Happy 13th Birthday AJ!!! Wednesday 30th September, 2009.

AJ woke wearing the beautiful silver ring he had been given a few days before, he loves it so much and keeps telling us so. He is growing up into such a lovely young man with a special sensitivity and sentimentality about him. As he enters teenage hood, I can honestly say I am very proud of the young man he has become and I love him deeply.

He opened his pressies and cards surrounded by the brightly coloured balloons I had blown up last night. We had bought him many of his favourite foods – cinghiale prosciutto and salamis, chocolate sipper straws, a few sweet treats, cinghiale bruschetta spread, black winter truffles and truffle oil I had bought in France for tonights truffle risotto, and fresh trofie pasta. I had found some wild boar salt and pepper shakers too which he wants to use every day when we return home. The card we bought him was written in Italian so we have no idea what it says, we hope the words are a nice sentiment.

He was so spoiled with love. Packages and cards had arrived from far and wide. The McKenzies sent a card, all of them had written on including little Laynee Rose, and a parcel of the latest Top Gear magazines including a ‘cool wall’ to rate your coolest/not so cool cars on the fridge using magnets – woo hoo for car fans! AJ laughed his head off at Auntie Robby’s poem and the inclusion of ‘I love Australia sickers’ – love you Robby! A huge thanks to Lorenzo for the card and treats (we all enjoyed the maltesers!) and to Toes for the wonderful hand-made/computer generated card, you guys made AJ miss home so much but made him so happy too. Our wonderful friends Jonene, Noel and kids, Trace and Jaden, Francake, Michelle, Paul and boys, Janie, Matt and tribe (loved the ecard – so appropriate), Brad, Vikk and snowboard champions – we love you all. When AJ gets home he will love the Top Gear subscription from Grandma and Papa and Linny and Pete, thanks guys and thanks for the birthday phone calls too from New Zealand and Belfast. Grandma and Grandad in Brissy called as well and caught up on the birthday news. I kept thinking what a lucky boy he is to be surrounded by so many wonderful family and friends. Marg and Rick, your parcel arrived today (gotta love the Italian administration, we had to pay 10.13 euro just to collect the parcel) filled with winter clothes which will be much needed in months to come in Luxembourg and Belgium, thanks for always being so thoughtful, we love you tremendously.

Breakfast today was traditional Italian, bombacremas, and chocolate and vanilla custard filled croissants. On our way to the beach for the afternoon, we stopped for a casual bite at our favourite pizza by the slice shop, ‘Painoteca’, their pizza is so good, we each had 2 slices of Margherita – yum!

The beach was pretty subdued but the water was as clear as a bell and there were no mysterious nibblers to scare me today, thank goodness. We stayed in the water for ages. It was funny today as patches of the water were almost luke warm while others were ice cold. Sometimes one half of our bodies basked in warmth while the other was freezing, it was so strange. AJ settled in to read his new Top Gear mag, JR went for a wander while I enjoyed lying in the warm sun. What a lovely way to spend the day, especially a 13th birthday.

We returned home to prepare the birthday feast. All of AJ’s favourites (minus osso bucco this year as we don’t have a proper oven), plus the surprise dish of black truffle risotto. JR did a wonderful job of the tomato, garlic and basil bruschetta, it was delicious served on a very serious Italian bread, sliced, basted in golden olive oil, sprinkled with salt and baked until crunchy and golden.

AJ was allowed a splash of white wine we had brought with us from Burgundy, JR had been saving it for a special occasion, it was lovely, light and lemony. It was a great marriage with the pork strozzapreti (actually pork trofi as strozzapretti pasta is not made in this region). I cooked this using saffron I had carried in my luggage just for this occasion, and without a recipe, I had to rely on memory and we agreed it was the best I had ever done, despite making do without all the kitchen comforts of home. We enjoyed a nice break before the Grandaddy of dishes, the black winter truffle risotto – WOW! I dropped a few golden drops of truffle infused oil on the top of each serving, adding an extra pungency to the jewels of black truffle throughout the dish. AJ said, “It has such a lovely creaminess of risotto and a subtle hint of truffle, it is perfect”. I love my little foodie. JR went back for seconds. I plated up a small serve, topped it with a few glistening drops of oil, covered it in foil, and delivered it to the owner of Dal Buchaniere restaurant down the street. I gave it to him, pulled off the foil and told him to smell. He said, “Ahh, the tartufo risotto, hmm”. I had told him a few days ago what I was planning to cook for AJ’s birthday, it seemed he remembered. I will go back tomorrow to collect the plate and to find out his verdict.

We were filled to the brim with good food, love and happiness. AJ said, “We didn’t have a birthday cake today, I think this is the first birthday I have had without a cake”. He wasn’t bothered but was just sharing his thoughts on his wonderful day. I left the room and soon returned with candles blazing atop a cioccolato torta, his eyes lit up and a smile spread across his face – as if I would let a birthday pass without a cake to celebrate.

We ended the day with the family tournament of balloon tennis which had us rolling with laughter. Happy birthday AJ, I hope you had a ball. X

The Tufo Region of Maremma in Tuscany. Tuesday 29th September, 2009.

I had no idea when we returned to Tuscany, of just how many interesting and different regions there were all under the guise of the Tuscany name. Today we were off to the Tufo area, named so because of the tufo rock of the area.

We drove for some time, passing the lovely Scansano where we had been only days before celebrating the festival of the grape. Our first stop was at the little village of Montemarano which I had read was not to be missed. The information I had read was spot on. Montemarano was a quaint village, abundant with interesting and pretty piazzas at almost every turn. The houses often had pretty hand painted tiles welcoming those passing on the street. The piazzas were filled with pots of flowers, archways, old cobbles, fountains, neighbourhood cats, wrought iron window boxes, lovely old doors, and creepers that made their way around old doors and windows. The residents had their washing hung on lines outside their shuttered windows, just like ours in Castiglione. As we investigated the narrow lanes we saw the locals. An old lady in a typically Italian floral frock walked with her cat, talking softly to it as they went. A grey haired man with a slight stoop filled his bucket from the fountain in the Piazza and watered the thirsty plants near by. We followed the enticing aromas of cinghiale ragu and found its home where a couple had just finished eating. They spoke to us from high above as they leaned out their window overlooking the street where we walked. A little further along an old man sat in the sun outside his front door, this was the rhythm of his day and I suspect it had been for many years, he boasted to us that he was 90, he looked well for his age and I think you will find him sitting in this very spot, as long as the sun shines, for many years to come. I enjoy meeting and chatting to the locals, it always gives the places we visit so much colour.

We went inside the 14th century Chisea di San Giorgio which was pretty, its alter reminded me of a stage play with its ornate carved curtain pulled back by fat cherubs. The main street has a clatter of small shops, a local artisan of jewellery, a butcher and a specialist of local wines, coffee and food.

Before we left I stopped at the local shop to buy some cheese for our picnic today, I bought a fresh lobe of milky mozzarella and a generous wedge of salty and pale pecorino, hmm – roll on lunch time. We marvel at the general stores here. They sell so many lovely local specialities but their presentation inside and out leaves so much to be desired. Like the one today, so many are messy and disorganised. If they presented themselves like this back in Australia I am sure there would not be a customer to be seen. It all adds a local flavour though and the counter is always manned by a family member with a cheery greeting and as you leave you are always wished a happy day.

From near the shop there was a lovely vista of the hills and valleys surrounding the village. Groves of olive trees covered the rises in the hills, and a fig tree filled with green teardrop shaped fruits stood near us, just out of reach.

The next stop at the medieval village of Manciano was boring, boring, boring. I found out later that it is only visited now for its close proximity to the natural springs at Saturnia where people flock to bathe at the spa. If I were you visiting this area, I would drive on by because there is so much further up the road that will take your breath away.

Our tummies were beginning to growl, telling us it was time to look out for a picnic spot. We drove and drove until we rounded a corner to the most beautiful sight. It was a full panoramic view of the town of Pitigliano sitting on tippy-toes on an enormously high cliff of tufa stone, the cliff extended into walls of the houses made of the same cliff face, it was fascinating. All over the cliff face are caves, this area is famous for them. Many are now used for storing the local drop. More on Pitigliano later though.

We ate our picnic of focaccia bread, Tuscan prosciutto, pickled capsicums, pecorino, mozzarella, rocket leaves and tomato, it was sublime. The view of Pitigliano was our vista with a valley filled with English oak, European Ash, maple trees, hornbeams, poplars, willows and hazelnut trees, separating us from the town. The picnic and parking bay where we stopped was right beside Madonna delle Grazia.

Refueled once more, we drove past Pitigliano to come back later in the soft light late in the day, we continued onto Sorano. What a surprise this town was, it was utterly delightful and charming. There was not a word of English spoken, not even in the information office, and not a brochure in English either which was a shame. I gotta say that the French are streets ahead with catering for tourism. In almost every place we visited in France, there were English press files available, maps, brochures, everything one would need. In Italy it is a little bit more haphazard and fly by the seat of your pants, especially in the small villages which is a shame because they are so rich in history that visitors like us would like to know about the years of history before us.

We immediately loved Sorano. The town welcomes you with arches and no less than five fountains of spring water overlooking a deep, green valley running behind the town with a river running at its feet. AJ loved the cool spring water and washed his face in it; he felt weary after a belly full of lunch and needed reviving. A little shop featured work from a wood turner who uses the honey toned wood from the abundance of olive trees in the area. Inside the walls, as the afternoon wore on, local men ventured out to chat to one another as is the Italian way. It is a custom we like to watch, we like to see the local characters as they become animated with interactions. The far reaches of the town offer lovely valley views from Piazza del Poggio’s panoramic terrace. From here you can see caves dug deep into the tufa rock. It is such an interesting and unique landscape.

We had saved Pitigliano for JR’s favourite time of day, magic hour. He disappeared on arrival although AJ and I did keep seeing him as we all plotted the same course. We stood on an arched terrace at the beginning of the town, separating us from the green valley where we had lunched beside Madonna delle Grazie, it looked a picture in the far distance.

Local kids ran about the narrow streets playing chasy, stopping to drink from the flowing fountains dotted over the town, imagine never having to carry a drink bottle around. Palazo Orsini boasted a lovely courtyard with an old well and a doggy welcome from a friendly golden retriever who AJ stopped with for a while.

