6 November – 10 November 2019
Ellie has been on exchange all week at Fred and Noemie’s house. The tears and nerves of Sunday were quickly overtaken by the excitement of living with the Guillot’s, being the only Australian at a new school (Ombrosa) and, of course, eating snails. And then there’s Magic, the loving and uncomplicated Border Collie whose affection you don’t have to work for.
After making us promise to call every day, by Tuesday night Ellie promptly forgot to call us, something we took as both a good sign (that she was enjoying herself) and a bad sign (that we could be so easily replaced in all of 3 days).
Whilst Ellie may have forgotten us, it’s fair to say the house felt a bit strange through the whole week for her not being around. Also way easier. It’s definitely true that the easier number of kids to manage is n-1. In our case, 2 was an absolute breeze.
Ellie was being hosted at Ombrosa, another international bilingual school which is situated right on the River Sôane, just down the hill from Fred and Noemie’s house. It is on beautiful grounds and the classrooms are in beautiful old mansion style buildings (except for the library, which is in an old London double decker bus). It has a much more traditional vibe compared to IBS, which feels like a young upstart in comparison. In any case, Ellie enjoyed her week there, made lots of friends and very keen to do it all again for another week next year.
By the time Jessie, Sena and Anthony drove up to Lyon on Friday afternoon to pick her up, she was asking to stay another week… if not permanently.
We only had one night in Lyon this time – just a quick stopover to pick up Ellie on her way to Berlin. We were going to hit the Nuits des Lumieres that evening, but the state of the kids (shattered and completely feral) and the parents (mainly just shattered) put paid to that fairly quickly. Instead, we spent the evening eating croziflette (more high mountain goodness comprised almost entirely of dairy in all its forms … plus a bit of lardons, pasta and onions), drinking wine, catching up and marvelling at the weirdness of Border Collies – as Magic and Bonnie did that weird ‘looking at you/not looking at you; you’re my best friend but you’re not really there but I’m going to sleep on your bed anyway. They are such weird animals.
Meanwhile, Liz was at home hosting a girls only Christmas soirée for 20 ladies.
The following day dawned dark and cold. We packed the car for our trip to the airport and on to Berlin, somewhat incomprehensibly filling it to the brim for what was a 4 day trip. You would think we would be better at this by now. Somehow we managed to triage our belongings into 4 day packs (one each) and a check-in bag filled with rollerblades (this was to be our experiment to see if we could cover more ground with less whinging around Berlin). Everyone got their bags? Tick. Jackets? Tick. We were ready A quick set of goodbyes, one worried border collie (brown) and we hit the road for the airport.
Side note – Ellie is not the only one doing an exchange this week. Bonnie will be spending a long weekend with Magic at the Guillot’s, enjoying time in the garden, being able to go to the toilet anytime he wants and never laying eyes on a skateboard. We hope he will return refreshed, rejuvenated and maybe a bit more zen.
We arrived at the airport. 8.10 for a 9.55 flight. Plenty of time surely (not having the best record in recent times of actually catching planes, Anthony was definitely clock watching). We parked at the long term carpark, seemingly closer to Marseille than it was to the airport terminal. Out of the car. Bags. Tick. Jackets? Sena looks quizzically. Nope. Where? Unsure, seemingly removed somewhere between the loungeroom and the airport, but not in the car. Fail. Luckily, its not like Berlin is cold in December. Fortunately we had just inherited one of Charlie’s old ski jackets, which was quickly located and subb’ed in for Sena’s regular winter jacket. Initial panic over.
We found our way to the bus stop to get to the terminal. Sena was curious as to whether this was Berlin yet. No. Still just the airport in Lyon. We boarded the bus, 1 rolling bag, 4 bag packs, 4 jackets and a food bag. 4 days. Lots of strange looks. How come I hadn’t realised this would be a long day?
Check in was uneventful, even easy. We even managed to locate passports. Only slight hiccup was the announcement that we would be sitting 2+2, resulting in immediate arguments.
