11 February – 1 March 2020
The French ‘Winter Holidays’ are unashamedly sponsored by the ski industry. Unlike in Australia, where one has to beg and plead with school principals to go skiing when there’s a more than even chance of actually seeing snow, France have actually created a nation-wide holiday period dedicated solely to the sport of skiing. Over a 3 week period in February (kicking off 5 weeks after Christmas holidays finish) and across the 3 zones of French schools, the whole country goes skiing. And they really do.
Side note: The French love to do things when they are meant to. They ski in February. They take a long break in August and go to the beach. In Aix, morning peak hour is exactly 7.45-8.45am – if you leave 5 minutes either side of that, you’re fine; head off in that period and you’ll sit in traffic for up to an hour. On Sunday morning before 12 nothing happens. Apero hour is from 5-7pm. Everything happens to an unwritten schedule – generally because there is solid underlying reasons for the routines – and it generally works pretty well (strikes and coronavirus pandemics notwithstanding).
Back to the Winter Holiday. As a result lift lines are long, accommodation is expensive and books out early – but generally the snow is good. This year, due to the hottest winter on record (what global warming?) the snow was a bit patchier than usual, and it was often raining when it should have been dropping lovely fresh powder. Not even the French can control the weather.
We ummed and ahhed about what we would do in February. Liz ruled out another week long ski trip (something about not wanting to be a slave in a chalet). We tossed around trips to Israel and to Switzerland via Venice and Serbia. We then reflected on how shattered the kids had been after the Christmas holidays (and how busy we had been since then) and decided to keep it simple.
A staycation – where we would host Jeff and the cousins (recently moved to London from Sydney) then Alan and Ana and enjoy the fact that we were in Aix (and already paying rent here!). Maybe a day or two of skiing and we would cap off the holiday with a short trip to Menton, for the (self professed) world renowned ‘International Lemon Festival’ which sounded just kitch enough for our tastes.
Sorted.
The kids were more than a little excited to be staying at home for a few weeks and ecstatic to be seeing their cousins. We were happy not to have to pack any bags.
The weekend before Jeff and the cousins arrived you could have cut the anticipation buzzing around the house with a knife. Sena was particularly impacted, and was jumping around like she had ants in her pants (or was it worms? Or, god forbid, head lice?). When the girls talk about missing Australia, their cousins are frequently the ones mentioned. Jacob, in particular, was likely to get both barrels of Sena for the full time he was here.
We attempted to defray some of the excitement by heading to the Transhumance Festival in Saint Zacharie on the first day of the holidays. The festival was held in the main (only?) square of this picturesque southern provincial town. Basically the town put on free hot chocolates, croissants and pony rides and craft for the kids, we all milled around for a while and then 2 dedicated (and incredibly cute) sheepdogs herded in a flock of very disoriented looking sheep – who proceeded to stand around and defecate all over the main square. It was awesome.
Once the sheep were installed in the main square Bonnie went very quiet and dropped his head under the barrier that separated him from the sheep. You could feel the struggle between generations of herding instinct and years of herding nothing more than some toys and occasionally an errant child. He was a picture of inner conflict and confusion, lying rock still for at least 10 minutes, pondering. Finally, after a particularly arsey sheep sneezed in his direction, covering him with some impressive sheep snot, he let out a single, frustrated bark and turned his back. We could just feel the future dog psychiatrist bills piling up.
Meanwhile, in London, there was a flurry of activity and debate about whether the trip would go ahead, who would attend and the expected duration. Terms were finally agreed the night before and, on Monday morning, we welcomed Jeff, Jacob, Thomas and Millie to French soil.
The deal was that Jeff, basically working night duty hours for his job in Australia, would be left in peace to do his work whilst we looked after the kids. Jeff would have his own room and desk (Ellie being unceremoniously kicked out of her room) and all the kids would stay together in one room with a strict curfew before 7am (guaranteed through a complex system of sticks and carrots).
