The Feast on Fowl. Wednesday 11th March 2009.

This morning after Alex went to school John and I had an appointment to meet the gorgeous fromager on avenue Jean Jaures. Her name was Monique and she was such a pleasure to chat to. She walked us through all the different cheese varieties, explaining their nuances and allowing us to try a few. John took some great photos and we left with our favourite Comte (aged for three years), a wedge of Moniques favourite, Brillat Savarin (75% fat - she salsa dances at night to keep it off her hips!) and a whole camembert from Normandy especially for Alex. While we were there a goat farmer from the Beaujolais region arrived with a delivery of fresh goat cheese made from the morning's milk. As we do, we got to chatting, and now this Sunday we are visiting his farm for the 6am milking and a cheese making session.




Alex only had a half day at school and finished at midday so we all went to lunch at a local restaurant called Saint-Florent. They only cook chicken dishes, with chickens only sourced from Bresse. Chef was born in Bresse and has a chicken obsession. He began to collect chickens when he was seven and has kept the collection going ever since. Inside, the restaurant is crammed with every kind of chicken memorabilia imaginable. Run by a husband and wife team, the feeling inside is warm and welcoming.



We could not decide what to order so Mme suggested that chef prepare a range of dishes for us. We dined like kings (and queen) and were treated to 11 different plates. I ate cocks comb for the first time too! We asked for the bill and to our surprise they would not take a penny. Chef gave me a red and a black Bresse chicken apron, I shed a tiny happy tear. The hospitality and warmth offered by the Lyonaiss people is something we will never forget and has really enriched our time here.




We rolled out onto the footpath and ambled home at about 4pm, what a way to spend an afternoon. The boys played cricket and then we all went out for a bike ride as the sun slipped away. The closing of another wonderful day in Lyon.



It looks like there are some fellow Aussies lurking around Lyon. It is not everyday you see window blinds on a car in Lyon with kangaroos on them! It made our day.

Vienne. Tuesday, 10th March 2009.

The town of Vienne lies 1/2 hour drive south of Lyon on the banks of the Rhone River and is home to Restaurant - Hotel La Pyramide. La Pyramide began with the legendary Fernand Point. The boulevard the restaurant is on was named after him. We photographed Patrick Henriroux, the two Michelin star chef who now ownes La Pyramide and had a look around the serene gardens. I thought of you Mum seeing the first few daffodils in bloom and isn't your favourite flower a pansy Dad? They are everywhere in purple and yellow.

We sat in the green space of Jardin public and enjoyed a delightful eclaire before beginning the tourist trail by following brass discs embedded into the footpaths.

Seeing the old Saint-Pierre church which houses the Archaelogical Museum made us realise how much restoration work is done on the historic sights you see as you travel. This old church has had little restoration work done and it is astonishing to see the difference. The windows are broken, sometimes with only the leadlight holding them together. The stone is darkened and bleak.


We wandered the sights of, Saint-Maurice Cathedral, the Roman Theatre, archeological gardens of Cybele, and the Temple of Augustus and Livia, all were beautiful.


We crossed the river for a view of Vienne from the other side of the fast-flowing Rhone before heading back home to Lyon.

Velov bikes. Sunday 8th March 2009.

After a morning of penning a detailed letter to the prefecture, we all needed to get out and blow away a few cobwebs.

Brisbane is in the throws of implementing a public bike system like the Volov system here in Lyon. It is wonderful! We rode all over the place today, along the Rhone and over both rivers to the old town. Had a ball!

La petit villages. Saturday 7th March 2009.

We were up and at 'em early this morning, onto the maze of motorways that lead out of Lyon. John says he would love to see an aerial shot of the road network here, it seems so complex.

Today we explored Chatillon-d'Azergues where we walked up the side of the hill, past the ramparts to the old fort, the weekly market was on in the square, it was lovely. We found a boulanger/patissier/chocolatier/glacier who made the most lovely jambon tartes and we ate them on the street.

Next was the village of Charnay where all the buildings were made of honey coloured stone from the area. The buildings looked as though they had been licked with late afternoon sun. We came across a little restaurant called Auberge la Broc' Assiette and what a find. Run by mother and daughter, Maya and Ann Sophie, the food is what they cook at home, there is no menu. Waitress Pascaline rambles through the plats of the day, all simple and good. We order the menu for €18 a head, and got so much more than we bargained for. Entree choices were assiette of saucission (which Alex and I both ordered, sourced from a local farmer), and John's choice of endive, lardon and egg salad.

