Top of the World

Before we returned to the everyday world of work, school and home, we attended a family wedding at Mount Buffalo. It was a hair-raising drive up the mountain and once we reached 'the spot', Lake Catani, we were CAMPING. For only the second time in my life, I was sleeping in a tent. Fortunately, our campsite had access to toilets and hot showers and even a laundry. Hardly camping at all.

Home sweet home - our tent

Now, those who know me know that I am not a camper. I'm not even a caravaner. So I was a little concerned about how I would go sleeping on an airbed in a national park. The beauty of the location, the company and the reason for being there all made it worthwhile. When I looked up at the sky through the eucalypts, it did feel like we were on top of the world.

The path to our campsite

Mount Buffalo is 200 kilometres north of Melbourne, not far from historic Beechworth. The little town of Bright is nestled in its shadow. The mountain is part of one of Australia's oldest national parks. According to Wikipedia, explorers Hume and Hovell named the mountain in 1824 and the national park was created in 1898. The chalet opened in 1910 (it's currently closed). I don't know how anyone got up the mountain to the chalet one hundred years ago - it's difficult enough today driving up the narrow windy road, trying not to look down the sheer drops into the gorge, and the road is closed during the winter.

The views, though, are incredible. I was too chicken to contemplate going to the Horn at the top of the mountain but here is the view from the lookout where the wedding took place (I've discovered that taking photos is a pretty good way of managing my vertigo - it almost worked for me on the Eiffel Tower and it almost worked again standing at the lookout).

The wedding breakfast (try explaining why an evening meal at a wedding is called a 'breakfast') was held back at camp, on the edge of Lake Catani, where we had swum and paddled along with the ducks the day before.

The jetty at Lake Catani

The family consensus was that we would camp again, even without the excuse of a lovely wedding to attend. So I've made a list of tips to help make the experience even better next time.

Tips for Novice Campers (Us)

• Take good torches. The little torch you read by at 3am in the morning isn't the torch you need to get you to the toilet block in the middle of the night.
• Test everything before you go. Put up the tent (check), make sure the gas bottle has gas in it (check) and that the gas bottle connects to the stove (check) and that the tube that connects them isn't blocked (oops!), test the air pump fits into your mattress (oops again!).
• Camp with a large group of people who can help you if you forget to do the above.
• Over cater. It's amazing how many snacks small people need when they are running around in the bush all day.
• Give up trying to be clean - but enjoy the hot showers anyway.
• Always take a lovely bottle of wine and a big block (or three) of chocolate with you.

In Virginia's and Leonard's Garden

I was looking for an excuse to share one of the highlights of our trip - a visit to Monk's House, the home of Virginia and Leonard Woolf. The anniversary of Virginia's birth on 25 January seems to me to be the perfect opportunity.

I came to a love of the writing of Virginia Woolf slowly. When I read To the Lighthouse at university, I wasn't sure if I loved it or even if I liked it. In fact, I remember telling my tutor that I 'hated' it - but that may have been an exaggeration to generate some discussion. Our tutes were always slow to get off the ground.

Then, about 22 years ago, I discovered Virginia's diaries in Belconnen Library. Hardback first editions, never borrowed by anyone. (To my knowledge, only I and one other person every borrowed them. They aren't available any more.) I was hooked. Since then, I have read the diaries, the biographies, some of the letters and essays and novels. In fact, To the Lighthouse has become one of the books I am likely to read every year or two. Single volumes of the diaries have been packed in my hospital bags and, to celebrate the end of my chemotherapy, I bought myself a first edition set of the diaries. Hardback. Beautiful. There is still a huge volume of work I haven't read but I will, there's time.

Visiting Monk's House in Rodmell in East Sussex has been something I've long wanted to do. On this most recent trip, Jim and Miles humoured me and we spent about three hours wandering in the garden and looking at the little house. It is a little house. When Virginia first saw it, she commented on how tiny it was. There was no toilet,  no bathroom. There were many reasons why she and Leonard shouldn't buy it, not least of which was that they had already bought another house in nearby Lewes.

