing pockets) searched in vain for the key. Only then did he remember that there was a hole in the particular pocket in which the key had been deposited. Oops. In my defence, the garage key is rather large and the hole rather small. Still, it had obviously slipped through somehow, and an hour spent retracing our route scanning the ground carefully was singularly fruitless.
And so the bikes accompanied us back to the apartment and were laboriously lugged up six flights of stairs. The next morning a call to a serrurier produced a reasonably prompt response and by early afternoon the garage was open. The locksmith's method of gaining access: a large screwdriver and a couple of judicious blows with a hammer. Not the most secure of lockups. Total cost of a lost key: 210 euros. Admittedly that included a replacement lock & keys, but apparently Friday counts as the weekend when it's a bridging day, hence weekend callout rates. Hmm…
Anyway, as the weather was still good my disgruntled mood was cured with another pleasant little balade à velo, further upriver this time, as far as the Parc de la Fessine, where la petite adventurière could wander far and wide without need for immediate parental intervention.
