Here were are back sitting on a Paris balcony in the Marais, one day short of a year since we last arrived in this most beautiful of cities.  There was a small, and important, difference this time…we caught the train in. A much more Seine move given last time we literally didn’t speak to each other for 24 hours after driving in.  Just picture 2 people with natural BRF*, who don’t usually talk much, but now trying to actually look angry and remain purposefully silent. If it wasn’t for Paris being Paris, then it might have all been over at honeymoon #4. Which is why we love it so much and are here for honeymoon #…let’s say X.  (PS: That’s Roman numerals not algebra.)   *If you’re not sure what BRF is, then either google or I’ll post a pic of Lea’s Passport photo.

Desperate not to try and repeat the amazing time we had last year, we started out by squeezing into our “nice” clothes and heading to an obscure opera at the Ganier Opera house…just as we did last year.  And we almost lasted through all 3 acts! It didn’t quite live up to the heights of Platee from 2015, but with plenty of lutes, harps, harpsichords and…an unrequested sex scene to kick off, at least we knew what continent we were on.  There was something about a guy using a Hymen for protection, someone playing with marbles in Lesbos, and then a bunch of young male dancers in loin cloths with aluminium foil for hair for no apparent reason.  Although the reason did become apparent as they started grappling half naked (which half you wonder?) young female dancers and performing simulated…acts, that by the look of these poor boys probably had them holding their breath.  This end to the first act was just enough to get us to come back for the second, but, unfortunately, the hooters at the end of the second act didn’t help as giant owls started running around on stage.  We can only guess how the third ended…because we were drinking Champagne on our balcony chez nous.

To get us off (pardon) our balconies…and away from the Marais, we went on a food tour of Saint-Germain.  The highlights being: a lovely American lady who got so drunk on 2 glasses of wine she forgot her brother’s name, but then justified it by saying it was just her brother-in-law, which allowed James to finish off all the bottles with the reasoning he could still remember the names of his brothers-in-law…as long as you include nicknames; James (with the pre-wine shakes) knocking over glasses and dropping the cheese board, but catching the cheese with his knees…before Lea went on to eat said cheese (post wine); and the look on Lea’s face when she realised she’d eaten a pig’s snout.

We’ve been out for a lovely dinner; sat on our balcony eating croissants and drinking mimosas (a couple of times); accidentally went to another Michelin star restaurant for lunch where James decided to start cutting down on the food intake and left a single salmon roe egg on one of his plate to be delicate, and Lea struggled through the biggest lump of sweet breads (that were neither sweet nor bread) that you’ve ever seen, before shaking in terror when presented the short breads for dessert…AND we scored 4 glasses of free Champagne because they accidentally changed the order our desserts came out, which was amazing as we firmly believe desserts should just come out when they’re ready; jumped on a train with 3 half empty (or full??) bottles of bubbles and wine to go watch the Eiffel Tower from the Trocadero and wander the streets of the city of lights on Friday night with our “walkies”; and we plan to do absolutely nothing on our last day in France.  There’s cheese and 3 bottles of Champagne in the fridge.

If anyone is judging our Paris bludging, back off! In TWO weeks we’ve been to: Paris, Bordeaux, Pauillac, Saint Emilion, Cognac, La Rochelle, Amboise, Saumur, Angers, Mont Saint Michel, D-day beaches, Bayeux, Camembert, Livarot, Honfleur, Rouen, Giverny, Versailles and PARIS!  I think we need a holiday.

PS-turns out we did do something on our last day, we went for a walk and found ourselves in the middle of a rave along the banks of the Seine.  It actually worked out well as we had planned on covering our shoes in urine just before packing our bags anyway.

Apologies again for the title…it was either that or “Show me the Monet!” To cover our drive through Rouen, Giverny and, finally, Versailles.  I don’t actually have anything to say for what was a day trip, just really liked the 2 potential titles, but, as it turns out, the one chosen is quite apt.  The town of Rouen, famous for burning Jean d’Arc (so not an overly great reason to be famous in French history), had an amazing Cathedral (quelle surprise), but was otherwise a little underwheling.  And Versailles, looks as if it was built by someone who thought of himself as the Sun King.

After Rouen, we headed to Giverny with high hopes, low expectations and one of us had an overwhelming desire to never drive again.  However, Monet’s former home and gardens were more than worth the visit…if such a phrase even has any meaning in English.  I guess in French, you would say it’s “impossible”.  As in you cannot give 110%, that is 10% more than you can give, any more is impossible and not even worth trying, and please go away thank you,  it’s siesta time from 12 to 16 heures…but please use exact change before you go.

