Up and off at a reasonable hour this morning and decided to head over to county Waterford to have a look around. Again, the countryside is lush and we now can post a few photos as Dominique has kindly sent some through to us (see next few posts), which she took from her camera.
We did a little bit of shopping along the way to the Mahon Falls which was a place we were told would be of interest. I can tell you the walk from the car park to the falls was about one kilometre and we didn’t make it all the way. The weather had turned a little on us and the wind was biting the whole way. I think we stood within sight of the falls, said something like, “yep, there they are…..ok, seem em, lets get back to the car…” Not a complaint amongst us, very happy to get back to the car and some warmth.
We toured around for the rest of the day and then headed back to Clonmel stocked up with food and wine for the next few days. We will be leaving for the north tomorrow and making our way around the west coast to Galway.
This afternoon our fellow travelling partner, Dominique who has been visiting her Niece in Switzerland, will rejoin us. So this morning Michelle and I have decided to do a little exploring of the South part of Ireland in the Killarney area before collecting her from Cork airport.
Michelle and I have discovered our optimum travelling positions, Michelle drives and I navigate. Seems that there is less stress for all concerned when we assume these roles. It was a cool morning but the drive was spectacular, the narrow country roads are just the way to get a good feel for Ireland.
About an hour into our drive, we pull up at a little café in Fermoy and pick up a cup of coffee each. The owners of the café are very friendly and ask us where we’re heading. When we said “Killarney” they recommend that we give it a miss. Apparently, it’s where all the American tourists go and there really isn’t much to see. Michelle and I are happy to change our plans and visit Lismore that the café owners said would be more to our liking.
Lismore is a quaint little town with an ancient castle that is accompanied by acres of magnificent gardens. We pretty much had the place to ourselves and spent a good two hours wandering around and admiring the extensive gardens, quite spectacular. We decided to move on to Blarney to have a look around there and visit the castle and maybe even kiss the stone.
Blarney is on the north west side of Cork and is a busy little place in it’s own right. We had some trouble locating the castle as it isn’t very well posted, no real directions of where to go to find it. In the end, we parked the car and wandered around town to see if we could find it on foot.
As we walked around town still unable to locate a signpost or a remote hint of where the castle might be, we started to wonder if it was actually existed. Maybe this was one of those Irish jokes they liked to play on everyone, “come to Blarney to see the castle and kiss the stone, you’ll have the time of your life…” Thousands of tourists wandering around their town bumping into each other and asking, “do you know where the castle is?” the locals, sitting in their pubs laughing at all the “idiots” whilst they enjoyed a nice pint of Guinness. It didn’t help when I said to Michelle, “there you go….” and pointed at a sign that announced “The Blarney Castle Hotel” “nobody said anything about it being an actual castle, its really a pub”
Eventually, we came across a small sign indicating the way and we discovered that there is actually a castle, much to our relief. Climbing the 100 odd stairs to the top was an experience in itself, it was pretty cold and the stairs very uneven and narrow. It can be a little hairy as well for people who don’t particularly like heights but the views are spectacular.
When we reached the top, an attendant said, “right then, who’s game enough to kiss the stone?” I had a quick look and decided I didn’t particularly want to lay down on my back, haul myself out a few feet over the edge of the castle, have someone I have never met before keep me safe by holding my ankles and kiss something that is over 400 years old. “Not today sir, thank you very much” I guess some people would be surprised that we would go to so much effort to get there and then not go that extra distance to kiss the stone………..I think I can speak for both of us when I say, we aren’t disappointed.
We left Blarney behind and drove into Cork to collect Dominique and then head back to Clonmel, it was great to see her again and she was full of stories about her short trip to Switzerland.
We have decided to extend our stay with Tina and Jim for another night as we are having way too much fun here.
The local Church is a short drive into the countryside, its part of a small country community and has a very relaxed feel about it. In the car on the way there, I saw a sign that said, “Tipperary 15 Km” and thought to myself “that war song is a complete exaggeration, it’s not that far at all…”
I haven’t been to a Sunday Mass for about twenty years and I surprised even myself that I can recall all of the prayers and various segments of the service. I guess it must be like riding a bike or was it all those Presentation Nuns (Primary School) and Christian Brothers (Secondary School) who very diligently “taught” me all I needed to know about the Mass service.
I think the later probably true because at one point, about three quarters of the way through the service, I jumped at a certain part of the Mass. In grade six, Sister Rita and I were hardly the best of friends and she would invariably catch me daydreaming or fooling around during Friday Mass. She had a very effective way of getting your attention, a fist in the back, which was delivered with such force it, could knock the wind out of you if you weren’t expecting it. Anyway, that’s when I jumped during the service, totally involuntary and caused me to look around to see if Sister Rita was in actual fact behind me……thankfully she wasn’t. Anyway, I digress…..
