25 December 2019 – 4 January 2020
We arrived back in Aix late on Christmas Eve, shattered from our long journey from Ranua but beside ourselves with excitement about the arrival of Christmas. Our home for the next 2 days was our friends Emily and Greg who had kindly lent us their place whilst they were sunning themselves in Florida. We were surrounded by piles of our belongings, somewhat triaged into things that were staying in Aix, had been in Finland and/or were needed to go to Lyon and/or skiing the following week (It was as shambolic as it sounds).
Amid all this chaos, however, our child-labour powered sweatshop managed to pump out final Christmas cards to Santa (at 9.30pm on Christmas Eve) and lay out food for both Santa and the reindeer. Everyone was shattered, excited and a bit nervous that Santa, despite the repeated heads up, might get confused and deliver presents to the wrong address.
Christmas Day dawned bright, sunny and not at all cold – at least not in comparison to our recent temperatures. The early pitter-patter of little feet was followed by excited squeals as the kids realised that the big man had in fact got it right, the tree was surrounded by a satisfactory pile of presents and the cookies and carrots eaten. Izzy the Elf even decided to make a final (and highly unorthodox) final visit with a letter for the girls.
Following the usual chaos of present opening and conversations with family and friends scattered across 3 continents, we got down to the real fun – repacking our bags for the Lyon/3 Valleys part of our trip. Nothing says Christmas like repacking bags, and it turns out that it is not true to say that the more you do it, the better you become. At least not for us.
From there it was off to our friends Claire and Jean’s house for Christmas lunch with Matthias, Corey, Marc, Susa, Mark and Christine … and a plethora of kids. Amazing food was served up reflecting the culture and traditions of this diverse group (including foie gras and poached pear on spiced bread and an incredible baked sea bass from France as well as German, Korean and Philipino specialities – yum) and perfectly complemented with excellent champagne (what isn’t?). Good food, good company and a wonderful way to spend an ‘orphan’s’ Christmas.
As an aside there are some interesting Christmas traditions in this part of the world. For example, (and this is one we steered well clear of) the beginning of Christmas celebrations starts on 4 December when you sow wheat into three small dishes using cotton balls. Of course, it is said that you must water these seedlings each day for if they do not flourish by the 25 December your year will go to hell. As we have zero chance of making this a reality we decided to take our chances and not do it all. Not to mention this tradition was born out of a cautionary tale of a beautiful young Roman woman named Saint Barbara who chose God over men and as a result was ostracised, tortured and then decapitated by her father. We did however partake in the tradition of preparing 13 desserts (representing Christ and his 12 apostles). On the plate you get the ‘4 beggars’ representing the 4 monastic orders: Raisins (Dominicans), Walnuts/Hazelnuts (Augustinians), Dried figs (Franciscans) and Almonds (Carmelites). And then you have a number of variations but generally you find plums, dates, candied fruit, calissons, fresh fruit and nougat (black and white). Claire, our awesome host prepared this for us including labeling the dairy free options for Liz!
We finished off Christmas with some family time on the couch watching an incredibly average, straight to afternoon free-to-air TV type Christmas movie and grazing on pre-packages Spanish tortilla. After a wonderful but extremely busy and social few weeks, curling up on the couch with the kids, eating bad food and watching bad TV might just about have been the highlight of the day.
On Boxing Day we were back in the car for the 3 hour drive to Lyon to spend a few days with Fred, Noemie and the kids before heading off skiing. We bee lined there for lunch, and were rewarded with a table heaving with more homemade foie gras and spiced bread and a seafood platter that would have done the Sydney fish markets proud… and of course more wonderful wine and company. Lunch rolled seamlessly into apéro and dinner, family and friends came and went and suddenly it was late and time for bed.
The remainder of our fairly short time there was spent hanging out with Fred, Noemie and the family, eating and drinking way too much great food and drink, and even getting to do a bit of touristing around Lyon – visiting the really interesting ‘Mini World’ (a fantastic museum made entirely of models of a range of different city and country scapes, including a full replication of downtown Lyon) and getting to a play with the kids.
Oh and it was Anthony’s Birthday. Again.
Oh and we made a quick stop at the hospital on our last day for Anthony given Liz refused to enter skiing wilderness with a wildly ill and incapacitated side kick.
Before we knew it we were packing bags once again (still not getting easier with practice), saying goodbye to the Guillots once more and heading eastwards into the Alps for Bonnie’s first ski trip. After a promising start we quickly got stuck in the quagmire that is French holiday traffic, watching the GPS rapidly extend the promised 3 hour trip into something more like 6 to get to the quaint town of Saint Martin de Belleville, where we would be spending the next week.