But all her objections were nothing when she looked at the garden. The garden is still the most glorious part of the property. It falls into four sections - the walled area behind the house, the orchard that leads to Virginia's writing lodge, a large lawn that looks across to the chalk cliffs of the downs, and the kitchen garden. Today, the garden is looked after by a team of volunteers - they do a magnificent job.

The path through the formal walled garden to the house.

Looking through the orchard to the writing lodge.

A wintry vege patch and the neighbouring church.

The east lawn - you can see chalk cliffs in the distance.

The National Trust manages the property and now you can even rent rooms for a few days (and don't think that hasn't gone on my 'to do' list). They have thoughtfully left tennis racquets and lawn bowls in old tin boxes for visitors to use. Miles and I played tennis and bowls on east lawn, just like Virginia and Leonard once did. There's a small shop in what was once Leonard's garage and, before that, was the village forge. And apples from the orchard are still harvested and are contributed to the village's apple festival.

Visiting Monk's House offered a glimpse into another world - a writer's world but also a world that has long past. It's a miracle, really, that the gardens were preserved and that the land wasn't divided up and parcelled off. It's a miracle that we could explore the garden, walk through the rooms and enjoy the magic of the landscape. Just like it's a miracle that we still have some many of Virginia's wonderful words. In this little corner of England, time has stood still.

PS I have updated my blog list with some of the interesting blogs and sites I've discovered while we've been away. If you would like to read Virginia Woolf's thoughts on diaries, follow the link to Brain Pickings to read a terrific post.

Brussels is not Paris

I know.  I'm stating the bleedin' obvious. But when we arrived in Brussels over a week ago, Miles and I rivalled each other for the prize of 'most ignorant about Brussels'. At least I was clear that Brussels was not in France!

Europa and the Euro, European Parliament, Brussels

Brussels, it seems to me, suffers from Canberra's fate. As home of the European Parliament, it has been constantly in the news while we have been travelling. Just as 'Canberra' is media-shorthand for the Federal Parliament, the word 'Brussels' is journalese for 'European Union' and much has been made in the press of the perceived failures of the EU and the Euro. There has also been ongoing debate about whether the United Kingdom will withdraw from the EU altogether. And with the EU dominating the headlines, and Gerard Depardieu threatening to leave France for Belgium, there seems little chance for Brussels to sell it's more interesting side to the world.

But let's be clear - Brussels is not Paris. And here are my reasons why.

Brussels has footpaths you can actually walk on. In Paris, once you leave the main boulevards and avenues, the sidewalks shrink to scrawny, narrow paths that barely accommodate two people, let alone two people, a couple of umbrellas, a rubbish bin and some bollards. In Brussels, the footpaths are broad, although beware the pavements and cobblestones. And in Brussels, cars stop for pedestrians. In Paris, cars didn't stop for pedestrians unless they were forced too.

Brussels has no boulangeries. Okay, I'm exaggerating. There were three at Merode but that was at least a 20 minute walk from our apartment and their quality wasn't great. We were used to nipping out to the bakery across the road or down the street and being back in a jiffy. In our area of Brussels, there were chemists, hairdressers and florists aplenty but boulangeries? No. Can't complain, though. Even the chocolate you buy in the supermarket is Belgian and delicious.

Brussels is multi-lingual. In Paris, everything is in French with very few concessions made to the city's vast population of tourists. Brussels is officially bi-lingual with all signage appearing in Dutch and French and often in English as well.

Tintin welcomes the tourist, Brussels-Midi train station

Paris has the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, the Pompidou. Brussels has ... comic art. This was really why we came to Brussels, so we could immerse ourselves in the world of Tintin but we discovered Brussels has a great tradition of comic artists that it reveres. Comic artists are celebrated in the museums (visits to Musee Herge, the Museum of Original Figurines and the Belgian Comic Strip Centre are a must) and on the streets.

