Spring is in the air at last. Friday 27th Feb, 2009

For the first time today, we opened the doors to the terrace and to the outside world, the sun shone and we basked in its late winter warmth. Spring is in the air at last.

Great news, it is confirmed that we will visit a chicken factory in Bresse on Monday and we will be taken to a farm also. Bear in mind these are said to be, in some circles, the best chickens in the world and grace the tables of many a Michelin star restaurant.

I had head down bum up all day taday and wrote for most of the day, it was great to be productive.

Life pitter patters along. Thursday 26th Feb, 2009.

Being Alex's first full day at school, I set out to do some foodie research. My respected source of all things food related, Agnes, had told me of a chocolatier that was 'the best' in Lyon. So off I trotted...

Au Royaume Du Chocolat lies in the 6th arrondissement and is a dollop of sweetness in this otherwise unremarkable part of town. Madame Guyennot treated me to the house specialty of Part Dieu chocolate. A pyramid of pralines and almond covered in smooth, dark chocolate. I couldn't only sample their chocolates for free so I bought a few house specialties; E corce d'orange, a confit clemantine with its bottom dipped in chocolate, mmm mmm, and a chocolate filled with caramel ganache punctuated with noisette, almond and pistache. Monsieur Guyennot is a chocolatier of 25 years experience and everything at Au Royaume Du Chocolat is made in house.

I visited my friends at the poultry shop at Les Halles marketplace. Pierre's son is organising a visit to the supplier of their prized Bresse poultry and will call me back with details... very exciting!

Alex arrived home from school telling me his day could not have been any more perfect, his grin said it all. I think I am fobidden to retell the story though, sorry. He entered the world of school restaurant dining for the first time today. After swiping his card he dined on a fresh salad, pork with a white peppercorn sauce and a sweet nut tart for dessert. I think I will sign up for school!

John wandered aimlessly around Lyon this afternoon, with only his camera for company and came home with some great shots, he had a ball.

Life is pitter-pattering along just fine here in Lyon and the trees are beginning to sprout buds of new life.

French school and the andoulette assault. Monday 23rd Feb, 2009.

We were escorted the 25 minutes to what we hoped would be Alex's school for the next little while by Stephanie, the lady who I spat tea over when invited to her home. We have caught up a few times since then and I think the incident is behind us. The school directed us to the education department that presides over our arrondissement. Here we had to put our case forward as to why we wanted Alex to go to French school. We were met by a very stern woman with eyebrows knitted together so firmly, that two became one. Stephanie was appointed official interpreter and what a fine job she did. One eyebrow became two and the interrogation gently transformed into conversation in no time at all. The department took copies of all necessary documents and said they could see no problems but would check with the director of the school and let us know with in a few days. We bode Stephanie goodbye, our lips gently brushing each other's cheeks, and off she disappeared to work. The cogs of French administration were left to turn and to our surprise, the following morning we received a call telling us that Alex could begin school on Wednesday. Could this be French administration we were dealing with?

Overcome with joy and excitement as we were, we decided a celebration was in order. Agnes, Theodores Mum, had shared the name of a local restaurant with us, "It's where I go with the girls" she shared. Chokate was its name.

Madame Elisabeth ensured we had aperitifs of Rose de Provence sweetened with a dash of sirop de pamplemousse rose (sounds like I am stuck in the set of the Ratatouille movie I know) in hand and a menu to peruse.

The amuse bouche was a perfectly balanced, sweet onion confit sprinkled with a scant shower of seasalt. My entree of Gateau de foie blond et coeur de foie gras was light and flavoursome, served with a centre of the palest hue of pink. John tucked into a hearty entree of Sabodet, Pommes de terre tiedes, with jus a la moutarde violette, he left not a crumb behind. Madame Elisabeth's son, Maxime, was toiling in the kitchen to prepare us a memorable meal. It is a meal we will never forget, because, about to unfold was an incident so terrible, it is difficult to recount. We will call it 'The Andouillette Incident'.

I had pointed out the unassuming andouillette to John at the local markets, advising him to approach with caution if he encountered one while living life in Lyon... he mustn't have listened. While I dined on an oven baked Quenelle de brochet (perfectly cooked I might add), John was delivered a heaving, stinking, pulsating sausage commonly known as an andouillette (alright, it wasn't pulsating but you get the idea). Now I know that this particular breed of sausage consists of every part of the animal conceivable and is a specialty. Like most specialties, and especially French ones, they tend to be a little funky in ways that are endearing only to those who know them intimately.

