Nos trois premiers mois

Today marks three months since we landed in France to begin our adventure. The time has gone so quickly, but we have had so many wonderful experiences and made great memories from our time so far.

To mark this date, I thought I would share with you some photos and stories that haven't made it into other blogs for various reasons...

In our first week here we discovered the game of Pétanque being played by men all around town. 

A version of boules, the game is played in dry dirt parks, with this one taking place just behind our house. 

We enjoyed walking past and watching the game, which stopped being played when the weather turned cold and wet.

Left-hand drive on the right side of the road took some getting used to, and still catches us out on occasion.

Going around round-abouts, changing gears with the right hand, and turning on the windscreen wipers instead of the lights all prove a challenge

 (for me anyway)!

I took a quick break from trying to give directions to take this pic of Marty cruising through the streets of Barcelona.

In my quest to try various forms of chocolate throughout Europe, I couldn't resist this amazing chocolate-covered fruit kabab!

It was delicious and warming as we wondered through Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park, London.

Of all the things at London Tower to get a photo of, I was excited by these old Beefeaters posing for pics with tourists.

They look thrilled, don't they?

Day one in Paris was spent at the Palace of Versailles, and needless to say I wore Marty out with all the walking! 

This was on the train on the way home. 

As I took this pic and had a little chuckle to myself, the French lady sitting next to me laughed too and said her husband can sleep anywhere as well!

This is Marty at work in our kitchenette making a jambon, fromage, tomate and épinard baguette (ham, cheese, tomato and spinach sandwich). 

This has become a staple lunch for Marty here, as he just can't go past the fresh bread we buy daily.

I couldn't believe that Marty managed to find a vending machine!

We were on an afternoon trip to Rennes-le-Château, not far from Limoux. The village is very small, and perched on top of a hill surrounded by mountains and rolling landscape.

Somehow there was a working vending machine tucked around the corner of a building, and Marty found it.

Continuing my quest...this was the most amazing chocolat chaud I have ever had. It was literally like drinking melted chocolate; so thick and delicious.

I found this at the Christmas markets in Toulouse, and have been searching for it, unsuccessfully, ever since.

The first day we saw ice on our car...happened to be a training day for Marty. 

I admit that I felt guilty going back inside our warm house after taking this pic, as Marty went off - covered from head to toe - to training. 

I can only imagine what he is thinking at this moment...

I have been trying to get a pic of Marty in his 'noir et rouge' playing gear for some time, with no luck...

It took a cold and rainy day with a wet and muddy field to get a pic of Marty, with his teammate Phil, in their playing gear.

Unfortunately, they send the whole kit (minus the jersey) home with the players to be washed...so I earned my keep that week too.

First snow!

Growing up in Central Queensland, we are accustomed to hot Summers and mild Winters. We may get some frost on the grass in the middle of winter, but have to breathe out really hard to see our warm breath on the coldest of days.

There are opportunities to see the snow further south, but with the football season running through Winter, this has never been an option for us. We came to France excited at the prospect that we will finally get to see and experience snow.

Among the first questions we asked veteran players and residents here was 'does it snow in Limoux?' To our delight, we were told early on that we may get snow here this year, as they had done in recent years. If not, we could always go up to the Pyrenees, as they are close by.

We could feel the temperatures cool in December, and had hoped to have a 'white Christmas' in London. But apparently, to my amazement, it wasn't quite cold enough yet. At the time I couldn't comprehend how 'colder' felt; the temperature was in the low single digits and we were covered in layers from head to toe.

When we returned from Paris we were told that snow might be a couple of weeks away. And since then, we have experienced 'colder'. The temperature has again dropped, going into the negatives on occasion.

Then on Monday, as we sat Skyping the Hatfield family from Brisbane, Marty looked out the window and questioned: "is that snow?" As we both ran outside to investigate, I danced around enjoying the light flakes that were falling from above, before Marty cleared up that this wasn't quite the snow we had been waiting for; it was in fact sleet.

We came back inside before we got wet and cold from the drops melting as they landed on us, and watched the white mist fall from above and melt on the ground. It was a very pretty sight, but not our first snow.

A few days passed as the weather remained cold. Then on Thursday morning, I woke to the sound of a leaf blower outside. As I got up out of bed and opened our thick black-out curtain, I was instantly excited by the beautiful sight of our snow-covered garden. What an amazing and pretty sight! 

