Les treize moments les plus spectaculaires des vacances de février

This posting does what is says on the label - the best of the holidays just…sigh…gone.

13. The gardens of Marqueyssac

A beautifully restored private estate garden perched upon a spur overlooking the whole Dordogne valley with its chalky cliffs, villages, chateaux and of course the river snaking its way through.

Leigh leading the way

Part of the Dordogne and a village built into the cliff face.

12. Trastevere

This busy and lively neighbourhood in Rome has the look and feel of a traditional small Italian town, with people shopping, chatting, drinking espresso and going about their daily business.






11. Chateaux of the Dordogne

Or more specifically, those of the Périgord, located in the heart of the département. The region is littered with castles, a legacy of it being part of England during the Middle Ages. The home of fois gras and duck confit, too.

Leigh en montant.

Leigh en descendant.

Nothing's wrong - just practicing my archery 'skills' .

10. Rome. In general.

Those who have visited Rome are quickly accustomed to the sound of police sirens constantly ringing out over the chemical ant swarm that is the city’s traffic. Seems the Italians like a bit of the armed forces in their daily life - check out the wingman who presents the weather on the tele:

Eh I think itsa gonna rain todaay .

9. St Emilion wine in St Emilion and Cognac in…erm, Cognac

Around 45 minutes drive east of Bordeaux, St Emilion is in the centre of the most significant wine producing region in France. Managed to take a peek at the Museum in Cognac. Every part of the production process, from the soil, to the wood used for the barrels, to the distillation is nothing less than an ART.

Le Vin.

St Emilion.

Un cognac .

8. Oradour-sur-Glane – the liquidated village

In an afternoon in summer 1944, the SS rounded up all 600 inhabitants of this village south of Limoges, shot all the men, locked the kids and the women in the church, set fire to it, then torched the entire town.

The main street.

7. Rome – The Greatest Hits

The Colosseum. More colossal than I expected.

Leigh was keen to find Rusty “Unleash Hell” Crowe but he was still hanging out with the Bra Boys and generally being a dickhead.

The Forum. Staggering to imagine how much this place changed the world.

Trevi Fountain. They say if you chuck a coin into its stream, you’re destined to return to Rome. The hawkers thrusting 5 euro roses into your face throw that promise into doubt.

Piazza Cavour. Perhaps only relevant to the Morrissey fans among my “readership” (too many of you to mention by name), but standing in this place I did indeed ask myself what my life is for.

6. Basque country/Pyrenees/Pamplona

This region in the far, far south-west nook of France is hilly, popular with religious pilgrims following the trails of ancient saints, loves rugby and still uses a language that lives at the end of alphabet street. Could you dream up such a mix? We decided to scoot over the Pyrenees to check out Pamplona. A bit of a grim city but we managed to locate the famous bull fighting ring.

Leigh above the small Basque town of St-Jean-Pied-De-Port.

In the Pyrenees, France in the background.

No rampaging bulls that day. Shame.

5. BD in Angouleme

This city, known for bande-dessinée (BD) comic strip art (taken pretty seriously in France) has a museum dedicated to the artform and a bunch of some magnificent, some average, murals on the city’s walls. The city is also renowned for closing launderettes early and then making boxer shorts disappear while leaving CK jeans untouched. Hmm.

4. B&B in La Coquille

Remarkable only in that this B&B, the very first one we pulled into on the trip, was run by an English couple from Kent. In every restaurant or café in the Dordogne we encountered graying poms; many have bought houses in the region – the second invasion perhaps.

3. St Peters & The Sistine Chapel

Magnificent. Waiting at the end of the line, we were approached by a young American chick with shiny teeth and hair offering us entrance for the two sites for a bargain 40 euros. Casse-toi! We get to the front of the line…entrance is free.

In front of St Peters, keeping an eye out for Benny.

Part of the ceiling in the Vatican Museum.

2. Rabbit defenestration in Perigueux

Leigh and I stopped in the principal city of the Périgord for lunch. We were walking down the street when suddenly a rabbit landed on a gentleman coming out of a wine shop. He was wearing a hat. The rabbit lived on the third floor. No-one knows if the rabbit jumped or was pushed. We couldn’t get a photo in time, but here’s what it looked like.

The bunny survived.


1. Dune de Pyla

The largest sand dune in Europe, at Arcachon, west of Bordeaux, at sunset.

Best meal: Veal escalope with Rochefort (a strong cheese) sauce on our last night, in Cognac. Typically simple but awesome.

In the news: Generalissimo Sarko captured on video saying to a member of the public at the Agricultural Show: “Touche pas moi, casse-toi alors pauvre con”, loosely translated as “Don’t touch me, fuck off you poor bastard”. Nice.

The weather: Unseasonably warm, similar temperatures in Rome and the South-West, about 5 – 15 degrees.

