(Cheese raptures ahead)

This blurry little post comes the morning after our second attempt at Jamie’s birthday dinner.  A far more successful birthday dinner was had than the flaming affair of Nemours at the Michelin starred Chapeau Rouge http://www.chapeau-rouge.fr/restaurant/home.htm. But, more about that some other time. ..I’m typing on the TGV train from Dijon. Today we leave France and head to Switzerland/Germany (Busingen) to visit my mother and see the Matterhorn. More about that later too. Today I will be writing an overdue post about love.

My love for Epoisses began when my good friend Kadir smuggled an Epoisses back to Derby with him from a trip to Melbourne. The pungent little cheese had flown from its namesake town in France, all the way to Melbourne, and then been carefully transported all the way to WA’s north – safely encased in its signature wooden box. When it reached its new home, Jamie and I savoured it over several days. We ate tiny pieces and we smelled the rich cheesy smell before each bite. A great love was born then, and I feel it will always endure. One lifelong cheese lover had found her perfect match.

The famous gourmand/epicurean Brillat-Savarin described Epoisses as ‘the king of cheeses’ (this quote is everywhere around France.).  I bow down to my ruler. It’s very hard to describe tastes, but Epoisses is really not to be missed. It is firm, extremely strong and flavoursome, meaty, soft…the paste can be a mix of gooey liquid and chalky centre – each sublime. I prefer it when it’s gooey all the way through.

Epoisses is a strong (stinky) unpasturised (usually) soft, washed rind cheese, made only in the Epoisses region of the Cote D’or department in Burgundy, France. It is believed to have been created by Cistercian monks at the start of the 16th Century, washed many times during its aging process in the local Marc de Bourgogne brandy. Those naughty monks and their brandy... The cheese recipe was handed down and produced for hundreds of years, only to die out a little after the second world war (poor prioritising of the diminished post-war workforce, I say). In 1956 this fabulous cheese was revived by Robert and Simon Bertaut, who started the Bertaut Fromagerie and now produce all fermier (farm) Epoisses cheese.

Bertaut Epoisses is my favourite of the Epoisses, and this is where Jamie kindly insisted I visit to meet my (cheese) maker.  

Epoisses generally: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89poisses_de_Bourgogne

When Jamie and I arrived in Montbard, we were close to the source of my affection - the town of Epoisses was only 48klms away. But to get to Epoisses from Montbard was either a long tricky day ride on roads over hills, or…a pleasant journey in a hire car. We chose wisely and headed to Epoisses in our borrowed black Opal. Driving on the right, seated on the left while changing gears with my left hand was challenging, but I stayed focused on the cheese and we arrived safely.

The town of Epoisses is charming, in the style of many charming European towns: http://www.chateaudepoisses.com/ . We arrived just before lunch time, and the Bertaut cheese factory opened at 3pm. Perfect! We explored the grandiose Epoisses castle (complete with swampy moat and ornate spiked gates), and then headed to the Pomme D’Or ('apple of gold') pub for lunch. We opted for the Epoisses lunch, and we were richly rewarded. For our entrée, Jamie had the roti espice bread…with Epoisses. Little triangles of the delicious, rich, sweet Burgundian spiced bread, toasted with Epoisses chunks melted to brown, crisped perfection on top. Epoisses is a soft cheese, but the paste is firm enough that it melts solidly and retains its form. Jamie was very impressed with his entrée and decided this was the best toastie he’d ever had.  It was delicious. I had the Epoisses millefeuille, which was also superb – soft melty gooey Epoisses encased in crisp buttery pastry. So good.

Our main (which had been specially prepared to cater to our pescatorian preference) was simply baked white fish, in a delicate herbed butter with steamed wild rice and a medley of peppers in buttery sauce. Simple and delicious rustic country fare, accompanied by crusty bread and a bottle of crisp local Chablis.

