Water Features

Ahh after a Sunday arvo Apero with Damian and one of the most gorgeous spring days ever, not much to boast about other than a collection of water features from our travel. I'm fond of fountains, really, there were more but they're in some French landfill with my camera.  It's a little strange living in a harbour city realising that water plays a part in even some of the most landlocked places but, it certainly does. Perhaps we're water babies but anything with a harbour view, a fountain or a glimpse of d'leau makes us swoon:

Cemetary above Nice . . why to the dead have such a good view?

 

Cranky Florentine or Billy Connolly?

 Twilight Rowing in Florence

Il Porcellino,  rub his watery snout and you vow to return to Florence

Ponte Vecchio in Florence where the Gold Merchants suck in the Americans . . seriously

 The Commissary in Paris . . Love the Seine

Saturday in Paris . . Jardins du Luxembourg

Wild horses . . Luxemburg gardens

 Place du Concord

Fountain in the Louvre which we discovered before we knew what the building was . .


Gratuitous Surfer shot . . . .

Gratuitous surfers at Cape Ferret . . . sorry Davide and Brad but you are pretty things . . .

Friday Fuckwit on a Saturday

Ello, ello . . Friday Fuckwit's back with a bit of light hearted fun this week since I'm still in a holiday mood and on cloud nine:

A drunken man who infuriated his neighbours by bleating like a sheep and doing other animal impressions at the dead of night ended up in jail after resisting arrest, German police said.
The 49-year-old offered his sleeping neighbours a series of performances, mainly sheep impressions, some lasting as long as 20 minutes, about 10:45 pm (local) on Saturday, police in the Bavarian town of Coburg said.
When police tried to get him to stop, the man became "unreasonable and aggressive", reportedly because he wanted to continue his baa-ing.
Officers saw no choice but to lock him up for the night.
He had an extremely high blood-alcohol content, authorities said, which, added to charges for disturbing the peace, should lead to a "beastly hangover", police said in their tongue-in-cheek statement

Who'd have thought, Germans with a sense of humour, what will they think of next! Have a great weekend folks.  Happy birthday to Rambling Rural Rector and Not for the Feinthearted, have a lovely day my favourite Revs Craig and Ian.

I'm relaxing, it's my birthday too and Adam's laid turf, Clare's cleaned the house so little else to do but take it easy and chillax and sort through 516 Paris photos, write a little and chat a lot and chat to my favourite crush.

 

Hippo Birdie Two Ewes

Transportation and Ambulation a la Francais

Ok at risk of boring you batty, another look at the Northen continent. This time transport.

Kind of obvious that you have to catch two planes over 25 hours to actually get there. We weren't impressed with QANTAS but Air France were pretty awesome, nice food, much more leg room and less turbulence.

Traffic seems sort of directionless in Paris. I'm sure there's rhyme and reason but buggered if I noticed it.

How there was no collision here I will never know. I was just having coffee watching this

Clearly everyone in France and Italy has a love affair with their scooters. We've come a long way from the daggy vespar tho darlings and these scooters are sophisticated, muted, well maintained and well equipped. I know there are no pedals but really, driving along the Champs Elysees with your handbag between your knees and wearing your high heels on a scooter? Risque to say the least.


Of course Paris is the only place where the 'smart car' is cool and generally most vehicles are very tiny by comparison with US vehicles and a lot smaller than many in Australia. Largely due to the problem parking.There are underground parking spaces but the Parissiennes seem to prefer the Austin Powers park where they constantly bump forward and backwards in an attempt to fit into a space a little bigger than pinkie width

We had to cross this street every day. No such thing as respect for pedestrians in France.

Anyone who tackles this roundabout has my dying admiration.

One of the more civilised ways to travel is via barge although most we saw were either tethered as restaurants or permanent dwellings to the side of the Seine or packed with tourists enjoying the many Bateaux Bus tours up and down that most lovely of rivers.

Basketballers must remain seated

We did take a night tour which at first sounded tacky but we were so glad we did. Each bank is illuminated and since we travelled on a Saturday night the punters were out in force  cheering, playing, drinking, dancing and mooning the tourists. And we got to see the Eiffel Tower all sparkly and shiny. Oooh, I love shiny things. Saving that one for the 'monument' post.