The church grounds were something else, you could take a short stroll along a bush path alongside a small creek that lead to a resting area near a waterfall. People sat around with their families and took in the lovely countryside and quietly watched the waterfall and generally connected with nature. Never been to a Church like that before, quite an experience and very calming.
The afternoon was very, very special…..I got to go to my very first hurling game. I’ve never seen anything like it before and let me tell you, this is no sport for the feint at heart.
For the uninitiated, this game is a cross between lacrosse and hockey with a touch of physical contact. There are 15 players a side on a ground that is approximately the size of a soccer field. Each player carries a “stick” which closely resembles a hockey stick but is flat at the end. The flatness of the stick is required to hit a ball (about the weight and hardness of a cricket ball) from one end of the ground to the other. The object of the game is to put the ball into the goal area either by hitting it into the net (something like a soccer goal area – 3 points) or hitting it over the goal area between 2 extended posts (like football goal posts – 1 point).
In general play, it appears that the rules are, there are no rules. The ball can be hit down the ground and packs form (very similar to Aussie rules) where the ball can be caught (yeah right) or a player with their stick can belt it. I was witness to several players who attempted to “catch” the ball in these circumstances and I’m sure given their time again, they would have opted for the much safer option of swinging their stick at it mid air. Players generally pick the ball up off the ground by using the stick to flip it into the air and then either run with it on the flat part of the stick, hit it between their hand and the stick, wait until the opposition are really, really close and then belt it as hard as they can down the field (too bad if it hits the oncoming player) or throw it to a team mate.
In a situation where the ball is in dispute, bodies do clash, sticks do smash together, desperate efforts are made to clear the ball either by picking it up (yeah right), kicking it clear of the pack or hitting it with the stick. It’s two 30-minute halves of fast paced physical contest and excitement.
It very much reminded me of Aussie rules during the 60’s and 70’s when it was suburb against suburb and very tribal. If you are born in Kilkenny, then you can only ever play for Kilkenny…..no transfers to other teams or moving to another County, you play for Kilkenny or not at all. And it remains completely amateur, the players aren’t paid.
I’m hooked!!! I have plans to catch another game before I leave, it’s a beauty!
Michelle was happy to stay with our hosts whilst I drove back into Clonmel town centre this morning to try and get in touch with my Irish roots. For some time now I have had some pretty big expectations about how I might feel when I got here and without any sort of agenda, I wanted to soak it all up and see where that led me.
It was good to walk the streets and listen to the chatter of the people and I am constantly surprised by their friendliness. Everyone I pass greets me with a “hello” or at the very least a nod of the head. People are only too willing to take time out of their day to give me directions and then ask me where I’m from and engage in general banter about Australia and in turn Ireland.
I’m looking a little scruffy (as my Mum might say) as I’m well overdue for a haircut and I see that there is a local barber who has a full house. Whenever I find myself in unfamiliar surroundings I have a creed I go by and that is, “do whatever the locals are doing” I guess its not really that original because its very close to “when in Rome….” but it has served me well and I forgive myself for a mild case of plagiarism. Anyway, I decided that this was the place for me to clean myself up.
Sean, who cut my hair, was a character right from the start. He cautiously and very politely asked me if I was from New Zealand or Australia and when I answered Australia, he smiled and did a very funny imitation of Skippy (as in Skippy the Bush Kangaroo) and hopped around the shop (much to the amusement of all the local customers).
This, I believe, is what the Irish call “taking the craic” and I was more than happy for him to do so. Happy because it was very funny and I’m always up for a laugh but also because Ireland at this point in time is not the happiest place to be for the Irish. Whilst waiting for my hair cut I was reading the Irish Times and the lead story was about the loss of 6 Billion Euros in their Pension Funds during the Global Financial Crisis and the fact that they may need to extend their retirement age to 75….75!!!!!!
Sean talked about the loss of their talented and educated youth to countries abroad (Australia was prominent) as employment has become a big issue here and generally about the difficulties of “providing for our families” After talking to Sean, I got a completely different perspective about what is hardship and what is inconvenient, we in Australia are very, very lucky.
Sean wasn’t seeking sympathy, most of what he had to say was mixed with humour and a broad smile but the message was clear…..Ireland is hurting. He didn’t dwell on the difficult stuff for very long, more interested in whether I had caught up with Gaelic Football or Hurling and if we intended to visit several local places of interest, always with a kind word of advice about where we should probably go.
For 10 Euros, I received a very nice haircut (Sean said he had very little to work with and was embarrassed and apologised for the excessive charge) and a first hand education about the Irish way of life. Can’t help but love em.
Walking away from the barbers and laughing at my new best friends quips, I came across a Bookies shop. Gee, I have to at least have a look in here, Grandpa Rhynehart and Grandpa Doyle would have demanded it!! Would you believe, its Grand National day in England (its probably the equivalent of Melbourne Cup day in Melbourne) and I didn’t even realise!!