I oohed and ahhed over my quenelle, smothering it in the creme de crevettes au calvados sauce it rested in. John could not take his eyes off his plate, staring in disbelief, and as he cut into the taught intestinal encasing, it burst like a party balloon filed with the breath of Frankenstein. The odour was unmistakably animal and it packed a taste that would curl your toe nails. I could only describe it as tasting like something that had been lying around the bottom of a nightclub urinal for a day or two longer than it should have been.

You may be thinking I was cruel, sitting quietly dining on quenelle while John ordered this little beauty. Although I knew he was ordering an andouillette, I thought it was a chicken andouillette as I had glanced at the description of the dish on the menu and had read 'Andouillette poelee'. Subconsciously I put this together as a chicken andouillette, or andouillette poulet. An innocent mistake with dire consequences. I knew if it was made of all parts of the chicken it would be an innocent version of the piggy or bovine variety. John had, unfortunately, snagged (pardon the punn) the bovine variety. Neeldess to say, it remained on the plate, straining to be released from the small opening in the intestine that held its aromatic parts together.

We were so effected by 'The Andouillette Incident' we were unable to eat dinner. Every time Alex wanted a laugh and brought up the subject, John and I would look at each other as our faces
turned a pasty shade of grey and our stomachs began to heave.

I have to say that this was entirely our own ignorant faults and everything else we enjoyed at the restaurant was utterly delightful.

So, that behind us...

We all woke early on Wednesday in anticipation of Alex's first day at school in France. John and I hung back on the walk there, (we only had to go as we had to go to administration to sign forms etc) and let Alex and Theodore enjoy their time together. Waiting on a street corner was a group of five boys who joined them, we watched as introductions were made, sealed with a hand slap or shake here and there. The boys were tripping over themselves to speak to Alex, them in petit English and Alex in petit French, but they got there. Alex was beaming, here he was pounding the pavement on the streets of Lyon, France on his first day of school and as usual he plunged in without looking back, dissapearing through the high metal gates into the frey, leaving John and I to find the office.

The staff were so lovely and very welcoming. all was fine, forms were signed and a swipe card for the restaurant was organised. There's no such thing as a soggy packed lunch in France!

Alex arrived home after a fun filled 1/2 hour walk home with the boys. He called me on his mobile to tell me he was a little worried as the boys were letting off crackers and he did not know what to do. They were small, more bang than bite, I asked him if he was comfortable being there (duh) of course he was, he just called because he knew if they were caught he would be in trouble. I assured him that we trusted his judgement and told him to be responsible and to think of consequences of what he took part in, lesson one in letting go for Mum and Dad!

He was home in no time full of stories from "the best day he had ever had at school". A total of three girls are apparently "in love" with him, one confessing this from an upper story balcony. He made lots of new friends and had a great first day. We couldn't have asked for his induction to French school to be filled with any more happy memories.

Living as a local. Saturday 21st Feb, 2009

All right, all right, I hear you. The staff at Living Life Less Ordinary and myself thank you for your repeated requests of more photos of me, so this one's for you...



The banks of the Rhone river are transformed into a market place begining at dawn's first light every Saturday. Hmm, what way would I prefer to shop? By wretsling a limping shopping trolley around the Greenslopes Mall or to stroll the banks of the Rhone taking in the sights and smells of some of the worlds most wonderful food? It's not a hard decision that is for sure.



We bought a few cheeses that we have not tried before. A Compte Extra Alpage, and a Roquefort Vieux Berges, both very special in their own way. The Compte, a goat cheese but not goaty in taste, had been matured for 24 months, it is usual for this cheese to be matured for only six or twelve months. The lovely Roquefort is a creamy blue which dances on the tongue and is made in Rouergue. This will be used with the Pain aix fruits from Peruges, crumbled over thinly sliced pear and lightly grilled.





The phone rang, it was Agnes and Frederique inviting us over for Alex to get together with Theodore again. We were treated to Lyonaisse specialties of Bouges which are only available in February to celebrate Mardi Gras. They reminded me of my dear friend Manuela and her delicious Italian treats. Agnes served a "tarte aux pralines", a sweet, pink tart made with pralines and cream, what an indulgence.



Theodore and Alex played the Lyonaisse version of monopoly, how strange not to see the familiar Park Lane and Mayfair on the board. We all had a great time with many laughs and ended up staying until 7.30pm, I hope we did not outstay our welcome.



What a lovely family they are. Frederic plays guitar in a band and is a doctor of medical emergencies, I have not deciphered exactly what Agnes does yet.


I am putting John to work in the kitchen. Look, here he is learning to crumb the veal (which was very good, served with the popular potatoes gratin and fresh salad of maiche, tomato, radish and a fresh lobe of milky mozarella).