At security, we were beckoned into the ‘family line’, thankfully. However this just turned out to be a longer way of walking to exactly the same security checkpoints as everyone else. It turns out that security checkpoints in winter with 3 kids all carrying carry on bags is a bit of a hassle. Everything needs a separate pannier. Each bag. Each jacket. Each pair of boots. Laptop and ipad. That’s 14 separate panniers just for us. They literally ran out of boxes as we were still loading stuff up. Belongings flying everywhere. No idea where anything is, including the children. Anthony gets pulled aside for additional security checks (as usual). Ellie’s bag gets flagged and pulled aside. The security guard has to wait for Anthony to be secured before he starts meticulously taking everything out of Ellie’s backpack/school bag and placing it on the table (its amazing how much random stuff kids have in their bags). He looked as happy as a drug spotting beagle in Wellington when he located a pair of children’s scissors in Ellie’s pencil case that had stowed away in the bottom of her bag. Ellie is distraught that she has lost her (now favourite) scissors. The whole process took about 20 minutes. By the end of it you could do nothing other than laugh (and try to console Ellie about the loss of her beloved Carrfour safety scissors). And then run for our plane.
The boarding staff at the gate took pity on us (they must have seen the look in our eyes, or potentially Anthony’s reputation proceeded him and they just wanted to make sure we didn’t miss the plane) and beckoned us to the front of the line for our priority boarding. We were first on the plane and the smiling Austrian amazonian air hostesses welcomed us aboard our Austrian Airlines flight to Vienna. Sena immediately fell in love (for the 17th time this week) and spent the next 15 minutes trying to maintain her undivided attention (whilst she was trying to get the rest of the plane boarded).
Meanwhile Liz was flying solo and unencumbered.
The flight over the Alps was captivating (for about 5 minutes for Jessie and Sena, a little longer for Ellie) and 2 hours later we were touching down in Vienna, where we were loaded on to a packed bus for our trip to the terminal and our 30 minute transfer for our flight to Berlin. The bus, of course, waited for the whole plane to unload, board and stash themselves and their belongings anywhere they could fit before meandering its way across the tarmac to the terminal.
20 minutes to take off.
We saw Vienna airport at a swift trot, stopping only in sight of the next gate to grab some essential pretzels for lunch.
Rush to the next gate. Through boarding procedures. To wait on another bus. To go to another plane (coincidentally 25 metres from our first one). Panting slightly, convinced that we had lost at least a bag or two, if not a child. Definitely a jacket.
We were the last passengers to board the packed flight to Berlin. Austrian Airlines had, in their wisdom assigned us seats 14A-C then 14E – in the middle. The kids crammed into their seats with their bags and jackets. After hesitating for about 5 minutes the guy in 14D reluctantly looked at Anthony and offered up his seat. Despite the temptation to decline, the swap was made and we were soon on our way to Berlin.
From Berlin it was a small matter of picking up our 1 checked in bag, taking the airport bus to the Hauptbahnhof to catch another train, a subway and then walk to our Ibis Hotel. Ellie was calculating the number of forms of public transport we had caught today (8), Sena was reminiscing about how nice it would be to be adopted by the amazonian Austrian air stewardess and move to Vienna and to stop having to carry her bag or walk.
Despite the 8 hours of travelling time, everyone was actually in pretty good spirits and excited to be seeing Aunty Jo. Ellie in particular was also excited about staying at the Ibis (we have actually stayed at a few good ones over the years) but life is full of little disappointments.
Side note: our street (just by the Anhalter metro and superbly located near Potsdamer Platz, Tiergarten and Checkpoint Charlie) was Accor central. Our quality Ibis hotel was nestled next to a Novotel (reminding business travellers stuck in the Novotel cursing their organisation’s frugal travel policy that things could be worse) and the Ibis Budget Hotel (we think this was probably just a sign and a facade covering a tent colony beyond, because you’d have to try pretty hard to go more budget than an Ibis and still have a roof).
