Skype is given a great work out this morning with calls from all over the world from family and friends. Alex spoke to his much loved cousins back in Australia and I got to speak to Julie at long last. We are in regular contact with so many people via email and Skype that I don’t feel far away at all... most of the time anyway. We share the terrible news about the loss of life and property in Victoria with the current bush fire crisis. The death toll is quickly rising and dear friends email me to check on my family who are all safe, thank goodness. I miss sharing my day with Janie as we both stand on our back decks for a chat at the end (or beginning) of our day.
John did so well to get the car out of the garage secured behind two security gates under the floor of our high rise apartment building. It took a while to get sorted and even at the end of the day he was still trying to change gears with his left hand instead of his right. We always seem to have the most laughs when driving in strange cars through strange cities on the opposite side of the road to what we are used to. Alex spent much of the journey laughing from the back seat at the funny predicaments we found ourselves in.
As we left the city behind, snow capped mountains came into view. Reaching snow became our new objective. And reach it we did, in a little town east of Lyon called St-Pierre-de-Chandieu. We drove to the highest point and found ourselves on a tiny, boggy road, lined with farmhouses and fields with geese and donkeys roaming free. Alex was beside himself with excitement. We piled out of the car and packed handfuls of snow into icy balls for a snowball fight, what fun we had. Deer trotted across the landscape on the ridge above where the land met the sky as if in a wintery movie scene, it was perfect. Alex’s first touch of snow... forever etched into my memory.
John did so well to get the car out of the garage secured behind two security gates under the floor of our high rise apartment building. It took a while to get sorted and even at the end of the day he was still trying to change gears with his left hand instead of his right. We always seem to have the most laughs when driving in strange cars through strange cities on the opposite side of the road to what we are used to. Alex spent much of the journey laughing from the back seat at the funny predicaments we found ourselves in.
As we left the city behind, snow capped mountains came into view. Reaching snow became our new objective. And reach it we did, in a little town east of Lyon called St-Pierre-de-Chandieu. We drove to the highest point and found ourselves on a tiny, boggy road, lined with farmhouses and fields with geese and donkeys roaming free. Alex was beside himself with excitement. We piled out of the car and packed handfuls of snow into icy balls for a snowball fight, what fun we had. Deer trotted across the landscape on the ridge above where the land met the sky as if in a wintery movie scene, it was perfect. Alex’s first touch of snow... forever etched into my memory.
By now John is doing very well with the driving on the wrong side of the road caper. The satellite navigation lady (Kate) is directing us, trouble free, further east of Lyon, to the medieval town of Crémieu. What a find. The small twelfth century township lies in the shadow of a Benedictine priory built into the cliffs of Saint-Hippolyte. Hills are covered in feathery trees stripped bare of leaves; the landscape’s colours are soft and gentle blending nature and mans creations harmoniously.
We picnic on fresh baguette, a wheel of Coulommiers cheese, pale butter and saucission Rosette de Lyon under the covered market place. It was cold, so cold we could hardly spread the butter, and the cheese which usually is soft and oozing was quite the opposite, but you couldn’t find a happier family anywhere in France.
It’s Monday so all shops are closed with the exception of two pretty florists shops; testimony to the fact that the French visit friend’s homes with flowers in hand; a lovely tradition. One florist has pots and planters displayed on a white shabby-chic table on the road outside his doors. Crémieu is surrounded by city walls to protect it in days gone by. Steep, stone pathways snake their way upward behind the town to Chateau des Dauphins revealing a view of huddled peaked-roofs coloured with rust, terracotta and earth.
We picnic on fresh baguette, a wheel of Coulommiers cheese, pale butter and saucission Rosette de Lyon under the covered market place. It was cold, so cold we could hardly spread the butter, and the cheese which usually is soft and oozing was quite the opposite, but you couldn’t find a happier family anywhere in France.
It’s Monday so all shops are closed with the exception of two pretty florists shops; testimony to the fact that the French visit friend’s homes with flowers in hand; a lovely tradition. One florist has pots and planters displayed on a white shabby-chic table on the road outside his doors. Crémieu is surrounded by city walls to protect it in days gone by. Steep, stone pathways snake their way upward behind the town to Chateau des Dauphins revealing a view of huddled peaked-roofs coloured with rust, terracotta and earth.