Ok…where was I? Francesomewhere… .Rouen, Givnerny, got it.  After ten days of driving, James finally dropped that car off in Versailles without a scratch! And at the same time, dropped Lea’s phone without a scratch completely smashing it to a billion pieces.  No matter………I don’t mind doing something stupid…haha…everything’s fine! 🙂 Will totally grow my nails back in the last 4 days.

We checked into  an incredible hotel near the Trianon, where we were kindly offered to upgrade our room to one with a view of the gardens for the very low price of purchasing an extra room, seeing as the hotel was almost empty.  Upon saying, “sorry, no, that would eat into our immense wine budget”, we bonded with the lady at reception, who shared the same birthday as Lea and had been to Perth, so we were very excited as she handed us the keys saying, “here are the keys……to the worst room in the hotel…if you can call it the hotel, you need to walk across the gardens to the shack on the otherside”.   If they upgraded us it would have contradicted their rule to only upgrade those who are old enough that they could never possibly return, and are unlikley to have any friends left to recommend them……

If it wasn’t then we realised we were in a…let’s say H**** owned hotel or if that’s too obvious let’s just call it a Paris Hotel (seeing as we’re in France), it certainly sank in when in our room (that for extra impact had somehow been dug in below the dirt line to ensure the only view was of their ant farm) we noticed the usual sign of “if your fingerprints are found on the mini-bar, we assume you’ve licked everything and you must pay. Enjoy your stay with the … group of awful hotels”.  We thought of dropping in Conrad’s name, having watched every episode of Madmen we felt he would have been reasonable, but, instead, went and drank along side the Grand Canal looking towards the Chateau.  And jokes on them, we were able to climb out our window and turn the dirt into a balcony.

Anyway…the awful commercialisation of the … chain aside, Versailles is ridiculous.  The buildings, the canal and the gardens, which almost made Lea laugh as James suggested they would be arborous work to maintain (NB: of course she didn’t laugh, as won’t you, the readers).  I think all the readers agrees that democracy simply doesn’t work, and Versailles is proof.  We had an amazing time, accidentally ate at a newly crowned Michelin starred restaurant, where our Franglish helped make it one of the best meals we’ve ever had, and most importanly…dropped off the car….which had 201km’s on it when we picked it up and now had over 2000km’s…however, we failed to mention that the clutch may be due it’s 100km service.

PS- If anyone’s wondering, James’ shaver broke…which explains the face.  The extra chins are for a very different reason.

Sorry about the cheesey title.

From Angers, we had a massive day ahead of us as we set sail for Normandy (in a Polo), with our first stop planned for Mont Saint-Michel. Along the way we passed through many a cute town where Lea was teased by old men holding their baguettes.  She was taken aback by the size and quantity…James only had half a 2-day old stale baguette and we were struggling to find that elusive boulangerie.

Mont Saint-Michel is spectacular.  It jutts out of the landscape like some kind of giant Cathedral, built on a lonely, rocky island, amongst otherwise flat tidal plains.  We were there in off season. If you haven’t been yet, GO NOW! Or be happy that to drive past it is about as good as it gets.  It’s a tiny town, on an island, with a restaurant that has a sister restaurant in Tokyo.  Get it?

From MSM we headed to the D-Day beaches, we visited Pont du Hoc and the US cemetary and the horrendously scary and intimidating beaches at Arromanches.  If we weren’t already feeling like the luckiest people in the world…there’s not much to say here.

Our first night in Normandy was in Bayeux. A sleepy (read: dingy) town with a tapestry, a (way too big for the number of inhabitants) Cathedral and…let me just check my notes……uuum….ooops…sorry, no that’s it.  But all “jokes” aside, if there’s one thing I know (and there probably isn’t), it’s definitely tapestries! And this one is definitley in the top two I’ve seen!  In Bayeux, James had foie gras again, in attempt to boost his own liver suplies, used his best Franglais to find THE ONLY PUB IN FRANCE OPEN ON A SUNDAY NIGHT and woke up with his first big headache of the trip (surprised? I am).  But, after totally blaming all the local cider for the head throbbing and lack of eyelid movement abilities, he was forced to apolgise to Normandy as he woke to realise that the “water” he’d been consuming during the night was in fact a sneaky Loire Rosé…

We toured around the surprisingly beautiful area surrounding Camembert, including a tour in the aptly named town of Livarot…and stayed the night in the pretty port of Honfleur.  The majority of the tourists there certainly helped put the Pom in Pomme.