Within minutes of arriving at the hotel the girls had disappeared into Aunty Jo’s room, only to reappear some 20 minutes later sporting makeup and painted nails (“I panicked” professed Jo). From there (and following a short break to remove said make up) it was out to explore the local area, and specifically the Christmas markets of Potsdamer Platz.
Berlin is famous for its Christmas markets, and deservedly so. It seems that every second district leans in to this tradition, converting any and every open space into brightly lit Christmas stalls selling bratwurst (and lots of other sausagey goodness), kartoffeln (in all its forms), gluhwein and boatloads of heart-shaped gingerbread biscuits on strings. And Christmas trees. Lots of Christmas trees (coming from Aix, where Christmas trees seem to be at a premium, this was a welcome addition). From this strong core, each market will build out a variety of other stalls selling knick knacks, Christmas decorations, sweets, clothes and jewellery, and also offer childrens’ rides.
The Potsdamer Platz markets is no exception to this formula, and included in its optional extras a giant toboggan slide and ice skating, which immediately became the main focus of the girls, keen to see how effectively their newly discovered love of roller blading transitioned into winter sport.
First up, however, was the obligatory sausage stop. The first of what would be many. (Side note: in fact, looking back on this trip now, it’s fair to say that almost no vegetable (with the exception of a friend potato, and maybe the odd onion for flavour) was harmed during this weekend. Our diet consisted almost entirely of sausage, fried potato (in all its forms) and gluhwein. My heart hurts just thinking about it.)
We made our way down to the ice skating, curious to see that it was not in fact ice but white plastic tiles masquerading as ice. We hired our ice skates (or should we say plastic skates?) and piled on. The girls tried to blade. Nothing. Stuck. Hopes of tearing around the ice rink were dashed and the tidal wave of complaints which followed was brutal, only subsiding with the prospect of rides down the toboggan-giant slide (highly successful) and crepes and görmknudel for dessert. All was right again with the world, and not even the misty rain that started to fall as we made our way back to the hotel could dampen spirits.
As with all our good holidays, Liz had planned our itinerary meticulously across the 2 full days we had in the city.
Berlin is massive (the second largest city in Europe, after London). The itinerary was organised largely geographically – the first day was to focus largely on west Berlin, the second the east – but it would still require 10-15 kms of walking a day.
The solution? The girls would rollerblade it. Sorted.
Secondly, knowledge. Berlin is an amazing city, but without appreciating the history the girls would be bored and therefore whiny. So, obligatory pre-reading and tutorial/study groups were facilitated to ensure everyone had the requisite knowledge to take full advantage of their experience. Over the past few weeks we had introduced the kids to WWII, Hitler, the Holocaust, Communism and the Cold War. We had also branched out into public shamings (such as when Mussolini’s body was strung up after his death) and the pros and cons of various suicide techniques (shooting v cyanide pills in the case of Hitler and Eva Braun).
Knowledge? Tick.
And eating plans. We had to ensure we took advantage of the optimal mix of sausage, schnitzel and potato during our time.
All important eating itinerary? Tick.
We were ready to go.
Our first full morning started with Ant running/exploring the Tiergarten and area between Brandenburg Gate and Alexanderplatz on foot whilst chatting on the phone to Adam and reminiscing about previous travels. Adam, having previously been here a number of times as a Eurobus guide, was effectively navigating Anthony around his route. Not bad after almost 20 years.
From there it was time to head out. First stop was Brandenburg Gate, the highest profile site of November 1989 when east Berliners piled into West Berlin for the first time in 40 years. Interestingly, the ‘Quadriga’ statue at the top of the gate is basically a big ‘up yours’ to France.
Fun Fact: The Quadriga was part of the initial gate construction but was subsequently taken by Napoleon in the early 1800s when he rolled into Berlin. He took it back to Paris and put it in a box, never to be seen again (sounds like our kids really). In 1814, the Prussian army returned the favour, rolled into Paris and took back its favourite toy, subsequently reinstalling it on top of the gate (again, this scenario could play out on any given afternoon in our house). The Prussians added one new addition – a new cross which was the symbol of the Prussian glory over France. For whatever reason, this was removed during the communist era but put back in 1990 during the reunification. Germany and France once again proving they are the true siblings of Europe.