To finish, of course, we had assiette fromage – cheese plates. The cheese plates had large chunks of Epoisses as well as its cousins – Saumatrin and , from nearby Bertaut. The cheeses were partbered with a few walnuts and some toasted pine nuts, and the same crusty country bread. Sublime.

The post-lunch visit to Bertaut fromagerie was fabulous too – although the factory does not open to visitors, so we had to content ourselves with browsing and purchasing in the shop. Of course we took home some cheesy friends…

I could bang on all day about these cheeses, but I suppose I should stop.

I thoroughly recommend Epoisses to all. If you can’t find it in your local cheese importer – it is available from:  

http://www.rhcl.com.au/index.php/cheese_room_view/epoisses-berthaut-250g-cut-piece.html

After 337 kilometres in 8 days we decided it was time for a day off.   Two of those days were meant to be rest days.  Instead the first “rest day” was 15 kms through the streets of Paris from the bike shop to the hotel (not recommended) and the second was 9 kilometres the day after my birthday (also not recommended).

More precisely, Cassy decided it was time for a rest day.  Something about not wanting the holiday to be a boot camp – I forget the details.  We had been glad to be back riding next to a canal, after days spent navigating busy and slightly less busy roads, until the canal trail turned into single track through shoulder high grass.  These are not pleasant riding conditions with our trailers which prompted Cassy’s “boot camp” comment.  So we spent a wonderful day exploring Tonnerre, a little town of 6500 people on the Canal de Burgundy.

Tonnerre is famous for the Hotel Dieu – one of the first hospitals for the poor which was built in the 13th Century.  We didn’t take the tour because it was closing for lunch when we arrived.   Everything closes for lunch in France; bizarrely even the lunch bars.

Tonnerre is also famous for the Fosse Dionne – France’s second deepest water source.  We didn’t visit that either because ... well ... this is a little harder to explain. 

We both saw the tourist sign pointing to the Fosse Dionne.  And we both thought the words sounded vaguely familiar – perhaps it was the studio of a vaguely famous artist in residence in France.  Later on we realised that we were thinking of Dianne Fossy – the lady who lived with gorillas in the mist.  We have recently been reading about her in Dr Saks’book because Dianne Foss has prosopagnosia which is an inability to recognise human faces.  This is a common affliction.  Experts speculate that the ability to recognise faces may be like IQ and spread along a bell curve.  People at the top end of the bell curve live fabulous social lives have many friends and become social networking consultants.  People at the bottom end struggle to recognise their close friends and family.  They develop other mechanisms for recognising people; relying a lot on circumstance and environment.  I believe that I fall into the bottom half of the facial recognition bell curve.  If you ever bump into me in the street and I seem a little astounded that you are talking to me – now you know why.   I digress....  We never quite made it to the Fosse Dionne.

However, we were directed to a little cafe opposite the tourist bureau which serves tasting plates of local fare.  We ordered one each and salivated over gougere (cheesy croissanty buns), espice bread, two types of cheese, local escargot paste, cheese stuffed mushrooms and local wine.  We were so impressed that we went straight inside and bought a bottle of chilled rosé wine and some more of the local delicacies.  We returned to the little river in front of our campsite and whiled away our time watching water cascade over the small man-made dam wall.  We ate baguette and gougere and cheese and escargots and drank wine and generally gorged on the finest of local delicacies.

After 10 minutes of watching the water flow over the dam and cascade down the sloping rock wall on the other side we saw small fish trying to leap into the cascading water.  Cassy and I spent a good half hour sipping our wine and debating whether big fish or small fish could swim upstream more easily. We discussed strength to weight ratios, ability to leap long distances etc.  A bet was made.  We then examined the dam wall more closely and discovered tiny little fish swimming up along the rock wall against the fast flowing water.  The result of that discovery was twofold.  I am now the proud owner of our entire (dwindling) asset pool.  And we subverted natural selection by catching some of the cuter looking fish at the bottom of the dam and tossing them up over the dam wall.  Good times.