On the car stereo

Oasis – Fade Away. I remember how exciting it was discovering this band.

Bic Runga – Get Some Sleep. Elevating the mundane.

Dexy’s Midnight Runners – My National Pride. By a dress-wearing, Irish Brummie. Underrated!

Lazy Susan – Bobby Fischer. These guys should have been bigger.

Al Green – Here I Am (Come And Take Me). The perfect voice, the perfect moves, the perfect songs, the perfect white suits. Bastard.

No dancing down the stairs now!

Have you heard the news? No shit!

Ce que j’ai fait pendant les vacances

Well the Xmas holidays kicked off with me criss-crossing down Eastern France to get to Annecy. Was stuck in Nancy for an hour and a half due to the train being overloaded and hence overcharged with power. I got talking to the guy next to me – a uni student on his back down to Nimes in the South to spend Xmas with his family who had spent 6 weeks working in New Zealand last year. Where are the ticket inspectors? I ask him. They’re hiding, he tells me. The train is so delayed, they don’t want to show their faces. They’d get ripped to shreds. Sure enough, when they did gallantly poke their heads out, the hapless passengers did what they do best round here and chimed in with some of the best whining I’ve heard yet. So I managed to miss all the trains I’d booked but fortunately grabbed the following services and arrived in Annecy a few hours late.

The main event at Christmas is dinner on the 24th and I spent it with relatives at Sylvie's - my second cousin’s place. Was frankly surprised to see how much seafood they have at Xmas – they’d give us a run for our money for sure. So dinner was fois gras, snails, prawns, oysters, smoked salmon, bouche de noel (Xmas cake).

Above: Escargots de bourgogne

Above: Valentine & Mathilde with two Xmas presents

For the most part a pretty quiet ten days: Patricia (another cousin) and I headed up the mountain on raquettes (snow-shoes) for an awesome two-hour walk; we checked out a demonstration night of the beautiful sport of biathlon (cross-country skiing and shooting); downed copious amounts of le thom, gruyère, brie, comte and vin rouge.

Above: Overlooking Le Tour on the hike.

Above: Standing at the crossroads @ Le Planet

Otherwise, I'm feeling settled in here...and the language has ceased to sound foreign. Not much else to report on back in St Die. If something moves you’ll be the first to know!

The weather: a far bit warmer - about 3 to 6 degrees the past few weeks.

On my iPod

Crowded House - Even A Child. Now would someone give Johnny Marr's number to Morrissey!

The Byrds - John Riley. Superb demonstration of their vision of trad folk and a power socket.

The Triffids - Good Fortune Rose. A bit of Aussie sun in the depths of winter.

The Flying Burrito Brothers - Sing Me Back Home. Nudie suits, Gram Parsons, Bolivian marching powder and a Merle Haggard classic. This might be called a good combination.

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Right Out Of Your Hand. Pashernate.

L’approach du Noël

A quick update on my totally bogus journey before I head down to the Alps. Two weeks back was the Saint Nicolas parade through the centre of St. Dié. This character is the patron saint of children and the parade consists of illuminated floats (with children throwing lollies out to the crowd) and marching bands. The Père Fouettard, the dark, méchant anti-Saint Nicolas, who threatens to beat all the naughty kids with his big stick, trailed behind amid jeers and whistles from the crowd. Was a treat to see.

Tuesday night was Xmas party night at Lionel’s place. The meal was nice and light – fois gras, champagne, grapefruit salad, baked fish, chicken, trifle and bouche de noël (traditional French Christmas dessert). Also there was Cécile (from the college), her boyfriend Séb, and friends Cesar, Marie, Jerome, Jacqueline and Valérie. The trifle was my concoction and despite a few hurdles in the ingredient department, it came off OK. If anyone’s looking at an Aeroplane Jelly franchise there’s a big hole in the Lorraine market.

It was Christmas lunch at the school canteen today as well – tables decked out and decorated and the highlight was a massive table full of different desserts. The students were in heaven.

Moreover, winter has well and truly arrived – the mercury has had a bit of trouble getting above zero for most of the past week. Beautiful sunny days though and you can feel the mood lift a bit when the sun pokes its head out!

Grèves, émeutes et du pain d’épice

Strikes, riots and gingerbread. In a street-vendor-roasted chestnutshell, that’s the long and short of it in my part of the world at the moment. Mid-November - ‘strike season’ apparently - was all about worker solidarity and in my case, trudging through the snow at 6.30am to catch a train to Nancy that didn’t arrive. One day of snow (right) – apparently arrived much earlier, too.