Saturday night Revellers on Pont du Neuf Steps  this well behaved bunch did not moon us

Of course getting around is easy in this flat and sweeping city and the swapsy bikes make it a snack. You can pick them up and drop off anywhere. Clare was game but trust me, on a bike, in that traffic? You have to be joking!



Of course our favourite and most frequent form of travel was the Metro. Always on time, always the base of the great unwashed, pickpockets and beggars, addicts and commuters. Sometimes packed, sometimes empty but without a doubt the most convenient and cheapest way to get from point A to point B. Believe me from someone who comes from a city with a pathetic public transport network, Paris is the Bomb for public transport.

Although I think the preferred method of transport on the Champs Elysees was actually via horseback. Much easier to catch the imitation bag sellers on the street although the sight of poo on that illustrious pavement was a little disconcerting. Not quite as disconcerting as the roller blade cops who whizzed past before I could whip out my camera. Now that my friends is very French.

Of course when one heads out to the country there are even more options in regional cities such as light rail and trams in Bordeaux.

And who could forget the awesomeness of the TGV which traverses the country in several directions.Although be careful dear travellers, on the many occasions when there are rail strikes the TGV does not run more than once a day and the train is so overbooked that you have to sit in the bike car for three hours. The upside, you can always go along to the buffet car and be entertained by a rather nice chill three piece, very nice way to travel. Or look out of the window and see parts of France that many just fly over.

 Sexy man. . .nice little Trio on the Paris to Bordeaux TGV

Chateau through the window of a train

Of course when travelling with surfers, the accommodation is a little less salubrious but fortunately a convoy of them meant that we rarely had to travel 'in the back'. These small vans are extremely popular with the surf culture as well as tradesmen and city dwellers. There's a bed in the back and all you need for a life on the road.

 Then the best way to get around such an amazing flat city is just put on your walkingshoes and get amongst it. I feel sorry for the bus crowd who see little more than the highlights and don't enjoy the street life that makes Paris and so many other cities so very, very exciting.

Couldn't wait to show you shiny stuff, we love shiny stuff. No quite transport but it had a lift:

Apero Addiction and The Perfect 'Crap'

One of the first questions I've been asked about Paris is "What's the food like?"  Well considering we were watching our budget to some extent, we avoided the restaurants with the Michelin stars and felt no need to submit to the ones beneath the well hidden golden arches and stuck to street food and good cafe fare. Frankly Parisiennes and Italians know how to eat. There's little difference in the produce available but they stage their eating, do it moderately and with class and variety.


The supermarkets are incredibly varied with many different brands and styles of cheeses, cold cuts, etc. so you are spoiled for choice and they have this wonderful idea of "Apero" an abbreviation of Aperitif where at about 6pm, there's a savoury plate and wine to be enjoyed whether on the balcony of a hostel in Toulouse or in the centre of Paris. A simple plate of Corcherons, pickles, prosciutto, salamis and of  course the obligatory cheese. We soon became used to this little aperitif and began eating it daily. Dinner comes much later.


Let us not forget affordable wines, Rose became our wine of choice, reasonable beers and awesome, awesome coffee. I really miss my little sweet espresso heart-starter.


So the hit list . . Crepes (pronounced craps) without a doubt the Monteguile crepe stands are exceptional with simple additions such as lemon, Grand Marnier, lashings of Nutella or the savoury options of ham, mushrooms and cheese in any combination or the lot.


Bread is the heartbeat of France. It's not unusual to see executives with bread under  their arm, baguettes in bicycle baskets or being lugged along the street in large paper bags. The French love their bread. How Marie Antoinette could suggest they eat cake amazes me they'd have clocked her with their long baguettes. You won't find sliced bread easily and a 'sandwich' means a panini baguette.


We also tried to eat the foods of the region. In Paris pretty much anything goes. In Bordeaux it's definitely duck, the Basques love their chillies and Basque Cake as well as some of the Spanish influenced dishes such as Moules and Paella,  in Provence its as you'd expect, fresh delicious food of all types including fois gras and those hearty flavours, Nimes have their own little line of pastries and Nice . . here begins the Italian influence. Everywhere, the French love macaroons.


So yes, we managed to eat our way across France, relatively inexpensively and I'm sure its only the walking we did that prevented significant weight gain thank goodness.