There is no choice for main course at all, all diners are served what Mum decides to cook. This was definitely the best meal I have had since arriving in France. Three mismatched plates arrived at our table, piled high with caille farcie (stuffed quail, but these were the biggest quail I have ever seen, the kind that are worth while eating), a sautee of wild mushrooms and pan fried haricot beans, drizzled with a light jus it was a delight. We made little noises as we ate, industriously taking every bit of quail flesh from the bones to reveal the centre of onion laced stuffing. We ordered a half pot of Beaujolais blanc which was dry and crisp, an accompaniment worth remembering.

We thought it was time for dessert but Ann Sophie had a different plan. The fromage course was next and you had to see it to believe it. The commumal cheese plate travels around the restaurant, from table to table, and is not moved on until you have had your fill. The choice is for fromage blanc or fromage sec but Ann Sophie spoiled us and gave us everything to choose from. She tipped a little pot of fresh cows cheese into a bowl and sprinkled it generously with sugar, mixed it up and offered it to me. It was fresh and clean and white as snow. Alex enjoyed the reblochon which was oozy inside and stinky as an old boot, and John tried the Saint Marcellin for the first time which was studded with sweet raisins.

It was time for dessert and lovely Ann Sophie dazzled us with seven choices all made by herself and Mum, Maya. She disappeared into the kitchen leaving us lolling around the table with satisfied grins plastered on our food loving faces. She returned with "something very special just for us". Placed before us was a serve of every dessert on offer, accompanied by three spoons. There was a pralines tarte, not too sweet and with a thin base of homey pastry, a tarte of citron, orange and grapefruit, a devilishly rich chocolat mouse, tiramissu (not very french I know), a pear cake, a moist chestnut cake, and a white chocolat and coconut tarte with a thin slick of dark chocolate between the pastry and the filling. We all looked like the cat who ate the cream. I could not do it justice after the feast I had already indulged in, but the boys did me proud and tucked in. I must say the small taste of the pralines tarte was perfection followed by the white chocolat and coconut, I adore that flavour combo.

We waddled out of Auberge la Broc' Assiette having enjoyed one of our best food experiences ever. We talked about how Fran would love the hospitality and would love to bring her here when she comes to stay with us in Lyon this April. I am torn between wanting to share this place and keeping it as the perfect memory it is.

We wound our way along the windy roads of the Beaujolais region, over hills and through valleys visiting the villages of Bagnols, le Bois d' Oingt and Oingt, all built of warm, honey coloured stone.

If I was asked what I would change about today... my answer would be 'nothing'.

It is not possible! Wednesday and Thursday 4th & 5th March 2009.

Our letter had arrived from the prefecture telling us the next step to obtain our residency cards.

Let's rewind a little, and remember that we have spent two days queing at the prefecture in a line of 'immigrants', it's not pretty. I look at the people lining up for service, first in the cold outside and then inside, clutching their number and waiting for it to be displayed, inching themselves a little closer to navigating the mire of beauracracy inside the prefecture. This department is like a sausage factory that churns out one sad and dejected face after another. It is not a happy place to be but we understand it is necessary to be here and with each visit, we too take a step closer to living our lives a little less ordinary.

It's Wednesday morning and John and I have a 9am appointment at the prefecture medical department. We take all medical records, immunisation records, my maternity book (what the?), recent chest x-ray ???, glasses if worn, passport... blah, blah, blah.

We arrived on time which results in us puffing a little, let's leave the blood pressure test until last shall we, we think to ourselves. In absence of a current chest x-ray we are given one. We are cleared for tuberculosis (phew), diabeties, high/low blood pressure, no need to present my maternity book (double phew), "do you have good teeth?" they ask.

I don't suffer fools easily, John constantly reminds me of this. They have our documents, return plane tickets, itinerary, proof of full medical insurance for the duration of our stay, I ponder, "Is this all necessary?" It is it seems, so you go along with the game, take your shirt off here, breathe in here, breathe out there, pull up your sleeve, this won't hurt a bit, etc, etc. We are both given a clean bill of health and are told to go to the 'tabac' to pay €300 each (ouch, that's $1,200 AUD), attach payment to this form and present the medical certificate, payment and passport at prefecture for carte de sejour. Easy!

We walk a few kilometres to our local 'tabac' to pay the fee as instructed. "No, no, no" we are told, "You must go over here" says the friendly man as he steps outside. He points over the river to the distant Soffitel building. Another kilometer or two we trudge and find the Lyon Treasury. After much explaining, we hand over the €600 and are given 40 x €15 immigration stamps. Off we go. What a productive day we have had, tomorrow we will be at the prefecture at 8am, (queue for an hour before the door opens or forget about being seen that day), and we will have our carte de sejour. Difficult and labourious but worth it.