Ok, how am I going to get a bet on for the race? There’s no marking a box or colouring in squares…….you write your horse’s name, the amount you want to bet and Bobs your uncle. I tentatively approach the counter and handed the slip to the lady and said, “this is my first bet in Ireland….how did I do?” she said, “you did just fine young man…..” young man????!!!! You have to love the Irish.
I picked up some supplies before heading back to Tina and Jims and when I got there they said, “Do you know what’s happening today?” to which I responded, “yes, Grand National day and I’ve had a bet” These people don’t need much to have a celebration and it isn’t long before the champagne is out and a dozen or so hats are handed around and the TV turned on for the big race.
Four kilometres, something like 27 fences and 40 horses all amounts to a rough and tumble affair. My horse, Vic Venturi, hurdles the second fence but cant hurdle the 3 fallen horses in front of it and I’m already out!!! Oh well, it was nice whilst it lasted.
The afternoon was whittled away with a bit of a country stroll and a quiet Guinness in the local pub and then a pretty early night. Tomorrow’s Sunday and I have to go to church…….hope it doesn’t fall down when I walk in.
Before I get started, we have made some changes to the Blog site and it should be easier to leave comments.
Our last day here!!
We had a quiet day getting ready for our flight to Ireland and I’m now ready to move on. It’s fair to say that Barcelona didn’t offer up her best week to me during our stay nor did Barcelona see me at my best. Lets just say that I will be back to give her a second chance some day.
Managed to get on the Internet at the airport and discovered the Pies have beaten the archenemy Carlton. That’s 3 straight wins from 3 outings, not a bad way to kick off the season.
Unfortunately, Michelle’s camera has died on us and I don’t have any photo’s to put in the blog for the moment so you will just have to rely on my writing to get the picture.
The flight to Cork is about two and a half hours and we have got our woollies out ready…..just in case (or as they say here, to be sure, to be sure). “Stephen James Rhynehart…” said the man at the border booth at Cork airport, “and what would yer be visiting Ireland for Stephen?” I told him it was a lifetime ambition and I was here on a holiday. “Well, welcome to Ireland” he said “and I hope yer stay is a most enjoyable and relaxing one….”
They really are friendly people and that’s evident from the moment you step off the plane. We have decided to hire a car and do the trip around Ireland by driving ourselves. The first place we head for is Michelle’s friends Tina and Jim who have very kindly offered to put us up for a few nights before we head off on our drive up the west coast.
Tina and Jim live in a little village called Clonmel, which is to the south and is about a two-hour drive from Cork airport. Its late afternoon and the main thing Michelle and I noticed is the greenness of Ireland, after a few years of drought in Australia it’s a welcoming sight.
We don’t have complete directions to Tina and Jim’s place so we have to stop off in the town centre of Clonmel to ring them and get specifics. Hmmmm, I spied a pub not far from where we have parked the car and I’m keen to try a pint of their Guinness as everyone I’ve ever met has said, “you haven’t had a real pint of Guinness until you’ve had one in Ireland…” Let me tell you, they have all been right.
With directions in hand, it’s a 15-minute drive to Tina and Jim’s and we receive a right royal welcome from them. Their place is the last property in a quiet narrow lane and is basically farmland all around with uninterrupted views to the hills behind them. It’s late and we are tired but its hard not to marvel at their beautiful garden and the back drop of the hills.
I have decided that I will get up in the morning and go into the town centre alone so I can get a feel for the place.
Hmmmm, not up as early as we should be (mainly because of me) and we are off on our trek to Montserrat just a little late.
Michelle’s homework is proving very accurate and we are able to link up our transport in precision like fashion. The link between the metropolitan train and our country train proved a little testing but we stuck to the instructions and found our way to where we should be.
The trip out of Barcelona to Montserrat was very easy and we marvelled at the rock structure as we drew closer to the Monastery. We arrived just in time to have an initial look around and then head into the church to hear the boys choir sing for a ten-minute period. They do this every day and I have to say they were perfect.
The acoustics of the church complimented their trained voices delivering something very special….I wished my Mum was with us….she would have really enjoyed it. After the choir, we strolled the grounds and moved away from the large crowds that had gathered in the main tourist areas.
It didn’t take long to find a nice quiet place to sit and eat our lunch and it was impossible not to relax listening to the nearby waterfall and the active wildlife around us.
Everything about this place has a sense of calmness and peace, the kind you can spend your whole life trying to find. The Church seemed like just the place for us to light some candles and so with thoughts of Andrew, Gabriel and my Dad in mind, we placed three candles together in a section of their own. It felt good and right to do this and remember them in this place.
Michelle and I agreed that it was a place we would both like to revisit one day. We made the trip back to Barcelona late afternoon and visited the Parc Guell. It was a relaxing way to end our day but I must admit to discovering that the public transport system here is not something I am falling in love with.
Today was a very quiet day for me; I was content to rest, read my book and get ready for our trip out to Montserrat which we are to take tomorrow. It’s going to be a busy day as the trip takes in several trains and a funicular to reach our destination and Michelle has worked everything out exactly.