From the Brandenburg Gate we put the roller blades on and made our way around the corner to the Reichstag – the German Parliament building. Originally built in the 1890s, it was famously raised by communists in the 1930s, giving Hitler the perfect excuse to pass the ‘Enabling Act’ to give the Nazis full control of the government. The square in front of the Reichstag was also a favourite spot for those wishing to burn books in the 1930s. Whilst it was repaired in the 1950s, it was not used as a national parliament again until 1990 when the national capital of the reunited Germany returned to Berlin.
The next stop on our Liz sponsored tour took us to the Jewish Holocaust memorial, a moving monument erected in what was previously no-mans land not far from the Brandenburg Gate. The series of stone stellae of varying heights and configurations create a series of passageways across the undulating ground that is not easily noticed from outside the area. It also gives a good example of just how large no-mans land was, and how difficult it would have been to get across without getting shot (some 140 people tried and failed doing this and they have subsequently been commemorated with a series of crosses outside the Tiergarten near the Brandenburg Gate)
Lunch – chicken and sausages, washed down with potato and beer – in Potsdamer Platz was a well earned and great success – even if the ‘windows’ were actually TV screens showing pictures of the German Alps.
In the evening, we made our way out to Spandau, in north western Berlin and about 30 minutes by train from the hotel, for the largest of the Christmas markets. Whilst following the same tried and tested formula of the other markets, this took things to the extreme. The area covered was massive with Christmas trees too numerous to count (Sena tried), seemingly kilometer after kilometer of stalls (still largely sticking to the same themes) and there was even live music.
Most excitingly for the evening, Izzy, our ‘Elf on the Shelf’ made her first appearance for the year, somewhat randomly being spotted nestled in a bucket of nutella chocolates in one of the market stalls. The girls were beside themselves to have Izzy back, and also somewhat relieved that if Izzy knew where we were, the likelihood was that Santa did too and presents would be delivered as normal this year.
The following day we headed east.
First stop was the excellent DDR museum, portraying in a very measured and incredibly engaging way, what life was like in the Soviet East Germany. This included a drivable Trabant (the pride of East German engineering, and their answer to the Volkswagen – oddly enough no longer in production), a full size DDR apartment and lots of other stuff to push, sit on and play with. One of the most engaging museums we’ve ever been to.
From there we quickly swung past the Marx and Engels statue to pay our respects, donned rollerblades and made our way up to the Alexanderplatz Christmas markets. Whilst not the biggest markets in the city, these might have been our favourite. An excellent quality bratwurst (by now we were connoisseurs) with a side dish of potato latkes (Best. Thing. Ever. But more deadly than a funnel web spider) and of course a couple of gluhvines (because, after all, we were on holidays). And ice skating. This time on real ice.
Ice skating would have to wait, however, as we wanted to hit the East Side Gallery before it got dark. We caught the train down there – a first on rollerblades, thankful that we didn’t lose a child in the process. This incredible 1.3 km stretch of wall along the Spree is the largest remaining section and has been completely covered by incredible murals and politically inspired graffiti.
From there it was back to Alexanderplatz to exchange rollerblades for ice skates and test the theory that rollerblading and ice skating are basically the same thing. The squeals of delight as the girls hit the ice was a pretty sure sign that the real stuff was better than the plastic tiles of the first night, and just like that we have discovered a favourite new hobby. Macquarie Centre here we come. (Side note: needless to say, in the continent where helmets are optional and rare as rashies on a Mediterranean beach, ours were the only kids to rock up sporting helmets and wrist guards on the ice. Yes, it’s easy to spot the Aussies. Or maybe it’s just the influence of our CRO matriarch)
Unfortunately our ice skating festivities were cut short by the unwelcome news that Liz’s return flight (Air France via Paris) had been cancelled due to the ongoing protests and strikes that are racking France at the moment.