Gelato time again. Bar Centrale serves a beauty. JR returned to find us there and tagged his order onto ours the cheapskate! A gelato always recharges the batteries. JR had returned to tell us about a guy, Enrico Polidori, further up the road who specialises in all things to do with wild boar, AJ’s favourite, so we all headed up hill for a look. Enrico speaks not one word of English, he has specialised in wild boar for 20 years and began because it is a regional speciality that everyone loves. He has four small shops, each for a different purpose, sales, curing, drying, etc. Inside one was slabs of cinghiale marinating in wine, salt and herbs, inside another were rows of rosy pink boar meat gently swaying in a breeze made by fans that oscillated around the room, they were surrounded by so many legs of prosciutto it would have been impossible to count them. AJ chose some Coppiette Carne Cecca, thin strips of wild boar, air dried and spiced with star anise. They were so good we visited a second time for another helping. I liked them for their flavour and also, although they were air dried, they still had a tenderness about them, they were a real treat.

Along a little more I found a lovely lady sitting in the sun, sewing and doing embroidery, she had a wicker basket beside her and was happy to have a photo taken. All along the cliff side of the town, there were little vista points where you could drink in the view of the beautiful valley. Pitigliano is one of the most interesting and unique places I have seen on our travels, it’s a gem.

The lady in the tourism office at Pitigliano had told me not to miss the village of Sovana, its small with only about 100 residents. Although we were tired, we decided to visit Sovana and see what the fuss was about, we figured, if it was so small it would not take us long. The road leading into the village had an abundance of olive trees heavy with green orbs of fruit and had been recently laid with neat pavers, quite a novel sight in raggedy Italy. It was neat and reminded us of French villages, thus loosing appeal for AJ almost immediately. The sun was going down and cast a warm glow on the side of Cathedral of Saint Peter and Paul Il Duomo, which still has remains of the beginning of its creation in the 14th century. We went inside for a visit, it was unearthly and spiritual. Oposite the cathedral was a pretty garden maze and an olive grove, the sun became intensely red as it sank slowly to the ground. I picked three almost ripe figs from a tree near by. The ground around it was littered with overripe fruits that had fallen before I came. Where are you Manuella?

At the opposite end of the village stands Rocca Aldobrandesca fortress. It has stood here since the 11th century. At the bottom of its walls were two rickety picnic tables tucked under a persimmon tree. How wonderful it is to see exotic trees like this in public places that are full of fruit, knowing that one day they will be a feast for those who find them. Today the fruit was shiny and green and far from being able to be eaten, what a shame for me.

Homeward bound, we passed Pitigliano and stopped at our lunchtime picnic spot once more to admire the town as it was bathed in the night time’s golden light. What a picture it was.
Poor JR having to negotiate the twisty, narrow roads late at night, being harassed by the other drivers. We all agree we have never driven anywhere in the world that has such appalling drivers. They have no consideration for anyone else on the road; they are intimidating and abusive and display no care or concern for any of the road rules. We just tootle along and do the right thing as best we can but it is pretty hard with drivers appearing around bends with high beam blinding us. These incidents are not isolated, they are at almost every twist and turn and JR will be more than happy to hand in the car keys before our return to Rome on Saturday where our preferred mode of transport will be on foot.

Doodling About. Monday 28th September, 2009.

The day slipped through my fingers all too quickly and before I knew it, it was 3pm. We had been planning to buy AJ a lovely silver ring with small black onyx stones in it for his 13th birthday this week. We wanted it to be a surprise but at the same time we thought it would be nice to ask him if he would wear a ring and if he liked what we had chosen. We visited the jewellery store this morning and he just loved it, it is as if it was made just for him. He slipped it on his finger and there it stayed. It will be a lovely birthday gift to mark his entry into teenage hood in a few day's time, and also a lovely memento of our time in Italy. All day he looked at it, asked questions about how best to look after it, and kept telling us how much he loved it. I just love being a Mum.

Matt and Janie called on Skype; it was so nice to speak after being off line for so long. Bud is staying with them while Brad and Vikki are holidaying in the snow, so it was wonderful to see his little furry face, we miss him terribly. We talk about him daily and don’t know what we would do without our wonderful friends who look after him so well. We hope you guys are having a great time in the snow Brad, Vikk and boys; we cannot imagine it snowing as we are spending days on the beach over here.

That’s exactly what we did today; we grabbed a gelato from ‘Paradise’, our favourite gelato place in Castiglione dell Pescaia and headed to the beach. There was a little bit of a breeze about and being a Monday the beach was quiet and tranquil. We walked its length, right to the end which is a high rock wall; we explored there a while before retracing our lazy footsteps to the far end and the harbor wall. We took the long way home, along the harbor filled with fishing boats, watching locals feeding the ducks. A red Ferrari passed and was gone again in an instant.

AJ let himself into the apartment while JR and I strolled the main via with the locals. We stopped for a chat with our friend, the owner of Dal Buchaniere restaurant, he is a lovely man. JR was in raptures after finding a much sought after dish brush in a nearby shop, I don’t think he will let this one out of his sight after being without one for quite some time; this one will travel with him wherever he goes.

Back at home we cooked a big pot of spaghetti and meatballs. The pasta was fresh and just lovely, such good quality and a lovely rich yellow. We all agreed that the meatballs were the best batch ever, maybe it is the meat but I must say they were absolutely delicious and I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Scansano, Festa dell'Uva. Sunday 27th September, 2009.

We arrived at the Tuscan town of Scansano, lying hillside on a strip of land between the slopes of Mount Amiata dn the Maremma coast, by midday. As soon as we arrived we liked it. The town was alive with activity, people were out celebrating the Festa dell’Uva which in English translates to The Festival of the Grape. It was a festival with a small town flavour, it was simple and charming. I realised at the end of the day that I had not heard one other person speak English the entire day. It was lovely to be celebrating at an authentic festival, far from other tourists eyes.

The restaurant that was recommended to us was fully booked so we headed elsewhere, to L’Antica Botte, on AJ’s insistence. They had a deliciously regional menu out front so why not we thought. It was a truly authentic experience and we sat in a dining room filled with fast flowing Italian chatter and even faster flowing Morellino di Scansano, the local and very nice red wine.
AJ didn’t hesitate in ordering the local speciality of parpadelle cingialle, JR joined him. I stole a taste and it was strong with the wild taste of boar, I always find the taste of this particular animal quite strong and distinctive, but I love it. I ordered a wild mushroom and truffle gnocchi, the gnocchi was hand rolled by, Marinella, the owner of the restaurant. Every pillow was as light as a feather, smaller than the ones I make at home. I congratulated her on her deft hand at gnocchi making which probably sounded silly coming from a visiting Australian. AJ was the only one who opted for dessert, a simple and well made chocolate torte Italian style, Marinella’s speciality also. You know when something has just the right balance of sweetness and is a lovely texture on the palate, this ticked all the boxes and was divine.

Back out on the streets we visited the festival’s market place that was too tacky for words with its stalls piled high with assorted handmade dust collectors, needless to say we left empty handed. Up in the old town, private homes had opened their cantinas to the public for the annual celebration. These were often ground floor or even underground cave like rooms, used for family celebrations. Each year they are used as temporary restaurants for the Festival of the Grape. It was wonderful. Each of them offered something a little different but always absolutely regional. Wine was on offer too and as the day wore on sweet dolce began to appear. Arms laden with trays filled with schiaccine fritte for 1 euro a hit proved to be a favourite. They are fried dough, salted and eaten warm. We ate salsiccia sausage barbequed over hot coals and served on the regional bread that is unsalted and very plain. This particular bread is not a favourite of ours at all; in fact I find it quite intolerable. But team it with the saltiness of salsiccia sausage or prosciutto and it is utterly delightful. I finished my indulgence with a marmalade torte, latticed with ribbons of short pastry, it was scattered with golden pine nuts. Happy days.

We were preparing to leave the festival after having such a lovely time together but when we arrived at the main square, the sides of the road were lined with excited onlookers. AJ went to ask a local policewoman what all the fuss was about. He returned saying something about a car and wine but didn’t know when it would happen. Before long the sounds of a marching band (of sorts) arrived and soon after was a cherry picker, holding in its bucket, a king like man wearing a crown of grape vines and dressed in a long cloak. Behind him was a precession of tractors, each pulled a trailer filled with people cheering and singing, handing out bunches of sweet grapes and cups of Morellino wine to the excited crowd. What a way to end the day. Children sang celebratory songs on the back of the trailers while others ran alongside throwing ripe grapes in fun, AJ couldn’t help but to join in too. I wish I was a child again.

Fun In The Sun. Saturday 26th September, 2009.

We stopped at Paninoteca-Birreria Pizzeria for pizza by the slice on our way to the beach. This was the place Claudia says is her favourite, where she took us for lunch the day we first arrived in Castiglione. We understand why, it is ours too. It is a rather unassuming place. To be honest, if it wasn’t recommended to us we probably would never have tried it, it looks a little bit unkept from the road side, but inside is a pizza nirvana. We ordered simple Margarita pizza, two slices each at 1.20 euro a slice.

We spent the afternoon at Castiglione’s beach, it was pretty busy being a weekend. Castiglione is a popular holiday/weekender for Italian families as it pretty easy to travel to from Rome, Florence and Milan. We waded out into the depths, the water was pretty clear. I was doing well until I saw a jelly-fish swimming towards me. That was it, I screamed like a big girl’s blouse and high tailed it into shore. With encouragement from the boys I returned to try again. Now there were things touching me. I would stand waist deep in water, look down and all I could see were my toes and the ripples of sand on the sea bottom. The next minute I would be screaming my head off after feeling something touching me. I yelled and screamed and the boys laughed and laughed at me. Again we returned to shore. JR did the next stint alone with AJ. I watched from the safety of the sand. They went out so deep and I longed to be with them so I had a little talk to myself and decided that everyone out there swimming was just fine, if no harm was coming to them, no harm would come to me. When the boys came back and AJ begged me to join them again I did just that. I had a little cry this time giving the boys more fodder for laughs. Once we got out deep enough and we could not touch the bottom, I calmed myself and had a lovely time. In fact, when the boys were ready to come back to shore, I was the one that wanted to stay in the water. The African dudes tried to sell us everything but the kitchen sink as we lay on our beach towels in the warm sun, we waived them on firmly but politely.