I’ve got one eye on the trip tomorrow and one eye on the next leg of our travels which is Ireland…..very exciting.
I’m back!! A good nights sleep and I’m ready to hit the town.
We got going pretty early today in an attempt to catch up on lost time. More shopping (does it ever end) and then lunch at that place in the market. When we got there Michelle said, “this is my third visit here over the years and that man serving behind the bar has been here every time” It’s a great way to eat and the food was very nice.
Michelle is constantly looking up at the architecture taking snaps and marvelling at the intricate designs and detailed works. I have to play photographer to try and capture her against some of the architecture…..with mixed success.
The afternoon was our time to suss out the cable cart and I now discover that my travelling companion is not too excited about the prospect of being dangled 100 meters above the ground in a “shoe box” suspended by a single cable. Hmmm, might be taking that trip on my own.
Michelle got over her fear of heights and made the trip with me and for all intents and purposes enjoyed the experience. This is a photo of her hanging on to the railing in the middle of the cable cart half way through the trip…..
There would be no return trip even though it was relatively cheap and the quickest way to get back; we would navigate our way home via the busses and metropolitan railway, thank you very much.
The train system is very good here but can be confusing to navigate. We had to get home to freshen up, eat and then get out to our venue for the Flamenco dancing and singing. Unfortunately, the train we caught was at peak hour and very, very crowded. We managed to squeeze in to a carriage and as soon as the doors closed a guy started pushing his way towards us through the crowd.
I was standing near the door of the train and this guy, dressed in a blue pinstriped suit and appearing to be some sort of businessman or professional worker was pushing right up against me. I tried to move away from the door as it appeared to me that he was getting ready to get off at the next station.
With his head down he periodically swayed with the train and was bumping into me. On one of those occasions when he bumped me, I thought he was trying to grope me. I had my wallet in the front pocket of my jeans and when I looked down, I discovered that whilst he was bumping me, he was slowly working my wallet up in my pocket….cheeky bugger.
I quickly put my hand in my pocket, pushed my wallet down and kept my hand there for the rest of the trip. My “friend” gave up on me and turned his back and appeared to be waiting for the next station. As he grabbed the railing near the doorway I notice he had tattoos on his fingers that would suggest that the suit and the briefcase were merely props for his real occupation.
I was indignantly telling Michelle of my experience (in a loud voice) and she cautioned me in a whisper that people like that usually work in pairs. In other words, keep your wits about you…..cheeky buggers.
That little experience threw me off centre and I was to be on the watch for the rest of my stay in Barcelona. We found our way home, ate and then headed out for our entertainment. The dancing and singing where everything I’d hoped for and Michelle and I had a great night……Ole!!!
In the space of 5 hours, we had seen the worst and the very best that Barcelona had to offer. The night ended with Michelle and I finding a very appropriate Christmas present for our fellow traveller Mark Budgen (you need to read the post about our visit to the French vineyard to understand this).
It’s a cloudy haze that I awoke to this morning and I’m not talking about the weather here. That 24-hour bug still has a slight hold on me but I’m not going to sit around the apartment for another day, Barcelona awaits.
The streets are bustling with activity; there are plenty of people around. Michelle is playing tour guide and introducing me to places of interest as we walk through the city.
We visited the local market, which is an experience in itself where you can sit at one of the stalls and have a lovely seafood meal washed down, by a nice cold beer or wine. Not that we got to try, my queasy stomach suggested that we wait to enjoy the market another day.
We continued to wander the streets and found our way to the Barcelona Port. There was a big crowd gathered and we realised that we had stumbled on the conclusion of the Barcelona round the world yacht race. The winners, a couple of French men, were given a right royal welcome with all the fanfare. They even had fireworks rigged up to the giant statue of Christopher Columbus, which were relatively ineffectual; after all, it was midday.
That statue is amazing and the perfect monument for someone like him. His pointed finger is approximately half a meter long, which gives you something to gauge the scale of it. Couldn’t help but be impressed.
Looking out over the harbour I noticed cable cart which made its way over the water and up into the nearby hills and made a mental note to revisit the ride later in the week.
The afternoon was spent shopping looking for shoes for Michelle and generally browsing the local shops. I had managed to get through the day and was starting to feel normal again by the time we got home. We had done some homework during the day and had discovered a local Flamenco dancing and singing venue that we planned to visit the next night, something that I was keen to see before leaving Spain.
Just a final note to say how lucky I am that I had my nurse looking after me during my 24-hour illness. Cool towels on my forehead to ease the temperature, Panadol when I could finally keep something down and regular lemonade fixes during the day and night were just what the doctor ordered, thanks Michelle xx.
We woke up today and made the final 45-minute trip to Casafierre where we were to drop off the boat. Made it to the mooring without incident, job done. The owners of the boat business needed the boat at that particular place today and offered up a free taxi drive for us to Narbonne, where we are to catch our train to Barcelona.