The railway unions walked off the job for nine days straight in protest against the government’s plans to bring up their retirement age to that of the rest of the workers in the country. This poor mob of train drivers, inspectors and others benefit from a special pension system aimed at alleviating their supposedly back-breaking work by allowing them to work for 37.5 years before taking their state sponsored retirement, as opposed to 40 years for the rest. When the government tried this one 12 years ago the country was paralyzed and the state backed down. If I had needed to use the trains more than I had I would have been mightily cheesed off. I might have even let loose a putain, (ou deux). I’m with Generalissimo Sarko on this one – its about time things change here. I’m all for unions in the social partnership but to my mind, this culture of throwing up the barricades and chucking a strike as a first rather than last resort is not exactly a deed of good faith. People recognize the need for change here too but the process often seems both too complex, too slow and at times a little too much hard work and nothing much happens. Meanwhile, the country sinks deeper into debt.

Riots. Two youths were killed in an accident with a police car in the outskirts of Paris a few weeks back and that unleashed a bit of argy-bargy in the banlieue (the outer suburbs). It raised the spectre of the Parisian riots two years back and had a lot of people there on their toes. Thankfully not much came of it but the racial perspective did bring to light the recent history of St Die, which has apparently been a town with far-right rumblings. Although that could have been something to do with the German sausages popular ‘round here. I’ve been told that a few students here run around with some likeminded gangs. A sobering thought. Makes me all the more determined to do some classroom activities showing our indigenous population in a positive light.

I’ve begun to use some songs in class too. God bless les Beatles. I’ve already racked up All Together Now and Hello, Goodbye and won’t be eviscerating that eternal creature any time soon. Oasis’ She’s Electric has worked well, as has Van the Man’s Brown Eyed Girl for the level four students working on description. Managed to tie Police on My Back to a comprehension activity about an English crook whose severed finger was found at the scene of his crime. Who said 15 year-olds aren't up for a bit of gore?

Last Friday I met up with James, the American assistant based in a lycée in town. We downed a couple of beers in a great little bar in town called La Cabane. The sheer variety and diversity of beers there was just so cool – even Christine Oglethorpe would have found a beer to suit her tastes. Experiencing the variation between regions when it comes to landscape, architecture and food in France is a constant delight; something far less pronounced in Oz. Saturday we grabbed the train out to Strasbourg, a seriously stunning city on the French side of the Rhine. The main deal here is the German tradition of the marché noël – the Christmas market that fills the centre of town each December. A crap load of stalls pushing trinkets, decorations, food (mainly pain d’épice (gingerbread) and biscuits) and of course vin chaud (right), which is warm, spiced red wine. Everyone was doing it so why not me. I also spotted some hot orange juice for sale. I bravely resisted the urge to go for some snail-butter covered baguette as I thought it wouldn’t mix too well with the Nutella crepe I had just inhaled. We basically spent the whole day there in the drizzle and checked out the little part of town called Petite France as well as what once was Europe’s tallest building – the cathedral. We scaled the 60 metres to the viewing platform at dusk to see the town gradually illuminate. A good day.

Strasbourg santas. They're not real.

In Strasbourg

Three weeks to go until Xmas – itching to get down and spend some time with the family.

Reni, une grosse bise pour ton anniversaire. Je penserai à toi :)

‘Typical French Behavior’ – tolerating the bloody strike.

Best meal – A tartiflette at Séb’s place (partner of Cécile, one of the English teachers). It’s kind of like a gratin (potato bake) with bits of ham and heaps of cream inside, topped with stanky grilled Reblochon cheese). Serves as a main course on its own.

The weather – coolest days -1 to 4, most days 3 to 6. Drizzle, cloud and a bit more drizzle. Bienvenue aux Vosges.

On my iPod:

Nina Simone – Do What You Gotta Do. Bloody fantastic. An interpreter without peer.

The Go-Betweens – Bye Bye Pride. The door is open wide.

James Carr – These Ain’t Raindrops. Fraught and desperate. From someone who knew well what that was like.

Crowded House – Not The Girl You Think You Are. Damp, groggy and very Lennonesque.

Sean Lennon – Dead Meat – Deadly, meaty and very Elliott Smithesque.

Get a leg on BOB!

En vacances

The holidays of Toussaint came around quickly and I was eager to grab the opportunty to do a bit of travelling. The break was for about ten days, with All Saints Day (Toussaint) in the middle of it. First stop was an afternoon in Paris on the way to Avignon. Had a few hours to kill in the capital so I headed out to the Marais, the old Jewish quarter I'd never visited. Spent a bit of time wandering around the Place des Vosges (left), situated in the heart of the district, an almost picture postcard image of Paris, being a square with a lovely small park in the centre. I was told the other day that apparently this is the nancy-boy part of the city. How serendipitous. Checked out the city a bit more, including the Champs Elysée and l'Arc de Triomphe - Saturday arvo, beaucoup du monde. Took the TGV to Avignon that evening; the station was packed, seemed like everyone wanted to get somewhere somehow. Apon arriving in Avignon, I took to the road on foot, head full of steam, confident that I could find my way to the hotel with the aid of my trusty albeit sparse Google map. Íntelligently however I had confused the TGV station with the central station in town so with midnight approaching I spent about an hour traversing the deserted ring-road in the industrial estate. Which is fine I guess but something told me there were nicer parts of town to explore. I took the soft option and headed back to the station for a costly cab trip.

