Come fly with me

We were delirious when we landed in our seventh country in as many days. It was remarkable, though, how we had become accustomed to lack of sleep and the total loss of a sense of time. It was in this state that we arrived in Montpellier, almost unaware of where we were, to be greeted by three happy and healthy looking people: Tony, Eny and Luke.

Good friends of Weisie’s parents had kindly allowed us to stay in their three-storey, 17th century house in Tourbes, southwest France. Tourbes is a genuinely charming village with a butcher, baker, tobacconist, priest (caring for a lovely old church) and, to round off the list of prerequisites for authenticity, a wine merchant. Most of us managed to contain our excitement on discovering the last on the list…




We were in Tourbes for two highly significant dates in Weisie’s calendar: the 364th day since her last birthday and the 364th day until her next birthday. These for some reason appear to be more important than her actual birthday, which we celebrated with the usual essential excesses that have come to mark her day of birth. Her actual birthday (26 April) was nearly a perfect day, and thanks to a chocolate flavoured shake-and-bake pancake mix in the cupboard, we were even able to serve up something with a candle in it!




During the day, we had a picnic in Uzes beside a stream lined with tall, leafy trees. We also visited Le Pont du Gard, an exceedingly tall and impressive aqueduct built by the Romans more than 2,000 years ago.




The weather in Languedoc and Roussillon, the provinces of France we were in, was much warmer than any of us had anticipated. This required an hour of shopping for summer cloths in Sète one day, a small town on the coast.




We saw hundreds of vineyards with budding vines, fields of grass and flowers, and vast mussel farms along the coast. The bread we bought was crusty and fresh, the cheeses subtle and delicious, and the shopkeepers friendly. We drank local wine and had a barbecue on the roof terrace of the house in Tourbes whilst watching the setting sun. Tony laughed more than I have ever seen him laugh before and we all enjoyed ourselves.




The weather turned chilly for what ended up being our last full day in France. We probably looked a little silly walking around the Cité de Carcassonne in shorts and sandals, which was suitable attire the day before. The castle, although recently restored, was really quite wonderful and gave you some insight into what it was like inside a functioning fortified city with hundreds of inhabitants, markets and food stalls. Thankfully, they have improved the plumbing.




After our impromptu trip to Spain, we returned to Tourbes for one final day of sun and enjoyment in the town’s relaxed rural setting. We left from Carcassonne early for London, with plans for one final weekend away, probably in Paris, with Weisie’s folks before they complete their 6-week European vacation.

With thanks

This is a brief entry to thank my folks, and especially Jamie for running around with us when we were in Sydney. It was also wonderful to see Marnie, John and the fast growing Samson who we look forward to seeing more of when we eventually return to Melbourne.




Here is another one of Samson with his dad late one night.




Although it was a sad occasion, and we will both miss Joan very much, it was a rare and important opportunity to see many of my uncles, aunts, cousins and faimly friends, some of who I have not seen for a decade and in some cases longer. I hope now that we are all reacquainted we will see more of each other in the years to come.

There is a shamrock in my beer

It was more than a year ago that we drove around Scotland with Weisie’s folks. It did not seem that long though. The comfy closeness of our hire car was very familiar (in fact, it was the same make and model). There was, however, a little more room this time as Paul was not with us but somehow Weisie ended up in the boot again.

During the previous week, Tony and Eny stayed with us in London. Our flat in Fulham is tiny so it was lovely to spend a few days in a three-bedroom apartment beside a marina on the River Shannon (pictured below). The town we were based in was named Killaloe (“Kill-a-loo”, apparently), which was not far from the equally murderous sounding towns of Kilfenora, Killadysert and Kilinaboy.




Unbeknownst to us, it is illegal to sell alcohol on Good Friday. Our hopes of a traditional Irish pub lunch on the first day were dashed but we accepted the news with grace and humility. It was a real lesson in faith, because just as with the miraculous surplus of fish in the face of shortage, we sat down for dinner with a surplus of booze (our prayers were answered by a friendly neighbour).