Homespun Seafood at Cap Ferret Andonos du Bains

Espresso in Biarritz

 Breakfast and Streetscapes

 

Aperativi in Florence, same same but different

Beer in Nimes

Crepes and Churro, Catacombs build an appetite

 Scampi Pasta

Gelato in Montemarte

 

Cafe Beneath our Paris Window

 

 Liquid Lunch

 

Petit Fors with grande calories

 

Apero with Pate de Fois Gras and Camembert on one of Paris' Bridges

 

Nutella Crepe

Beginning At The End

Better get yourself a cuppa, this could take some time!

Let me start at the end because indeed the finest 4 weeks in recent history have been enjoyed in France and northern Italy.

The end however is dramatic.

On Saturday 3rd October, we headed off, backpacks on like a pair of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to hire a little car and venture into the Tuscan countryside for our last weekend. The hire place, in the posh part of Florence was a tiny office (cars kept in a garage down the street).  There were two middle aged Spanish ladies being served, three outwardly gay Chinese men and a Slovak couple who had just received the keys to their rental.

We divested ourselves of our backpacks and put my camera bag and Clare's bag on a seat and sat next to them waiting our turn.  I took my ID and credit cards out of the camera bag to pay for the car.

We approached the counter which was just out of arms reach of our bags and packs and the nice man asked me for my passport. I spun round to grab the camera bag which had the passport tightly wedged beneath my 50mm lens . . .(some cash and of course my mobile phone) . . . not there. Seriously, in the space of 3 minutes with my back turned, someone had snatched the bag and nobody had seen it. This! From me! Mrs Cautious personified and she who travels a lot. I'd even slept with the thing tied to my arm!

Besides the initial disbelief, the car rental man, very apologetically, declined to hire a car to us without the passport and since Clare's wallet had been picked on the Metro whilst in Paris she also  was ineligible to hire a car since the credit card and passport needed to be in the same name. Devastated about losing our weekend and over 2G of photos (thankfully Paris photos were uploaded after the first week but the balance of the holiday was all in the bag).

So as tears poured, people were challenged, customers asked if they saw anything and me racing frantically down the street in case the perpetrator was still around or had found no cash in the bag and dumped it . . . .the drama began.

Ironically, the car hire office was only 50 metres from the Florence Police Headquarters. We picked up sticks, wiped our tears and plodded down to the police station to lodge a report. This in itself was a drama with the reporting officer not speaking English and us having to wait for an English speaker to translate only to be 'interrupted' whilst a dramatic arrest was made - no not us sillies! Once done and with report in hand, we had to find accommodation. 

Not easy it seems and we ended up in a dump of dumps with no window, no common room no kitchen but hey, it was a bed for the night. We ditched the bags and left the hostel for the afternoon to lick  our wounds. This we did by getting mightily pissed and enjoying fine Italian food.

The next issue was the passport. Resigned that the camera bag is probably sitting in a Florentine dumpster or waiting to be traded at some pawn shop (the police were a little confused as to our questions about the nearest pawn shop in the event the item had been 'fenced' and thought it an odd time for us to be seeking salacious material at a porn shop).

The nearest Australian consulate was in Milan and the Embassy in Rome.  Of course, this happened Saturday morning, Europe closes all weekend and most of Monday morning and our flight from Florence to connect in Paris was at 7am on Monday morning so . . .either forfeit the flights and go to Rome or take our chances.

We headed to the airport for some advice from Air France and Customs but Florence is a small provincial airport and after 3 hours of trying, the booking desk (not Air France but a general travel agency) could not secure flights for us until 10th October. Bear in mind we were both due back at work on the 7th! Devastated, we sought help from the police who assured us that we could fly to Paris where there was also an embassy and that we might be able to secure a temporary passport prior to our Departure for Hong Kong at 1:45 on the Monday.

Relieved, we got drunk again, dumped the dump we had been forced to stay in due to our Tuscan break being cancelled and went back to our favourite hostel in Florence, Emerald Fields for some tea, sympathy, hookah action and a Marengo with our fave Dominican (story for another time).

We were unable to contact the embassy thanks to a 'push one for . . ' routine that eventually had them hanging up. Our travel insurance 24/7 hotline number only operated Monday to Friday 9-5. To make it worse, all the contact numbers for emergencies were 'toll free' or 'collect' which meant that we could not use public phones, internet cafe phones, Skype, mobiles - in fact these numbers only work via land lines and our lifeline had become a  strange communication triangle between Jeffscape in the US and Adam who had decided to go camping over what was a long weekend in Australia and his fiance Amy to provide us with assistance and copies of my passport.