Saint Martin is a ‘real’ town as opposed to a manufactured ski village common in this area of France. It is a small, family resort that connects into the enormous 3 Valleys ski area.
The roads were clear up to the town so no need for Anthony to publicly shame himself by having to try and put the snow chains on without doing himself some damage. Despite the clear roads, our erstwhile sure footer and trusty Duster (in its last trip with us) showed itself to be terrified of snowy and icy conditions (or maybe just cold) as it shuddered and skid the last few hundred metres to our chalet.
Our home for the week turned out to be a lovely chalet complete with open fire and sauna. We were sharing the week with Dave, Lara and Tahlia again and they arrived close behind us, having endured similar traffic challenges coming from Zurich. We quickly unpacked and got ourselves settled.
So ski holidays probably don’t make good blog fodder.
Apart from the inevitable stress and excitement of getting everyone sorted and on the mountain by 845 for their first day of lessons (we yelled, we rushed, we stressed and we cried… and the kids were a bit put out too) these holidays quickly fall into a wonderful routine of fresh air and mountain scenery, tired and happy kids, hot chocolates and beers… oh and more than occasional tears, cold hands, cold feet, protest votes about skiing, ski school and general exhaustion. They are generally the ‘spikey-est’ of holidays that we take – the highs are wonderful and the lows noisy, and the time between highs and lows can be neck-wrenchingly short – particularly with overtired young kids.
This trip promised to be a little more complicated than others. Our family was divided. Ellie, Jessie and Anthony were firmly ensconced in the skiing? Yes, where do I sign? Camp. Liz was committed to not skiing and looking to find ways to enjoy being in the snow in any case, or at least enduring a week watching the kids swing wildly from unbridled excitement to exhausted dispair. Both Sena and Bonnie were unknown quantities. Would Sena ski at all? Would she enjoy it? Would she fall and break her leg again? Would Bonnie like the snow? Would he get cold paws? Did we need to put him in socks? Boots? A jacket? Sunglasses? A beanie? (His eyes and his pride said ‘no’ to all of the above clothing options) These were all big questions that we needed to answer before we could get into our groove.
We were incredibly lucky with the weather this week. We had 6 straight days of blue skies, warm temperatures, no wind and decent snow. We quickly settled into a routine of morning ski lessons for Ellie, Jessie and Tahlia whilst Dave and Anthony got their snowboarding fix most mornings. We would meet on the mountain for lunch with Liz, Lara and Sena before Sena would have a lesson. Ellie and Anthony would ski together in the afternoon, often accompanied by some combination of Jessie, Dave and Tahlia.
This was the girls’ first exposure to the Ecole de Ski Francais, a large step up from the Charlottes Pass ski school that had, until now, been responsible for their skiing education. After a few tears of nerves on the first morning, the girls quickly settled into their morning lessons, Ellie looking to qualify for her Bronze Etoile, Jessie for her Second Star. Both were to find out, however, in France, and particularly at ESF, not everyone gets a prize. It is simply not the French way. When it came time for the final test on the last day of skiing, both girls fell short of qualifying for their level and came back empty handed. A few tears from Ellie quickly morphed into a fierce determination to achieve said level by the end of the season. Watch this space.
Sena on the other hand was a bit more complicated. We had arranged for her to have private lessons each day we were there (mainly because we were terrified that she would break her leg again should we take her ourselves). That said, Anthony braved the baby slopes with her most mornings to teach her to snow plough with some success. We had also arranged for her to go to the ‘Club Piou Piou’ (playgroup) each morning to play with other non skiing kids before her lunchtime lessons. After her first 2 lessons, the typically unflappable but now increasingly exasperated ESF ski instructors would come back with comments like ‘she knows what to do, she is just refusing to do it!’ We realised the futility of the situation and decided to change tack, with Anthony (better qualified to coax and cajole) taking back responsibility for Sena’s early stage skiing education, at least for now. On the bright side, Sena loved being in the snow, loved ‘her club’ and could frequently be seen tearing down the toboggan slope at the base of the station.
Liz and Bonnie passed their time either in the chalet, exploring the local area on foot – including some amazing cross country trails along a fast flowing river between Saint Martin and Les Menuires – or facilitating the non skiing elements of our troupe. Bonnie, it turns out, is quite content on snow, but not particularly understanding of powder drifts, regularly finding himself up to his shoulders in snow. We lived in fear that he would run on to a part frozen lake or run off a cliff, but luckily he is (slightly) more worldly wise than that. He also quickly developed a similar fascination for skiers and snowboards as he does for skateboarders, which made lunch rather noisy.
