26 October – 3 November 2019

For the second week of the girls school holidays we planned to mix it up a bit – a couple of day trips around the region and a couple of days enjoying Aix and the autumn weather. 

But before we kicked all that off, Anthony started the week with the typically French activity of playing cricket. The final cricket game of the season was against a combined Geneva/Lyon team of southern Asians. The previous week had been rainy across France and Var (where Entrecastaux is located) was no exception. This rain meant the already paddock like outfield was sporting 15cm high grass around its astro turf wicket. Boronia Park, even on its worst day – had never looked so good. The visitors demonstrated how to avoid the grass by smashing the local attack all over the ground; unfortunately Entrecastaux could not return the favour. So the result went the wrong way, but the novelty of playing the parkiest of park cricket in the middle of a French medieval town has definitely not worn off. 

The following day we kept our exploration more local and went to the nearby Barrage de Bibemus – an impressive dam in the shadow of the Sainte Victoire which is the jumping off point for a large number of walking trails around the area. The goal of the day was to allow Bonnie to get some grass under his paws and maybe even a run off the lead (whilst he is getting lots of exercise in Aix, most of it is on lead, around town and surrounded by cars and skateboards… which may or may not be driving him partially insane). The day was perfect and the walk itself was beautiful – so successful in fact that Jessie and Ellie signed up to join us for a walk up the Sainte Victoire itself (a 5 hour round trip hike that we’ll now look to schedule in the next few months). 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

That afternoon, Fred, Noemie and family dropped in to say hi on their way back from Saint Cyr Sur Mer (and to give Anthony a much needed lesson in the subtle art of properly carving up a french sausage). As always, it was lovely to see them. 

• 

• 

Our first holidays day trip was a trip to the Camargue, an area about 100km southwest of Aix where the Rhone meets the Mediterranean. The area is famous for bulls, bull fighting, wild and domesticated horses, farming and flamingos. We were excited about visiting a new area of France in general, but were essentially in it for the flamingos, which Sena was convinced were called ‘Mangos’… so of course that was how we referred to them. 

• 

Our first stop for the day was the coastal town of Saintes Maries de la Mer, (population 2000) an interesting coastal village that would have been absolutely horrible in summer (when the population swells to 500,000) but was beautiful in October when hardly anyone was there. There is a stunning fortress/cathedral dating back to the 10th century, a pretty harbour (shrouded in mist when we were there), narrow laneways and architecture, food and culture that appear more reminiscent of Central America than the Cote d’Azur. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

From there, we made our way to the main event for the day, the Parc Ornithologique de Pont de Gau, home to some of the region’s many flamingos. We were concerned that it was not really flamingo season (they come here to nest and raise chicks in spring and summer before heading to Africa during the European winter), but we need not have been concerned – either the flamingos are getting lazy or global warming is having an impact, as there were thousands of the birds hanging out in the Parc. 

Literally flamingos everywhere. In groups, alone, fighting, snuzzling, cavorting or in by themselves, seemingly in timeout. Majestic big birds with beautiful pink feathers, mostly balancing on one leg, occasionally treating us with a show by flapping their wings (unsure whether this to impress each other, threaten us, or just to stretch) or heading to the sky – potentially contemplating the big migration south (note – as far as we could tell, every bird that took off literally circled once and came back down to land, all thoughts of wintering in Africa rapidly abandoned for the good life on the Cote d’Azur). 

• 

• 

The girls were enthralled. Taking photos (Ellie and Jessie). Introducing her new flamingo toy to the other flamingos (Sena). 

Getting too close to one of the lagoons and falling in the water (Ellie). 

• 

We fished her out (confirming to her that she was indeed now covered up to her waist in what was ostensibly 85% flamingo wee) and somewhat dried her off, apologising to birds and fellow tourists alike for the disruption. 

Squelchy shoes and wet skirts notwithstanding, we had a fun couple of hours exploring the park, until all the flamingos started to look the same, and we decided it was time for our third and final stop for the day – Arles. 

Arles is a really interesting place. It feels like a small town but is the capital of the Camargue, the largest commune in France. In Roman times, Arles was an important city in Gaulle, replete with impressive amphitheatre, Roman circus, theatre and city walls – all of which are still there today. In more recent times, the city is also famous for being the site of ‘Starry Starry Night’ by Vincent Van Gogh – currently Jessie’s favourite painting. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Whilst we only spent a couple of hours wandering the medieval streets, checking out the Roman ruins and locating the spot where Van Gogh painted, we loved the atmosphere of the city and its beauty. 