A giant Smurf near the Museum of Original Figurines, Brussels

Finally, Paris has the Eiffel Tower but Brussels has Mini-Europe. See, if you visit Brussels, you don't actually need to go anywhere else!

The Champs Elysee at Mini-Europe

The New Neighbourhood

Twelve days ago (I can't believe it!) we moved from the Left Bank to the Right Bank and into our new second-floor apartment wedged on the corner of a cobbled street on the northern edge of the Marais. We have a corner apartment - you can see it's windows at the top of the pic below.

The building is so old, it is moving - probably trying to fall down. Each year the windows have to be rehung to accommodate the slight shift in the building's walls. The floor slopes too - from the outer wall to the rock inner wall, which was most likely an outer wall at some stage in it's life.

The Marais has had a mixed history. It was originally marshland that became market gardens. The nobility moved in once Henri IV created what is now called Place des Vosges. The Knights Templar had their enclave a block away from us and, in the other direction, alchemist Nicolas Flamel had his house, conveniently on the edge of the cemetery, which was thought to have magical properties. For much of its life, though, the Marais has been home to migrant communities, including Paris' Jewish community.

We live in 'Bags' Ville', which happens to be the name of one of the shops on the street. Most of the street below us is filled with handbag wholesalers (no retail). It's a narrow one-way street, often blocked by delivery trucks who just stop and unload because there is nowhere for them to park. This is the view of Bags' Ville from our window.

The Marais is full of narrow streets like this. And full of wholesalers. A short walk takes you past jewellery wholesalers and Paris souvenir wholesalers too. You can buy shop fittings and display items and, at the moment, Christmas decorations in bulk. These shops seem to be run by the Asian community, so we have a street nearby full of Asian eateries - and what must be one of the last wooden buildings in Paris (Henri IV banned wooden buildings because of their tendency to burn down).

In the Marais, the past and the present collide. A few doors down the cobbled street (which is mercifully restricted to traffic other than motor scooters most of the time) is a public school. All the schools in the Marais have a plaque like this on their walls.

Eleven thousand children were deported from France by the Nazis between 1942 and 1944 - 500 of them from the 3rd arrondisement which the Marais straddles. Many buildings around the neighbourhood have plaques noting the deaths during World War 2 of the people who live in them.

The Marais is on the move. The Centre G. Pompidou and the outrageous mechanical fountain in Place Igor-Stravinsky (less than 10 minutes walk away) and the beautiful symmetry of Place des Vosges have brought tourism to the area.

So the Marais is changing. There are lots of galleries and you can be walking down a narrow street and suddenly find yourself amidst hip clothing shops, including one we found that provided clothing and other essentials for your dog and cat. And across the road from us is Hotel Jules et Jim, one of the hippest of the Marais' new boutique hotels (according to Time Out Paris) and named for Francois Truffaut's classic film. But you still have to get your designer luggage down a very narrow street to reach it.

PS I owe all my knowledge of the history of the Marais to Andrew Hussey's Paris - The Secret History, a copy of which I have unread at home. But someone very kindly left another copy in the apartment. It's riveting.

Christmas in Paris

Christmas for us began with a visit to Paris Disneyland a couple of weeks ago. Every evening, the Disneyland Christmas Tree is lit, somewhere between the Disney Parade and the Disney Dreams grand finale. And although it was our first taste of Christmas, I was told by a sales assistant in one of the many Disney shops that they have been lighting the tree since the end of August. He sounded a tad weary.

The Paris Disneyland Christmas Tree, 2012

Christmas has been hard to ignore ever since. Men have been hanging lights across the streets of the 6th arrondisement from mid-November. Here are just two of the results.