I quickly got dressed and ran outside to investigate, yelling to Marty to come check out the snow. While it had stopped falling, there had been enough to put a thin layer on everything. I touched it, felt how soft it was and picked it up in my hands.

It was the coldest morning I had experienced yet, but I walked outside our courtyard to see the streets lined with snow-covered cars and the trees pretty in white. It was just as I had seen in photos; a postcard image of a small French town in winter.

Marty joined me outside and was equally as excited; only he channelled his excitement into making a tightly-packed little snowball, which he then proceeded to throw hard at me from a very close distance. Turns out we have a lot to learn about making and throwing snowballs!

Unfortunately the snow didn't last long; within an hour it was raining and the snow had melted away. The cold weather and rain has remained with us, but no more snow...yet.

It appears to be snowing in towns all around us, so we are hopeful to experience this amazing natural wonder again soon. Somehow the thoughts of snow - how beautiful it is and the fun to be had in it - makes the cold weather worthwhile.

Only in France...

We love the adventures that we have on holidays; exploring new places, creating new memories. And it would seem that our adventures extend to the very last moments of the holiday, as was the case when we crossed the Spanish border, and again when trying to fly home from Paris.

It all started when we went to bed at around 11.30pm on Tuesday night. I set my alarm on my phone for 5am so that we would have sufficient time to catch our 8.30am flight from Paris to Toulouse. Having missed a flight in the past by seconds will scare anyone into being over prepared, so we figured that we would give ourselves plenty of time.

The plan was to wake up, finish packing our bags, and tidy up our apartment slightly (empty the fridge, take the rubbish out, put the dishes away, etc). Then we were going to walk two blocks to a metro station and catch the train to a station that was about five stops away. 

From there, we would catch the bus that would take us to the Paris Orly airport. All up, the transit would take about an hour, giving us plenty of time to check in early and have some breakfast while waiting at the airport.

A sound plan, we both thought. But what we didn't count on was me unconsciously turning off the alarm when it went off at 5am. At least, that's what we think we happened. Without a backup alarm, the next couple of hours went a little bit like this...

7.30am - I awake on my own and wonder how much precious sleep time I have left before I will be rudely woken by the alarm. Turns out, I had already stolen an extra hour and a half! I sit up with a fright and literally push Marty out of bed while yelling "GET UP! IT'S 7.30!"

7.31am - We madly dash around the apartment, putting on any clothes we find and cramming the rest into our bags. As we jump around the room trying to pull our jeans on we interrogate each other about how this happened and what are we going to do?!

7.33am - I think perhaps we can check in online, and while Marty finishes packing and takes out the rubbish (the fridge and dishes didn't even factor in our concern), I got online and tried to figure out the system to check in. This may have worked if we'd had a printer to print our tickets, and if online check in hadn't closed at 6.30am. No, we would have to do it the old fashioned way; just a lot faster!

7.35am - As we ran out the door, I suggested a taxi and ran out to the street to find one as Marty locked up the apartment and left the key as instructed. There were no taxis in sight; actually there wasn't much of anything in sight at this time, apart from bakery delivery vans.

7.36am - Still in darkness, we run in the direction of the metro station, but found a taxi sitting in a quiet side street. I approached and asked the driver, who was texting on her phone, if she could take us to the airport. She agreed as we were climbing into the back seat. Precious seconds were wasted as she insisted that Marty put our bags into the boot.

7.37am - We were on our way to the airport, sitting in stressed silence. After observing so much crazy traffic in France, we happened to find the slowest, most cautious taxi driver in all of Paris! When the driver asks if the terminal is Orly East, I confirmed and asked how long the trip would take, making it clear that we were in a hurry as our plane was scheduled to leave at 8.30am. After advising that the trip would take about 20 minutes, the driver said that we had plenty of time. Somehow, that wasn't reassuring.

7.58am - We arrived at the terminal with our doors open before the taxi came to a stop. Marty leapt out and reached for our bags as I threw enough money in the driver's direction. We ran inside the terminal, following signage down the stairs to the check in area for our airline. No other passengers were in sight as we ran toward the staff behind the desk.

8.00am - Looking desperate, we advised our destination of Toulouse, to which we received the response: "Oh I'm sorry, that flight has closed." Our hearts sank as I put our passports on the desk to take a brief breath. Another staff member took our passports and started typing away on the computer, asking for our booking confirmation number. I scrambled to find it as we were told they would allow us on, but we could only take carry-on luggage, no check in. What a relief!