The next day we decided on another rest day in Tonnerre - although the effects of the picnic the day before were not the entire reason for our extended layover.  We needed to go shopping.  France has three types of supermarket.  There is the deli like “alimentation”, the self explanatory “supermarche” and the grandiose “hypermarche.”  The hypermarche is the Bunnings of supermarkets.  Think gourmet deli, bottle shop, Target, supermarket, toy store, sports shop  under the one roof – and on steroids.  Three aisles of cheese.  A whole side of the store dedicated to bakery goods and patisseries.   We had been compiling a shopping list and after a half hour walk we arrived at E.Leclerc – hypermarche. 

After the walk, and the general effects of 8 days cycling, we were starving.  We roamed the aisles like food zombies collecting things to eat, things to wear and various other camping requisites.  As our hunger set in further we realised that we needed to eat fast.  We indulged our desire for another picnic by locating some patisserie goods, cheese and soft drinks.  Our little trolley cart full we headed to the checkout only to be foiled by our poor banking habits and the refusal of the Mr E.Leclerc to accept any of our dozen AmEx cards.  A harried ten minutes passed as we tried card after card at the checkout then again at the ATM.  Cassy was on the mobile to Westpac when I remembered our emergency credit card was in the backpack.  This was an emergency.  After the second attempt the pin code worked and we were free.  Cassy celebrated the handing over of the receipt by opening a packet of onion and vinegar chips at the checkout.  As I swallowed that first chip, I cried “victory” in French to the checkout chick who looked suitably bemused.

We were SOO hungry there was nothing for it but to tear into our picnic on the bench seat in the foyer room to E.Leclerc.  The foyer room had a display of fake leather jackets on offer at crazy fake leather prices.  So we ate our goat’s cheese flat bread, reduced price brie and four types of freshly baked patisserie cakes in the one box for 2.30 Euros washed down with Coke Zeros.  This was a stark contrast to the setting and delicacy of the previous day’s picnic.  But still a picnic – of sorts.

Paris Reunion

After my few hurried days in Perth recently (for the nuptials of my very dear friends Deda and Stephen), I ate my way through the Perth, Singapore and London airport lounges, until Jamie met me at Charles de Gaul with flowers (not the ailing Tour de Romandie bunch – these were waiting at the hotel). After hellos and catch ups (and more feeding) – I slept from about 3pm until the next morning.

Jamie had promised me a proper rest day in Paris, to get over the jet lag/sleepiness my 30 hour return journey may have caused. He delivered a pretty unrestful rest day. We started by walking around, frantically hunting out a map shop. Once found, it sadly disappointed my map loving beau and precipitated more map shop hunting. We continued to 'rest' by returning to the bike shop we'd left our velos at, and riding/walking/dragging our retrieved bikes 15klms through central Paris. Avoiding crazy French drivers, pedestrians and their entitled hounds all the way back to our hotel on the outskirts of Paris while very tired (and needing to go to the toilet) was not so restful.

However, Thursday rolled around and we were both well rested as we set out for the forest south of Paris on the start of our route to Dijon. We managed 40klms only on our first day back on the bikes – due to a late start and the frustrating hours it takes to get out of a large city. I had two falls – once I wrapped my trailer around the front of a van parked into the street, and so stacked it into the oncoming traffic (no injury). The second time I (again) rolled my trailer on a kerb and fell off - to the amusment of some smarmy van driver, who took it upon himself to laugh out his stupid smarmy van window and shout something at me in French. He was lucky I didn’t understand him and that I don’t know many French swear words. Merde!

Jamie and I camped out in the Park de Boef (Yes – Park of Beef!) the first night. It was our first night camping in the wild (au savage...) and a large animal/serial killer close to our tent terrorised us during the night. We were pretty sure (in the cold sane light of morning) it was a deer, but I had Blair Witch flashbacks and we spent a few uncomfortable moments scaring each other, as Bambi pranced around nearby.