Monday afternoon was spent braving the slightly dubious Aix bus service (a first for us) at Urban Jump, where Ellie took great pleasure in providing an ad hoc course in aerial gymnastics (read: showing off). On Tuesday we headed out to the Indian Forest, a Tree Tops style climbing and ziplining course (a massive hit with all the kids) and on Wednesday we did some hiking around Bibemus and the Sainte Victoire. In between times we took the kids around the markets (which is seemingly a massive hit for people of all ages), force fed them frogs legs (yay) and snails (less so) and did loads of cooking (pancakes and chocolate mouse being the highlights) and lego together. We also marvelled at how Millie (always the over-achiever) managed to basically teach herself piano over the 3 day period. In and around entertaining children (and the seemingly never ending job of cooking and cleaning for that many people!) it was also great to get Jeff out for a few drinks.
As always, the kids had a fantastic time hanging out and it was great to have a little piece of home come to visit – something we haven’t really had since Adam and Zoe were here.
Of course a trip to France is not complete without snails and frogs legs!
As expected, when Thursday morning rolled around (way too quickly) there were tears and requests for repeated visits – either back to Aix or to London. It really was a great couple of days.
We were lucky to have Allan (subsequently renamed Elsa by Sena) and Ana come visit us in Aix for the remainder of the week. Luckily we were able to overlap them with Jeff for the Wednesday night, meaning they could catch up for the first time since Jeff left London some 11 years ago. Having had the chance to hang out with Allan and Ana in Italy in July, our girls (and us) couldn’t wait to spend some dedicated time with them.
We had left the itinerary flexible for the 3 days they were in town and erroneously asked the kids what they would like to do for their first full day. Indian Forest! Was the immediate response, so Allan and Ana spent their first full day in Aix zipping along ziplines and climbing up trees. Forget Cezzane and Peter Mayle. Nothing says Provence like a zipline.
The following day and fresh off the back of a wonderful whole baked fish for dinner our recent hiking successes of the Sainte Victoire with Ellie and Bibemus with the cousins we suggested a (supposedly) easy hike around the beautiful Quinson area about an hour north of Aix. The plan was a 5km, flat route along the lower reaches of the Verdon River in the Luberon. Everyone was bought in and excited.
Our planning was meticulous. Our route mapped out and our bags packed. We were ready.
Except, when we got there, Google Maps flashed up another route which Liz liked the look of, and off we went. Not really considering the fact that Google Maps is rather 2 dimensional, and a 5km route is not the same as (an allegedly) 7km route, particularly when it goes up and over the gorge.
Within 45 mins of the hike starting, as we were about half way up the gorge, Sena was in tears and Ana was muttering something in Serbian which sounded very out of keeping with her usual bubbly and happy persona. Jessie, it turns out, was in her element (keen to impress on us that she was ready to take on Sainte Victoire, the route for which kept getting longer and more deadly every time that Ellie recounted it).
Luckily, with some coaxing and a little bit of carrying, we made it to the top of the gorge and spirits raised with the altitude, and the singing of show tunes. The well marked trail cheerfully announced that we were 2kms from our destination repeatedly for some 5 kms. Sena, finding strength that we had no idea she possessed, powered on. Eventually we started our descent and were greeted with incredible views over the Verdun River, eventually getting to the point that Bonnie could help himself to a refreshing swim in the frigid waters, all under the watchful eyes of 2 stunning mountain goats. It ended up being a great hike and has inspired us to do more family hiking. The Calanques here we come!
Inspired by the success of the baked fish we decided to spend Saturday (Elsa and Ana’s last day in Aix) in the markets in the morning and then cooking up a feast for lunch. Allan obliged by hitting the fish stall at the markets and sourcing the best looking and largest langoustines we’ve ever seen, and we (the boys) set ourselves to making a whisky glaze to do them justice (all under Liz’s watchful (some would say – deservedly – patronising) gaze. We succeeded in making some form of caramelised whisky (fairly certain this was not as the recipe intended) but it actually tasted pretty good on the baked langoustines with a fennel, grapefruit and avocado salad. Long lunches were definitely the way forward too. We were learning how to do this whole ‘Year in Provence’ thing.