8.03am - The staff advised us to run to the gate, as it was closing shortly, and pointed us in the right direction. We were again running through the airport, and as we approached the security screening area, our tickets were scanned by a staff member of our airline. We joined the end of the long security line, breathing a sigh of relief. Surely this was it; we had made it for our flight.

8.07am - We waited in line, debating if we should ask to be put to the front or just sit tight and wait our turn. Our flight was surely boarding by now, but we could see gates for our airline ahead, so felt that surely others in line were on our flight also.

8.14am - Our bags are pulled back through the x-ray scanner, and I am told I have liquid in my bag. I deny that I do as my bag is opened and the contents searched. My two weeks worth of clothing was in a small carry-on suitcase, and was now on display for all to see. We go back and forth as they demand that I take the liquid out, while I deny that I have anything.

8.16am - It occurs to me that they may have mistaken bags and it could be Marty's aerosol deodorant can that he hadn't taken out of his bag. I ask him, as he is waiting at the other end having cleared security, and yes, he had in fact forgotten to take it out. I pull the can from his bag as it is taken and disposed of, and both our bags go back through the x-ray.

8.18am - We are cleared through security and proceed to walk toward our gate. As we turn a corner into a corridor, a lady's head appears from behind a pillar and she yells: "Toulouse?". We nod, and she motions for us to hurry toward her.

8.19am - As we approach the gate, the four staff behind the counter give us a look as if say "where have you been?". We are told that we are the last passengers, and only just made it.

8.22am - We are sitting on the full plane, still feeling anxious, unable to comprehend what we had just been through. Did we just do this? Did we make it on the plane less than an hour after waking up? We look at each other in disbelief. I say to Marty: "if we were in Australia, there is no way they would check us in after they had closed the flight." We sit back, trying to relax.

8.25am - A voice comes over the intercom and advises that a bag has been left at the door of the plane, and if it belongs to a passenger, they should come forward and claim it. Another crew member holds the small suitcase up high for all to see as they walk through the cabin. Marty and I again look at each other and say: "how are we all still sitting on this plane? If we were in Australia we would have been ushered off while the bomb squad comes in to clear the bag." But here we were, sitting on a plane in France as the crew carry an unidentified bag, that had been left at the front door, through the cabin.

8.27am - The bag is claimed by an elderly couple, stored in the overhead area, and the crew is advised to prepare for takeoff. We can't help but think, "were we supposed to miss this flight for some reason?".

8.30am - Right on schedule, the plane departs Paris and we are told that we would be landing in Toulouse in 45 minutes. We again sit back, trying to relax.

I spent the flight thinking about the morning that we just had; in the space of less than an hour, we achieved what we had scheduled three-and-a-half-hours for. If we were in Australia, it would have been impossible.

A very Parisian New Year?

Who wouldn't want to be in Paris for the strike of midnight on New Year's Eve? We had heard nothing but great reviews of the celebration that takes place in Paris, and thought this would be the perfect place to share our first New Years as husband and wife.

Australians had told us of the Champs-Elysees being closed to traffic, with people converging on the street with their bottles of champagne and their own fireworks to ring in the New Year. With the Arc de Triomphe at one end of the famous street, and the Eiffel Tower in sight from various vantage points, we had very high hopes for a great Parisian celebration.

While in Paris, however, we were advised by two residents on different occasions to avoid the Champs-Elysees, as it was not an ideal place to celebrate; there was no justification of why, but we have to admit that we were warned.

It was about 9.30pm on New Year's Eve that we set out. We took the metro to the station at the bottom end of the Champs-Elysees and decided to walk up the Avenue toward the Arc to get a good vantage point.

The Champs-Elysees is almost two kilometres long. Couple that with the street still being open to traffic at this point, and we had a very long and crowded walk.

As we got toward the top end of the Avenue, we noticed that Police vehicles were parked three or four deep in each side avenue, and Police officers, armed with full riot gear, were lining the street as far as we could see. It was perhaps supposed to fill us with confidence, but didn't.

We were looking for something to have for dinner, however noticed that McDonald's had closed early for the night, possibly due to the smashed windows at the front of the shop. Other shops - the street is full of designer boutiques and specialty stores - had been boarded up along the front to protect their windows.

We managed to find some fast food and eat it with the crowds of others who were in the same position as us, however were unable to find any shelter when it started to rain at this point.

We powered on, determined to get a good position to see in the New Year. We walked up as far as we could toward the Arc and waited. The crowd appeared to be a mixture of tourists and shady characters hanging around the unsuspecting tourists.