We cooked a lovely dinner at home, spinach and ricotta tortelli with a tomato and garlic sauce, and after, we got dolled up and wandered the streets, taking in the wonderful summer, seaside feel that is Castiglione. Everyone was out to enjoy Saturday night. We strolled slowly (I am teaching JR how to stroll and he is doing rather well) enjoying a gelato. JR couldn’t resist dropping into Dal Buchaniere for a late night snack of Margarita pizza, no one resisted of course although I must admit to only having a sliver.

I was ready for bed when my head hit the pillow tonight. My skin had become thirsty after the salt water and I had a little bit of colour to my usually pale complexion. Don’t you always feel exhausted and exhilarated at the same time after a day at the beach?

A Visit to Monte Argentario. Friday 25th September 2009.

We drove about an hour south to visit the island of Monte Argentario surrounded by sparkling turquoise water. We began at Porto S. Stefano. The port area is filled with fishing boats and is fronted by stalls selling the bounty of the sea. They have stripped canvas awnings pulled down protecting the fresh fish from the sun’s rays. We walked along the palm tree lined Lungomare dei Navigatori sided by a rock wall where a local man was diving for sea urchins, he happily showed us his prized catch before placing it safely inside the mesh bag he carried.

Picnic time had arrived yet again. Today we found the most amazing little cove at Il Pozzarello. The water was clearer than clear and small fish swam happily about, in and out of the rocks. We sat on a rickety old wooden pier with our legs dangling above the sea. We made up our focaccias with fresh fillings any Italian would be proud of and enjoyed life’s simple pleasures yet again. Two elderly swimmers passed by, emerged from the water and we exchanged pleasantries. They were holidaying from Florence. Two of their family dogs looked at us longingly awaiting some of our picnic. We fed the sea birds that visited too, laughing at their antics and the bossy one who stood on the shore keeping them in order. I loved our little clear watered cove and wish I could return here every day to drink it in over and over again. I looked back longingly as we walked to the car on the road above it to try and secure how beautiful it is in my memory forever.

The next stop was Porto Ecole, a charming little seaside village with great gelato! Yes, we sat by the water enjoying our daily treat, it was just what I needed to keep me going, it was hot in the sun today. We watched the fishermen mending their nets by their old fishing boats, just as they would have years ago, their life seems simple and unhurried, I’m sure ours does to them as well. We walked along the sea wall towards its end facing the Spanish fort, Forte Filippo overlooking the village. Fishermen and women sat with lines dangling in the turquoise water, it was transparent and deep with glorious colour. AJ and I were hit by the lazy stick and kept stopping, JR however was keen to keep on the hoof so we dragged ourselves along.

The drive up to La Rocca fortress is a beautiful one, just after the turn off to La Rocca is a road with a gorgeous view of the coast from high up, the view was of paradise, dotted with boats bobbing in the bluey green expanse of water. La Rocca fortress itself is high above the town. From there we walked along a cliff-top track lined with strange cacti and wild fig trees with fruit awaiting ripening. The track led us between the fortress wall and the cliff face leading us into the old town of Porto Ercole. The streets were rough to walk with their ancient and uneven cobbles, big and small. AJ and I descended back to the port for a coffee and coke by the water while JR took some snaps.

We all enjoyed driving up to Forte Filippo, another Spanish fortress overlooking the port but from the other side. Up here we were able to walk along the outer wall in between the old moat and the outer wall giving us amazing views of Orbetello and a strip of protected land covered in pine forests and a sanctuary for bird life, called Tombolo di Feniglia. There was an old cannon at a defence post that AJ paused to look at. I could not help reminiscing about years past when he would have played imaginary games at places like this, those days are long gone.

The sun was slipping away behind the mountain tops. We drove a twisty road to Il Telegrafo, the highest point of Monte Argentario. There was no one else up there, and from the car park we slipped through a small gap in the trees. There was a rock sitting on top of the universe as if just put there for us to sit. Below us were forests of trees covering distant hills and then the water which called the red ball of the sun closer and closer until it drank it deep within. The sky turned a pale pink and we felt bathed in its colour as we sat on our rock on top of the universe.

Castiglione della Pescaia. Thurdsay 24th September, 2009.

What a paradise this is. I love looking out our window and watching people strolling by. Locals ride past on rusty old bikes yelling out their greetings to people they know. It has an easiness, a seaside pace here and is just lovely. Our nearby clock tower chimes randomly. The clock is stuck on eight o‘clock and it chimes at eight twice a day and then at fifteen minutes past, during dinner a few nights ago we counted 67 chimes, so in true Italian style it does as it pleases in the most delightful way.

We ate pizza by the slice on our way to the beach this afternoon. We spent hours strolling along the sand in the clear blue shallows. AJ decided to go for a swim fully clothed and had the time of his life for what seemed like ages. JR and I waited on the shore delighting in watching him and his childlike freedom and innocence, glimpses of this are few and far between these days.
AJ was checking out a fellow swimmer who was with what we presume was her Aunt and Mother. She was the most beautiful young girl we had ever seen. Her long, dark hair fell down her back in soft waves, her skin was dark olive and she had a little bit of meat on her bones softening her face to make it round and youthful. As she came out of the water she was stung by something and hobbled to her beach towel close by ours. She held her beautiful face in her hands and sobbed her little heart out, it was sad to see. AJ was talking about how beautiful she was and went to buy her an ice-cream to cheer her up. It worked a treat and her face lit up in a broad smile. (Trust us to treat a medical emergency with food!) A little later he went and sat beside her and began to get to know her. JR and I were sitting quite close by, I became all choked up with emotion at the sight of my boy growing up and approaching a girl he liked, JR and I were both so proud of him. He returned after a while with a smile plastered across his face. He laughed saying, “Guess how old she is?” She was 19, needless to say he extracted himself from the conversation soon after. He was back in the water when she left and the lovely thing was, she made sure she waved goodbye to him from the shore. He was so happy and it was nice to be there to share such a funny, tender moment.

We all left the beach happy; AJ was walking six foot tall. We found our new favourite gelateria in Castiglione which I am sure we will return to with regularity, it seems everyone else has discovered it too as it is always busy.

JR went out for magic hour and while he was away, I took AJ for a much needed hair cut. I was a little worried about explaining how we wanted his hair cut but with the help of some very ooh la la Italian fashion magazines, we were able to communicate our wishes. The guy did a great job and AJ was so happy with the result, it is nice to be able to see his face again. Not bad for fifteen euro.

I asked the girl at the shop below our window where she eats out and she recommended a little restaurant outside the tourist strip called Celso, it was a goodie with great service but I think that the close by Dal Buchaniere remains our sentimental favourite. The owner is gorgeous and the whole family work there, it has a nice feel to it and the food is exceptional.

JR and I walked home through the streets of Castiglione hand in hand, we were happy. AJ hugged us both as he was going to bed and said, “Thanks for this year guys, it’s great”. And that is what it is all about.

Siena Bound. Wednesday 23rd September, 2009.

I went to get the supply of fresh, salted focaccia this morning from the store below my shutters, I am now known as Bella Signora by the lovely owner who now knows me as a regular visitor early each morning. It was a beautiful morning, the sun was shining from the blue heavens above and there was just a hint of breeze.

As soon as we left Castiglione della Pescaia, the land flatted into vast agricultural plains. Today there were many fields roughly ploughed awaiting new crops, some were filled with dry sunflowers, their colour gone and their heads bowed low awaiting harvest. Distant views showed rows of dark green Cypress Pines and tall European Pines with naked trunks and full pom-pom like foliage on top, these trees are so typical of Tuscany, when I close my mind and imagine it, this is what I see.

We drove through the maze of streets in Grosseto, pointing us in the direction of Siena, our destination today. It seemed to take forever to negotiate the way and we laughed thinking there was surely a more direct course to take. We followed the main highway from Grosseto to Siena. It was dominated by road works for much of the way and we sat on a speed limit of 50 for the most part, trying to ignore hot blooded Italian drivers behind us, sitting on our tail trying to push us along. A particularly impatient bus driver overtook us entering a tunnel passing over double lines and blasting his horn, details like double lines and speed limits don’t seem to be noticed here in Italy. There was no way we were going to speed, we had already passed four speed cameras and radars, but still they pushed.

We passed so many hill-top towns, bathed in golden light against the green landscape. They were different to our last visit. Most towns had expanded and around the crumbling and character filled stone houses there were new and less attractive buildings, I like to pretend they are not there and remember things how they used to be, the Tuscany of old.

We talked about the funny cultural differences and I began to wonder how difficult it was for Italian immigrants to settle into Australia with our clearly defined rules and regulations that are mostly obeyed by all. The chaos definitely has a charm of its own here, parts of it which we love and embrace.

It was a special moment to arrive in Siena’s enchanting Il Campo and have AJ by our sides; the last time we were here we were only two. I knew he would love it, its rich rusted colours, its old facades and the intricate embellishments adorning the buildings that are so Sienese. Il Campo was filled with happy faces. As our picnic was so successful yesterday sitting on the cattedrale steps overlooking the piazza in Massa-Marittima, we decided that we would enjoy another prime location picnic on the Il Campo. We have named this style of picnic ‘Piazza Picnic’ and they are a highlight of our days in Italy. We sat, surrounded by hungry pigeons, at the lower end of the shell shaped Campo and made up this morning’s purchase of foccacias with rocket, tomato, salami, buffalo mozzarella and a scant sprinkling of Guerande sea salt which we have carried around with us since visiting Brittany in June. We were so happy enjoying the simple pleasures of sun, family, and simple food, in one of the world’s most beautiful cities – this is living.
We sat for what seemed like eternity feeding the pigeons and laughing as they ran over our feet in frenzies as they honed in on every crumb we offered, we were in no rush and had all day and night to explore so we weren’t hassled by the pressures of hurrying through the list of tourist sites. Our carefully planned picnic saw us only having to carry around a small bag of salt and two knives for the day. We have been practicing random acts of kindness on each other today which has been fun and has seen us offering each other the last slice of buffalo mozzarella and salami, offering to carry bags, me making up the focaccias for lunch etc.