After a relaxing 6 days or so it was time to get serious and realise we’re not here to relax and we needed to get moving!  The first, of many long driving days to come, helped us remember the subtleties of European driving such as, using your hazard lights to say something like, “I’m breaking the law here, but I’m owning up to it so it doesn’t count…”, rather than in Australia where you may be saying, “please don’t honk at me, I’m already embarassed enough, my fuel tank’s empty, I was waiting for my next youth allowance payment and prioritised beer over petrol…”  Of course I’m too scared to use the hazard button, having it drilled into me from a very early age, until my late teens, that it was in fact the ejector seat button.

Our first location in the Loire (or rather, beside the Loire), was the highly recommended town of Amboise, and a highly recommended B&B. We stayed in a stunningly renovated, ~million or so year old house run by the Americo equivalent of the Fawltys…had the Fawltys continued to stay married into their old age and had Basil completely chilled out.  The eccentric lady of the house was more than happy to send her husband off to run around fetching James more wine as he lit fires all over the place (the fireplace that is), so it worked out pretty well!

The other guests in the house were also good for a few laughs (although keeping the other guests from hearing our laughs was quite a challenge).  Perhaps the plastic covers under the sheets might give you an indication of the target market (not toddlers)…old Americains.  The one day I caved-in to a request from Lea to wear my boots, we sat next to a lovely couple from Seattle who proceded to tell us how much they hated Texas…kicking off an interesting debate about boots, electric cars, awful coffee, Frasier and how generally unfairly they are treated around their travels.  We were tempted to let them in on the trick to identify as Aussies.  But, didn’t, instead.

Much of our time was spent looking through the amazing Chateaux in the area, Chambord and Chiverny first, but then there was one that completely Chateau’d all over the others, Chenonceau, and not just because of cave au vin.  James’ tested recipe for making any Chateau better is to just add water.  We also saw Clos de Lucé, where da Vinci spent his final years, and learned that Leo was actually a vegetarian!  We were completely suprised as we’d always thought he liked a sausage from time to time.  And we had some awesome dinners at the recommendation of our helpful hosts, including one where James had foie gras three ways…I guess a ménage à trois à foie gras, as tasty as it sounds…the poor goose probably had it worse though.

We drove along the banks of the river, tasting wine in a real cave in a real mountain, eating cheese and drinking wine in the vines by a Chateau looking over the Loire and the town of Saumur, exploring the homes of the troglodytes and admiring the very well fenced off, yet still radiant, nuclear plants as they added something extra to the terroir (I would say a little je ne sais quoi to to the terroir, but used the same joke for a graveyard this time last year) of the vines that were right next door.  That’s French confidence, but I guess they’ve been doing it that way for millenia.

Our time in the valley ended with a night in Angers, next stop Normandy!

A “young” girl’s, strange, “erotic” journey from Milan Saint Emilion to Minsk Amboise.

Only a short drive from Saint Emilon is the musical cars town of Cognac (Ed: written when drunk <as per plan>, expect musical chairs is reference to sparcity of vehicular, docking stations).  We were so well organised for this visit, and, of course, when we say organised we mean we had brunch from the boot of our Polo.  Stale bread and mouldy cheese.  Lea assured me that’s how the cheese was supposed to be, but this came from a (beautiful 🙂 ) lady who believes that walking past a boulangerie (in France…) is an act of God!

In Cognac, I managed to drag Lea on tours of the house with the largest market share, the oldest house and the two smuggest houses in town.  (Totalling two tours…). The main theme of the day was make sure your consummation is in moderation.  I think that was meant to refer to the alcohol and not honeymoon behaviours.  The message was consitent  when seeing James swirl brandy all over his T-shirt, then sneakily stealing Lea’s tastings and the incessant (and incestual) talk of passing on Savoir-Faire.  Which, in this circumstance, meant children following their Dads (let’s assume he meant and/or Mums) around the cellars tasting what they taste…before our Oxford schooled guide backtracked and blamed his perfect English, what he meant to say was “smelling” because of course they can’t taste until 18 years.  And then, in MODERATION.

Anyway, due to being so well moderated…we (James) couldn’t manage to get drunk in Cognac and thereby usurped Lea of her first opportunity to drive.  So to pass the time between tours, we reverted to “boot wine” (a new form of “<insert noun> wine” for us, which was from the boot of the car, not out of James’ boots which had so far done stuff all), on the street outside Martell.  Having no idea where to spend the night, the red wine / carbon monoxide rush gave Lea the brilliant idea of having a “Toin Coss” to decide where to go next!  However, completely bereft of toins, James instead offered up a coin and 2 cosses to zero, it was confirmed we’d travel hours out of our way and head for La Rochelle.