The next day, riding conditions being superb, we managed 66klms - our top day so far. This was quite a triumph given we’d arrived in Blandy about 4pm and had a beer to celebrate the end of a day’s riding. After chatting with the barmaid, we sadly realised our intended (only) campsite was closed and so then had to ride another 23klms onto La Rochette. We set up camp, and were soon indulging in a fantastic Brie de Meau topped pizza with beer. And then cider, and then more beer - as we sat on the bank of the Seine watching the French folk drive home from work on the opposite bank. All was very well in our world.

Random Paris:

I saw a trendy middle aged lady dragging her shaggy little dog along on an artfully knotted floral pashmina. Only in Paris…

Jamie’s Birthday

So, this didn’t go quite as planned.

Probably because there was not really a plan. I made a few plans (in my mind), and had some far-fetched ideas – but I didn’t know where we’d actually be until the day before and so forward planning was challenging. In my mind, I would cook Jamie a delightful birthday camp breakfast of oeuffs, we’d ride a little way on smooth downhill bike paths, picnic on the banks of the Seine, cruise into a delightful village where we would eat at a Michelin-starred restaurant and then stay in a fancy hotel where all the staff would sing ‘happy birthday’ to him. The birthday would be a tremendous success and Jamie would feel very special and fussed over.

The day began sans cooking because our new camp gas did not fit our stove. Epic fail from the outset as I’d forgotten Jamie’s lifelong tradition of cocoa pops for bithday breakfast and not brought any with me from Aus. I obtained some sub-standard pastries (ridiculously no boulangerie was available on this of all days). For the first time ever I let Jamie eat three while I had one. Although we’d left ourselves only a pleasant 35 klms to ride on Jamie’s birthday, this somehow turned into 45klms and the conditions were horrible – we had the full complement of being lost, no cycle path, crazy traffic, headwinds, (MASSIVE) and frequent hills, gravel, sand and being lost again. It was pretty horrible and we soon had sore backsides and sore wrists. We arrived in Nemours about 4pm. We’d had no lunch. By this time I had severe hunger psychosis from being too generous with the breakfasts, but was trying very hard to keep it together for the sake of the birthday. Trying to keep it together made the psychosis worse. After stalking around the town and deciding we hated it (I won’t name an equivalent town – but think of any trashy bogan mecca where youth skulk around feigning boredom – the males alll look like they want to punch someone, females all look like they’re soliciting/chasing a pregnancy - it’s that town, sorry Nemours), Jamie found a truly delicious lunch which eased our pain and brought back some festivity. Finding a hotel was also tedious, but we made it in the end….our hopes were raised.

To be dashed.

Dinner was another matter – I frantically searched online for something suitable, and found a few potentials in nearby Fontainbleu. It was taking a while to get reservations, but, still hopeful I went to book a cab. No cabs. ‘Nemour’s a small town, they all go to work in Paris’. Fantastic. We now had Japanese, Chinese, a French pub and two franchise carnivore grills to choose from for the birthday dinner. I coerced Jamie into the French place, which seemed least offensive. We overdressed ridiculously (each in our only wrinkly 'going out' outfit) and popped some champers in the room (ultra bublly after being hidden in our trailers since Heathrow duty free). Dinner wasn’t as bad as it could have been (or as good). I had babelfished a French request for candles in Jamie’s café gourmand. When his little flaming desert came out Jamie was so overcome with emotion he could only manage to tell me I was “So naff”. Whatever. ‘So naff’ is so 90s, old man. We had fun. We got boozy. We returned to the hotel and continued to celebrate with birthday presents and more candles, including a tacky (naff?) little plastic number to represent Jamie’s chronological achievement. This was well and good until the morning when we blearily realised through our hangovers that the birthday candles had created a festive black smokey mark up the hotel wall, almost to the ceiling, and burned right through the wooden headboard. I was hungover enough to think that a wet towel, pocket knife, masking tape and some makeup would cover/repair the damage. We sneaked off, collecting and destroying all evidence of burning -  including the lonely plastic number 3 whose partner had melted away.