The next day we piled into the car for Waterford. The portside town and its famous crystal factory were interesting, and the glass sparkled prettily.




After Waterford, we threw down some Scottish sandwiches and made the rather long way home. Did I mention that it was a long way?




We headed south again for our third day to the harbour city of Cork where we had our first genuine Guinness experience over lunch, followed by whippies in Kinsale and a drive along the rolling coast. On the way to Cork, we stopped at Blarney to visit its castle.




The Blarney Stone, a rectangular piece of stone of dubious provenance, is named after an ostensibly eloquent individual from the time of Queen Elizabeth I. The stone is now set underneath part of the battlements of Blarney Castle, 83 feet above the ground. Someone once said, “Hey, let’s see if we can hang up-side-down and kiss this thing,” and they survived to tell the tale. Thus, a tradition was born and since then many thousands of fools have queued to repeat the feat.




The highlight of the day, however, was the Ballybeg ruins, which we visited in the morning. We had stopped to talk to a man about a wallaby but fortuned upon the remains of a priory and the best preserved mediaeval dovecot in Ireland. We pottered around the ruins, under the watchful eye of the owner (it was private property, we learned), which now serve as a paddock for cattle and horses.




On our fourth and penultimate day in Ireland we took a circuitous route through the Burren, a limestone plateau in Northwest County Clare. The area was strewn with rocks, which served well as building materials for forts, farms and boundary walls. It was quite different to the lush greenery and deep soils we had seen during the preceding days.

We lunched in a pub in Doolin before driving on to the marvellous cliffs of Moher, a premier tourist trap that evidently does not claim enough lives. The soft edged drop offs were perilous but not vertiginous enough to dissuade hundreds of people from peering over the brink to the rocks and waves below. In spite of the considerable height, the brisk and frigid wind fanned seaspray up the cliffs and showered us lightly. A multitude of nesting sea birds, a well positioned castle and a slight haze made the sight quite splendid.




The next few days would see us travel the circumference of the globe. Our beloved Joan, my wonderful grandmother, had passed away during our time in Ireland. We decided to make the trip back to Sydney to pay our respects. We flew to Australia the same day we returned from Ireland and, although it was wonderful to see so many family members, it was a sombre and tiring few days. After spending less than 72 hours in Sydney, we were back on a plane to London from where we flew to Montpellier to rejoin Luke, Eny and Tony for a week travelling around the south of France and Spain.

Lurv that city

March 2006. Paris was all aflame, burning with passion - and Molotov cocktails. We were in the City of Love for three days to visit our recently wed friends, Rupert & Jacky and Trev & Ros. This happened to coincide with general strikes and protests ending in riots and significant property damage.




Prior to our friends' arrival, Weisie and I undertook reconnaissance of the bar and restaurant scene in Montparnasse. We had only one evening with them and wanted to make the most of it. Consequently, we enjoyed happy hour drinks, ate cheap-and-cheerful Chinese and consumed plenty of French wine in our tiny hotel room.




In spite of the riots, it was a vacances de l'amour. We loved seeing our friends, hearing their stories and viewing their wedding photos. We also loved walking around town and marvelling at the architecture of one of the world’s great cities. It was an occasion we had been looking forward to for some time, but, as always, it was over too soon.




During the two days prior to seeing our friends, we visited the seemingly endless Louvre. Since our last visit, we noted that the Mona Lisa had been rehung on her own wall, due to her escalating celebrity status. We also paid homage to Eiffel’s Tower, skipped through numerous parks, strolled along the Seine and snapped lots of photos.




We spent an hour under the city, crawling through one of its many dank catacombs (pictured above). Given the happy mood of the weekend, I am not sure why we did this. We were somewhat humbled by the dripping bone juice and millions of skeletal remains. Once we resurfaced from the communal crypt, we felt like jumping for joy at being alive!