FRANCE - Normandy

Normandy was everything that we remembered and more.  The cider was more drinkable this time and it is my guess that it was our palettes that had improved more so than the local brew.  Here I go walking to a Cider farm to buy supplies for our  month down south.  We found some 2% cider as well as Pommeau and Calvados.  All products made from apples.

We hit our stride within the first hours having indulged on the road for the previous two evenings.  We were both surprised that it had been seven and a half years since our last visit to the region . . .  Seven and a half years since our first overseas jaunt . . .  Seven and a half years since the beginning of our love affair with France . . .  

I acted as the driver while on the Mr’s travels to the beaches.  The Mr was in seventh heaven with a vast increase in his intake of historical experiences.  

Omaha Beach Museum

Our first evening was spent in The Mulberry Hotel, Arromanches.  It was Bastille Day so we alighted to the Town Square for the 11pm fireworks display.  It was a spirited display with not a word of French in its soundtrack.  Just some funky-arsed, hip schwinging, Beyoncé inspired rubbish {a little disappointing – for a D-Day location on Bastille Day}

The Mulberry Hotel to the left of the church.

We checked out the 360 degree cinema which aired a twenty minute show aimed at immersing its audience in the landing and ensuing battle.  Highly emotive stuff!  After years of osmosis, I am truly starting to appreciate what it’s all about.  The numbers were beyond comprehension.  The terrain and its inhabitants were rustique and beautiful.  There were many American tourists, as you would imagine.

The view back over Aramanches on the way to the 360 cinema.

Look at what we found near the top.  Not another tank!

The town of Arromanches was lovely, if a little touristy, as one would expect.  We enjoyed a crepe for lunch and were impressed by the naughty 'graffiti' kids we discovered.

Second night saw us safely to Carentan where we stayed in the most gorgeous of Logis, called the Auberge Normande.  Again with the pink with splashes of purple ;)  I had the best entree ever!  It was the local speciality, 'a plate full of seashells'.  This meal was unique in that each meal grew progressively smaller.  A nice change :)

We spent the final day at a couple of sites and of particular significance was Brecourt Manor.  For research purposes, the Mr insisted that I watch the third episode of Band of Brothers, to prepare me for the scope of what happened there. 

We also enjoyed some time in Sainte Mere-Eglise.  The village is one of the places where the 101st Airborne landed.  It's the one where the paratrooper, John Steele, was hanging from the church spire. The Mr was wrapped to see the life-size memorial still dangling above us.

Before we headed back to Monpatry to finish our time in Normandy, we visited the Biscuiterie in Sainte Mere-Eglise.  Yummo!  We gathered our biscuit supply to take south with us :)

FRANCE - Monpatry

On the third day of our journey we arrived in the small hamlet of Monpatry, near Domfront in Normandy.  We were to spend some time with our Fraussie friends and their new baby girl.

The home that they were gifted with for the 'northern' summer is owned by an Australian couple, with whom Cyril, collaborates.  Over the course of seven years they have successfully restored what was once a cellar, into a charming, country retreat.  C'est bon!

 The home was surrounded by lush, green countryside.  A reminder that part of the joy of time spent in Normandy is the five C's:  Cream   -   Camembert   -   Cidre   -   Calvados   - Crepes

In total we spent four nights, with the weekend spent stomping around the Normandy beaches in search of our first Bastille Party.  Happy fourteenth of July!

FRANCE - Geneva to Normandy

I flew the red-eye with the Mr and the Nephew from Abu Dhabi to Geneva.  Following a little drinky and a 1am meal in the Etihad Lounge, we boarded and promptly laid ourselves down upon four seats apiece. It is a rare moment indeed when one can 'honestly' say that one preferred to fly cattle-class {economy} on an international flight!

After saying our farewells to the Nephew whom was travelling to Lyon via the train, the Mr and I made the call to organise the little beast {leased directly through the manufacturer to non-EU citizens, thereby negating EU taxes} that was to be our chariot for the next forty-two days.  We exited Geneva airport on the French side and hit the road at the absurdly early hour of 8am.  Weaving through the lovely alpine region that spans the French-Swiss border, our first challenge was to source some fuel for the car - an ironic conundrum for people who reside in the Arab Emirates :)  The cost was outrageous at approximately 4.5 times the cost in the Dhab!