The house felt very empty on Saturday night once we’d come back from dropping Allan and Ana at the airport. Even though it was nice to only have to run the dishwasher once a day, it had been wonderful having so many guests and being able to show off our home.
The second week of the holidays we planned to continue our low profile. We would stay at home for most of the week, playing around Aix, going skiing for a day and then heading to Menton on Thursday for 2 days, a quick lunch in Italy on Saturday and back for playdates and school prep on Sunday.
On Monday, Anthony took the girls skiing to Les Orres, a family resort about 2 hours from Aix. We had our routine for day trips skiing now, and were up and out like clockwork and on the slopes by 9am for what can only be described as late spring skiing. Being Winter Holidays, by 10am the lines were building and the slopes looking busy. Still, we had a nice couple of hours cruising the green runs with Jessie doing a great job teaching Sena to ski. By midday it was 20 degrees, the snow had turned to slush, the girls were overheating in t-shirts and Sena had had enough for the day. Maybe taking a 5 year old on a day trip was a bit much to ask. By 2.30 we called it and jumped back in the car and ramped up the air conditioning. It should not be this hot in February (unless you’re in Australia!)
Continuing with our ‘staycation’ the following day we delivered on a long standing promise to take the girls horse riding. Unlike in Australia, where you pay upwards of $70 to sit on a horse and be walked around the Centennial Park car park, riding in France is more accessible, affordable and has a significantly different risk appetite to its Australian cousin. Within 20 minutes of getting on a horse (in Ellie and Sena’s case, for the first time) the teacher had the horses galloping (much to Sena’s loudly expressed horror). The basics of riding quickly mastered (apparently) the girls took off on a ride around the countryside in the outskirts of Aix, which included a wade and a drink (for the horses) in the icy Arc River. By the time they were finished the girls were some combination of exhilarated, terrified and begging to do more.
During the week, the noise around coronavirus really started to build in Europe. As we watched cases starting to mount aggressively in northern Italy (some 2 hours from here) the virus and all its impacts became something that was happening ‘over there’ to something a bit too close to home. The final days of the Venice carnivale were cancelled and certain towns in Lombardy were quarantined. The carnivals of both Nice and Menton (both just over the border, both attracting tourists from all over Europe) vowed to continue, despite the fact that infection cases were growing exponentially across parts of Italy that were just 90 mins drive across the (open) border. We started consulting cancellation policies for our travel plans to Menton and changing our plans for a weekend lunch in Italy. This was getting a bit too close to home.
By Wednesday, Nice was cancelled and Menton followed soon after, complete with a convoluted, hard copy based cancellation process which assured us we would get a refund on our tickets within 3-6 months (doubtful). We would not hold our breath on this one. But we had the feeling that we would need to get used to things being cancelled and restrictions being placed on movement.
We changed our plans to be more Aix-based for the remainder of the week, focussing instead on playdates, more return trips to Indian Forest and dinners at friends. We had more time at home, and it was great to see how our girls bonded by the simple virtue of the fact that we weren’t constantly on the move. Lego was built, piano was played and trips made on bikes, rollerblades and skateboards. Much to Ellie and Jessie’s delight, evenings were spent watching movies and sleep ins were allowed each morning.
The holidays meandered to a close. By Sunday, the kids were content and relaxed, even if we were starting to get a bit ancy and looking for our next trip (or at least school going back).
On Sunday night at 7pm we received an email from the school. In light of the rapid evolution of the virus and the international nature of the student population (not to mention the unspoken truth that being identified as the epicentre of the virus in Provence would likely be bad for business) the school had decided to stagger the return to school times for kids. Surveys would be issued to all families to report their travel history, temperatures would be taken at the school gate and kids would be sent home if they so much as sniffled. The primary school would reopen on Thursday, the infants school the following Monday (‘normal’ French school went back unabated). Sensing our panic, at least they sent us mountains of homework to pass the time and ensure goodwill reigned in our house for the extra days of holiday.
The kids were excited that they didn’t have to get up at 645 the following day. We were grateful that the school was doing everything they could to manage the risks to the kids. We opened a bottle of wine and panicked about how we would keep the kids entertained for another week.
Joseph Family Adventure 