Waiting For Julie. Tuesday 9th June 2009.

It won’t be long until Julie arrives, her train arrives at 1pm and we are all brimming with excitement. I wonder how she is feeling leaving her family behind; I know she will be excited to see us all as her train pulls into the station.

Before we leave for Gare SNCF, we pull our shopping trolley to the non-existent market in our village. We must have been given the wrong information and soon learn that it is on Thursday, not Tuesday after all. We enjoy chatting to the ladies selling charcuterie in their little shop, they are friendly. We manage entire conversations in French, although not fluent by any means but between us all we muddle through quite well. The shops that were closed yesterday are all open and are busy with local trade. The florist spills her blooms out onto the footpath brightening up the grey day with pots of fragrant colour.

Back at home, AJ finds a bike to suit his length, as of a few weeks ago he is officially taller than me which pleases him no end. He rides around the yard and we throw a ball for a while, ahh, the simple life returns once more. The garden hosts blooms of red roses that I will get Julie to cut and arrange in a vase for the dinner table; she loves her flowers.

A short walk from our door is the tramway, our link to the city of Nantes which is only about 5 stops away. We are a little early to pick up Julie so we while away some time in the Jardin des Plantes.


We are still early to meet her and wait on the platform. The sun comes out for a while but as her train pulls in it brings with it a downpour and a whoosh of cold wind... Welcome to France Bugs! Alex spies her through the still moving train window and runs to the far end of the platform, out from under cover and into the rain. They hold each other for what seems an eternity; they have a special bond Julie and AJ. I muscle in and get my squeeze; it is so good to see her happy face again. John captures the moment beautifully recording yet another precious memory. We load Julie and accessories onto the tram and in about 10 minutes we are home.




We all pile onto the red rose couch with a cuppa and catch up on life. Julie fits here and it is a joy to be sharing a small part of our adventure with her, even if it is for just one week. Our dining table is layed with crusty bread, salad, salami, pale butter, prawns and Comte fromage; one of our favourites from our time in Lyon. We eat and chat all at once almost without stopping for breath. Julie is invited into the fooz-ball championship; she and AJ laugh raucously as they battle away. AJ wins again.

We take it easy and as the rain clears, we stroll in the opposite direction from Zola, AJ stays behind. There is life in both directions from home. Julie orders her first baguette, struggling to negotiate both brain and mouth around the French language, she does well and we all have a laugh.

Straying from the main street, the small alleyways are filled with children, in groups and alone. Some play solitary games while others ride bikes and kick soccer balls, their fun coming to an end with tumbles and tears. One boy is intrigued by our visit to his small, after-school alleyway. He asks us do we love each other, pointing to John and me, his way of distinguishing the relationships shared by the three of us. We establish that we are married, and yes, we love each other, and that Julie is my sister. He is happy to have understood how we all fit together.

Drinks are sipped outside while the rain subsides for a while. JR is replaced in the hammock as AJ arrives. It’s late and while I begin to cook the fresh pasta, Julie and JR struggle with a French can opener. I remember having the same trouble in Lyon; surely we are doing something wrong as we can only get to the bounty inside the tins by tearing away at the metal every which way. It is the simple things I take for granted at home, can openers and tongs are two of them.

Nantes. Monday 8th June 2009.

We sleep soundly with the electronic shutters closed tightly across the bedroom skylights. We don’t wake until 10.30.

A small porcupine wanders across the lawn and seems unfazed by our excitement at the sight of him; Alex calls him ‘Muffin’. I hope he is a regular visitor. The garden is full of edible delights. Wild strawberries grow amongst raspberry bushes and mint. A few zucchini flowers keep their yolky colour a secret as their petals clamp tightly together, little zucchinis are beginning to form below the blooms. The cherry tree only has a few red fruits to show, they are not ripe enough to pick and I will make sure I get them before the birds do in the days to come.

The village of Zola is an amble away and has everything we need. We stock up at the supermarket, each of us researching our edible preferences. The butcher, Boulanger and most other small traders are closed today. Now that we are back in France we will have to get used to Sundays and Mondays being slow as is the French way.

We just beat the rain as we pile in the door at home towing our shopping trolley filled with provisions. The rain comes down in buckets and as we relax inside our converted disco home, the thunder crashes and lightning flashes, hail falls to the ground in small white beads. I just love a good storm. Alex is busy discovering the stash of X-Box games, he is off and racing before long. John and I settle on the nearby couch that is wide enough for all three of us, its seat is shaped like a wave and is upholstered in rose covered red velvet. We sit head to tail, sipping warm coffee until we give in to sleep, but only for a while.