We headed to Cattedrale di Siena, to show AJ one of my favourite cathedrals in all of Europe. He also loved its blue cupola decorated with golden stars. He marvelled at the frescoes in the library and stood studying them deep in thought. He had to check from below the ceilinged frescoes, that the pillars of marble were in fact only paintings; I think it made him appreciate the skill involved in painting these beautiful pieces. He and I sat and he shared his thoughts on the creation of life, he has such an enquiring mind and he constantly searches for answers and does it in a mature way for his twelve years. I am very proud of him, I always have been, but even more so as I watch him change and develop into his own person as each day passes. It is only one week until he will be thirteen. Time passes and memories are made.

The three of us struggle with the time consumed by JR and his passion for his photography. AJ and I feel he misses out on so much of our family journey as he is often on his quest to capture everything in an image. It s a difficult problem and is a constant source of questioning by us all. I absolutely support his passion and everywhere we go, AJ and I wave him goodbye for an hour or two here and there for him to be able to immerse himself in what he loves. I actually enjoy seeing him walk away with pep in his step, knowing he can be in his own headspace and see the world through his lens without distraction. On the other hand, when we are all together, we miss his interactions with us as he disappears into his own little world and snaps away. Everywhere you look there are always beautiful images to capture so even when he says he will put the camera away, he is always torn between being with us and doing what he loves. We still search for a solution, maybe there is not one to be found.

AJ and I said goodbye to JR at 5pm and arranged to meet back in the Campo at 7pm giving him hours of photography fun in his beloved magic hour of the day. JR climbed to the top of the Torre del Mangia overlooking the Campo. It reaches 83 metres into the sky after a climb of 400 steps. I could not believe it as AJ and I sat below people watching, I saw JR at the very top of the tower waving his arms above his head as he tried to attract our attention, it was pure chance I looked up to see him there. AJ passed the time, blissfully happy, people watching and laughing together, we had a ball together.

By 7 we were all together again, we secured a front row table to watch the happenings on the Campo as we ate dinner. Most of the tourists were gone; a lone busker sat and played the bongo drums whose sounds echoed across the Campo and back. We all at a simple salsiccia pizza as the sky turned navy blue with the odd twinkling star. The buildings became bathed in golden light which was soft and warm. As we left the Campo, I turned for one last look at this place I love; I left with my heart filled with forever memories.

Tuscan Towns. Tuesday 22nd September, 2009.

As promised our car was at the ESSO station this morning and before long we were sorted with wheels to begin discovering the beautiful Maremma region. We were happy to hopefully have all of the settling in administration completed at long last.

There is no parking inside the city walls of Castiglione della Pescaia so we parked a little way outside and walked a few minutes to our apartment, passing the pasticceria who sells the delightful bombacremas we enjoyed the other day. We took three home for morning tea, AJ was so happy. JR popped on a pot of coffee and we settled in for a treat.

I bought a fresh supply of bread and focaccia at the store almost below our bedroom windows, packed a picnic and before long we were off in our little silver Fiat Punto to get acquainted with the Metalliferous Hills area of The Maremma in beautiful Tuscany. The south of Tuscany is a little different to the Chianti region where we had stayed years before. Down here it is a little more wild and unkept, tousled and straggly looking. The Metalliferous Hills are a happy mix of grape vines, some still yet to be harvested, and olive trees which appear darker than those in Provence.

We drove completely around the village of Scarlino, perched high on a hill commanding the greatest of views to beyond and back. Not far from here was Gavorrano, anchored with old, old stone to the sides of Mount Calvo, also with vast views from the hills to the sea. We went deep into the Centro Storico area, enjoying our voyeuristic ways, looking in on small village life for a while. Cats meowed at our passing, posing for photos as if trained. Locals appearing in their windows always greeted us with a cheery greeting and smile, as we did to them.

It was time to look for a picnic spot en route to our next stop at Massa-Marittima snuggled inside the hills and forests that abound. We will forever be thankful for our wonderful picnic spots in Australia, there is a real lack in Europe. There was nothing suitable between towns so we parked the car just outside the city walls of Massa-Marittima where we had spotted a grassy ledge where we could sit with a panoramic view of the world below, it looked like paradise. We traipsed over, loaded up with picnic supplies and to our dismay there was dog poop absolutely everywhere. It must be a popular spot for walkies!

Never to be defeated we took the steps leading to the heights of the old town. I rounded the corner up the top to such a breathtaking sight, Massa-Marittima was jaw-droppingly gorgeous and it reminded me of Siena, my favourite Tuscan town in so many ways – the steep steps leading to the Cattedrale de S. Cerbone where AJ and I got scolded for taking photos. We decided to keep the rather vocal lady on her toes and had her following us around making sure we were behaving which of course we were.

Back to the picnic... on arriving in Piazza Garibaldi with picnic supplies in hand, there was only one choice of where to eat, right here we decided. We climbed the 20 or so stone steps in front of the Cattedrale and there we ate. I made up crusty Italian rolls and foccacias filled with prosciutto, buffalo mozzarella and slices of ripe tomato; it was so simple and so good. The new butter I bought was snowy white, it is called Burro Dolcepanna, and I will have to learn more about why it is so very white, I am thinking it may be a baking butter??? I am sure we were no end of amusement for the diners at the restaurants and cafes on the far side of the piazza, meanwhile we were laughing at ourselves and how funny we must have looked as we sat high and mighty overlooking all.

Beside the 12th century stone Cattedrale was the Museo Archeologico and its facade became my most special part of the village. Its frontage was inlayed with beautiful tile like plaques, there were many of them, all different. I found out they were family plaques belonging to families that lived in the judicial palace long ago.

We had a gloriously creamy gelato at Bar Centrale, AJ’s was enormous and was filled with the smoothest chocolate and stracciatella gelato flavours. I am back on the fragola trail now that I have become acquinted again with my old favourite flavour. I feel so lucky to be enjoying the simple things in life, it is wonderful and so enriching for our little family.

JR took off for some photo time while AJ and I wandered up via Moncini, and out beyond the city walls passing Torre del Candeliere. Piazza Matteotti, although a bit derelict looking, gave the best views of Massa-Marittima and her collection of terracotta roofs, light and dark in colour. The day was hazy which gave its own special kind of mystique.

Our next destination was Roccastrada where we trekked the narrow streets enjoying a sticky nose at whatever we discovered. Ornella called to check that all was alright with the car and internet, I assured her it was and she said she had felt terrible about the trouble; it is all behind us now and not a worry. We whiled away the remains of the day in Roccastrada, watching the sun turn fiery red as it hung low and weary in the Tuscan sky.

Village voices drifted up to our apartment tonight carried on the night time breeze. Smooth jazz played at the bar around the corner, from the Guru bar where we drank the other night. Castiglione has a great feel to it, it has life and soul and we just love it here.

From Bad To Worse. Monday 21st September, 2009.

I came home armed with a small cob of salted Italian bread and a slab of salt and olive oil foccacia this morning, we enjoyed them lightly toasted, mine with sweet honey.

We arrived at the ESSO service station; about 20 minutes walk from home, by 11ish. We weren’t surprised our hire car wasn’t there as Claudia had promised. The guy in charge had no idea about it either, our lack of language skills made it difficult to explain that the hire car had been organised and we were to collect it here today. We had to stock the house with food and had been waiting to pick up the car to do so. As the supermarket was nearby, we decided to do the shopping and haul it home between the three of us which worked out fine.

It was so different supermarket shopping in Italy in comparison to France. JR was amazed at the amount of shelf space dedicated to different things. There is next to no bread where in France it dominates an entire wall. The range of mozzarella, buffalo and otherwise, takes up miles of the fridge section, breakfast cereal is almost nonexistent with only two choices, a variety of cornflakes and a box of something similar to coco pops, that’s it. Oh well, we will have to carry on the Italian breakfast habit of a bombacrema pastry (we had our first on the way to the supermarket today – OMG, memories flooded back to Hotel Regno breakfasts from two years ago!)

So, we arrive home fuming, no car, and the promised delivery of the internet key that was supposed to arrive yesterday still is not here – NOT HAPPY JAN! We get that Claudia is a lovely scatterbrain and is less than organised but this does nothing to calm us. We are all a tad snippy especially after both transport and internet access had been clearly arranged on acceptance of our home-exchange.

We composed an email, JR had to find an alternative internet cafe to use as the one he used yesterday is closed on Mondays. The new one required a scan of his passport and charged through the nose for only 10 minutes. Anyway, the email was sent asking Claudia to sort out the car hire and internet access as previously agreed and email us asap with a clear solution.
On top of this, JR had taken both AJ’s and my French mobiles to the phone shop to recharge them, surprise, surprise – they were locked and will not work outside of France. We were furious! We had specifically requested they be unlocked when we purchased them as we would be all over the place this year.

Luckily I had my Aussie mobile floating around so we took that back to the phone shop (much later as they only returned from siesta at 4) and were able to get it sorted after some delay as the lady in the mobile phone shop had no internet at the time so could not activate my new number, JR wondered out loud if we were in a third world country.

Mobile phone in hand and internet cafe now closed not allowing us to check Claudia’s response to our email with what to do about the car in the morning, I called Claudia and she was so apologetic. I really don’t think she means any harm at all, she is just terribly disorganised. We were able to share with her that the internet key had arrived at long last, the fact that it will not be activated until midday tomorrow is the least of our worries, we are just happy it is here and is another thing we can cross of the list. She assures me that the hire car will be at ESSO in the morning by 9.30 so fingers crossed all will be well.

AJ had requested risotto for dinner so I created a little recipe that goes like this:

Sautee two finely chopped onions in a sliky combination of fruity olive oil and melted butter, cook them gently with three cloves of finely chopped garlic, 12 year old sons do this job the best. When the onions are soft, remove the casings from four salsiccia sausages bought from the lovely Signora at the local Italian grocer, and separate the meat into small pieces, add them to the onions and garlic which will have filled the house with inviting aromas. Let the sausage cook through and firm up a little, give it time to brown a bit too. Add a generous supply of Arborio rice and stir it making sure it becomes shiny as it is coated with the olive oil, butter and juice from the sausage. I poured in a good splash (or maybe two) of bianco wine I bought from the supermarket which comes in a tetra pack like fruit juice, I paid a whole 1.15 euro (don’t be shocked) and stirred it into the rice on a relatively high heat until it was almost gone entirely. My pot of hot chicken stock was simmering away on the back of the stove and I ladled this into the rice bit by bit, JR and I took turns stirring. The rice became creamy and tender. I added a dollop of rich mascarpone (not a patch on my home made stuff) and too many calories of reggiano cheese, mixed it all together and called AJ in for a taste test. I gotta admit it was pretty damn fine even if I do say so myself.