So we’ve had Canolli’s in Italy, canal’s in France and now castanets in Spain. Looks like some warm weather ahead and it’s impossible to get bored on this trip. The train trip was, as usual, very comfortable and also gave me the opportunity to catch up on the blog. Internet access wasn’t a strong point on our boating through the south of France.
We met up with Lucas and Georgina in Barcelona and our friends, Tina and Jim from Ireland who we will be staying with for a short time on our next leg. It was late afternoon and we decided on a few drinks at the apartment and then dinner at a local Argentinian restaurant. It was, so it seemed, a very enjoyable meal and the boys then headed off to a local bar to watch the Barcelona Football team play on a big screen.
Its all very amusing, isn't it boys....go ahead......eat drink and laugh.....the joke will be on you.....
Lucks a fortune and since being in Europe, we have noticed numerous signs for the local Lotto. Before we left Homps on the boat, the four of us decided to purchase a ticket, just for interest sake. Well guess what….we won first division!!!!!!!! Ten million Euros, that’s two million five hundred Euros each…….we’re not coming back as planned……..
If you believe that, you really are an April’s fool.
This morning we split up to have a good look around Marseillan and agreed to meet again at around 1.00 pm to have lunch together. Marseillan is a really nice place and probably the pick of the towns we have visited on the boat. Michelle and I went to Noilly Prat to taste their goods and came away with four bottles, one very happy lady amongst us.
We met up with Mark and Dominique at one of the local restaurants and had a lovely time choosing our food from an all-French menu. Michelle ended up with snails on her entrée plate so I thought I would give them a go for the first time in my life. Not bad, but probably not something I would race out and buy again.
We had to leave Marseillan by 2.30 pm so that we were in our final mooring place by 6.30 pm. The boat had to be returned the next morning to Casafierres and thus our boat trip would come to an end. It’s been a great experience but Barcelona beckons tomorrow, so it just keeps getting better and better.
The day ended for me with a little lay down to ease the pain in my backside from that slip on deck yesterday. The others took off on a bike ride, that was out of bounds for me.
I don't think that anyone would believe me if I said that the canal runs over the top of rivers in some places so have attached this video........
Today was our big day on the water. We had to work our way through the seven-tiered loch along the way and we were really looking forward to the challenge. Dominique was at the helm all the way through and as we approached the last loch we realised there was quite a crowd gathering at the bottom taking pictures.
As we passed through the last gates, Michelle and Dominique yelled out “Viva Australia!!”….nearly created an international incident I can tell you. At first I think one of the girls said, Viva Le Women!!” then the rest of the crowd were shouting, “Viva Nederlands” “Viva Italia” “Viva Deutschland” etc etc. Our boat skills are improving and we looked like real pro’s getting through all those lochs.
The rest of the day was spent making our way to our next mooring spot in Port Marseillan. This was becoming a little stressful as we were close to our deadline time of 5.00 pm and the wind had really picked up in the afternoon. Under the skilful helmsmanship of the Budgens, we made it down the canal and through several lochs, out into the Etang de Thau and into port just in time.
Oh, also slipped on the front part of the boat this afternoon and promptly sat down hard on the small piece of railing there. Nice pain in the backside to accompany me for the next few days.
The manual we had been given warned us against making the crossing to the Etang de Thau if the wind was too strong. From the back of the boat, Michelle was throwing out a warning that maybe we should wait until the next morning (no doubt thinking about the bush walk we had taken a week or so earlier) but there was nowhere to moor and we were basically committed.
A little scary making the crossing but we were always in safe hands with Mark at the helm. Once in Marseillan, we were so glad we had made the trip, it’s probably the pick of the towns we have visited on this leg of our holiday. It’s a lovely little seaside village with a mix of historical buildings and seaside residency. Oh, and Michelle is in heaven because this is the birthplace of Noilly Prat Vermouth!
We strolled the town to have a quick look around and decided that we would explore more the next morning.
The night before we had a good old belly laugh at the antics Mark and I got up to during the day. We had moored ourselves in a nice spot not far from the town of Beziers and a short walk to a small village.
The village had a few interesting stalls but by far the most interesting and most popular was the Deli on wheels. The girls were keen to wander around and Mark and I keen to try our hand at communicating with the locals as we did the previous day. So we took on the responsibility of purchasing food for the next day or two.
The Deli was an experience in itself. The woman that ran it did so alone, no help at all. Her two children sat in the front of the van whilst she attended to orders by the customers. We were in a line of about five people and waiting our turn when I spied the kids in the front of the van. Gee, they’re really well behaved, not a peep out of them.