Pretty Perouges. Friday 20th Feb, 2009.

Is it possible to capture the beauty of Perouges? I hardly think so but I will try. Entry to this hill-top medieval village, that overlooks the Ain River Valley, is through arched city gates and once upon a time the the earth sprouted gnarled trees and vines to soften the stone walls and pathways. The cobblestones in the streets rise in little rounded lumps, they are smooth like river stones, making them hard to navigate. Perouges is definitely not the place to wander in heels ladies (or gentlemen if you are that way inclined).

The village heart is Place des Tilleuls, home to the 200 year old 'tree of liberty' which was planted shortly after the French revolution. Its cragy trunk is the artery to five twisted branches, all sprouting smaller hair-like branches that grow vertically to the sky. The old dear is supported by timber poles that take the weight of her ageing and wrinkled limbs.

A specialty called 'Galette de Perouges' is widely advertised in the village. We wandered into a Boulangerie and met the most charming Boulanger, Didier Rapaud. His counter was laden with croisants, sweets and Galettes, available to buy by the slice or in their entirety. We got chatting, and as Didier's passion for his trade became evident, I did and interview and John shot amazing photos capturing this lovely man and his wares. We were taken into the kitchen and shown the old wood fired oven and the wooden paddles whos ends were cracked and thirsty after years of being plunged deep into the oven's depths. The bench held loaves of Pain aix fruits from the mornings bake, a special loaf made of half wholemeal and half white flour, dried figs, apricots, almonds and hazelnuts. Didier slips one, and a few specialty loaves of bread into a bag for us and suggests we eat the Pain aix fruits topped with fine slices of pear and slivers of blue cheese, lightly grilled. I for one can't wait to try it.


We couldn't leave without a Galette and bought one for €10. Didier heated half for us in his wood fired oven, it was devine. The Gallete was born like so many other products in years gone by, using leftover cream, eggs and pastry. It is baked until the top is caremelised and golden.

Thank goodness for men. Wednesday 18th Feb, 2009

I made mention on a previous post to my lack of interest in how technical devices like cameras, photo editing/developing programmes, internet, Wifi, televisions and DVD's work. My brain has never been wired to understand these things. Pushed along by necessity, enjoyment, and a little encouragement by John, my daily life has come to rely on all of the above whether it be for work, pleasure or both. Saying this, I still do not understand them and have no desire to, I just expect them to work as they are manufactured to do so. As each day ticks by in lovely Lyon, I am learning this is not the case. There are gremlins that are running about in our appliances, connections and programmes that are not playing fair. They are causing us stress, yes, stress. How are we supposed to handle stress on our year of living life less ordinary? Stress was not part of the plan.

Since our arrival in Lyon the DVD has never worked properly. Not such a big concern and it certainly was not top of our prioritiy list on arriving in a new and exciting city with so much to discover. At the end of a busy day sightseeing, we were just as happy to tumble into bed without even thinking of the drawers full of movies stored in the loungeroom of our apartment .

Lets roll back a few days ago shall we... Alex was dusting, John was vacuming and I was cleaning the bathrooms and toilet (yes we still have to engage in such mundane activities while flitting around the globe) when we noticed the ramblings of the BBC news report had ceased. We arrived back in the loungeroom to a frozen plasma screen. Not such a big problem one would think. The set up here is that the TV is watched through the internet and John began to connect, disconnect and sort out what was wrong. He is pretty good with all things technological (thank goodness) so I was surprised to learn that he could not fix it. We advised Xavier (the owner in our home back in Oz) of our problem and he was certain the problem was with the service provider 'Orange'. Xavier contacted a friend who worked for Orange, an amiable (and quite good-looking) fellow, who arrived at the apartment with a job to do and not too much small talk. One and a half hours later he advised us Orange would fix the problem remotely and he would come back at 1pm tomorrow to check all was ok. We weren't phased at having to stay home, we had to be here for the delivery of the new DVD player anyway (which didn't end up arriving so we will stay home the next day as well). So, Patrick arrived at 1 pm and he was crestfallen at the sight of a black screen. Another 2 hours were spent with him and the staff at Orange talking back and forth about our problem, plugging in and unplugging the umbilical cords which gave the TV life. Nothing worked, the tension in our apartment was rising, Mr. Fix-it wasn't happy and neither were we. Now we had to stay home on Thursday for delivery of a new set top box. That is three days this week we are to stay in the confines of our tiny apartment awaiting deliveries... not happy Jan!