After a hugely stressful day, we slept soundly thanks to white Frizzante and a few Peronis and left for Florence airport at 4:30am. We had no problem boarding our Plane for Paris since there is little border control between EU countries and as long as there is photo ID they let you cross freely via plane.

Paris however was another thing. In order to be sure, we decided before hitting the consulate located miles away near the Eiffel tower and a good hour from the airport, we'd check with Air France to see if I could travel with my passport copy, police report and my Aussie drivers' licence. At first our spirits soared as 'information' said there would be no trouble and that we should check in early just in case. Then shit hit the fan. Firstly, the Air France girls barely spoke English. Eager to help, they provided us with a number that would grant us a "Government Override Visa" which would allow them to enter me on their system but they weren't sure how it worked and didn't have access to international phones so we'd have to call the number ourselves of course it was in Australia. Four phone calls later, testimonies from flight assistance we were allowed through customs, despite Paris being on terror alert and the airport full of soldiers. Grateful, we breathed a sigh of relief and ventured into Duty Free . .  .this had taken a total of four hours and gave us 20 minutes before our flight boarded. We shared some sushi and the best tasting Rose in the world until . . . .

I noticed my name flash on the screen near the boarding gate. Reported dutifully to the Air France rep and was told that I could not board. Despite having been cleared by customs and being issued a boarding pass. It seems whoever checked us in had not correctly entered the temp passport number and a "do not allow passenger to board" alert had been issued. Back to the public phone again (bitch to use) and finally, someone at the consulate named Debbie, gave verbal approval for us to travel.

Back to that number again and Aussies, if you're ever stranded, this is a life saver:

61 1 300 36 126 

These guys can give an instant Aussie Visa number over the line but be warned, they will expect a rep from your airline to talk to them and to have your passport details correctly entered on their system. 

So all is good. Half the flight done across Russia and all the '. . .ezekstans' and down through  China and we arrived in Hong Kong 11 hours later.

Just to be sure, we went straight to the desk and told the Chinese that we did not have a passport but did have ID. Another heart-in-throat moment as they said they couldn't let us board but had a Consulate Official who would assist. This girl was a gem, knew exactly what she was doing. Rang THE number and received all the relevant information.  Cleared and ready to go then Clare was stopped for trying to carry on 2 bottles of Duty Free alcohol. Normally, this would have been put on the flight in cargo but because of our trials had travelled in the cabin with Air France but the Chinese were having none of it and repacked it quickly and put it in the hold. Of course we were the last people on the plane but still on time.

Trust me getting on that flight, seeing the Gulf of Carpentaria 10 hours later mark our entry into Australia and the relief is something I have never ever felt before. Despite 32 hours of flying and transit, I was awake, refreshed, rejuvenated and so grateful that we hadn't had to change flights or be further delayed.

So despite a quick customs check upon my return and being given the OK, we arrived home, exhausted, relieved, faced with the prospect of a lengthy insurance claim but alive, well and happy . . and to a letter from French Police saying that they had found Clare' purse (minus the 100 Euro cash) and would forward her cards to her forthwith. 

So, here's me with my remedy for depression. . . when devastated just eat pasta and get pissed.

More boring travelogue to come .  .with stories about hash splifs, crack dealers, Peep Shows and Organic Veg,  dogs called Woppa, Gypsies and Ferals and more gastronomic delights. Its good to be home but it was wonderful to be away.

Au Revoir and Throw Me a G & T

No big deal for you northerners but 22  hours in a tin can is kind of daunting for us Aussies. So tomorrow at 3:30pm I'll be nervously downing a gin and tonic or ten and feeling that horrible rush as a plane far too big to float screams down the runway at Kingsford Smith Airport and  hoping it doesn't blow up like a frigging Concord. 

No, I am not a good flyer but I am an awesome traveller. Clare's surprised at the lightness of my backpack. 

However, once the light goes ping and I can move around the cabin I relinquish my control freak urges and relax but until then, the heart palpitates and the nerves frey. Today I've been a complete neuropuss. Combine that with an inability to smoke, tiny seats, alcohol only served with meals and the possibility of sitting next to the Christian Biker from Hell (oh yes that happened) and I'm a possible mess but it will be worth it.