We’ve not heard anything yet, but I guess now we’re officially on the run from the law. Or just from a moderately budget hotel chain that shall remain nameless. We’ll be redoing Jamie's birthday dinner at the first Michelin restaurant we come across but probably won’t redo the candles.

Note on photos:

Since I returned to France, I read and Jamie finished reading Alain De Botton’s ‘Art of Travel’ (thanks Stef for the loan!). Ridiculously good book – made us both feel fine about despising Paris. Anyway, the point is – there are no photos for the moment, and we feel ok about that too. Photos can be artificial attempts to capture the moment, apparently. Really we just forgot to take any. Anyway, the actual point is – we’re determined to be mindful philosophical travellers and not just snap-happy tourists, so – photos from now will be well thought out attempts to capture a moment, not mindless holiday snaps – although I think these still have their place. We may also follow Botton’s advice and paint ‘word pictures’ of our adventures. We’ll see.
 
Au ‘voir!

Geneva and the Romandie

Stef and I had ummed and ahhed about what to do in Europe when Cassy left us to our own devices.   We had decided early on that we would like to see some cycling and the Tour de Romandie in Switzerland suited our timing.  So we escaped Paris, much to both of our delight, and headed to Geneva.

We had been warned that the prices in Geneva were high and they are.  Everything is expensive.  My favourite example was a 200 ml bottle of orange juice for 3.50SFR (the SFR and AUD are roughly equivalent).  That is orange juice at $17.50 a litre without table service.

But Geneva is a beautiful city tucked into the end of Lac Leman on the Rhone River.  We were happy to see the European Alps and the beautiful hills surrounding the city.  The first night we went a pub and watched Barcelona bore Real Madrid and the rest of the world to death in the first leg of the Champions League semi final.

The next morning was our first taste of European cycling.  We caught the train to Romont for stage 2 of the Tour of Romandie.  Cadel Evans was in the top ten after stage one.  Romont is a gorgeous town perched on a hill (every town in Europe is perched on a hill to aid defence from invaders).    That day’s stage was leaving Romont with three different loops of areas around the town.   We arrived early, watched the area being set up, watched the race depart, watch the race ride through town twice and then watch Cadel finish second behind Damien Cunego. 

This all happened over the course of about eight hours during which time we availed ourselves of all the free samples on offer.  Gruyere AOC was one of the main sponsors so there was plenty of free cheese floating about (in both its solid and liquid forms), including an all day cheese making display (Cassy chose the wrong time to go home).  Everyone was giving away free hats.  The tourist bureau gave us cans of fresh mountain air.  We collected Tour de Romandie flags, key rings, bags, satchels, t-shirts – the list goes on.   I made Stef and me a milkshake using a bicycle – which must be seen to be believed.  And we both managed to get our photo taken with Cadel – or behind Cadel – or in front of Cadel – or with Cadel being obscured by someone else.   We were in our own little world of cycling heaven.

Back in Geneva after the race we decided to hang around for the next few days as the final stage of the Tour would be into Geneva.   As events unfolded that was a smart decision!  The next day we visited the Red Cross museum and did a tour of the United Nations before heading out for an early dinner followed by some classic brotherly bonding over a number of beers at a number of city locations.  

We bought the last two beers at the deli near our hotel to drink in our hotel room.  However, it took a bit of Swiss subterfuge to complete the purchase.  Apparently the delis aren’t allowed to sell beer after 9pm.  It was after midnight when we stepped into the deli.  Fortunately there was a nice young man standing next to the beer fridge telling us we could still have the beers if we hid them under our jackets when we walked out of the store.  Maybe he was training to become a Swiss banker!