Tomorrow comes and Alex and Theodore set off to school together walking in the opposite direction to John and I. It is a good 35 minute brisk walk from home to the prefecture, a nice way to start the day. We queue in the immigrants line for the 3rd morning, we feel at home here now, relaxed and chatty, although not enjoying the second-hand smoke from others around us.

Our number is called. Voila, all our papers are approved, medicals are fine, we have the correct amount of money in stamps and our carte de sejours will be sent to the Lyon prefecture in May. "Huh", we exclaim, "We will not be in Lyon in May". Well, if we cannot be here to collect it we cannot have the carte. By this time we are quietly fuming. We have spent five full days on administration to obtain our carte, everything is approved but just because we will not be in Lyon, it is not possible. The words "It is not possible" are used as a reply to almost every question when dealing with administration here, bless them for they know no better.

We are advised to apply all over again to the prefecture where we will be when our current visa expires, for a three month extension and to keep doing this all year. Now the stamps are not required so we can return to the treasury for a refund. We are dumbfounded but have explored every avenue and come out no further advanced than the day we have arrived in France. We were warned about the french administration, we have played the game, jumped through hoops, even stripped bare for them... it is still not enough. Would it not make sence to forward our cartes to our local prefecture where we can collect them? "This is not possible."

We are walking our legs off with all this running around, back up the treasury steps we march to get a refund on the immigration stamps we bought yesterday. We arrive at the counter with our cheeriest "Bonjour" even in the midst of these trying times. "We would like to obtain a refund for these stamps, here is our receipt from yesterday, we bought them from the man at that counter over there." "This is not possible", came the reply.

This has been one battle after another and I feel broken, I have reached the end. Silent tears slip down my cheeks, tears of defeat. John thinks I am joking and trying to milk a little sympathy. I assure him I am not.

We ended up with between 2 and 4 treasury staff working on our plight for the next hour. They wanted to pay it into a French bank account, we do not have one. "It is not possible" to pay it into an Australian bank account. We paid cash yesterday so we are peturbed as to why we cannot give them the stamps (still in pristine condition) and they just fork over €600. There are calls to Paris made and then the director of the Lyon treasury appears . All this for us, my goodness we make an impression wherever we go.

In the end we leave with our €600 in cash, we all gave eachother little cheek-to-cheek kisses, exchanging thank yous and goodbyes. The administration was a total nightmare but those working in it were utterly delightful. I ran up to Place Bellecour and buy them a bunch of flowers, they were thrilled. I think we made their day as much as they made ours.

The beautiful thing is; just when it seems that something is not possible, sometimes it is.

Friends for dinner. Tuesday 3rd March 2009.

The apartment had been filled with the smell of beef bourguignon all day. I wandered to the market and our singing butcher for the ingredients after waving Alex and Theodore off to school. The stall holders know my face now and we interact more and more as they become more familiar. This is the difference with home-exchange, you get out into the community like you are part of it and interact with everyday people. They become part of the tapestry of your daily life as you do with theirs, it's great.

I pulled my trolley home and unloaded my bounty, red wine, champignons, baby onions, creamy skinned potatoes, leeks, baby carrots, new-season strawberries redder than red, and of course half a cow from the butcher. Throughout the day the ingredients transformed into a mellow pot of the most delicious beef bourguignon. I served it with a creamy mash and haricot beans , they were fresh and crisp. Our friend Philippe was at our table tonight along with his daughter, we had a great time together, as usual, with lots of laughs. He invited us to visit his country house for the last weekend before John flies back to Oz, we will miss him. Philippe arrived with a beautiful box from his local boulangerie patisserie, filled with individual apricot pastries, shiny with sweet glaze the colour of burned sunshine. I had made a chocolate and vanilla sauce to serve with the strawberries I found at the market. We put the sweet treats in the middle of the table and grazed as we laughed.

Philippe's boulangerie bakes the most perfect flutes, we have not found bread to rival it anywhere. He arrived with one just for Alex as he knows how much he loves them. He really is a darling, it will be sad to say goodbye when our time in Lyon is over.

A day in Montrevel-en-Bresse. Monday 2nd March, 2009.

I love meeting people who are passionate about life and what they do, they inspire me.

Today was spent with two people brim-full of passion for what they do. John and I drove the 100 or so kilometres to Montrevel-en-Bresse, to visit Mieral Poultry. These are the people who source the best poultry in the world! They laid out bodies of pintades, pigeons and poulets, their bodies plump and ready for the table. We learned so much about these pampered chickens from a farmer in a nearby village we were introduced to. This guy is the best of the best and has a trophy room to prove it. He happily showed us around his farm and introduced us to his chickens, he had such a lovely way with him and was so happy to share his knowledge. When asking how long he had been farming, he answered with a smile, "I was born in an egg".