It only took a few minutes of observing the woman; lets give her a name…..Yvette will do, to understand why the kids were so quiet. The order came for some pork chops, Yvette span around, grabbing a meat cleaver off to the side in her right hand and the pork chops in her left. Swinging the meat up onto a board, no sooner had it hit the board she swung the meat cleaver down with her right hand cutting off the first chop. Mark and I blinked in unison as the blade came down on the board. Within no time, Yvette had smashed off six chops and had completed the order. I raised my eyebrows at Mark who was nervously giggling behind his hand. I shot a glance into the front of the van and the kids were also looking a little nervous at the pounding happening in the Deli.
Next order some prosciutto…..Yvette grabs the meat, slams it into the slicer, asked “how thick??” (only in French) and then carves off ten slices within the space of 5 seconds. More giggling from Mark which got me going as well.
Soon it was our turn, I looked at Mark and he stepped up to talk with Yvette. “We need meat……you have meat…..very good meat…..we buy some…” Me, waving my arms around and giving the thumbs up to signify “good meat” Yvette gave us a puzzled look and pointed at the prosciutto, we nodded. Six slices thinly cut (we weren’t going to argue about the thickness) were whipped off and the first part of our order is done.
Mark had previously spotted some mortadella and was keen to purchase some, so he jabbed a finger in the direction of the meat and the second part of our order was done. I was getting a little distracted by the mussels in a tomato sauce that were bubbling away in a giant wok on the fish stall next to us and had missed a little of the action. By the time I woke up, Mark was on to our final item on the shopping list.
“Some cheese……….” Said Mark in that loud voice of his. I glance at the cheese and there are four types each with a drawing of a cow, a sheep or a goat. Gee, I’ve got my work cut out for me here, how do I get across that we want the cows milk Hommes de Chancelle. The left finger goes out towards the Hommes de Chancelle and then both fingers up to my head to indicate the horns of a cow…..held off on the moo, Yvette got the message. From nowhere, she plucked a huge carving knife and with 2 slashes had produced a nice sample each for Mark and I. Merci…yes…very nice.
We walked away laughing and saying if you ever owned a business, Yvette is the sort of person you want to run it for you. The sandwich that Michelle whipped up using our ingredients was just what the doctor order for our lunch.
We visited Beziers that afternoon and it was a place to forget……and that’s all I have to say about that. It was good to catch up on the Internet and do some clothes washing there and grab some food for the night.
We all slept very well last night, the boat didn’t move an inch from its moorings (well done Mark and Steve for paying attention on how to secure the ropes at our brief) and it was so calm and quiet, just what we needed after the big day we had yesterday.
We may have been lacking in a few maritime skills and ability, but we certainly weren’t short of lovely food (thanks to Dominique and Michelle), as a result, breakfast was just what the doctor order for us to take off on our first full day on the canal.
I really didn’t know what to expect on this part of the European trip but it was a stroke of genius by Dominque who was the main driver in organising it (well actually, she was the sole organiser). Now, sitting on our boat following the tree-lined canal, I am absolutely relaxed and amazed at the sights we are seeing. The century old farmhouses and the numerous vineyards lining the canal have kept us oohing and aahing all the way.
Dominique also made sure that we had bikes on board so that we could moor the boat and take a ride into the countryside whenever the opportunity arose. Haven’t been on a bike since I was 14 (and that last ride at 14 was enough to make me give up biking forever) but I was really keen to make use of them.
Our first pit stop was in Somail and we duly moored the boat and got the bikes out. It would be impolite to say we should have left the bikes on the boat and kept going through Somail……..so all I’ll say is that the bike ride was fun.
I decided to sit at the front of the boat after we left Somail and having only just left the place we were moored, I made a motion to our helmsman to pull to the right…..spotted a vineyard……we need more wine……problem solved.
Don’t think the woman at Domaine Du Tresor www.domainedutresor.com will ever forget the day that Mark and I rode into town, but she was lovely and very understanding about our lack of French. We have both suffered the indignity of having our partners speak French and Italian whilst we have meekly stood by waiting, not this time; we are determined to have a go.
We entered a lovely tasting area where we were met by the owners dog, sitting in its basket at the front door, and the salesperson. As she approached, Mark took the lead and in a voice louder than what he would normally project, said “we come from a long, long, long way away…we no speak French” immediately, I offered hand gestures in an attempt to back him up, arms spread and making waving motions as if to show we had crossed many seas from where we live.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but anyone watching would have said it was like watching an old Western movie and seeing white man attempting to communicate with the Sioux.
Mark, in that loud voice of his, “we need wine….you have nice vineyard….we try…” Me, doing drinking actions with my hand, looking around at the vineyard giving thumbs up and pointing to tasting bottles.
Then noticing the world map on the wall behind us, Mark steps up and points to Australia….”we are from here….Melbourne…..wines come from Margaret River, Barossa Valley, Hunter Valley and Yarra Valley….nothing north of this line (indicating the Tropic of Capricorn)…” Me, not sure how to hand gesture all that, simply circled the southern part of Australia on the map and nodded as if to confirm his words.