It was JR’s treat for gelato dessert so we piled out the door and down the street to join the families wandering up and down the main street on which we live.
I look forward to seeing what tomorrow brings...

Our Rain Soaked Village. Sunday 20th September, 2009.

The piazza below our shuttered windows came to life before we did this morning. The rain was constant although at times it waned to a light shower before returning back to heavy downpours. The sky was a solemn and steely grey and it rumbled with thunder as AJ slept and JR and I put on a pot of coffee. Our lounge room overlooks terracotta tiled roofs and they became deeper in colour and shone, taking on a reflective surface that would disappear when the rain was over and the sun returned to Tuscany.

Every so often I would wander to our bedroom, open the window and watch the umbrellas passing below. Welcoming smells of pizzas and sauces wafted up from the restaurant lined streets, I was getting hungry. Italian radio played somewhere outside and drifted into our room, James Blunt sang his familiar songs and it was so nice to hear an English song after so long.

I can’t remember if I mentioned that my computer was fixed in Provence by the lovely Frank at Cie and Co in Nyons. My emails have been downloaded but not all of them and it is only now I am realising the implications of the loss of some of my data. I have to find a way to retrieve the email address for our Venice exchange in October; it has been a while since our last contact. I have an empty contact list and only have email addresses from my most recent emails. I am sure we will find a solution; I think JR worries a little more than I, I remain optimistic that it will work out fine using a little nouse.

It was well into siesta time when we left the house, still with the rain falling around us. Dal Buchaniere, the restaurant where JR and I ate last night was still open so the three of us wandered in and before long we were sharing an authentic pizza with a floury crust, topped with a rich tomato sauce, mozzarella and spicy salami, simple and beautiful. I followed with a risotto of gamberi and funghi, mama mia life is good.

I am sure you are all wondering if and when we will make our mark on Casteglioni to ensure the town will never forget us. The incident happened today during lunch. Our pitcher of red wine arrived along with a jug of water. I filled our water glasses while the waiter fluffed around us taking away things from the table that three diners would not need. He went to take AJ’s very fancy, goblet style water glass away. He lifted it, looked inside, shrugged his shoulders, smiled and off he went. We ate our delicious lunch and lingered for ages, chatting about AJ returning home to high school and all about the fun he had with the local kids last night. He went to take a sip of his water and said, “Why have I got a candle in my drink?” I immediately went into fits of laughter as I realised what I had done to him. I had filled the candle holder with water which AJ had been sipping from during the course of our lunch, he only realised there was a tea light in it just before we were ready to leave; gosh it was funny. The staff all laughed along, I suspect the waiter had told the others and they were waiting to see when our faux pas would be noticed. I am so glad we are able to provide entertainment to the locals wherever we go.

We spent the afternoon exploring the Centro Storico area of Castiglione taking advantage of a break in the rain. AJ had been up to the highest part of the village belonging to a castle and a maze of cobbled streets lined with atmospheric restaurants, so he was our guide. Along the way he shared with us the stories of mischief he and the kids got up to on Saturday night, it took me back a few years that’s for sure. We found bushes of wild rosemary and noted where they were for the nights we cook JR’s rosemary potatoes. Coming back down into the main street of the village we all devoured our first Italian gelato, my mint and strachiatello was the perfect combination and the girl behind the counter was a doll. Come to think of it, all of the locals so far have been wonderful, warm and welcoming.

We cooked Claudia’s pasta dish for dinner, crescents of al dente pasta tossed with olive oil, salt, blushing tomatoes that tasted so wonderful and juicy, teardrops of snow white boconccini and olives that AJ depipped that were as black as night.

Tuscany Bound at Last. Saturday 19th September, 2009.

Darling and lovable Claudia seems to live a life of casual and stylish chaos, her mobile phone never stops, and I get the feeling she puts out fires as she has to and deals with things as they become worthy of her attention. We had planned to leave for Tuscany between 10 and 11 and were out the door just before 1pm after JR patiently sat with her and booked a few legs of her Aussie travels in preparation for when she arrives in Oz . AJ was excited to be driving through the crazy Roman traffic at last, he sat in the back seat with a grin plastered across his face, happy as larry to be in Italy and on his way to Tuscany. His heart has always belonged to Italy since his first visit with us a few years ago.

Castiglione della Pescaia is beautiful. Claudia thinks it has a population of about 5000 both inside and outside of the medieval city walls. Like so many other Tuscan villages and towns, it sits on a hilltop, a castle and clock tower at its height. The added bonus is that it is seaside with miles of beach to explore and a busy and quite large fishing port. We are all brimming with excitement at our new exchange for the next two weeks. Claudia treats AJ like a Grandson, spoiling him with treats, whatever his heart desires and she loves that he loves it. She took us to her favorite local pizza place and would absolutely not allow us to pay. She finished with a ciambella (sugar covered doughnut), giving into her sweet tooth, and brought a chocolate bombacrema to the table for AJ, he is so spoiled. We drove to a nearby beach to meet her friend Katrina. She was sunbaking with friends and came onto the cafe’s terrace for a quick introduction and coffee. Katrian is our local contact if we need help with anything during our stay. She has a thick smoky voice and is brown and a berry which is quite the norm here on the Italian coast.

Our Castiglione apartment is nice and clean, Claudia shares my need for cleanliness which makes me happy. On arrival she opens the windows and shutters which overlook the piazza below with is beginning to bustle with late afternoon meetings of locals. She hasn’t organised the dongle for our internet connection despite previous communication telling us she will show us the internet connection on our arrival, now we have to await her friends delivery of it, who knows when that will be. I emphasise our need for internet as previously discussed with her. She led us to believe it was all organised – maybe in her mind awaiting the delivery of a dongle from her friend (whenever), is a version of organisation and just differs from ours. Our car exchange agreement has been changed also which is not really a drama, it is just that it is Saturday now and our hire car will not be delivered to Castiglione until Monday, leaving us village bound for tomorrow. We think it will be a great opportunity to explore our new home and surroundings so we are not too worried, we are beginning to learn that this is Claudia and her ways, and it fits in with the Italian way perfectly – it is us who have to adjust and that will come with time in our new host country.
We wave goodbye and give Claudia kisses as she leaves to drive back to Rome. We all adore her and her discombobulated ways. We look forward to spending one night with her when we return to Rome.

AJ has a choice of 4 beds to sleep in in his room with its green shutters opening out over the busy piazza just like ours. AJ is keen to get on Claudia’s bike and go exploring so JR and I take part in the very Italian pastime of an evening stroll up and down the busy via. He keeps running into us and seems a bit down. He sees kids out with their friends and I think it reinforces the feeling of loneliness for him. He loves us I know but we are no substitute for his friends. We show him his boundaries around the streets inside the walls and at one end he is allowed to cross the main road on a pedestrian crossing giving him accesss to the pier area and promenade along the beachfront, it will be great for him and safe I am sure.

We arranged to meet back at our piazza at 7.30 and to our surprise AJ arrived with Manuel, a boy his age. They had met in the nearby square. We were going for dinner but AJ was keener to meet a few local kids so off he went with 10 euros in his pocket and pep in his step. Manuel was eating with a group of 12 and 13 year olds, celebrating one of the girl’s 13th birthday. AJ joined in and was allowed out until 10.30 as long as he was with the group. As it turned out, we saw him a few times as we wandered around the village after an amazing dinner of our own consisting of salsicia pizza and spaghetti carbonara. I love Italian food! AJ’s curfew extended out a few times as we bumped into each other. We could see the kids were having innocent fun, running around the streets, up and down from the castle, and he was so happy. He called it quits just after 11 after his new friend was picked up, he was buggered. He caught up with us sitting at a roadside bar, on padded bench seats, I had the remains of a tall Pina Colada on the table. He shared his adventures with us. We were all so happy in our new home, the next chapter in our wonderful adventure making France a faraway, but no less wonderful memory.

Au Revoir France and Thanks For The Memories. Friday 18th September, 2009.

4.30 is such an uncivilised time to begin the day. We were out the door of Hotel Windsor before 6am to catch our 6.25 train. We sat with our early morning coffees awaiting the announcement of the platform we would depart from, it never came and our early start was delayed by over an hour. We had 13 hours of travel ahead of us, all of our connections looked like they would fall like dominoes and our 8pm arrival in Rome would not be.

We met a few fellow Aussies who were travelling on two trains with us as far as Genova, they, like us, were looking at options and alternatives. JR learned that there was a train leaving for Nice soon, he rebooked us on it and off we went, fellow Aussies too. There was no chance of catching our next connection from Nice to Genova but we learned that there was another Genova train departing only minutes after our arrival. We planned a quick exit and dashed off the platform. It was surely the day for a miracle, the train we boarded as the guard was blowing his whistle for departure was our original Genova bound train that had also been delayed, we were on board and back on track.

As we had boarded in such a hurry, we did not get on in our correct carriage. We had to negotiate our fat suitcases, laptops and backpacks through three carriages, passing disgruntled fellow travellers who were blocking the aisle with their own luggage, some were sitting in the aisles; I would imagine many of these travellers were in the same boat as we and the train carried journeymen and women from quite a few connections. All is never smooth on travel days. When we arrived at our seats, they were occupied by strangers bottoms. We negotiated our rightful ownersip and settled in for a great leg of our journey accompanied by interesting and lively friends. There were older sisters from Marseille en route to Italy for a holiday together to escape the madness of husbands, kids and dogs. One of them gave me a bottle of violet perfume and patted her heart smiling at me. Their limited English and our best French was assisted by a darling Chinese student sitting beside me who had studied French during her 12 months in France, she was on her way to a holiday in Italy too. We all shared treats and stories of life. A girl from the next compartment commented on what a friendly carriage we were. Our babble must have sounded so funny and highly unusual to those not involved.