The next day we both woke a little hazy.  But the sun was shining so we decided to make the most of it by climbing Mount Saverne – Geneva’s favourite location for a day trip.  Climbing Mount Saverne is easy – you take a bus from Geneva to the French border (a trip of around 5km) then walk across the border.   Waiting for you on the French side of a border is a cable car to the top.  What an exhausting climb!  Still we managed to tire ourselves out by walking around on top of the mountain whilst admiring Mont Blanc and the other Swiss Alps in the middle distance.   The site is also a favourite of paragliders and hanggliders and we spent half an hour watching them take off into the thermals with spectacular views of Geneva and the lake.  We arrived back in time to catch stage 4 of the Tour de Romandie, the time trial, on television in our hotel room.  Which was fortunate because we saw Cadel finish 44 seconds behind the time of Tony Martin which launched Cadel into the lead.   Cadel would go into the final day 18 seconds ahead of Tony Martin and an even larger gap to his greatest rival, Alexandre Vinikourov.

Our last day in Geneva was the last day of the Tour de Romandie.   With nothing else to show for us being Aussie, I pulled on my Socceroos T-Shirt.  I don’t think anyone noticed.   There was no serious challenge to Cadel’s lead and we watched him cross the line in the yellow jersey.  Victory for the second time in the Tour de Romandie – his last being in 2006.   We waited in front of the winner’s podium to watch the awards ceremony and see Cadel one last time.  But before Cadel was crowned the winner they awarded the prize for the winner of stage 5.  

The stage winner, Englishmen Ben Swift from BSKYB, accepted his prize of a bunch of flowers from the organisers and his kiss from the sponsor’s girl and then launched the flowers into the crowd.  All my soccer goalkeeping instincts came to the fore as I launched myself at the flying bunch and plucked them from the waiting arms of a the girl next to me.   She didn’t look too happy.  Still I managed to walk through French customs with the flowers.   Now I am just waiting to see the look on Cassy’s face when she arrives in Paris exhausted after 30 hours of flying to be awarded the winner’s flowers from stage 5 of the Tour de Romandie.  She has earned them after all her cycling efforts to date.  And it may just be my chance to start the resurrection of Paris as the romantic city.

Paris has the reputation of the romatic city.  However, Cassy and I did not have much of a chance to experience its romance due to the circumstances of our visit.   We met Stef, who had flown in that morning, soon after we arrived.  We then walked half way across Paris to find a friendly bike shop that would take our bikes for ten days.  That night we found a good bistro nearby and celebrated seeing Stef for the first time in 9 months.   The next day the three of us wandered through Paris to the Eiffel Tour, the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysees.  Tammy was due to fly into Paris that day to celebrate her birthday along with her friend Ben who was celebrating his birthday the next day.  With Stef’s birthday being a few weeks before and mine a few weeks after – there was a lot to celebrate.  Well except for Cassy and we certainly let her know about that!

Ben arrived in Paris before Tammy – because Tammy had missed her plane to Paris that morning and had to book a later flight.  None of us had met Ben before so we introduced ourselves to each other and cheered each other with a drink.  Tammy arrived eventually and before long we had sampled a couple of beers, the bottle of sparkling rose we had brought from the Dali Museum and the bottle of Lillet from Bordeaux.  We managed to escape our room eventually and made our way to – the same restaurant we dined at the night before.  I took control of the ordering duties and made everyone at the table agree to the massively oversized seafood platter.   Cassy was suffering (probably due to her birthday being so far away) so we dropped her back at the hotel and continued the party.

The next day we visited the St Michel and Notre Dame district before dining at Ozu – a Japanese restaurant at the aquarium.  Nothing like staring at live fish whilst eating raw fish and clinking glasses of sake wine.  The food at the restaurant was solid Japanese fare a little lacking in inspiration.   We had ordered the degustation for the table and were left a little disappointed, not with the quality of the cooking but the fact that all the dishes were stock standard Japanese – sashimi, chicken teriyaki for the carnivores, seafood tempura, miso soup etc.  Although I guess it is a little rich to be complaining about receiving standard Japanese food at a Japanese restaurant.  We followed up dinner with a few drinks at a bar in the Bastille area.

The next day we gorged on a 6 hour picnic at the gardens in front of the Palais Royal and the Louvre.   We watched the Parisians snog, kick footballs, smoke, snog, look cool, play loud music, snog, launch toy helicopters, drink wine, expose their underwear and snog.     The following day Ben headed off to London and Tammy flew out to Lisbon.