The woman has probably never been so bored in all her life offered some of her wines to taste, all the time looking at us and speaking in broken English and offering up to our questions, “maybe yes, maybe no….” which was really quite clever of her as she couldn’t possibly get into any trouble responding like that.
We tasted four wines from the vineyard and they were all very, very good but the Chardonnay was the best. We couldn’t get over the bouquet of this particular wine and Mark made comment (in his very loud voice) “this one very, very nice smell….” Whilst I offered up waving hands to my nose and then turning sideways touched the tip of my nose several times. One very puzzled woman looked back at us not sure what we were saying.
Finally, Mark says, “we go now….our women wait on boat….we be gone long time…..they wonder what happen to their men…” Me, pointing to the canal, showing time by lengthening my arms and pointing at my watch and looking serious and then pointing to Mark and me to indicate “their men”.
We set off very pleased with ourselves congratulating each other on our grasp of the French language. No more than twenty meters down the road, we ran into Michelle and Dominique…they’ve been wondering what we have been up to. We proudly display our wine and say we have been chatting to the locals in their own lingo…and very successfully, we might add. “you should taste this chardonnay we purchased,” said Mark “why not come in and meet the woman who sold it to us, she’s a lovely lady”
We walked into the wine tasting area and met the young lady again (probably seems strange to everyone that we don’t know her name, but we were so intent on what we were doing that asking her name got past us) and Mark said (in his loud voice), “these our women…..” Me pointing to first Dominique and then Mark, indicating that they were a couple and then Michelle and I. Both Mark and I then took a step back, folded our arms and let the girls talk.
At the end of the day, the wine lady sold us 9 bottles of her very finest and we walked away very happy pilgrims. It amused us no end and the girls as well.
Back on the boat and on our way again, we couldn’t help but appreciate the scenery, which just seems to be endless and our amusing visit to the local winery.
Approaching the end of the day, I was feeling very energetic and asked if I could get off the boat and ride one of the bike’s on the path along side the canal. It was very liberating to be doing something that I hadn’t for the past 30 years and I took off with a lot of vigour. The boat goes very slowly, so I looked like I was steaming ahead on the road to Beziers.
Or maybe it just seemed to me that I was steaming ahead.......
I reached our mooring ahead of the boat and was greeted by a young woman yelling something in French and waving her hands above her head. I was wondering what it was that I had done to upset her then she pointed to the dry riverbed below the bridge we were on. There was her beautiful Golden Retriever monstering one of the local’s chickens he had chased from someone’s back yard.
The dog was really just playing but the chicken looked distressed. I realised she was trying to call the dog off but he was having none of it. Decided I should whistle really loudly to try and get his attention and let the chicken get away. The whistling certainly got his attention but he thought it was all part of the game. In the end, I went down to the riverbed and retrieved the Retriever (which is ironic in itself). He was only too happy to chase me back up to the bridge where his owner was.
The Retriever got a scolding and I got a resounding “Merci!” from the owner. We looked back for the chicken and saw it stumbling off to its backyard a little shaken but with no apparent injuries. Thumbs up between me and the young lady and I had done my good deed for the day.
Finally, we arrived at Beziers and I have to say, it was one of the funniest and most entertaining days of my life. A few wines from our vineyard and a lovely meal prepared by Dominque and we had completed another day in paradise. It just keeps getting better.
Its an early start this morning, out of bed at 4.15 am to get ready for our long train trip to Homps where we will pick up Le Boat (that’s French for “the boat” in case you were wondering).
There were a number of connections and Dominique had the timing right down to the last minute, so look out anyone who messes with the itinerary and that could be anyone of us on the trip, bus drivers, train drivers, ticket dispensing machines, customer service officers, other passengers, the Police and any other emergency transport worker. When I say she had it planned, I mean right down to the arrival time at Lezignan train station (12.23 pm) to being picked up by the taxi (12.25 pm), everything went to plan (by the way, the train tickets and taxi pick up were booked on the internet two weeks previously).
Arrived at Homps where our boat is and, as the owners were enjoying their lunch, we had an hour or so to kill before we could take possession. We wandered down to the local supermarket to purchase our supplies for the next few days. If nothing else, we will be eating like Royalty.
The boat is ridiculously big and classy. It houses all four of us very, very comfortably with rooms at either end that include toilet and shower. Its about 14 meters in length and can best be described as luxury on water. After an extremely brief “brief” from the technician, we took it for a trial run. No problem can’t go faster than eight kmph and the cruising speed for the canal is six kmph.
There is something that we have been both aware of and a little uncertain about and that is the lochs that are positioned along the canal. The lochs have been built to compensate for uneven depths in the canals and are manned full time by the loch keepers who live right on the water. Basically you have to enter a pen (for want of a better word), the gates are closed behind you and then the pen is drained of water to the level of the river ahead. Once you have been lowered, the pen doors in front of you open and you proceed on down the canal. It’s sort of like an elevator for the boat (very technical terms used here).