Overall a great day exploring a really different area of the region. 

The following day was spent in Aix, focussing on French classes and rollerblading. On Wednesday we were ready to hit the road again – this time for ‘Sena’s choice’ of country (for the record, actually Mummy’s choice, but that’s not important right now) – a day trip to Italy for lunch and Monaco to car/people spot. 

It was a bit of a drive to get to Italy – about 2 hours heading eastward across southern Provence, over the border and into the mountains north of San Remo. The kids were focussed on one thing – pizza. They were excited, mainly because Liz had been building up the wonderful-ness of Italian pizza; a hype that was only reinforced by their one experience eating out during out time in Tuscany. 

After 2 hours of ipad-free driving, the last section of which up treacherous windy, security barrier free Italian hillside roads, we arrived at the stunning hilltop village of Apricale. On seeing the village for the first time, you are forced to wonder: a. How it got built in the first place (how do you get all those rocks up that big hill?) and b. How is it possible that it is still standing today (having been built in the 13th century). It is a stunning little village (apparently one of the most beautiful in Italy), and, more importantly, had a highly recommended, family run pizza restaurant with beautiful views over the surrounding countryside.  

• 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Except the restaurant, most apologetically, didn’t fire up the wood fired oven until dinner time. 

Family debates ensued. Did we abandon the dream of Italian pizza, trading it for homemade pasta, tiramisu and a glass of wine overlooking the Italian hillside (parents say yes) or descend back into the less well regarded town of Dulceaqua to search out whatever pizza was on offer (children say yes). 

For once democracy prevailed and we made our way back down the no-less-treacherous-going-down windy road to get back into Dulceaqua. We pulled back into the town and started exploring… confidently at first (we were, after all, searching for pizza in Italy, which, you would have thought, should have been no harder than shooting fish in a barrel) but with an increasing sense of doubt and trepidation. Almost everything was shut, and those few things were open had large signs saying ‘No Pizza’ (and just, quietly, looked dire). 

Our simple plan of pizza for lunch in Italy was in a shambles, and the kids hearts were breaking into large, small and medium sized pieces.  And they were not quiet or subtle about expressing their disappointment (or growing hunger). 

Taking a stand against the (erstwhile and, at the time, uneducated) democratic will of the people, common sense prevailed and we abandoned the pizza plan – something that a certain country to our west could perhaps learn from. We backtracked, said farewell to Dolceaqua and made our way along back up the long and windy road to our picturesque family restaurant in Apricale. 

• 

We were welcomed back as the prodigal family… and stuffed full of amazing, fresh baked bread and olive oil, tomato salad, homemade pasta, tiramisu and local wine… all served up by a gracious and incredibly friendly hostess that made us feel like we were in her home (which was actually just upstairs).  

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Even the kids agreed that it was one of the best lunches ever, and totally worth the effort to get there. Thank you Mari e Monti.

• 

• 

Following lunch we decided to double down on treacherous mountain roads and continue up into the medieval hill fortress, much of which dates back to the 12th century. The town felt completely deserted as we started our exploration through narrow alleyways, 4 foot high doors and hidden courtyards. 

• 

Whilst exploring one such courtyard, Bonnie unexpectedly stumbled upon a local cat, who expressed its displeasure at Bonnie’s presence. Bonnie, clearly intimidated by an obviously stronger foe, immediately turned and run, pausing a safe distance away to soil the pavement. Fight or flight at its best – and even more evidence that he is in fact never going back into the wild. 

• 

• 

The narrow streets eventually opened up to the main town square overlooked by a 16th century church – with more incredible views of the surrounding countryside. We saw a total of 4 people in the square, our only evidence that the town was not a ghost town. That, and an old basset hound type dog with a large bell on its collar and a self confident look in his eyes, behind which was a clear belief that this was ‘his town’. We called him Sheriff and immediately wished we had a star to put on him. 