After about three hours on the road, our destination looming, we decided that our first meal would be a picnic.  Following a five minute stop in Carrefour that quickly became an extended excursion, we paid for our goodies and were eventually back on the road.

Last time we were in France, we travelled at speed via the Autoroute.  'Never again' we swore and were beginning to see what we had previously missed!  Although the route was at times narrow and little faster than 50km per hour, we were having a marvellous time!  Through small gaps between village buildings, I could make out some greenery that meandered pleasantly downwards towards the main road upon which we were travelling.  The Mr and I decided to turn down the next available lane and were delighted to discover that the village was surrounded by vineyards.

I, obeying the instruction of the Mr 'Photographer', assessed the angle of the midday sun and positioned the car accordingly.  I promptly produced my Swiss Army knife and was impressed by the Mr's proficiency at wine-cork removal.  We sat and walked and drank and ate in that vineyard for quite some time . . .

We eventually relaxed and stopped hiding the wine each time a harvester or tractor drove by.  The locals were friendly and always returned our wave with a flick of the hand and a smile on their weather-worn faces.  Once we were through our goodies, we reluctantly packed up and proceeded along the road a little way to the village of Autun.  Our chatteau for the evening was Les Ursulines.

We were looking forward to our menu for the evening as the Chatteau, although a little run-down {on the inside, more so than outside} was celebrated for its food.  The food however, delicious as it was, was outdone by the graciousness of each patron within the restaurant.  Upon entry we were greeted with a polite 'bonsoir' by each and every one of our fellow diners.  How welcoming!  How charming!  How FRENCH!!!  Following our three-course meal, we set off to explore the cobble-stoned village with a beautiful cathedral at its centre.

The next morning we continued our journey via the croix rouge, that overlooked Autun.

Our position was such that we were convinced that it would make an adequate launch site for flying.  Sure enough, we eventually spotted the windsock tucked in just below the tree line :)  Another reminder that my superpower of choice would be the ability to fly!

 

Back on the road, winding our way through villages and rolling, green pastures, we stopped for déjeuner in a bistrot by  the Canal lateral a la Loire.  At this stage in our trip, I was committed to a dietary and exercise regime, therefore I enjoyed a garden salad with my glass of red, while the Mr leapt straight in and enjoyed escargot followed by a grilled steak!

We continued along the canal for some time until the water was replaced by open fields and eventually covered in by the forest.  Through the forest we trundled until we happened upon Le Manoir de la Foret, north of Blois.  It was très romantique!  There we were tucked away in a stately manor, hidden amongst the trees with the rain falling softly around our v-e-r-y PINK room ;)  My poor Mr was quite beside himself, particularly as he discovered how delighted I was with the décor.  Nevermind . . .  He was softened up with a glass of Crémant and agreed to photograph our view, if not the interior!

In the evening, we enjoyed another delicious menu for dinner, followed by a quiet and peaceful sleep.  The next morning we checked out and began the final leg to our Northern destination - Monpatry, Normandie . . .

Ransom

I was motivated to read Ransom by David Malouf as it features on the ABC's list of Aussie Books to Read Before You Die.  As a part of Australia's National Year of Reading, readers have the opportunity to browse and vote for their 3 favourite books that they believe should form part of the top 10 list.   

What surprises me most about the list is that although it features great Australian authors it doesn't fairly represent great Australian stories.  I find myself snagged between a rock and a hard place because my favourite stories within the list of choices are not Australian.  What to do?  

VOTE FOR TIM WINTON'S 'THE RIDERS' FOR ONE!  
AT LEAST THE PROTAGONIST IS AN AUSSIE!

But back to David Malouf's, Ransom . . .  I would like to preface this review by stating emphatically that I think that David Malouf is a bloody legend!  AND that belief stems from a piece that he wrote for Quarterly Essays, entitled The Happy Life: The Search for Contentment in the Modern World.

So it was, that I took on my first Malouf novel.  I was happy to dive into its pages as the Classics and Western Canon Group on GoodReads have spent the better part of 2012 reading and discussing The Iliad.