Mr. Fix-It leaves, we are now worse off it seems. We now have no Wifi connection to the three laptops we are operating, our lifeline to the other side of the globe. I am corresponding with editors and John is back and forth with the studio with all things concerned with running a business , not to mention the contact with those near and dear. Really not happy Jan!

So, we have been cooped up now for Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, cabin fever had definitely set in with a definite undercurrent of snippiness in the air. JR has fixed the Wifi connection, yay! Surprise, surprise at 10.30 Thursday morning if the building intercon didn't ring and there was the delivery guy with a DVD and a mere half an hour later after another bout of shrill rings, a toothless Orange employee was at the door with the set top box.

With all deliveries received, we all took off for the day which was a great cure for the cabin fever we had come down with. We had a great time exploring a nook of the city we had never set foot in before. We charted a course to Abby d' Ainay, beautiful in its simplicity and stillness.

We sat in the winter sunshine in Place Carnot. We weren't the only ones warming our bones. The Place was filled with people old, young, tall, short, ones with smiling faces and not so. The four legged variety were out in force, some without their little winter coats. The sun's warmth was a welcome gift, could this be the promise of a new season around the corner?




We found the ellusive Nespresso store we had been enquiring about all over town. We can now get back to the business of enjoying a decent coffee at home. The store is in Place des Jacobins which was an unexpected jewel. Its fountain is called 'Lyon à ceux qui l'ont illustré' and is the only thing that stands still as a swill of cars encircle it and double park if they need to stop for something. The Place is lined with parked cars and then another line with hazard lights flashing, their owners dashing in and out of cafes and shops surrounding the square.





By 6pm Xaviers friend, Mr. Fix-It was back at our appartment for the third time to tune in the TV and after 45 minutes of shaking his head and French tutt-tutting, the screen came alive. There was much cheering and Mr. Fix-It smiled at last. We gave him a decadent chocolate tart to say thanks for his help, what a guy!

The guys kicked back with a DVD tonight and I applied myself to work and bashed out the first draft of my next story... it is not about technology!

Dinner was heavenly. Sunday 15th Feb, 2009

The rabbit we bought at the market and cooked last night for dinner was heavenly. The butcher cut it up in neat little pieces which I coated in seasoned flour. I browned each piece in olive oil and butter. The smell inticed Alex into the kitchen after his game of cricket with John, to stick his nose into the pot, as usual. I slowly cooked the onions and champignons in the pan juice until they were soft and translucent. Into an oven dish they went covering the golden pieces of rabbit and with a handfull of the plumpest, purply olives you have ever seen scattered over the top, it looked good enough to eat. Alex and I shelled the peas together and he told me how much he was loving spending more time with John... the simple life has great rewards! A few hours later dinner was ready. Served with golden roast potato seasoned with sea salt, ooohhh yeah, comfort food at its finest. John does not do too well with bones but Alex and I knawed away every little piece of succulent meat and loved every minute of it.

The day began at a slow pace once again, my eyes didn't open until after 9am and we weren't out of the house until 1.30pm. Alex rode the scooter into the city while John and I walked behind. We crossed the Saone and the Rhone into Old Lyon and caught the funicular railway up the steep hill to St-Just. We walked the streets to the Roman ruins of Hadrien's theatre on Fourviere Hill. This ampitheatre was built 2025 years ago and is still used today for concerts. (Fran, this could be a perfect place for a gig in Lyon!).

The Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourviere was next . It is said you either love this basilica or hate it because of it's ornate decoration. We all loved it and spent quite some time sitting and appreciating the time and work that had gone into making it so beautiful. The ceiling was brushed with a beautiful blend of green and gold. I whispered to John how silly it was that it took us so long to paint our deck! I don't think we would have the patience to paint a basilica that's for sure.

From the basilica, perched high on the hill, is a spectacular view of Lyon which reaches as far as the eye can see. The hill where we stand and the hill beside, loom over the city which is as flat as a pancake. The two wide rivers carve through the vast huddle of roofs. The open space of Place Bellecour is visible with its circular tourist wheel towering above all else.

An old pathway snakes all the way down the steep, wintery landscaped hill from the basilica, through Jardin des Roses. Every day I admire the beauty of the bare trees, their naked branches reaching to the sky. The pathway brings us to St-Jean in the heart of the old town. We cut through to the familiar Saone and wander her banks in the direction of home.

We arrive home with frozen ears (my eyebrows don't seem to respond to my brains instructions and I feel like I have had an overdose of botox). Left-overs of last night's lapin in ognion, olive and champignon awaits for dinner. Its warmth and comfort are welcomed by all.