It was Easter in Paris so the large number of tourists shouldn’t come as a surprise.  But the tourist numbers are so overwhelming it is surprising to believe that anyone actually lives and works in Paris.   Tourists swarm over every monument, queue for hours at every museum and dominate the dining districts.  Paris becomes tiring due to the need to change trains constantly to get anywhere and, when you do get where you are going, the need to fight other tourists to do what you want to do.  (Yes – I recognise the irony of being a tourist complaining about other tourists) By the time I said goodbye to Cassy for her trip back to Perth for Diedre’s wedding, we were tired of Paris.  And we had yet to experience the romance that Paris is renowned for.  Time for that when I meet Cassy on her return to Paris.

So it was just Stef and I left in Europe to our own devices.  We gorged on museums for a couple of days thanks to my sister Jodi buying us Paris Museum Passes for our birthdays.  Nice one sister!  We saw the Louvre which was full of so many iconic artworks.  We were both impressed by the Napoleonic Apartments and the way that the buildings themselves were as much a part of the experience as the artworks on show.   I conquered my fear of heights, for a few moments, when we ascended the Arc de Triomphe.  The next day we visited the Air and Space museum where we bagged our first Blanchard of the day as well as the Conciergerie Museum of the Revolution where we bagged two more (presumably less well behaved) Blanchards.  (Interestingly, if I say Blanchard to the French people with a French accent (“Blonshard”) I don’t need to spell my name - but if I say it with an Australian accent (“BLANchard”) I do need to spell it.)  The Blanchard at the Air and Space museum was famous for hot air ballooning.   The Blanchards at the Conciergerie were famous for ... having their heads chopped off.  Fearing a similar demise ourselves Stef and I decided it was time to leave Paris.  But not before we had joined the throngs drinking beer on the steps of Sacre Coeur at sunset.

Bordeaux is the largest urban area to be declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  This status it thoroughly deserved – although everyone we spoke to there was keen to regale us of Bordeaux’ stunning transformation.

Five years ago, we are told, the beautiful old buildings of Bordeaux were separated from the river by abandoned waterfront industries and hidden under a layer of filth.  The people were separated from the life of the streets through car dependency.  The French Prime Minister returned to Bordeaux as its Mayor and cleaned up the city.  The abandoned riverside buildings were demolished to create a visual link between the stunning old buildings in the heart of the city and the river.  A tram was driven through the heart of the city and a number of pedestrian only streets were created, driving out the cars.  And the beautiful old buildings were given a healthy dose of elbow grease.  

On our adventure we have visited many interesting places that we are keen to return to.  Bordeaux is the one place that we have both marked as a place where we must return as soon as possible.  Unfortunately, we could only spend about 48 hours in the city.  The night we arrived was a Tuesday so Cassy hunted out a fabulous restaurant called Alcazar, choosing from a short list due its similarity to “Balthazar” the name of the place we met.  We dined well and drank fabulous wine.  We overindulged slightly, particularly at dessert when I smashed down a dessert place with 9 selections.  Creme Caramel, Creme Brulee, Macaroon, Apple Crumble, Chocolate Fondant, Chocolate Mousse, Strawberries and Creme, Apple Cake and a Marzipan Ball.  MMMMMMMMM......

The next day we went on an all day wine tasting tour, after which I finally began to understand French wine.   In Australia, every region produces some good varietals and the wineries also dabble in other varietals.  It is not uncommon to visit a winery in an Australian wine region and taste four or more reds and three or more whites grown in the one region.   In France, to be able to use the name of a particular region, you can only use one or more a few approved grapes.   In the Graves region of Bordeaux these grapes were Merlot, Cabernet Franc and Cabernet Sauvignon for the reds and Sauvignon Blanc and Muscadel for the whites.  As a result, each winery typically produces two wines – a red and a white.   To be able to order French wine from a menu you need to know which grapes are approved for use in that region.  Maybe you already knew this but it was a revelation for me.