The fooz-ball championships begin. It is clear that JR and I have some practice to do as AJ wins each and every round we play. AJ helps with dinner and cuts yesterdays bread into cubes and tosses them in fruity olive oil and salt and pepper, to be toasted for our Lyonnais Salad tonight. Boiled eggs chatter against the bottom of the pot as they gently bubble and the smoky aromas of lardons pervade the house as they brown in the pan, releasing their symphony of sizzles. It’s lovely to be eating good food, the lettuce is fresh as fresh can be and the tomatoes blush with full ripeness, they release their unmistakable aroma as I tear them from their calyx. Our plates are piled high and are topped with a mustardy dressing. Bon appétit!

Hello Dublin Sunshine. Sunday 7th June 2009

Let’s go! Make hay while the sun shines they say. Who are ‘they’ anyway?

Straight on the Open Top Bus Tour to see all the major sights we had not already covered and back to the hotel by 2ish to get a cab to the airport. On the bus tour we got out at the Smithfield Horse Markets held once a month here in Dublin. A dramatic mixture of happy and sad sights were in front of us as we wandered around. Some of the horses had obviously had a hard life, their exposed ribs telling a little of their hardship. Others were a picture of health. I have heard these markets may be closed down. The main players are the youth trading and buying horses, often without the means to take care of them properly.

We were flying Ryan Air for the first time and had heard they were notorious for charging for every kilo your luggage was overweight. The worst thing is that their limit is only 15kg! Is a girl not to travel without shoes? We are quit ok with the usual 20kg limit and have mastered the art of living with a 20kg suitcase plus hand luggage, but 15 kg is impossible. We loaded our hand luggage to its limit and a bit more. If we stood at the check in desk without looking like our backs were breaking we may just get by without them noticing our heavy bags or our jacket pockets loaded with the shoes, books, computer leads, notebooks, etc we were concealing... we had become luggage mules! She didn’t give the hand luggage a sideways glance but our suitcases were 9kg over in total, she only charged us for six. Even that came to €105. We felt sneaky and proud that we had gotten off so lightly.

We arrived in Nantes on the West coast of France 20 minutes ahead of schedule. The cab pulled up outside out next home-exchange, please let it be clean my internal thoughts kept repeating. Dominiques parents were there to greet us with the French cheek sisses we had missed. We are all so happy to be back in France, it kind of feels like home in a funny way, even AJ feels the same.

We were given the induction of our new home for the next three weeks. It is lovely. A converted disco, there is a board showing the extensive renovation taken to convert the building into this beautiful home. The colours are bright and cheerful, the house is nice and clean and the polished concrete floors feel like glass under foot. The home is open plan with different pods to retire to. There is a fooz-ball table which I clean up on the first time I challenge AJ – go the Mumster!

The kitchen is all stainless steel, red and chrome, just lovely. You can tell a lot from a persons home, I imagine the family to be happy and loving, to appreciate culture, good food and the environment. The centre of the home is a big garden with rocks and sand, the water trickles all day and makes the home so relaxing. There are a few tiny fish swimming in the pond. Every evening the pond floats with smoke and in the morning a soft red light shines for a while.

Not long after we arrive a nearby neighbour is at the door to welcome us, he’s nice and invites us for dinner. We are smashed, so take a rain check for now. Our problem is that it is quite late on Sunday night and everything is closed, we have nothing for dinner. Before long our neighbour is gone and returns with a bag of onions, tomatoes, peaches, lettuce, bread and eggs – we will eat tonight.

I love our new home.

Soggy Old Dublin Town. Saturday 6th June 2009.

Most cities do not shine on a wet day and Dublin was no exception. The Temple Bar Farmer's Market was on between 10am and 4pm, most of the stallkeepers were grumpy, sitting under their makeshift shelters as the rain fell hard. The market was small; so small the Belturbet Farmer’s Market almost put it to shame.

We sat in the Temple Bar Pub and enjoyed a drink and some live music; it was just the place to be. It was before beer o’clock but that did not seem to matter to the drinkers of Dublin as they chugged down their dark Guinness nectar, which in this city is a major part of the staple diet. While any self respecting adult would have been proud to shelter from the rain in a fine establishment such as this, AJ was not so happy to do so, boredom had set in.