(Side note: these strikes are at the unfathomable prospect of moving from 42 different pension schemes to something more or less universal. Funnily enough, when you tell a group (say, the SNCF) that they have to work into their 60s and will get paid less than their full salary for ever, they get grumpy. And being France, they go on strike. For ages. We were a week in to the industrial action, no compromise was on the horizon and public transport was a mess. On occasion there were actual protests (marches, blocking autoroutes etc) but, so far at least, they have only been once or twice a week (needless to say, never on the weekend), and never later in the day than Apero hour. They even know how to protest in a civilised way. But it sounds like they will be at it until Christmas at least).
Anyway, our best laid plans of us flying separately back to Lyon (Liz via Paris, Anthony with the kids via Frankfurt) were scuppered. We made our way back to the hotel, rapidly working through contingency options (Air France kindly offered to fly Liz to Paris but leave her stranded there – or would offer a credit for her ticket). It turns out our contingency plan was orange, and Liz re-booked to fly from Berlin to London then back to Lyon with easyjet. Sorted. We would worry about travel insurance claims later.
For now, it was off to a last dinner with Aunty Jo (schnitzel and sausages, still no veges but at least a side salad) and of course the much loved raw meat sandwich – a real kid pleaser.
The new day dawned. Liz left early for her not-so-direct route to Lyon via London. Within 2 hours of leaving the hotel her flight to Lyon had been cancelled, leaving her stuck in London, now with her only option routing to Marseille the following day. With few remaining options available we jumped on it, and she spent the day shopping in London and being put up in a 4 star hotel (thank you easyjet).
Anthony and the girls, on the other hand, were proceeding with unmistakable German efficiency on Lufthansa. Our return route was slightly more direct, but for some reason the whole trip felt easier (maybe it was just practice). The only slight hiccup was on our Frankfurt – Lyon leg where Lufthansa scattered our 4 seats randomly across a full flight. Whilst this led to some fairly concerned looking Germans (as they realised they were sitting next to an unaccompanied 5 or 7 year old) by the time we took off (and somewhat to Anthony’s disappointment) we were all sitting together again.
From there, it was back to the car, back to Fred and Noemie’s house to pick up Bonnie (now a completely different colour – not so white anymore after playing with Magic in the garden for 5 days, but with a serene look in his eyes) and started making our way back to Aix. The roads were clear (for whatever reason, it doesn’t seem like the TGV traffic has spilled on to the autoroutes) until we got to Valence, about 90 mins from Aix when the autoroute was cut off by protesters. We crawled our way along, expecting to have to leave the auto- route and navigate around the obstacles. By the time we got there, it was clear.
6.30pm. Apero hour. They’ve all gone home, leaving us a clear path forward.
Back in Aix with 4 shattered dependents.
Liz arrived the following day from London, armed with last minute Christmas presents.
Whilst the kids had their last few days of the school year, we had the slightly daunting task of packing up the house (we move out at the end of this week) and preparing for upcoming trips to Paris (now a drive, our TGV also having been cancelled), Helsinki and Ranua, then back to Aix for Christmas before heading to Lyon, Mageve and Saint Martin for skiing between 26 December and 4 Jan.
This run of trips start on Sunday.
We can’t believe it’s already upon us (this was meant to be our ‘farewell to Europe trip). Now, we have 3 days to get everything organised and sort out the move. No pressure. And, as it turns out, manage some homesickness that has been running through the house in the last few days, maybe due to the break in ‘normal’ routine from Berlin, maybe seeing Aunty Jo or maybe they’re just exhausted at the end of the year.
We trust that any residual feelings of homesickness will be addressed by Santa in a week or so. We can’t wait.
Joseph Family Adventure 
Wow, I am exhausted just reading your description of your various adventures!
If you need a place to stop on your way to Paris, just let us know.
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