Rue de Buci

Rue de Saint-Peres

Everywhere we go, trees are piled outside the doors of the florists, the marches, and in Monoprix too. We are getting used to seeing folk carrying their trees home on their shoulders, or under their arms, or balanced precariously across the top of strollers, small children hidden beneath trees, blankets, and wet weather protectors.

The florist on Rue des Saint-Peres

It seems that everyone in the 6th gets into the Christmas spirit. The boulangerie, the candlemaker, the pistachio shop, all decorated. But the seasonal celebrations aren't limited to Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Across the river, the Champs Elysee hosts a large Christmas market, claiming to have over 200 stalls. We walked along it last Sunday, amongst a swarm of people, unable to really see the stalls and too early for the lights. But we did see Santa's sleigh getting ready for the big night (I hope he picks up his speed).

Santa's sleigh flying over the Champs Elysee

The guidebooks recommend a visit to the Grand Magasins (the big department stores) to view their Christmas windows. So on Tuesday we walked from our new apartment in the Marais to Galeries Lafayette. The windows were sponsored by Louis Vuitton and were full of dancing bears, penguins, ostriches and handbags. Not sure what they have to do with Christmas but they were entrancing.

Christmas windows, Galeries Lafayette, 2012

The highlights, though, were the Cinderella carriage, sponsored by Disney, and the crystal Christmas Tree, sponsored by Swarovski, sitting beneath the stained glass dome at the heart of the store.

Cinderella's carriage, Galeries Lafayette, 2012

Swarovski Crystal Christmas Tree, Galeries Lafayette, 2012

We've been to see our first Christmas movie, Les Cinqs Legendes (The Rise of the Guardians), in English with French subtitles. Miles has two advent calendars on the go and, when we remember, we are lighting the advent candle.

Yep, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. All we need now is snow.

Outside Our Door

This is our door - our blue door. The door is squashed between a spectacles shop (there are lots of those in the neighbourhood) and a menswear shop (lots of those too).

The three windows above our blue door belong to our apartment.

If you look out our windows, you can see the wonderful candle shop across the road, Cire Trudon. It's glorious ... but I'm a bit scared to go in. We are in a very expensive part of town and they have been making candles since the 17th century. But it's very tempting. Yesterday, they changed the windows to get ready for Christmas. But you can still see the candle rainbow in the back of the store.

If you stand on the street with your back to our door and look diagonally across the road to your right, you'll find our favourite boulangerie and patisserie in the whole of France - Gerard Mulot. The tarte citron is delicious but last night we ate 'sortileges' - a charm or spell or, in this case, a ball of chocolate-coated, chocolate mousse on a teeny tiny layer of vanilla sponge! The window display is also tres charmant!

Now, keeping your back to our door, turn your head to the left. Voila! C'est Senat - and behind that big building is the Luxembourg Gardens.

And if you walk towards the Senat, take the first street on your right, turning at the pharmacy. Voila! Saint Sulpice, whose church bells we can hear on Sunday mornings.

PS The pharmacy keeps us up-to-date with the temperature (see the green cross in the top right corner above). 10 degrees on Thursday, quite balmy. Yesterday it barely reached 7!

The Legoland Experience

WARNING - Sharing this post with small Lego-lovers may inspire envy and result in years of nagging, for which I take no responsibility.

Travel Tip - Legoland is best to visit when you are at least 90cm tall but even better when you are at least 120cm tall. The taller you are, the more rides you can go on.

The Legoland experience begins even before you reach Legoland. We took the train from Copenhagen to Velje, which is about half-an-hour from Legoland. As the taxi drove us through the Danish countryside (very flat, remarkably pretty), we began to see giant Lego bricks gathered in twos and threes on the verge. By the time we reached Hotel Legoland, we were primed.

Hotel Legoland is part of the whole experience and shouldn't be missed. The hotel welcomes children, really welcomes children. There are kid zones dotted throughout, where giant tubs of Lego bricks are available to play. Lego cartoons are screened in a red bus near reception. There's a games room with Nintendo DS's and Wiiiiis to play with and giant Lego characters dotted around the corridors. Each day, you can enter your Lego build in a competition and there's a treasure hunt too. All this before you even get to your room.