Lunch would fix that so off we headed to The Bad Ass Cafe for a hot bowl of ‘Forraged Mushroom Soup’. We wandered the streets and it was so miserable, windy and wet we decided to go to a movie. On the way in the sole fell off my hiking boots, just the thing to top off a lovely rainy day, I put it on the arm of the seat beside me for safe keeping; I would glue it later. We saw '12 Rounds'; a good dose of action was just what we needed. We were almost out on the street when I realised I was without my sole (the shoe kind ok), so I dashed back into the cinema to find the cleaners completing their finishing touches. Yes, they had found a sole, no, they did not know what stinking, putrid garbage bag it was in. I have never been afraid of getting my hands dirty but this was ridiculous. It was probably worth $200 Aussie to find it so in I dived. Sucess at last, I found it sloshing around in the soggy bottom, marinaded in Coke.

Home to Fitzsimonds and to get ready for dinner, we would go back to Marco Pierre White’s, Frankie’s and give it a more thorough going over. Carpaccio was brilliant and was a great showcase for Irish beef. The pork belly was forgettable, laced with sinew and dry around the edges. I sent it back. The second was so much more succulent and came minus the sinew which was nice. I was later told the chef had decided to take it off the menu, to refine it a little before it reappeared. My panna cotta dessert came topped with strawberries poached lightly in champagne. The flavours were all there but the texture nearly had me running for the ladies! It was laced with creamy lumps; I sent that back too. I was later informed that the panna cotta had been taken off the menu for the night as the entire batch was afflicted with the same unfortunate problem. Would I be responsible for closing the kitchen tonight?

Dublin Bound. Friday 5th June 2009.

Rob was in bed when our taxi came to take us to the Ulster Bus in the city. I climbed the stairs and knocked the bedroom door. I held his hand and with tears streaming down my face I said my goodbyes and told him I loved him.

I held onto Lilly tight and didn’t want to let her go, goodness knows when I would see her again. She has been so good to us and is very much loved by us all.

The bus drove us along the busy freeway, leaving Belfast behind. I sat looking out the window and sobbed until I could sob no more. I was filled with emotions that were tearing at my heart. Mobile phones rang and their owners spoke cheerily of rendezvous, and of drinking stories from the night before; I just sobbed.

The weather was kind for our arrival in Dublin at about 12.30pm. We clickety-clacked with suitcases in tow to Fitzsimonds Hotel, right in the heart of Temple Bar and in the thick of the action; just how we like it. I knew the boys would love Dublin and I was right. The characters on the streets provided the best people watching material, the buskers were the soundtrack to the city, the cobbled streets bustled with life and we all loved it. We hit the tourist trail and checked out the Hapenny Bridge almost at our hotel door. City Hall was grand with its light filled dome decorated with golden flowers edged in black. We had a quick peek at Dublin Castle but it was about to close so we headed for the gardens. If you are a foodie like me, next time you are in Dublin, make sure you head for Fallon & Byrn’s Food Hall, it’s super doper and chock full of all kinds of delicious goodies.

I love the orangey, red brick buildings of Dublin but most of all I love Trinity College founded in 1592. We spent quite a bit of time there admiring the lawns mowed to show a checkerboard effect, the pillared entrances to the great buildings, the cobbled courtyards, old trees and ivy covered buildings. We played catchy with AJ in the main courtyard, we all had fun.

We crossed the O’Connell Bridge leading us to the other side of the flowing Liffey, and into the Guinness scented, Arlington Hotel. On stage were a duo, singing and playing guitar, flute, and fiddle; a wee taste of Irish diddly for the Reyments. Whenever I think of the diddly I think of you Kath (miss you X). We stayed for a drink and to soak in the atmosphere before heading to Temple Bar for dinner. The streets were beginning to hum, Friday night was on the horizon and there was partying to be done by all and sundry.

We found Frankie’s Italian Bar and Grill which sounded like it suited us to a tee – and it did. Great service, maybe even a little too attentive. Frankie’s has only been open in this location for a few weeks and is Marco Pierre White’s newest baby. I tucked into the Gratinata Tagliolini alla Carbonara. It had all the elements of great Carbonara and was finished off under the grill giving it a creamy, cheesy crust. AJ finished mine after his own Gnocci Genovese which he loved.