• 

• 

• 

Sheriff kept a watchful eye on us as we explored the square and the church, and admired the beautiful landscape. He then proceeded to escort us back through town and back to our car; never too close but never letting us out of his sight either. He did not relax until we were safely in the car, heading back down the hill. The last thing we saw was Sheriff’s untrusting eyes in the rear vision mirror, his body language clearly stating ‘… and don’t come back!’ 

• 

Unluckily for Sheriff, if we’re anywhere near that area again this year, there is no doubt that we will be! 

From medieval Apricale and the hills of Northern Italy we made our way back across the border and started tracking the coast to our 3rd country of the day, Monaco. 3 countries in one day is not a big deal if you live in this area, but for the kids (and, let’s be honest, for us too) it kind of still is. 

Different countries notwithstanding, the difference that an hour’s drive makes in Europe is remarkable. We traded 12th century medieval Italian hill forts for the lamborghinis, casinos, coastline and richest-country-in-the-world-swankiness that is Monaco. The two places could not have been more different. 

We made our way into the centre of the city/country, and pulled into the carpark under the casino, proudly parking our beloved Duster between a Tesla Model X and Lamborghini. We piled out, t-shirts, flip flops and border collie all screaming ‘we are from here too’. There was no doubt that we fit right in. 

• 

Our time in Monaco was relatively short and sweet – a quick trip to give us an excuse to talk to the kids about this interesting piece of almost-France, have a coffee with all the other tourists and Cafe Paris and look at all the sports cars. And of course, tick off the whole 3 countries in one day thing. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Tick. 

• 

Needless to say, there was very little activity in the back seat when we finally made it back to the car. Unless you count snoring that is. 

The following day was October 31. Halloween (and just quietly, the end of October!!! How do we slow things down???) The kids had high expectations. Jessie was raving about her experience with Aunty Jo in San Francisco last year; Ellie was talking fondly about local Halloweens in Hunters Hill and Gladesville. We were madly trying to manage expectations. If we couldn’t find pizza for lunch in Italy, we did not hold out too much hope for trick or treating success in Southern France. Still, assured by locals that it was ‘picking up’ we decided to give it a crack, and were planning to head out to Meyragues, a little village in the north of Aix with some of our French friends, to scare the locals. 

• 

First, though, it was off to a playdate with our Australian/French friend Phaedra, her two girls and two newly acquired, much loved and highly endangered hamsters. One of those playdates that just seemed to click – even though the girls had never met each other before, they hit it off and quickly became inseparable. And the hamsters (justifiably) looked extremely concerned (there’s only so much love a baby hamster can handle from 5, well meaning but heavy handed children). Luckily for everyone, they were alive when we left. Honest. 

• 

• 

From there, it was off to Sophie and Julien’s village of Meyrages north of Aix to don our Halloween costumes and terrorise the local villagers, knocking on doors and requesting lollies. Halloween is a new concept here in France, a bit like Australia 10 years ago. They haven’t quite clued on to the whole ‘decorated house = lollies; non decorated = we’re not doing Halloween. So we, and many other kids from the local area, mercilessly pursued every household, requesting, commanding or begging for lollies with the catch cry of ‘Des bonbons ou un sort!’ 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

It was probably a 50/50 split between those houses who had no idea why sugared up children were disturbing their peaceful evening (and, by the end of the trick or treating period these houses were either hiding under their beds with their lights off or had affixed impromptu signs to their front doors), and those who came armed with lollies. Better than the strike rate for pizza in Italy in any case. 

Included in our house visits was a refugee family from Syria who were too polite not to open their door, didn’t speak French to enable an explanation but seemed very concerned that their new-found home had suddenly gone crazy. 

As an another aside, French kids are merciless when it comes to quantities taken from each household, and many a carefully purchased supply of lollies was rapidly pillaged within minutes of the first door knocks. 

In any case, the the kids arrived home happy and more than a little buzzed. From there, it was time to tuck in to the highly themed dinner Sophie had prepared, complete with mummies, monsters and other delights. A great success. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

The rest of the holiday was spent trying to drag the kids back into something resembling a school time routine (i.e. not going to bed at 10.30pm) ; madly finishing holiday homework (yes, that is a thing here); having dinner at Claire and Jean’s house (complete with mouthwatering cakes from the famous Maison Weibel); rock climbing; and meeting our new landlords Yves and Pascale for an apéro. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Just another quiet couple of days here in Aix!

•