For decades, I've wanted to visit Paris. Not sure why but on various trips to Europe Paris has eluded me so  this time, my glorious first born is taking me there for a week, then down to Bordeaux to stay with a gorgeous man she went to school with followed by a week of not sure where, then a week  in Tuscany with a backpack and a shared bathroom. I'm looking forward to it. Really I am.


Not sure about the posting situation, we're not taking a laptop but I'm sure I'll sate my addiction in some internet cafe at some point. 


Thank you Adam and Amy for housesitting, snugglebug my Lily  for me and feed old Laurie. Don't demolish the house. 

As for the rest of you . . be good to each other. Miss me a little. Jeff, remember to vote for me on 10thDoM and well, if I crash and burn I'd like these for funeral songs.  BYO lighters and crank it bitches.

 

Friday Fuckwit Goes to Ground

I've often wondered about infidelity and the complications the subtefuge of having a husband and a lover might cause.  I think it would take some intestinal fortitude for a man to deal with two women, especially if they're hot blooded Latin types:

ONE of the trapped Chilean miners is dreading his rescue after his wife met his secret mistress at the entrance to the San Jose mine.
Yonni Barrios' wife, Marta Salinas, and his lover, Susana Valenzuela, were both holding vigils for him outside the mine.

Ms Salinas, 56, was stunned and horrified when she heard Ms Valenzuela shouting his name amid a crowd of miners' loved ones.

However, she is determined not to give up her man to her love rival.
She told friends: "Barrios is my husband. He loves me and I am his devoted wife. This woman has no legitimacy."

But Ms Valenzuela said the 50-year-old miner, who she met on a training course five years ago, was planning to leave his wife for her. "We are in love. I'll wait for him," she said

As a dear friend of mine would say "Mmm hmmm?"

I bet he's not so disappointed about the prospect of a 90 day stay of execution.


Have a wonderful weekend darlings. The passport has been renewed, I am now officially on leave and counting down the hours.  I'm still thinking of pinching Adam's laptop but trying to see if I can survive a month with little more than internet cafe's to sate my addiction! Also meeting the future in-laws on Sunday and have been warned to say nothing incriminating . . .really, doesn't he trust his mother?

Baby Killers

In an attempt to foster a bit more quality from internet writers some time ago, Wings and JeffScape started The Tenth Daughter of Memory, a quasi-competitive collection of would-be creatives (writers, poets, illustrators, photographers) who attempt to win by posting an entry related to the nominated topic or muse. The winning entry then has the privilege of picking the next topic.

The original intention was not to concentrate on writing alone although contributions have tended to to focus more on the written word.  As a result, a general expectation has arisen that contributors will receive honest critical feedback from their peers.

Not everyone is up for criticism but if you are, and you fancy some really constructive criticism you can now receive it at The Infanticide Exchange.

Here peers, published authors and professional readers and critics will help you kill your stories, your babies, because the ones that survive will be stronger.

Anyone who already reads Creative Infanticide will know the philosophy behind the term.

Anyone who wants to have honest feedback on their work is welcome to join the Infanticide Exchange. The blog is entirely private. It is invite only, does not show up on search engines, and will be a great place for those who want to be writers to receive honest, objective, feedback rather than the lovely but slightly over-flattering comments that tend to come via your blog. 

There are rules, naturally since Jeffscape initiated the thing . . .

1. Your identity  must be shared with everyone else on the blog. Nothing within The Infanticide Exchange is anonymous, and everyone gets to follow everyone else's career aspirations and progress.


2. Once you have put up a post, it cannot be removed. 

I'm sure there are others but I'm trying to keep he who intimidates with complicated rules at bay.

Seriously, I've spent 15 years in a former life as a commercial copywriter and magazine editor and never wrote a single word of fiction. Had anyone told me I'd be doing this creative business 12 months ago, I'd have laughed in their general direction and hurled a herring at them.

However, writing and having someone help you shape your words, force you outside your comfort zone, point you in directions unforseen, is very rewarding and very challenging. Some of the contributors are published, others are seeking to be. One  is a professional reader, editor and critical analyst, others are worthy peers. (Yes I do wonder what I'm doing in their company!)