We stayed in a Kid's Room on Space Street, which overlooks the Star Wars display in the park. Could that have been more perfect for our little Star Wars lover? A small Lego gift was waiting on the pillow and the room also comes with boxes of mixed Lego and Duplo bits to play with. We arrived on Saturday afternoon and had plenty to keep us busy while we waited to go to the park on Sunday and Monday.

The hotel has two restaurants and the family buffet was the big hit with Miles. Apparently, children all over the world eat spaghetti bolognase, chicken nuggets, hot dogs, peas, cauliflower, broccoli, corn ... and chips shaped like Lego bricks.

The park itself is a mix of Lego builds and rides, separated into different themes (Adventureland, Pirateland, Legoredo, Polar Land, Lego City). We easily filled two days exploring, riding the Lego trains and monorails, trying out the many rides and repeating some.

October proved to be a great time to go. The weather was very variable, sunny one second, raining the next but (as Jim is sick of me saying) the Danes have fantastic wet weather gear and just keep on going - so we did too, breaking in the Aldi snow jacket. But in October, the crowds were minimal. The park was busy but we didn't have to queue long for any ride.

Another warning, a number of the rides have little roller coasters. I went on the Dragon, thinking it was a bit like a ghost train and ended up so scared, I cried. I'm sharing this because if I don't, Jim and Miles will. I HATE roller coasters but did very well on spinning barrels and rocking pirate ships.

And of course, there's the Lego builds themselves - minature towns, wonders of the world, Pirate scenes and pyramids and all sorts of things.

All this, and Miles got his Legoland driver's licence too (but you have to be at least 7 years old to do that).

Two Days in Paris

We have spent our first two days in Paris walking, trying to imprint the city on our brains through our feet. It's working. I think. Although when we come back in November, we will be in a completely different part of the city and may well have to begin again.

Yesterday, we walked without direction in the streets around our hotel. Hotel Aida Opera is a few streets back from Boulevard Montmartre with it's crazy traffic and chain stores. It is, though, home to two of Paris' oldest arcades, Passages Jouffroy and Passages des Panoramas (the oldest arcade in Paris). Passages Jouffroy is a delight, home to a number of antiquarian bookshops and a shop of minatures, offering everything a dollshouse needs, Tintin and Asterix figurines and merchandise that made Miles' heart sing. It is on the list for return visits, but after we've been to the Herge Museum in Brussels.

Passages Jouffroy

Today, we set out from the hotel to follow the tourist trail and discovered an uncanny ability to approach buildings from their rear. Perhaps we are backdoor people at heart. Palais Brongniart - back door. Bibliotheque Nationale - back door. Palais Royal and its gardens - back door. Comedie Francaise - back door. Even the Louvre - back door.


The rear of the Bibliotheque Nationale



And the rear of the Palais Royal - with a plague marking Colette's residence.

Miles' one request for the day was to visit the Eiffel Tower and so we did, hopping on a Batobus for a loop around the Seine. Luckily for Jim and I, the top floor of the tower was closed and, with showers looming, we convinced Miles to wait to climb the tower on a day when the views might be better. Miles is determined to get me to the top ... and I am equally determined to go no higher than the second viewing platform, which will be quite high enough. But we began our quest to ride all the carousels in Paris, discovering our first at the foot of the Eiffel Tower.

The carousel at the Eiffel Tower - a magnificent two-storey merry-go-round.

I also succeeded in falling for a gypsy scam - about five minutes after warning Jim to be on the lookout for pickpockets. I'm an idiot, what can I say? But my tip for the day - when a gypsy asks you if you speak English, say 'non'. Otherwise you might find yourself donating a few euros to save deaf and mute children living ... somewhere.