So, back on track and only one hour behind time, if the train kept chugging along the tracks we would be fine as we had an almost two hour wait until our next train from Genova to Rome. Claudia, our Tuscany and Rome home-exchanger, met us at the station. There was no fear of her missing us and I had wondered during our travels today, what we would look like to her, all dishevelled after our early morning start and 13 hours of travel. Surely we were a sight for sore eyes.

JR spotted her first. She looked typically Italian with light hair and dark tanned skin, she is as slim as a reed and her smile lights up her face and makes her eyes crinkle with kindness. It was so different arriving in Rome accompanied by a local. A taxi was procured for us immediately, after Claudia spoke a few words to the security guy at the taxi rank. In mere minutes we were at her beautiful apartment whose tall, timber doors separated the sanctuary of her home from the busy streets outside. We would return to her apartment for three weeks after spending the next two weeks, beginning tomorrow, at her holiday apartment in Castiglione della Pescaia, a beachside town in Tuscany.

The foyer of her apartment is cavernous and filled with light. The floor and stairs are white and grey marble and in the centre, running floor to the ceiling high above, is a caged elevator I have only ever seen before in movies, I love it. Up four floors we are inside her home floored with glossy, honey toned timber floors. Claudia is so welcoming and shows us around, pointing us all in the direction of our bed for the night before she drives us the two hours to our exchange in Castiglione della Pescaia in the morning. She has prepared a simple Italian inspired dinner. She thinks it is nothing but we are all in raptures. It cements our love for Italian ingredients and the dedication to quality and simplicity they adhere to. Dinner consisted of many little courses. We began with a pasta dish with boconccini cheese, perfectly ripened cherry tomatoes, black olives, salt, and fruity olive oil. It was pure harmony and we have all decided it will be a regular dinner for us during our time in Italy. We had a simple salad of a mix of green leaves straight from her friends kitchen garden, again, only adorned with salt and oil, the balsamic was on the table for those who wished to indulge. There was a plate of slightly leathery bressola, and the most wafer thin and tender whisps of prosciutto crudo which we ate with ripe melon. How blessed we are and as Claudia left the room to answer yet another call or text on her mobile, JR began to laugh saying, “You gotta love home-exchange”. It brings us back to the magic of this concept and the richness it brings to our experiences. Claudia’s friend, Mario, arrives from his work in Romania, he is greying and handsome, warm and friendly. We all realise how much French language we have used and understood. Now, in a strange country surrounded by a new language, we become tongue tied every time we go to open our mouths, English does not come first, French is completely useless, and our Italian, other than culinary words, is practically non-existent. The next few months will be interesting to say the least.

Goodbye Venterol. Thursday 17th September, 2009.

I had a heavy heart as we closed the door to our little French village home in Venterol. What an experience this had been. So many times we had wandered the streets of small villages, hearing dulled voices from deep inside the walls of the village homes, I had always wondered who lived there and what it was like inside. Now I know, they are people like you and I, mostly living simple and uncomplicated lives. More often than not they have a deep respect for, and an intimate connection to the land and the things it offers them.

AJ and I ate our last breakfast on our beloved terrace. The hills and the valley below were covered in white mist and all was quiet around us, we too were quiet. Our lives stood still for a brief moment as we drank in the changes that each new day delivered. We reflected on our time in France, sharing our happy memories, memories that money could never buy, the best ones were mostly of the simple things just like the moment we were in.

JR and I shed a tear or two as the bags were loaded into the car and we paused for a photo at the front door that was peeling with old paint. Tomorrow would be our last day in France and with the turn of the key in the door at Venterol, our last home-exchange in France, a country we have grown to love.

We drove the autoroute to Marseille. We had a perfect run and drove straight to the Europcar depo at the airport without one wrong turn. We handed back the keys and not 50 metres away was the shuttle bus taking us directly to Gare St Charles, beside which, we had booked a hotel room just for tonight allowing us to catch our 6.30 train in the morning.

We were checked into our cheap and cheerful hotel, Hotel Windsor which I would not hesitate to recommend. Cheap as chips and clean as clean and run by the most lovely family, middle eastern I think. We had hauled the remnants from the fridge for a picnic lunch and after we stopped to buy a baguette or two, we settled in for a great picnic in front of Marseille's Hotel de Ville.

The Tourism Office were wonderful giving us passes to the open top bus to allow us to become acquainted with the city. The busy port is the focus of the city but my favourite part was the bus ride along the coastline of blue water as far as the eye could see, it was lovely. We hopped off the bus at an old fishing village where it seemed time had stood still. Little boats bobbed in the clear water and locals sun bathed along the water’s edge.

We wandered the old town but could not find its heart although according to the map we were right in it, it just lacked something and to my eye was not beautiful, some of the newer architecture was unsightly and did not seem to fit a city like Marseille, but there it was anyway.
I had tried to book into the restaurant that chef from La Mirande had recommended for Bouillabaisse but it was fully booked, a solution was found and I ended up dining at another, owned by a Chef who is the president of the Bouillabaisse charter, where restaurants must adhere to making this very special fish soup using only traditional methods of both cooking and serving, to enable them to be part a part of. It was a unique experience with much pomp and ceremony, beginning with the croutons, raw garlic cloves to rub on them and a pimento and garlic spiced rouille to smear on top. Once this is done you float the laden croutons in the soup and enjoy. The soup finished, the six varieties of fish are cut up in front of you and blanketed in more of the same soup. It is a huge endeavour to eat a Bouillabaisse to completion, I was nowhere near completion. Chef visited my table for a chat educating me on the traditions of this special dish.

My boys are not great lovers of seafood and at 58 euro a pop (double it for Aussie dollars), they both enjoyed a more casual dinner of pizza, coke and beer a few doors away. Before they left, JR and I visited the Bouillabaisse kitchen to take some photos, it was good of chef to accommodate us like he did, he was very generous and spoiled us with many treats, even though the boys weren’t dining in the restaurant, they were given small courses of summer truffle shaved on croutons and drizzled with balsamic glaze, and little glasses of potato and truffle soup. My meal finished with more little courses, all were a delight. My evening ended with a silver tray of delicate petit fours of anise macaroons, strawberry tartlets and fruit jellies.

The grand finale was the centrepiece on my table catching alight. There I was sitting on my own, trying not to make a scene and be the noisy Aussie in the room, it was impossible. As the fire spread and the flames leapt higher, I had no choice but to yell for help. It came quickly and I escaped my Bouillabaisse experience unsinged. What a laugh and yet another funny predicament to add to the others we have accumulated on our year of adventure.

Pack Up Day. Wednesday 16th September, 2009.

The time rolls around quickly between one exchange and the next. Tomorrow we will leave our little rain-splashed Village of Venterol and drive to Marseille for one day before boarding the train for a 13 hour trip to Rome – Italy here we come!

I woke slowly this morning, trying to stay asleep for as long as I could, it didn’t work, once I was awake sleep was hard to find again. It had rained all night and this morning the raindrops fell on the roof full force. They sounded like they were landing on a blue, two dollar tarp, falling in loud splashes. Of course it was the terracotta tiles above the exposed beam ceiling not far above our heads that the rain fell on and not a blue, two dollar tarp.

It was time to shed some excess baggage to make moving day tomorrow a little easier on us, the last haul had been a difficult one and I don’t fancy facing the same challenges again, JR and AJ feel the same. JR bought three boxes from the post office for 140 odd euro to ensure their safe arrival back home. As I packed them up and secured them with rounds and rounds of masking tape, I had an impending feeling of doom that when we took them to the post office to send them on their way we would be told we had done something wrong and they would have to be pulled apart and the process would have to be started again. The administration here have us trembling in our boots whenever we have to dot our i’s and cross our t’s, it is near impossible to do things the way they are required and I wouldn’t be surprised if posting a box of junk to Oz was any different – why would it be? All ended up just fine and three boxes of research are safely on their way home as we speak - hopefully.

Chef's Table. Tuesday 15th September, 2009.

The old wood oven had been stoked with large branches of oak three hours before my cooking class began at La Mirande in Avignon. The earthy aromas of burning wood drifted up to the lobby where we sat with coffee, tea and a coke for AJ. The boys had time for a quick game of chess before chef was ready to begin class in the ancient underground kitchen, during which AJ was allowed to wander the main square in front of the Papal Palace and enjoy and ice-cream.


There was myself and one other, Gail, a lady from Chicago, cooking with chef tonight. By 8pm the guest table would be filled with 15 hungry diners, we had two hours to prepare the feast.
Chef was lively and fun. His body was of small stature, on top of which sat a craggy face that never stopped smiling. He was 100 miles an hour from the moment we met. First, there were four ducks to prepare. Head, neck and feet were taken care of with a brutal blow of the knife, the necks were reserved to deepen the sauce. I pulled their innards from their little bodies and in their place was put dry sprigs of aromatic thyme and a sprinkle of salt.


We chopped, sliced and diced to our hearts content, chatting all the while about chef’s adventures which rolled of his tongue like scenes from tales of the rich and famous. JR snapped away to capture the spirit in this very special kitchen and the heart of La Mirande Hotel. The wood stove bubbled with heavy copper pots filled with the stars from tonight’s nights menu; potimarron simered in milk and veal stock, the duck necks floated in stock which was reduced to almost nothing, and a large pot of diced eggplant, red pepper, parsley, and tomato which would become a flavoursome ratatouille was stirred from time to time using a wooden spoon almost as tall as myself.


We cut tiny apples into segments for the clafouti and after the batter was mixed and poured into the heavy, rectangular copper pan, chef trotted it over to the hotel kitchen to be baked in an oven with a precise regulation of heat which could not be obtained with the beautiful 122 year old wood stove we were using. The hotel kitchen was more sterile and hotel kitchen like than our wood and copper filled hideaway deep under the city of Avignon that was filled with soft and comforting aromas which were very fitting for the rainy night it was.

AJ returned from his adventures on time having enjoyed an hour or so of freedom. He poked his nose about the pots and pans, investigating what would be for dinner as chef snipped the fins from small red snapper and sliced off delicate fillets of flesh, this was to be second course. Other diners began to arrive; two lovely sisters from Newport Beach, California, a couple from Melbourne were hot on their heels. Before long the room was filled and chef whisked us all deeper underground to the cellar where we all exchanged pleasantries and shared an aperitif of white wine.