We didn’t get to practise the loch manoeuvre with the technician but he did give us the drill on what to do. Besides, we had to pass through one not more than 300 meters from our start point so plenty of opportunity to practise then. So off we go!!!!
At the first loch, we approached very slowly. I was the man on the land ready to secure the ropes to the moorings so that the boat would remain steady in the loch. “Gee these things are a bit narrow” I was thinking to myself as the boat edged closer to the opening of the pen. Our helmsman was having a little trouble keeping the boat pointed straight as the wind was playing havoc with the steering.
The loch keeper was standing on the bridge above us waiting for the boat to be fully in the pen when he started yelling something in French. I don’t honestly know what he was saying but as I looked up at the boat I’m guessing it was something like, “left, left, left, oh my God its going to go through sideways…” Crunch, the boat hit the side of the loch which sent me scurrying to see if we had put a hole in the hull. The loch keeper grabbed the rope attached to the bow and pulled the boat close to the land. Not a very confident start to the trip.
Once inside the pen, the lock keeper drained the water and opened the gate at the other end and we moved on. “Merci” we said as we moved on and I reckon he would have been saying, “Yeah, mercy on that boat the way you lot are travelling…” But as with all things, practise makes perfect and after the third loch, we had our routine down pat.
It had been a long day and the excitement of the first loch had taken its toll, we motored on for a few km’s and then pulled over to spend the night. Had a lovely meal of roast pork, several cool and refreshing beers and a nice bottle of red to wash it all down.
Well we awoke today to the first overcast day of the trip, not to mention Mark’s birthday. The plan is to meet everyone in the foyer of the Hotel and travel as a group to Monaco from there. The trip takes in a short walk, a tram ride, a train to Monaco and a taxi to our restaurant for lunch.
A short digression to remark on the taxis here. Absolutely spotless with happy and helpful drivers who know their way around and can turn their hands to English quite comfortably in need. The vehicles are roomy inside and quite modern and the drivers pack and unpack your baggage for you without exception. An excellent service that we in Australia could learn a lot from.
Lunch was served in a fairly shabby place called The Vistaero restaurant in Vista Palace Hotel, Roquebrunne cap-Martin…..so there. The restaurant is perched on a cliff overlooking the town of Monaco and the views we had were absolutely spectacular. This was Marks baby and I have to say his vision for the location of his 50th was first class.
I don’t think I can do it justice so I’ve decided to hand the keyboard over to a real professional foodie and get Michelle to play critic and describe the surroundings, the view and the meal we enjoyed.
A grandly scaled table overlooking magnificent floor to ceiling views of the Monaco principalitie. Cream tablecloths, 3 vases of superbly cut roses and fresias down the centre, 4 waiters in handsome suits ready to meet our every need. An appetizer of 5 pieces of thinly cut celery, fennel, carrot and capsicum arranged in a whisky glass arrives, with some tiny bowls of mysterious delicately flavoured foam and oils to dip into. Superb, elegant and just the thing with a glass of champagne.
Soon entrees arrive mine is 3 braised leeks with a prawn sliced diagonally and finished with a light butter glaze.
And soon the mains arrive – for many of us we’ve ordered steak and these meals are delivered under beautiful silver highly polished cloches…. Once the other meals arrive we see that behind each person who’s ordered the steak there stands a waiter ready to coordinate the lifting of the cloches – great theatre for us all. Have to say Steve’s whole roasted poisson small chicken is the envy of the whole table. Its’ delicate aroma once they carved it up for him on a silver trolley wafts over and we swoon!
Le grand finale of a sponge filled with fresh cream, berries and other fruits is delivered to Mark with one huge sparkler and we all clap, so divine. We were so impressed that this huge restaurant was not very full yet the sense of occasion for Mark and us was not diminished… It was all Dominique had hoped for and such a generous treat to be their guests. m
No visit to Monaco is complete unless you visit the Casino, the location for the shooting of the film, Casino Royale. Mark cut a dashing figure driving up to the casino in his Bentley, dressed in his tuxedo, sipping a martini, brandishing his revolver with a gorgeous brunette on his arm…..well except that he didn’t have a Bentley, a tuxedo, a martini nor a revolver, but he did have the gorgeous brunette on his arm.
The casino itself is pretty small and there were very few tables available for play. Most of our group stayed with the Roulette table with mixed results but it’s hard not to be impressed with the layout, furnishings and the ambience. It was a little unfortunate that rain settled in late in the afternoon as we would have liked to have explored more of Monaco the town. But as I’ve said previously in this blog, we need to leave a few things behind unexplored, it gives us good reason to come back.
What a fantastic experience Monaco was and what a pleasure to share Mark’s birthday with him. Once again, thanks for allowing us to share the occasion with you and hope you had a very happy birthday.
The day ended with us having a sip of Port in the Budgen’s room and an early night to get ready for our early morning train trip to Homps (up at 4.15 am), we’re off to do a spot of boating in the south of France don’t you know.