Avignon's main claim to fame is that it was the seat of papal power in the 14th century while Italian princes and warrior popes were squabbling over the Eternal City. The old town is encolsed within ancient walls and the magnificent Palace of the Popes marks its centre. An imposing structure, its a mix of Romanesque and Gothic architecture. Inside it was fascinating, being able to take a squizz at the pope's living quarters, dining hall, church hall, bunk beds and PlayStation. Grabbed some lunch in a pizzeria nearby, which took me a little while longer than I had expected because I had forgotten to wind back my watch (end of daylight saving) and sat myself down before the kitchen was open, an hour earlier than I thought it was. At a table for one, kind of an uncomfortable wait, haha. Its a bit of a strange sensation holidaying on your own. The days become rather long.

After lunch, I headed down to the famous Pont d'Avignon (the bridge) which ends halfway across the Rhone, its other half being swept away by a flood in the 17th century. Kind of freaky peering over the edge where it stops. Given it was Sunday, the buses were few so I missed the opportunity to make it out to the Pont de Gard, a remarkable section of an ancient Roman aqueduct close by, but make it there one day I'm sure.

Monday arvo back on the train in the direction of Annecy to spend a few days with my second cousin Bruno, his partner Barbara and their son Andrea. Comforting to be back with some family and the language flows a bit better in the company of others you are at ease with. They made a great effort to speak English with me and looked after me in every way, as all the family does when us antipodeans set foot over here. Annecy is a very pretty place, capital of the Haute-Savoie département, situated on lac Annecy and at the foot of the Alps.

Not hard to imagine living in a place like this. We went for a bit of a stroll around the old town, by the lake (freshwater, incredible clear and apparently the cleanest in Europe). Wednesday and Thursday we heading up to Passy to visit more of the clan. Friday arvo I took the car and headed into town, this being my first serious go behind the lefthand drive. Thankfully no scratched paint or plasted limbs. My mantra of "keep right...keep right...keep right" worked well. I might even use during for my yoga practice. Despite scoring a goal on the road that day I took the decision to cancel the hire car I'd organized for the weekend drive to Lille (fuel and tolls would have bled me dry, not to mention the small window of time I had foolishly allowed myself to get there) and took the train instead.

Would not have normally headed up to Lille, but it presented itself as a good location to meet up with Jayse who came over from London for the weekend. Traditionally a thriving, industrial city at the doorstep of Belgium, the Netherlands and Britian, its not one of the country's prime tourist destinations. Nevertheless, there was enough to check out in the town centre: the old stock exchange, the Porte de Paris - a monument erected to mark Louis XIV's capture of the city in the 17th century, and the Citadel - the remains of a fort erected during this period. The areas around the university particularly easy on the eye. Jayse the bright spark suggested we hire some bikes and it proved to be a masterstroke - cheap, enjoyable and a great way to see the city, especially on a Sunday when the place is quiet. We had a good look around the Citadel and surrounding parklands on our bikes and settled for an awesome lunch nearby.

In front of the Opera house, Lille

Jayse doing two things at once. How does he do it.

Lille at sunset.

The story this week has been all about settling back into school and adjusting to the drop in temperature (we had a bit of (insubstantial) snow the other day and we expect some for next week. Today (Sunday) I headed into town to take a look at the Armistice Day service. No march, but rather a simple service at the memorial with the laying of wreaths, a few speechs, etc. This place saw some fighting in the early stages in the war in August 1914 but thereafter remained behind the front line as the German army was pushed back east. Not difficult to gain a sense today that the war took a heavy toll on the area.

'Typical' French behaviour: miserable lowbred barmaid in Lille calling us Americans, followed by a string of other expletives I would have payed to have understood.

Best meal: soupe à l'oignon, steak and creme brulée in Lille. Jethro, here's a pic for you, as requested:

On my iPod:

Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds - Where The Wild Roses Grow (feat. Herr Bargeld). Beats the released version hands-down, rock-in-fist, rose-'tween-teeth.

The Sleepy Jackson - Acid In My Heart. He paints with the same colours as everyone else but his patterns are all his own.

The Arcade Fire - Crown of Love. Deliriously romantic.

Richard Hawley - The Nights Are Cold. In every sense of the word.

The Beatles - I'll Be Back. I'll never get sick of this one.