Back in the kitchen we sat around the central wooden table, large baskets of chewy bread had been cut and the table awaited 15. The potimaron (pumpkin) soup was the debutante tonight, what a way to start. The veal stock had given it a distinctly meaty depth, very different to my lighter style pumpkin soup and so much better I think. Oven roasted hallibut and pan fried red snapper were served on a bed of tender leeks, blanketed in a sauce of balsamic and olive oil, to the side sat a ripe fig whose ripe flesh displayed itself like a flower in bloom. It would have been rude to lick my plate but I wanted to, was everyone else thinking the same? The duck lay on a bed of rattatouille and was moist and tender, not a little bit fatty, the sauce was quite light, perfectly seasoned too.

“It’s a good table tonight”, chef whispers in my ear. Here we are in France, 15 strangers, coming together over the love of food. There is not a word of French spoken until Chef encourages us to all sing a few of his patriotic ballads, one, an ode to the beloved bridge of Avignon. It is a great group, seven of which are Australian which is quite a treat for us after being away from home for so long. We spend quite a bit of time chatting with Lindsay and Susie, a gorgeous couple from Sydney. The table are quite interested about our adventures and shoot questions up, down, and across the table and we have a right old time sharing our stories and learning about theirs. I grow quite fond of our English speaking, French eating table of friends as the night ticks along and the apple clafouti makes its appearance.

Chef holds the floor with his stories of tripping the light fantastic with the who’s who of the world, what he has cooked for them over the years and the funny predicaments he has found himself in, he maintains his 100 miles an hour approach to life, his energy never wanes.

We leave our underground haven of good food and good times to enjoy a coffee in the lobby. The young boy ballses up the tea and coffee order good and proper, I encourage him to get a pen and paper to save him taking the order a fifth time, he does which is a relief to us all. Chef comes to join us, as does a friend of his, a professional magician who holds the floor for a while, enthralling AJ, and one of the chef’s table guests who has been practicing magic of his own all night, with confuddling tricks of disappearing coins, my brain just cannot get around it, neither can AJ’s.

The rain is still coming down, in the headlights it makes the shape of a lit sparkler as we drive towards it, it lasts all the way home to our little village in the hills. Alex’s voice comes from the back seat of the car, “Thanks for shaping me into the person I am”. If he only knew that there were no thanks needed, it has been the greatest pleasure of my lifetime and will remain so forever.

The Harvest. Monday 14th Septtember, 2009.

As I sit on the terrace with my morning coffee I wonder why on some blue sky mornings there are so many sparrows in the sky and on others there are hardly any at all. Today the sky is filled with their little wings as they dart and dash all over. They tweet and twitter and I am sure if they could they would let out loud whoops of joy.

I cannot stay for long on my terrace this morning, surrounded by next door’s terracotta roof, the olive trees after that, and beyond, the rolling hills. Today is harvest day at Domaine Rocheville, the last family run, independent winery in Nyons, our neighbouring town. We arrived at 9am as arranged and there was not a soul in sight. We drove the steep slopes of the property, lucky we had walked the tracks a few days ago so the lay of the land was like an old friend and we knew where to look for the plots of laden vines. Even so, there was nothing but vines, olive trees and orchards. An hour had passed and by this time the shop at the Domain was open so we returned to ask where the pickers were. A quick call to the bosses mobile and all was sorted, they were just in the next field, the landscape is so undulating and complicated they were hard to see even with their two tractors, one in orangey red and the other in a sky blue but much darker.

There were nine pickers today, industriously working, snipping heavy bunches of swollen grapes from the vines, putting them into big black buckets, and when full, heaving them into the back of the trailers attached to the tractors. One of the tractors was manned by Grandad who is 80 and still takes part in the excitement of the grape harvest. Today there were three generations working the vines. They are a lovely family, the son, now at the helm, eats lunch with his Grandparents every day at the Domain. Today he begins with a carrot salad and diced, purple beetroot. Grandma opens the oven and fusses over her Grandson, serving him a dish of fennel and onion, and a hot tomato relish with golden quenelles which brings back fond memories from Lyon where quenelles are a speciality. We enjoy a quick aperitif, a red wine bottled from the family vat, just for their own use, Grandad offers around a jar of sweet almonds before dolling out his medication at the table, pouring his glass full of the red wine to wash it all down. We leave them to eat in peace.

We return home to eat too and all go back to the Domain at 5pm to catch the end of harvest for the day, it will finish in about fourteen days if there are no problems and no rain. On our return the sun was low and the workers were not as fast as they had been with the freshness of a new work day. It must be hard on their bodies, stooping, lifting all day, they are all happy though.
The tractors pull out of the field at 6.20 pm, filled with purple syrah grapes. The day is far from over, now the wine will be made. Back at the winery, each tractor is backed up to the ‘reception’ with a turning blade in the bottom. The fruit slides from the back of the truck and in swept into the shining blade; AJ finds this part most interesting and keeps wanting to be closer and in between the happenings. We are each given a glass of pure grape juice, “The 2009 vintage!” we are told. It is so pure and sweet you could taste the day’s sunshine within it, its pinky-purple colour was cloudy with just juiced character. From here the juice, skins and all are pumped into a huge vat, the juice is drained from the bottom of this and immediately pumped into another vat. It is blushed with a little red but is separated from the grape skins quickly as tonight we are making rose wine. This wine will be sold in spring 2010.

We thank father and son, Grandad has retired hours ago, his bones will be tired tonight. It’s about 7.30 and they will not be finished until about 9pm or so. It is a long day considering they began at 7am this morning. Such is life on the land. It is not just harvest time that is busy, because this farm produces all sorts of yummies, olives, grapes, cherries, apricots; it is always the season for harvesting, planting, pruning, maintenance, etc, so the work day is always 7am to 7pm.

JR is so happy he has been able to catch the grape harvest in Provence, AJ didn’t think much of the harvest process but enjoyed seeing the start of the wine production, he was allowed to climb the long ladder leading to the tops of the vats so he got to see it all and was right in the thick of things up there.

We sipped red wine from the Domain with our dinner tonight, two varieties of red which JR chose. AJ had a sip or two of both, comparing their nuances and discovering the force of red wine on his young palate. After dinner we sliced some aged Comte fromage for him to discover how it changed the taste of the wine. I think he will grow to appreciate good red wines just like his Dad.

Discovering Dieulefit. Sunday 13th September, 2009.

There is nothing much really to have me recommend the village of Dieulefit to you, there are no major tourist attractions, nothing of note to share. But this little village had a few little treasures that would never be written about in a tourist brochure, you would never hear about them while visiting the Office du Tourism, so I thought I would share them with you.

My first discovery was a shop selling local ceramics, the kind you see so often in Provence. The shop was unique and was carved into the bottom of a hill, cave like – what am I talking about? It was a cave! To my surprise, at the back of the cave was another cave and it was filled with spring water, pure, clean spring water. My curiosity got the better of me and I asked the owner about it as I had never seen anything like it. Between her non-existent English and my un petit peu French, I managed to glean that the shop used to be an old leather tannery – I will have to find out more I think.

Rue du Bourg is the main street that snakes through the town and is just a delight to wander late on a Sunday afternoon when life is easy. The street is full of shops and homes, cheek by jowl, designed this way to provide maximum shade and to protect the properties from the heat and wind. Every facade was hung with the most beautiful assortment of shutters, some closed awaiting the night and others wide open hoping to catch the last rays of sun. Some building walls were neglected, their paint peeling in large whisps, others were tended and loved, painted in lovely soft pastels. The cobbles were light and the combination of things gave rue du Bourg a freshness you don’t often see in old villages. The doors and their knockers catch one’s eye too. Dieulefit is well worth a wander.

Dinner at a Village Bistrot. Saturday 12th September, 2009.

John had accompanied the owner/chef from Cafe de la Poste in our village of Venterol, to the market early this morning. Chef writes his daily menu according to what is best at the market, today it was tuna and chicken. Sophie greeted us and settled us in with an aperitif. For me it was back to our days in Burgundy where I enjoyed the aperitif of Creme de Cassis on ice, I had missed it. Sophie had made a tapenade with local olives and oil and we were offered this with our drinks.

Entree sounded enticing but lacked depth and seasoning. Camembert roti with pomme was one of the choices. A generous serving of camembert was baked in the oven and topped with small cubes of apple that lacked any sweetness or caramelisation from the roasting. The cubes still wore their skin which I would have preferred to have been gone. It was nothing to write home about. The camembert had a gelatinous nature instead of a creamy, oozy liquidity that could have been achieved with a better quality fromage.

Main course raised my spirits a little; chicken came blanketed in a sauce with strong aromas of cumin balanced with the sweetness of raisins. The hit was the puree of sweet potato, cooked with cinnamon and cream, it was to die for and I will remember to recreate it for JR on our return home. Dessert, like entree, was a bit of a non event. My apple beignets were overcooked, arriving dark instead of golden, they were a little dry also which was a shame, it would have been good to end on a high note.

The couple that run the restaurant are just lovely, they are new to the restaurant business, it shows a little. I would love to come back and see what the food is like a few years down the track. I wish them well in their venture into the hospitality industry, if heart has anything to do with it they will be stars!

We three sat at our table discussing our experiences this year. I asked the boys what this year had made them appreciate. AJ replied, “It has made me appreciate you guys so much more”. Sometimes the spoken word can be sweeter than dessert.

Marvelous Monaco...Not! Friday 11th September, 2009.

JR and I crept down the stairs at 5am to surprise AJ with the news that we were going to Monaco for the day. It has been a dream of AJ’s to see Monaco and Monte Carlo, to car spot amongst the glitz and glamour.

Am I the first person to visit Monte Carlo and not be impressed by it? I tried very hard to look past the massive amounts of construction and the temporary marquees dominating the waterfront in readiness for the yacht show beginning next week (€60 charge per head to enter!), but all I could see was a tired and tacky city with hardly an ounce of class, full of unhappy Prada wearing people, there were more of these than you could poke a stick at. I watched the arrivals at Hotel de Paris alight from Bentleys, Rolls Royces, Ferarris, Lambourghinis, Porsches, Aston Martins, and Maseratis - not one of them wore a smile. Instead they alighted from cars with a practiced flick of the hair, wearing pouts of over-botoxed lips. The men had all been shopping at the same stores, wearing the same labels; Polo Ralph Lauren seemed to match the nautical image of the place. They were careful to shield their eyes behind the latest big name sunglasses, all the while trying their best not to interact with the undeserving around them, as if a smile would somehow make them less in control. They were all clones of one another, flitting from one luxury hotel to the next, forgetting to smile.