I was not brave enough to participate in the reading or discussion and figured that Ransom, would be a gentle introduction to the great story of the Trojan War.  Because . . . Let's face it . . .  My exposure to the story thus far was limited to Monty Python and the Holy Grail and the Brad Pitt / Eric Bana film, Troy which was a pile of donkey dung!

Ransom is an 'imagined' account of the King of Troy's attempt to ransom the body of his defeated, slaughtered and desecrated son, Hector.  GoodReads does a better job of relating the book's contents than I can ever do, so I shall hand you over . . .

"Ransom by David Malouf, is a novel of suffering, sorrow, and redemption. 'Ransom' tells the story of the relationship between two grieving men at war: fierce Achilles, who has lost his beloved Patroclus in the siege of Troy; and Priam, king of Troy, whose son Hector killed Patroclus and was in turn savaged by Achilles. Each man's grief demands a confrontation with the other's if it is to be resolved: a resolution more compelling to both than the demands of war. And when the aged father and the murderer of his son meet, "the past and present blend, enemies exchange places, hatred turns to understanding, youth pities age mourning youth."


From Malouf's style, it is easy to see that he is a published poet.  His prose is lovely and I am willing to bet that most blokes {and ladies} who love a bit of fictional warfare will struggle and be left wanting.  This story is 3-Dimensional with scratch-and-sniff text.  I was there.  I was meandering in the countryside as Priam made his way to confront Achilles.   It is beautiful!  I can't wait to read more by David Malouf.

Provençal Tart

It's a Saturday night {Sunday night equivalent} and I am committed to cooking a recipe from The Food of France . . .

Ready. Set. COOK!  Oh, it's 6pm and I've got to get this tart on the table.  Nevermind that we usually eat at 6.30ish.  Ok, quick scan of the recipe, trusting that I have all of the necessary ingredients . . . and . . . BLAST and DAMNATION!  Total prep and cooking time is approximately 3 hours!  

I remove a tin of Baked Beans from the pantry, decant and bubble for approximately 5 minutes.  Meanwhile, I retrieve some frozen slices of bread and plop them unceremoniously into the toaster and push the lever down, down, down.  Pop!  I butter the toast, spoon out the beans and present my 'by-the-camp-fire' stand-by to the Mr. He is not amused!

It's Sunday {Monday equivalent} and I've just walked through the door after a day of teaching at Zee German School.  I march straight into the kitchen and begin to prepare a short-crust pastry dough.  I bundle it into the fridge and begin to sauté a finely chopped white onion.  Knowing better, I score a cross on 10 deliciously ripe tomatoes and drop them into a pot of boiling water for about 20 seconds.  Having peeled the skins away, and chopped the tomatoes, I realise that opening a tin would have been preferable to this hullabaloo!  I make a quick note on the recipe, 'Use Tinned Tomatoes!'

I add the tomatoes, tomato purée, garlic and oregano to the sautéed onions, to simmer for 20 minutes.  

I remove the pastry from the fridge and I roll, rather clumsily into a rectangle befitting my baking tray.  I attempt to loosely wrap the rolled result back over my rolling pin {a perfect cylindrical, 375ml bottle of Brown Brothers Orange Muscat and Flora} to lay upon the baking tray.  To put it mildly, I suck at this, but I am not the least bit deterred, as I know that I can plug any rips and gaps with excess pastry.

I cover the pastry with clingwrap and chill it for a further 30 minutes.  I give my tomato sauce a quick stir and with the oven set to 200C I place two, halved peppers, under the grill until their skin blackens and blisters.

Once the peppers have cooled, I peel away the skins and cut into thin strips.  I line the pastry shell with baking paper and dried beans, to blind bake for 10 minutes. I have finally reached the stage where I can assemble the tart and it a quarter to 6 in the afternoon!  In that case, I have time to take a quick self-portrait.  Why type a smiley face when I can be the smiley face . . .

I spread the tomato sauce over the pastry, then scatter with peppers.  I arrange the anchovies and olives over the top and spray {did she say spray?!?} with olive oil.  10 minutes in, and I realise that I have left the grill at the top of the oven, ON!  Regardless, all goes well and we are sitting down to a glass of wine and a large slice of Provençal Tart after 25 minutes.