We actually had a great night in La Rochelle, snagging a room in a 2 star hotel with a view of the Dubrovnik-esque harbour, watched (what Lea called) our first sunset looking West, at the best beach we’ve seen in Europe (kind of like a really bad Australian  beach), had a lovely meal ordered 100% in French (I’m not sure what happened apart from I know ordered off the “Hors menu” and was more than surprised to receive smoked fish), and “je voudrais deux vin rose”‘d our way through the streets to finish another lovely day in France.

…but Saint Emilion is fffffffffffffffff…formidable!!!!

After 3 days of partying or whatever that was… we all stumbled on to a tram, crossed the tracks and literally watched as the city changed from un-molesty to much-more-molesty looking, en route (French…who cares anymore…) to the rental car location, nicely hidden away in rue des Touristes DuMass. Craig and Hanlin left in their frog car (not racist, it actually looked like a frog) after Hanlin’s breath ensured all tourists in the shed would end up over the limit due to consuming his very own Angel’s share…maybe archangel’s share at least (hang on, wasn’t Michael an archangel?? Or was that a Travolta movie?). We got into our lovely, tiny Polo, let’s call it the Stewart car…or maybe the ‘S CAR‘ and it was time to GO…apologies to all, but I (hope) my Mum might have just lost her wine at that one…assuming she’s drinking wine right now…<insert many reasons for previous leap of faith>. 

It was so lovely to hit the road and to finally see some of the real Bordeaux. A 1000 year old, UNESCO listed, holiday and wine purchasing town…where 98% of the population has been pushed out to make way for rich, new world tourists.  Vive la France!  We fell in love with Saint Emilion immediately. And, after being upgraded to a room with balcony, Lea had the cheek to ask to have it for an extra night as well!  This was the second time in a day Lea had (somewhat) soberly asked for something extra or un peu plus, after having scored prime seating at a totally fancy-pants restaurant, with the reasoning: “if we’re going to be treated like Americans, we may as well act like them”. Wow…Like, so proud right now.  Right?

To get in the spirit of the town we did a tour of the catacombes. It was incredible, albiet with slightly more adrenaline than we usually care to go for on our holidays.  The tour guide spent an hour telling us about the frequent collapses of the caves, over the last few decades. (Insiders’ note: as I noted this random titbit on my iPhone, I also got an extra heart-starter as I wondered if this would be the last thing someone would read on my phone following the next collapse, only to end up on a news cycle as an “odd spot”.)

To lower our cave-tour stress levels, we ventured to more familiar caves that provided grapes in the form of their fermented juices. Where you get to hear how millions of years of limestone formation, mixed with perfect soil conditions, pruning, no watering (for..no sensible reason at all) and corrupt politics go in the terroir and make the best wines in the world. Storing them in the, current, 35 degree cellar conditions for 4 months over peak season to flog to stupid tourists (us) apparently has no effect on the quality.  Which bodes well for our cellar cupboard at home.

We had dinner on our balcony, before walking the streets with glasses plastics full of the local rouge…maybe taking some inspiration from our neighbours in Bordeaux (the prossies)…walking the streets with red…?  I give up.  Being close to the town of Bergerac, I’m sure there’s a Prossies-Roxanne-Cyrano de Bergerac three-way connection in here somewhere (which now sounds dirty, but I thought was actually quite clever and cultured when I thought of it…)

Our bonus day in St. Emilion involved Brie, Bordeaux blends, Baguette and Balcony…much like the previous day. However, we did go for a walk to a wine tour, which was amazing, and included the only chandelier we’ve ever seen on a fermentation floor (giving a certain je ne sais quoi to the terroir I’m sure), and then walked to another tasting, while sampling the purchases we had previously made along the way.  In retrospect everyone has 20/20 vision (whatever that means, I like to score things out of 100), but I probably should have called it quits after the first tour, having watched Lea walk into a parked car only to spout out, in her finest French accent, “pardon, Monsieur…desolée!”…or maybe she said “pardon, voiture…”, I’m not sure which is worse.  (Ed (Lea)’s note: that’s slight misrepresentation, I wasn’t even drunk, how come we don’t add stories of you being parapaletic (sic) in a fountain?) (Author (James)’ note: I don’t really remember Bordeaux).

We spent the night watching a storm roll in from our room, had a meal other than cheese and bread, and had the best time in Saint Emilion! Bring your loved ones some day! Or, peut-etre, your family!

Our first three nights were spent in Bordeaux, with a friend we see every year or so, Craig (or Ferret to some readers), and another we see every time we step into Northbridge (NB: we walk through NB* everyday), Michael (or Hanlin, Handbag or “suit guy” to some readers…although he may not be aware of that particular nickname).