There was one exception to the rule, Prince Albert of Monaco. He arrived to a hero’s welcome, the camera shutters couldn’t click fast enough, he exuded a genuine warmth and wore a smile fit for not only a Prince, but a king. The smiling Prince enjoyed an aperitif on the balcony at Le Louis XV, Alain Ducasse’s Monte Carlo restaurant before disappearing inside, away from prying eyes, for lunch.

The highlights of our dabble in Monte Carlo were the luxury boats floating on the harbor and the parade of exotic cars, AJ was so excited and was in his element car spotting with JR. At every turn I thought we would find that special corner of Monte Carlo that made us forget the unfriendly pedestrian streets, the frosty welcome by tourism professionals, and the Gold Coast 60’s style canvas awninged government housing esque marina front high-rises – but we didn’t. It all made me wonder that if you took away the boats and the cars, the things that don’t even belong to Monte Carlo, what would be left? I think – not much. JR and I discussed the possibility of having to be a part of the glitterati to be able to enjoy it but this shouldn’t have to be the case. A few fountains, a marina and a casino (that charges €10 just for the privilege of allowing you to walk inside – they are obviously not happy with the gambling takings) do not make an exciting city; it takes more than that for me and number one is a warm welcome.

If not for sharing AJ’s enjoyment I would have regretted investing one of our precious days driving the 700 kilometres and the 9 hours it took to get there and back, but he made it worth it. I guess we are all glad we have seen it and at least we know not to go again when next we are in this neck of the woods.

Nice on the other hand made us smile. Not that we spent much time there, we only really blew through as we followed the coast from Monaco, but it was lovely to cruise up and down the waterfront boulevard, to watch the twinkling lights, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, and happy people out strolling hand in hand enjoying life. Music floated on the air and life on the Cote d’Azure had found its va-va-va-voom!

Thoroughly Truffled. Thursday 10th September, 2009.

Gilles greeted us at his truffle farm at 3pm along with his three golden haired Labradors. Aria is his working truffle dog and the baby, who was born in June, is in training, the older and more docile lab is in retirement now. Oh, please let me come back as a truffle dog. Gilles throws them pieces of truffle to eat every day, ‘They love truffe’, he says.

Gilles grabbed his bag to go on a truffle hunt with us, immediately Aria begins to tear at it and jump up excitedly. The pup is more interested in pulling at JR’s shoe laces and anything else he can find.

Gilles is a 4th generation trufficulteur; his great Grandfather planted the first trees on this farm many years ago. His truffles are exported to Australia too, many of which are used to turn ordinary trees into Australia’s truffle producing trees of the future.

Under the shady oak trees we wander and while Gilles stops to talk about his life, Aria begins to dig excitedly in the sandy earth. She unearths a small truffle, a wild truffle which has incredible intensity for its size. Aria unearths another wild truffle a little further on which she is given to eat as a reward, the lucky dog.

Back at the house we are given a wonderful truffle degustation. Gilles shaves three whole summer truffles onto a plate and drizzles the slivers with a local olive oil. He uses a toothpick to place the shaved slices onto small rounds of fresh white baguette and tops them with a tiny sprinkling of the olive oil, it is a divine combination and we eat well. Gilles splashes a tiny drop of oil infused with the powerfully aromatic black winter truffle for us to compare – it is the star. It is full of intensity, there is nothing subtle about it, it is filled with the earthy pungency that only a winter truffle owns.

Gilles has been a wonderful host and gives me a book of his mother’s hand written truffle recipes; what a treasure. AJ and JR end the visit sitting by the Porsche Cayenne in the driveway, no doubt talking car stats. Gilles passion is Porsches, it turns out he has three. He is happy to back the shinning 911 out of his timber-doored garage for a photo. It was AJ’s lucky day, Gilles took him for a ride; I have never seen a boy beam with happiness as AJ did.

A Walk To Remember. Wednesday 9th September, 2009.

The afternoon came quickly. We arrived at Domaine Rocheville at 5.30pm to take the thematic walk around the farm which grows grape vines, fruit trees and olives. Magic hour was the perfect time to walk the hills of the farm and to learn all about the nurturing and harvesting of the many things Domaine Rocheville grows. At each numbered point we stopped, and AJ read the information, we began at the cherry trees, then the olives and soon after the vines which were heavy with ripe grapes awaiting the beginning of harvest on Monday – how exciting. The walk lasted two glorious hours, uphill and down dale and we loved every moment of it. We arrived back at the car as the sun disappeared behind the surrounding hills.

AJ’s ‘Concentration de Vehicles’ was to be on again at 8 in Nyons so off we headed. Remember last Wednesday when we arrived to see it and there was nothing there? Well, same scenario this week, what a shame for AJ who was keen to see what it was all about. We returned home for dinner before settling down on the couch for a movie, ‘Gran Torino’ – I would highly recommend it!

Montelimar Nougat. Tuesday 8th September, 2009.

What a delicious interview I had at Musee du Nougat Arnaud Soubeyran in Montelimar this morning. We all sat at a round table sipping coffee, AJ was treated to a sublimely rich hot chocolate telling Eric who made it that it was ‘Tres bon, the best hot chocolate he had ever enjoyed’. We were given a tasting plate, a degustation of all the different products that Arnaud Soubeyran makes. Their nougat comes in all different guises; my favourite was the traditional Montelimar nougat which must adhere to strict guidelines to be named as such, and the walnut and fig nougat. Eric showed us through all of the manufacturing rooms. We saw how the Provencal speciality of callisons are made as well as traditional marshmallow in the softest range of colours – violet, pale lemon, pinks, white, mint green etc; there was something fun and childlike about the colours and each mouthful of marshmallow melted on the palate leaving a flavour filled puff of yumminess.

Seeing the production of nougat was lovely. We saw the sugar boiling in big, copper pots, the honey mixing, the nuts roasting, and the mix of all the final ingredients before it was transferred into a slab mould with old wooden paddles, and rolled with a 20kg rolling pin to expel the air and distribute the load of almonds and pistachios evenly. The end product was white as snow and was as shiny as white porcelain before the last layer of azyme paper was placed on top. We were each given a bag of goodies to enjoy. On the way home we dropped some, long mango flavoured marshmallow sticks into Julie and Charles's children.

After Montelimar we ventured off in the direction of a few of the Beau Villages of France. We passed through a village called Les Tourrettes which we thought was a hilarious name. Our first stop was Mirmande, a village of sculptors and painters. We sat at the edge of a pine forest where AJ climbed a pine tree and we enjoyed a beautiful picnic finishing with calissons and nougat which was a lovely sweet treat. Mirmande was beautiful, but lacking a bit of soul. There was a small exhibition of a local artist showing at Church Sainte-Foy which was nice. Butterflies flitted across our path at every turn, trees dangled with almost ripe apples, vegetable patches grew their seasonal bounty, and bunches of dark grapes hung enticingly from vines draped over doorways which overlooked surrounding hills and mountains. There were two neat rows of three hills which looked like perfect miniature pyramids covered in a solemn green blanket of forest.

We were heading back to the car; the boys were a few bends in the path behind me, I decided to play a little trick on AJ in relation to the masses of bees we had noticed hanging around Mirmande. I walked back towards them holding out the hair net I had been given to wear while watching the nougat fabrication this morning, saying, ‘Here guys, a lady is handing out these hair nets to protect us from the bees in the village and to stop them getting caught in our hair.’ JR twigged on and I pretended to pass him a hair net while he discreetly fished this morning’s hair net out of his bag, putting it immediately on his head. I passed AJ my hair net, looking on the ground around me pretending I had lost one. ‘Never mind’, I said, ‘I will catch the lady up the road and get another one off her for me to wear, she must have only given me two’. AJ took his time and diligently tucked his mane of long, golden locks under the elastic and proceeded to walk through the village looking the fool right beside his Dad. I was walking in front of them, head down and laughing my head off. I turned to snap a quick photo before laughing out loud and telling AJ it was all a joke. He agreed it was the best gotcha of all time.

Mirmande behind us, we meandered through the Foret de Marsanne. Gone were the rocky outcrops for a little while. After passing through the village of Marsanne the landscape gave way to a wide open plane with a backdrop of distant hills. The planes between Marsanne and the next village of Cleon-d’Andran were filled with crops, ripe tomatoes lay on the bare earth waiting to be gathered for market, the hum of a nearby tractor assured me they would not lie subject to the elements for long. Fields were coloured with a rust coloured crop, standing tall like corn. This was Sargo which is grown for animal feed.

Our final destination today was the medieval village of Le-Poet-Laval and it took my breath away. The rampart walls grew wild with ivy; the stone walls were its host to reach further and higher. Ripe figs hung from random trees waiting to be plucked, you would never have left them there Manuela! Upwards we trecked, investigating the wild nooks and crannies at every turn until we reached the stone chateau. Sometimes it is not just the village itself that woos you, but the happenings while you are there. We were given permission to visit the 12th century chateau and climb to the very top. We were voyeurs to the happenings of the village below, blanketed in the subtle scent of pine from the nearby forests, underneath us couples kissed while others sat enjoying an aperitif in the shade. The village was surrounded by orchards, forests, undulating hills, and terracotta rooftops, it was truly blissful. Local artist, Bernard Merle had an exhibition on display on the first two floors of the chateau. His work was so beautiful, it captured me, commanded my attention and I can honestly say I loved his paintings and would have loved to take one home. Our situation is such that we don’t have room enough for a spare pair of undies, so the purchase of a painting was out of the question. I will keep his card and the details of my favourite pieces and hope that one day, on return to our less ordinary lives, I may order one as a memento of a special place in time. The sweet notes of Bach and Mozart drifted on the air as the Orchestre de Chambre played in a tiny courtyard. The notes were heavenly and they transcended the village and into our hearts.

After diner eaten on the terrace back at home, I was looking through my photos and reliving the last few days, the special moments I hope never to forget. I was showing AJ a photo of him looking up at his Dad adoringly. AJ said, ‘I love having a Dad like him’. And that my friends, is what this year is all about, the simple life where seven words spoken from a child is more beautiful and wondrous than anything else on earth.