It's 6.30pm on a Sunday evening {Monday evening equivalent} and I'm feeling proud that the working week has kicked off with a bang!  Sure, I'm not getting through my cook book at the speed I had originally committed to, but life is grand and I'm learning new things while our bellies are full and our hearts contented.

The Old Man and the Sea

I picked up this little tome at the library and figured that at a measly 105 pages, I would finally have a Hemingway under my belt.  Whilst at home in his shack by the sea, the old man reminded me of an elderly Nepalese gentleman who invited the Mr and I into his home.  He slept upon a hessian cot and relied on meals provided by his neighbours and visitors to buy his wares.  It was like a living museum exhibit.  A kerosene lamp was shining in the corner and the little, old, toothless, Buddhist man sat cross-legged with the greatest smile I have seen in an age!  

The old Cuban fisherman in Hemingway's novella reminds us that we can endure and that thought can prevail over our physical circumstances.  Even when one's survival is threatened:  Hunger and thirst, sleep deprivation, the cold or pain . . .  His resilience is certainly what struck me!

Admittedly, I forged ahead with this one and for many it will be too slow, too reflective and lacking in a substantial ending.  That said, if taken for its time and its style, it is a story that will stay with the reader for life!

Some Good Reads Lists upon which The Old Man and the Sea features:

• Best Books Of The Twentieth Century
• Books That Everyone Should Read At Least Once
• Pulitzer Winners
• 1001 Books To Read Before You Die
• Must Read Classics
• Forced To Read In School But Hated
• Best Survival Stories
• Nautical Novels
• Writers Who Committed Suicide

Next Hemingway . . . A Moveable Feast

Middlesex

I wanted to read this book because it appears on every other 'must read' list and yes . . . First Tuesday Book Club gave it a half decent review.  I had forgotten what the story was about and figured that 'Middlesex' was a place.  AND it does eventually feature in the shape of a family home however Cal Stephanides the narrator is himself of the middle-sex or the third or the other if you prefer.  If somebody gave me this book and said it's a ripper read about the life and times of a hermaphrodite, I wouldn't have devoted the time . . .

Bloody glad I read this book though!  It is easily the best book that I've read in a long while.  It traces the history of three generations of the Stephanides family from Smyrna, Turkey Circa 1920 to Detroit USA around the 60s and 70s and into the current day in Berlin Germany.

Here's a little snippet from Wikipedia . . .

Primarily a Bildungsroman {German for 'coming-of-age' story} and family saga, the novel chronicles the impact of a mutated gene of three generations of a Greek family, causing momentous changes in the protagonist's life.  According to scholars, the novel's main themes are nature versus nurture, rebirth, and the differing experiences of the polar opposites - such as those found between men and women.  It discusses the pursuit of the American Dream and explores gender identity.  The novel contains many allusions to Greek mythology, including creatures such as the Minotaur, half-man and half-bull, and the Chimera, a monster composed of various animal parts.

A truly excellent read!  Give it a go and let me know how you get on . . .

Wadi Hayl UAE

What do you get when the ADNOC ATI boys get a week off in March?

ROAD TRIP

Road to Nowhere - Talking Heads

We hit the road - An Irishman and three Canadians in the Cherokee, two Aussies and a Canadian in the Sportage and an Englishman and an Egyptian in the Prado.  We made our way via the 'Friday Markets' . . .

Followed by Fort Bithinah with the help of some kind locals {wa'Allah} and our faltering attempts at Arabic . . .

Back on the road, with the sun beating down, we made our way to another Fort by Wadi Hayl . . .

After some bumpy navigation and hillside reversals we established camp near Wadi Hayl, Fujairah, one of the seven Emirates of the United Arab Emirates.  There are two camping options in the Emirates - Sand or Rock!  

By day, pretty bloody unattractive!  A quarry, no less . . .

By night, no less than stunning!

Lumberjack Song - Monty Python

One night camping and we are back on the road.  The Prado and Cherokee off to greener, bluer pastures in Fujairah and the Sportage back to the Dhab!

Quick!  Dangir!  There are only so many camel photos one man can take.  The focus is now on the passing parade . . .