We weren't there for long when we heard a Policeman advise us over a megaphone that: 'there are no fireworks here tonight,' much to our disappointment and confusion. We thought this was perhaps due to the rain, and decided that we might as well walk back down the other end now before the street becomes too crowded.

Research since this night told us that there aren't any fireworks in Paris to celebrate New Year's; a fact that all of our trusted advisors had neglected to mention when telling us that it was a great place to celebrate.

So we walked the near two kilometres back down the Avenue. By this time the Police were out in force, the crowds had become thicker, the street was still open to traffic, and the rain was persisting.

On this leg of our walk we noticed that Police were checking shopping bags being carried by revellers and confiscating any bottles of champagne or other alcohol from people who were walking up the Avenue. So it appeared that champagne on the street wouldn't be happening either.

We finally made it back down the end of the Champs-Elysees, and found a place among the still-sparse crowd near the Ferris Wheel, where we could see the Eiffel Tower. This would be where we would celebrate the New Year...in an hour.

We waited, as the rain continued and the crowd built up. It wasn't until 11.45pm that we noticed they had closed off the Champs-Elysees, and it was packed with umbrellas as far as we could see. Another ten minutes passed and we noticed cars stopping on the road in front of us, parking two and three deep, in position to watch the lights of the Tower at midnight.

As we huddled together, dripping wet and freezing cold, there was a sudden sigh from the crowd; it wasn't the roar of a countdown, and it wasn't the shout of celebration: it was midnight and the Eiffel Tower was silently sparking in the distance...and the crowd was admiring it.

While there was no denying that it was a pretty sight, it was a very far cry from the explosive fireworks and collective cheer of the millions of people in the centre of Paris that we were anticipating.

The sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower - which I'm told happen every night, not just New Year's - lasted a few minutes; long enough for us to realise that was as good as it was going to get, and it was time to go home and get dry and warm.

As we joined the herds of people headed for the metro station, we heard the familiar 'pop' of fireworks, and turned just in time to see three small bursts in the distance; let off by a reveller and no doubt enjoyed by every person present.

With our celebration over, and us curled up in our warm bed, it occurred to me that while it might not have had the million-dollar firework display, the roar and cheer of the crowd, or the celebratory drinks that we associate with New Year celebrations, the one thing it did have was the location: we welcomed in 2013 in Paris, and I'll never forget it!

Paris...the City of Love

For the second week of our holiday, there was no other option than Paris! What better place to be for New Years than the city of love? We weren't going to Paris for the French experience - we had been living that for two months. We were going to visit one of the most beautiful and famous cities in the world.

We had scheduled a week in Paris, and decided to pace ourselves a little more than we did in London. With our list of must-see attractions and experiences, off we went...

Now that is a Palace! The Palace of Versailles - home to French royal families (most famously home to Marie-Antoinette) prior to the revolution - was, quite simply, amazing. The gardens went as far as we could see and beyond.

I will remember forever the first moment I saw the Eiffel Tower. It became a familiar sight every day, and was worth the hour-and-a-half wait in line to go half way up; at least I thought so.

The Louvre was on my must-see list, and not only for housing the world's most famous painting (of which I took the world's worst photo); it is an amazing collection of art and artefacts. We both found items of interest, from Roman and Egyptian sculptures, to Napoleon's apartments. 

The Arc de Triomphe was so impressive in size and detail, it seemed a fitting monument to success. The round-about that it centred proved to be just as breathtaking - albeit for different reasons - as we watched the traffic chaos of French drivers! The Arc stands at the top end of the famous Champs-Elysees Avenue.

A stroll through Luxembourg Gardens on a sunny day in Paris is a must. This is where everyone goes to soak up some sunshine or jog while taking in the beautiful surroundings of the Gardens and former Palace.

A day trip outside of Paris took us to the small town of Provins, which has the remains of a medieval fortified city. We were able to walk along the wall and lookout from the towers that once guarded this city. 

Amazing and historic buildings in Paris are all just a stroll through the little streets away. We wondered past the Grecian Pantheon, over the River Seine and saw the famous Notre Dame Cathedral.

It wouldn't be a holiday in a major city without some shopping. Le Bon Marche - Paris' most famous department store - was just down the road from our accommodation in the area of Saint Germain. What a coincidence.

Paris was amazing and beautiful, and we could see why people fall in love with it. We, however, were both happy to be going home to our quiet little town of Limoux after quite an adventure in two of the biggest cities in the world.