For Anthony, the days were filled with riding in the morning with Dave and skiing in the afternoon with the girls. Both absolute highlights. Probably the only thing that tops boarding around Meribel is watching the sunset over the mountains whilst skiing with the girls.
Saint Martin as a resort offered more than just skiing and snowboarding. The toboggan run at the main station got a good workout on most days by children, adults and (occasionally) Border Collies alike. Snowmen were built and decorated and (somewhat unusually for our typical ski trips) we took the time away from skiing to just enjoy playing in the snow with the girls… perhaps all this sabbatical year stuff is actually causing us to slow down a bit after all?
Most nights we stayed in and enjoyed the open fire and trucks loads of raclette we brought with us. One night we did manage a sneaky adults night out…. yes pizza, wine and bed by 9pm!
On New Years Eve we were treated to a flare run and fireworks display before heading back to the chalet for champagne, good food and great company – so good that we actually lasted into the New Year to celebrate the new decade, an achievement unheard of in recent times.
Before we knew it, it was time to pack our bags again (yep, we were pretty over this bit), load up the Duster for the final time and head back down the mountain. We made our way smoothly back to Aix, arriving there mid afternoon. We picked up the keys to our new home at 4 rue Thiers and start doing shuttle runs to transfer at least the majority of our worldly belongings into our new place. Before we knew it we had converted the erstwhile quaintly decorated, relatively high end AirBNB property into a tip.
Our new place is right in the centre of Aix, literally overlooking the main market square. Whilst we have had to give up our outdoor terrace, we have traded this for a bit more space, a gorgeous picture window facing due west that almost feels like an outdoor space… and most critically as we were moving in… the world’s smallest lift. Gone were the days of dragging bags up 4 flights of stairs.
Whilst the kids collapsed with exhaustion, Liz kicked off the mammoth task of ‘moving in’ and Anthony took off to Marseille Airport to say a tearful farewell to the zenith of Romanian automotive engineering, the car that had seen as travel some 16,000 kms and through some amazingly memorable experiences over the last 5.5 months. These leases are only valid for 170 days, and so our relationship was always predicated on being here for a good time not a long time – we had literally run out of days. Despite its quirks and slightly questionable safety rating, we would miss our trusty Duster.
(Side note – in version 1.0 of our trip plans, we were meant to be flying out of Marseille to London today and subsequently heading back to Australia. Luckily, version 83.6.C that we were currently living made no such commitments).
But first, how would we explain the numerous scratches, dents, bumps and dog/food stains throughout… other than shrugging in a gallic way and saying nonchalantly ‘I live in Aix with 3 young kids and a dog’. It turns out, the act of ‘selling back’ the car involved walking in, giving them the keys and signing an envelope sized piece of paper. The whole process took around 45 seconds, and rendered the time spent cleaning, vacuuming dog hair and even trying to polish out some of the mystery scratches that had appeared on the car over the last 6 months completely wasted.
From there, we picked up a new car that would see us through the weekend until we picked up our new Citroen on Monday. Liz had found a 16 euro deal for 2 days which looked too good to be true… which unfortunately turned out to be the case. Our promised fully insured Renault Clio became an uninsured Skoda and the pick up process took more than an hour. At least it would only be with us until Monday. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?
In turns out it could… as the car proceeded to break down both on Sunday afternoon on the way to a party and Monday morning on the way back to the airport. Give me Romanian engineering over Czech any day.
The party on Sunday was in celebration of the three wise men. On the 6 January or first Sunday in January people in Aix eat a Gateaux de rois. It is a brioche with orange blossom, covered with sugar, decorated with candied fruit and round with a hole in the middle. The rules are that the youngest member of the assembly closes his/her eyes or goes under the table and decides who gets which piece of cake. There are some trinkets hidden in the cake so if you are lucky enough to bite into one of these foreign objects then you are crowned the king.
By Sunday night we were kind of settled back in Aix. Whilst we still had stuff piled up, we could see that our new place was going to work well, we had found the kids school stuff and, aside from obvious exhaustion, we were kind of ready to start back at school the following day. We had had a couple of wonderful weeks, not really stopping between Berlin, Paris, Helsinki, Lapland, Christmas, Lyon and skiing. We had loved every minute, but everyone was now a bit exhausted and ready to sit still for while.
We were looking forward to getting back into our routine, catching up with friends and sitting still for a while.
Well, at least until Liz and Anthony head off to Rome in a week or so.
Joseph Family Adventure 