It doesn't matter whether you're in the closet or a regular contributor to one of a myriad of creative blogs out there such as Magpie Tales or Theme Thursday this is the perfect opportunity to receive genuine constructive criticism and to hopefully improve and stretch your creative limits.

The Infanticide Exchange is up and running now, and the admins are Tom at Half-Moose with a Twist, Baino at Creative Infanticide, and JeffScape at Irreverent Irrelevance. Email one of us and we'll get you started.

 If you're willing to partake in a bit of baby-killing, that is. I've just sent one of mine to the slaughter!

Now excuse me. Just 5 days to lift off (with a weekend in between) and Clare has mislaid her Aussie passport so we're scrambling for a replacement since they won't let her back in the country on her British. GAH! And I thought creative writing was stressful.

Sunday's are nice, they're sunny which is why they're called Sunday I guess. Today the in-laws came over for a barbie. 

Adam marinated chicken so tasty we ate it all and did weird herb infused lemony potato scallops. Grandma made a chocolate cake to die for and generally, all was good in the land of Oz.  

Ran into one of my bosses at the soccer, what a sweetheart. Kept Lily away from the balls  and managed to leave my mobile phone in the back of my in-laws' car so please don't try to call me for a couple of days.

Clare won her final and is now into the Grand Final next weekend although it's dicked her knees. 

 Sometimes it's the simple things that remind us life is good:

Our darling Grandma and Grandad 80 plus, lively, lovely and 2 months away from their 60th Wedding Anniversary.

Barbie boy. He's just awesome. Splash of lemon, sprinkle of pepper, garlic soy marinated chicken. 

He's a legend on the grill.

Gammy knee princess stretches . . .

Game on

Fancy feet

 

 Clare Bear, the lonely goaly . .

Apparently this is 'game faces', meant to intimidate the opposition. Yeah nice try pussycats. Except that one back right . . she's a toit like a toiger.

---

Goldmember: Dr. Evil, You look very toit. Yesh, toit like a toiger. Yesh Yesh Yesh.
Dr. Evil: You know, Goldmember? I don't think that's something one dude should say to another dude. Yeah. A little creepy. Mmhmm.

Friday Botnic

Since once of my loveliest, and strangest of friends is half Japanese, I'm getting quite an insight into the weirdness of it's people.  Highly disciplined, beautifully cultured, funky, polite, deviate, serious, controlled and rather odd, it comes as no surprise that the lovers of Anime and nano technology have a bit of a robot fetish (hey don't we all). But one poor man has finally snapped after his mummy took evasive action and evicted his 'friends':

Posted Wed Aug 25, 2010 6:12pm AEST


Robot hero: the popular TV animation character Gundam (AFP : Yoshikazu Tsuno )
A Japanese man has pleaded guilty to burning down his family home after his mother threw away some of his favourite robot toys.

Yoshifumi Takabe told Kobe District Court in western Japan he became suicidal after losing the figures, which he says were partners he wanted to spend his life with.
The 30-year-old, who lived with his mother, torched the family home in retaliation, saying he wanted to die with his robots in the fire.

His mother had long complained that Takabe was cluttering the house with enough toys to fill at least 300 boxes.
The blaze on August 9 last year completely destroyed their two-story wooden house, but no-one was injured.

The robot toys were figures from the Gundam animated TV series, which started in the 1970s, about space wars involving giant robots.

Ok everyone have a fab weekend. For me  it's gutter cleaning and a visit from the Outlaws. Crank it babies!  Love this shit.  Chardy time!

All Things Being Equal . . .

It’s weird. Last weekend we had a general election and here we are almost 5 days later and we don’t have a government. And guess what? Everything is going along swimmingly. Without the interference of politicians, the country appears to be running itself. Yes we have equal partners, a hung parliament an equal election result. Most unusual but it seems that nobody wants a budgie smuggler or a red haired atheist female in charge of the country. So what now?


Let sleeping dogs lie I say, sack the pollies, let the public servants run the joint and reinvest all their perks and Salaries into the economy. 





Hitler Reacts to the Australian 2010 federal election result
Uploaded by justrich. - Watch more comedy videos and sitcoms.


 
Short and sharp for Theme Thursday "Equal". Please go read the others who have probably put far more thought into their responses.