We were all smashed after our late night last night, our emotional goodbyes and our trip to Dublin so we opted out of dessert and tumbled out onto the streets. As we had grown tired, the streets had become bright eyed and bushy tailed. Young and the not so young spilled from the doors of the famous Temple Bars. Buskers strummed, sang, and beat their drums, their music drifting on the cool night air. We doled out a few euros to the talent and slipped inside the much quieter confines of the hotel. Sleep came quickly.

Closure. Thrusday 4th June 2009.

AJ didn’t want to venture out today; he wanted to stay at home with Lilly. Rob dropped JR and I up the Shankill for a haircut, the first for me since leaving Oz over four months ago, and to pick up a few bits ‘n pieces for dinner tonight. What a treat it was and a great cut too, thanks to wee Kelly with her broad Belfast accent and jet black hair. See what happens when you let go of control, everything works out just fine.

Rob was tired and went for a lie down for the afternoon. I pottered about with Lilly Lovely Legs as I had begun to call her. Alan, Sandra and Peter soon arrived to bid us farewell, gosh I will miss them, I love ‘em to bits I do. Rob went out for the night, it was a shame he was not with us for our last dinner. Lilly had cooked a smashin’ roast beef, tooth tender and served with gravy, Yorkshire pud, carrot, broccoli, roast potato, parsnip and onions – we ate like kings and queens.
When Rob came home Alex wanted to give them our present which was a night time shot of Brisbane that JR had taken and also a beautiful portrait of the two of them taken the day we wandered along the river in Belturbet during the happy times we shared in County Cavan. Rob had given me a wee wink gesturing that he wanted a copy of the shot so we tucked the thought away, ordered a print and organised a light timber frame to hang on the wall. The gift bag was decorated with silver butterflies; Lillie’s favourites. AJ went off to bed ready for our departure early in the morning while us four sat up until late into the night sharing our thoughts on life.

Belfast Revisited. Wednesday 3rd June 2009.

Rob left the house early so I woke Lilly to say goodbye before JR, AJ and I caught the 11C into the city to catch the 10.30am Belfast City Open Top Bus Tour. You know the drill, hop on hop off and see all the things a city has to offer. Alex kept saying how much he loved Belfast which was nice. The tour passed the sights of the Albert Clock, the H&W cranes (Sampson and Golliath), the dry dock where the Titanic was built, Stormont, St. George Marketplace, the Merchant Hotel which sells the most expensive cocktail in the world at 750 pounds a pop, the old courthouse with the scales of justice missing from the rooftop statue, and of course the Shankill and The Falls – the Prodestant and Catholic heartlands.

Soon after the tour, JR headed off to do the Titanic Tour, he said it was great. It didn’t interest AJ and I so we visited The Olde Tyme Sweetie Shop which Alan had told me about, The Grand Opera House, The Europa Hotel (the most bombed hotel in Europe) and the famous Crown Bar. We had a drink in The Crown Bar and were lucky to be given a ‘snug’ which is a private drinking booth where you ring a bell for service. The windows of booth F were etched with pretty pictures and on either side of the door lions were carved into the dark wood. Everything about the Crown Bar oozed with history and we wondered what characters had drunk endless pints of Guinness inside our booth as we sat on the shiny black leather banquet seats surrounding the wooden table. When we rang the bell, a little pendulum swang underneath the letter F on the wall at the bar, a simple system from long ago telling the waitress we required service.

I took AJ to see a movie, ‘Angels and Demons’ which we both loved, it was nice to hang out together just the two of us. JR met us as the movie finished. Again the observation deck at Victoria Square was closed, even though it was cool enough to need a jacket – crazy but true.

We returned to No. 27 Talbot St. for dinner. Our motto is if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and since we had such a wonderful meal there the day before, we couldn’t wait to go back. Adrian, the owner, surprised us with a wine to enjoy with dinner, a nice touch I thought. Dinner was lovely but alas, we just could not fit in dessert. JR ended up ordering a sacher torte for us all to share, its surface was like a dark chocolate mirror.

Before heading out this morning I had asked Lilly if Rob had called Brian, Dad’s old friend, as he had mentioned he would get him over while we were in Belfast. He hadn’t mentioned it to her so it was such a surprise to return home at about 10.30 and see Brian and Geraldine at the kitchen table, Sarah and John were there too. Everyone was smiling and laughing, they were having a ball and it was great to see. We all retired to the lounge with a cuppa and chatted late into the night. I called Dad on Skype so he and Brian could have a face to face chat. The four oldies huddled around the laptop and the craic flowed as free as the Lagan.