*NB: NB doesn’t usually stand for Northbridge, except the one place I used it in above, so please revert to custom Latin anagrams from now on.

Although, physically and emotionally affected by jet lag, we had a nice start with a cruise (although lack of booze being not so idillic) and a lovely dinner together, in a beautiful restaurant, with lovely hostess…albeit well aware of the contrast that was about to show itself in the form of suit guy and the ferret who turned up at 10pm and 11.30pm respectively.

Waking peacefully on our first morning, after a lovely sleep on European pillows, which are as useful as…….a stupid pillow…on a bed…(I’m too tired to come up with similes!) to the sound of of “workers”, who by now we know only “work” on Sat mornings from 7-9am in Europe, we couldn’t help but think, “thank <insert deity> we’re not running a marathon today!”  Well, three of us got to think that at least.

Congratulations to Hanlin, he actually ran a marathon. It doesn’t matter how much wine, beef and oysters were consumed en route (French), he finished within the required time, which is more than any of you have ever done…apart from those of you I’m well aware have done…and more. BUT, did you do it drunk, in green face, with a crown and some form of adult ADD?? Maybe, I didn’t see you do it, but it sounds somewhat unlikely.

Oh…it turns out not only didn’t we see any of you run a marathon, but we also didn’t see Hanlin do it either. We missed the train. After a sprint of our own along platforms 1-9 looking for platform A, only to see the sign at #9 indicating A, B and C are just before #1, I could almost hear the “hor hor hor”s of the French transport workers who meticulously designed the station just to confuse foreigners.

So with literally no other options, other than hope and a 200E taxi ride, we were forced to accept that we wouldn’t attend the climax of an event that was sure to be awful for spectators anyway…and foreigners…particularly those with a fear of red vomit, French or marathon runners. So the three of us, instead, parted ways, Craig “my favourite pub is the one I can see right now” went to the closest pub he could find with rugby, soccer and all the accompanying elements you’re currently picturing, while the Stewarts went to the Cite du Vin…quelle surprise (French). Where, after 2 days in Bordeaux and a wander around what should have been his favourite ever museum, James finally got to taste a Bordeaux blend. And it was Chinese. Qu’est-ce qui se passe! (French) WTF (English). It seems we’ve done something seriously wrong to upset Dionysus.

After a quick beer at the Austra pub (the only semi-Australian pub in town, which must have been the closest pub to Craig at the time) with Craig, we all had dinner with the Frog Prince…a position you need to be careful of being in here, all the frogs are legless and the Princes headless. Although, it could be said that at least one of those is an apt description here.

James and Lea passed out, missed many a phone call and were awoken by Craig in a panic trying to avoid the prostitutes downstairs…yep.  We couldn’t help but think of the poor lady downstairs, whom we assumed worked at the bakery write something about yeast and/or buns and/or ovens being fed up with the AirBNBers upstairs banging (sorry…I won’t touch that…eww…or that) on the door every night and running away scared.

The following day started with James telling Lea, I don’t think today will go to plan (with slightly different wording), with Lea laughing back with, “I’ve known that for weeks…idiots (French)”. After missing out on a root above a (potential) brothel, we almost very nearly missed out on a drink in the largest wine region in France

An hour on the train to a French town, on a Sunday…somehow the plan didn’t work out. One person wasn’t surprised. We managed to find ONE cellar open for tasting of TWO wines per person! Because anymore is “IMPOSSIBLE”, despite the plethora of glasses, open bottles of wine and thirsty-willing-to-pay tourists

Anyway, without commenting on the French’s ability to say “impossible” about the simplest of tasks halting their progress over the last few hundred years, we went away with wine and, more importantly plastic cups (alas no toothpicks to help budge the Medoc tannins) to drink in the bleachers of the rugby field next to the train station.  In a very Grease, meets Breakfast Club, meets rugby move (Invictus? Maybe not) meets a bunch or unorganised idiots in the Medoc moment.

After some train drinking (which in France gets smiles from the conductors, an interesting contrast to Australia where it’s the last remaining Capital Punishment) we had “lunch” in a beautiful square in in Bordeaux. James had only recently started a regime of skipping meals, to ensure his clothes lasted the full 2 weeks, which was made a lot easier at the chosen “restaurant”. Particularly when the confit canard (French) resembled a rubber ducky out of luke warm child’s bath and made you question whether it had been used to make a reduction that went into the Canard bottle in the bathroom.

After lunch, 2 went for naps and 2 had a drink at home…and then went to find more drinks and play in a fountain drinking 9% beers. I won’t tell who, but there ends my memory of Bordeaux. And the other is pretty obvious. It wasn’t Lea…or Craig.