We visited Chateaux Louvieres in the Graves region which is one of a number of Chateaux owned by the one family in Bordeaux – most of which are in Graves.  We tasted a number of reds and whites from their Chateaux and also visited their modern cellars to learn more about their production techniques.   We then visited the Lillet factory.  Lillet is a drink made from citrus liqueur and white wine.  It is used in making margaritas and made famous in Bond movies.  We sampled two vintages and developed a liking for this apertif.  We bought a bottle of it to take to Paris for Tammy’s birthday.

We lunched at a charming restaurant overlooking the Garonne River which is one of the main rivers in the Bordeaux region.  The other guests on the wine tour were a Brazillian couple and three ladies from the Bordeaux Tourist Bureau who were touching up on their wine knowledge.  Tough gig. 

Cassy was most excited about the afternoon’s events.  We visited Raymond Lafon in Sauternes – a sweet wine growing region.  The approved grapes in Sauterne are sauvignon blanc.  However, due to the location of the vineyards in the misty Ciron valley, the grapes benefit from botrytis, otherwise known as noble rot.  The winegrowers monitor the growth of botrytis on the grapes, individually picking grapes from the bunch when the botrytis has reached its peak.   This results in the rich sweet taste of the wine for which the Sauternes region is famous. For the Bordeaux region, each vine produces on average one bottle of wine.  In Sauternes, each vine produces on average one glass of wine.  The vineyard at Raymond Lafon has not been given cru status but it is surrounded on all sides by vineyards that have cru status, including the famous Yquiem vineyard directly across the road.  Suffice to say the wine we sampled was superb and Cassy was licking her lips and staring ominously at the half bottle of wine left over after the tasting which we weren’t allowed to drink.

Unfortunately, after the wine tour we had little time left to explore Bordeaux.  We booked our tickets to Paris on the TGV and went to bed ready for the early trip the next morning.  Bordeaux, we will return.

Our beloved companion and fellow adventurer, our pet crocodile Volenti*, is missing.  Lost somewhere in France between Perpignan and Paris.

Volenti has been with us since Christmas 2009.  We rescued him from the gift shop at the Cairns crocodile park.  He travelled back with us to Perth and helped us celebrate our leaving party where he cut a fine figure doing death rolls across the dance floor.   Volenti was a patient companion on our 48 hour dash from Perth to Derby.  He travelled with us all over the Kimberley, from Broome to Mount Barnett, from Eco Beach to Middle Lagoon, where he was a firm favourite with he locals. 

We fed Volenti well on beef jerky.  Or at least he spent four months chewing on the same piece of beef jerky after Easter 2010 when Cassy’s mischevious siblings “hid” some jerky in his mouth which we only found later that year.

Volenti leapt at the opportunity to join our world adventure and we packed him with us.  He ate well at a Route 66 diner in the depths of Los Angeles. Volenti partied hard with us in Vancouver and discovered a whole new world with us in New York.  He rested his crocodilian head in our architecturally designed apartment in the El Born district of Barcelona.

We greatly appreciated his warmth (for a cold blooded creature) in the tent on our camping and cycling adventures.  Then when we arrived in Paris and opened our bags, his furry scales were missing.  Volenti is gone.

I have a theory that Volenti may have seen a little of French culture and liked it.   After spending so much time in the far north of Australia he might have jumped at the opportunity for a life of wine and cheese.  We certainly did.  I like to think of him now as wearing a pink polo neck T-Shirt hanging out with the hot crocodiles that do the modelling work for the Lacoste logo.  We do miss him and if anyone does see a lost furry crocodile with an Australian accent hanging out in southern France – please rescue him for us.

Vale Volenti

* Volenti is a Latin legal word which means “voluntary assumption of risk.”  If you know what danger you are getting yourself into you can’t blame anyone else for the outcome.  We thought it was a great name for a crocodile.