High in the hills sat a lonely goatherd

Sunday 6 September

Its Sunday morning and we (Helen and I) had toyed with the idea of Mass in French. But the morning got the better of us and one last meal (breakfast) in the square won out. We leave the hotel early - like 9 am - and walk around to the Place des Ducs. The sun is bright and the marble and sandstone of the Plaza are positively gleaming. So much so that there is no way we can sit outside! We find only a few of the cafes open this early on a Sunday morning and head for the Brasserie des Ducs on the far side of the plaza.

Sitting inside, but still within the reach of the warming sun, we order brekky - I'm not really hungry and just have a coffee and croissant but the Helen and Michael opt for omlettes that look and smell wonderful. The tables here are stunning - all different representations of the medieval period during which this town obviously flourished. One last walk past the Palais before we head back to the Hôtel des Ducs to finish packing and hit the road.

We realise that there was only such a small part of the town that we saw. But that is the lot of the short-stay tourist - you see a little but miss so much. Can't dwell on that or we could be caught in some sort of a tourist time-warp in many of the places we see. I know so many people thought that a year in Europe was the ultimate, but believe me, a lifetime in Europe would never be enough to really see this continent well!

We say a final goodbye to the reception staff in the hotel - Latifa and her counterparts have been wonderful ambassadors not only for the hotel, but for the City. They are vibrant, confident, beautiful young women who were a joy to know - even if for such a short time! Thank you ladies.

As we are leaving Dijon, we pass beautiful gardens, the remains of the City Gates and part of the City Wall, realising that although we have spent one and a half days wandering through the old town, that there was so much more to see. As I said, one of the downfalls of staying in really interesting old towns that are jam packed with history and interesting communities! And we can never stay long enough to see all of it - what bummer in a way!

Soon we are again out in the French countryside and there are times when we compare it to the back of Gympie, the Lockyer Valley and sometimes even the Atherton Tablelands. And yet it is different too. The sky is big - lots of open space. Many of the fields lie fallow at the moment, having recently been harvested. The last of the sunflowers are hanging their tired heads on drooping necks, too old now to be bothered with following the sun god they so worship.

One big difference though are the avenues of trees that are planted along the edge of the highways - particularly coming in to and out of the towns. They create the coolest, shadiest tunnels of dappled light that immediately drop the temperature by a couple of degrees. Now, you all know how much Helen is in to light and shadows, so you can just imagine the oohing and aahing and trying to capture every one on camera. She used to laugh when I told her the number of photos that we were taking in a day - well, today she wins with 731!

And then there are the little towns like Ville d'Auxonne here, with their ties back to history like this portal gate that, once part of walls helped to fortify the town and keep it safe from the maraurders that crossed the continent in search of conquests. We see aquaducts, and lots of public art in the form of sculptured gardens on roundabouts.

When we were planning the route I asked Helen if she preferred to go via the French Riviera which she had previously mentioned) or the Alps. She ummed and aghed a bit, but finally decided that as she had never seen really high mountains or snow, and so the vote went to the Alps. We had previously stayed in the French Alps and know now that it is more affordable than Switzerland, so we searched for somewhere in the French Alps. To get there, we will go through Switzerland, down along Lake Geneva before turning back in to France.

We are headed for a small town called Cordon. We had previously spent a wonderful week a little further to the west from there, but as we are ultimately headed south east to Italy, we have booked a room in a winter ski chalet for a night that attracts lots of summer walkers.

Travelling along the winding highway we chance our first glimpse of Lake Geneva. However, as we negotiate the steep inline we pass, on either side of us, Herculian cyclists straining at their cranks to provide the necessary energy to reach their lofty destinations!
Hang about...?

We're being passed by bikers, (..again on either side,) hunched over their screaming steeds hurtling towards their destinations. Are we seeing things - Dolpengangers, maybe? We sharing the road with the same bikers...oh, shades of Mt Glorious! 'Here he comes again', or 'There he goes again'. These blokes mustn't have anything better to do than shatter the peace and quiet we have attained after stopping at our viewpoint - and what a view!

Lake Geneva is glistening like a lapis lazuli jewel, it is indeed a breath taking sight. We're in awe, although, there is a faint haze it only adds to the lakes beauty....and here goes another biker. As they round the bends, we hold our breaths wondering whether we'll be witnesses to a tragedy. Anyhow, back to our reverie - from our vantage point, the surrounding mountain ranges appear like mantles, surrounding the lake and its environment like a watchful sentinel and today's glorious warmth is certainly reflected in the vision before us.

Though transfixed, we still have our own destination to reach. Returning to our car we make our way along the highway, and as we reach its lower slopes we notice on our right a group of bikers. These lads are obviously the same riders we had seen screaming up and down the highways incline. They stand in a group around their steeds appearing to be in deep discussions over their conquest of the mountain. If their is one saving grace with these riders, is at least their leathers are dense unlike the sheerness of their cycling bretheren?

We reach Switzerland, passing through the former border control with the bored look of experienced travellers - oh, that is all but Helen! This is the first land 'border' she has crossed since joining us in France. We travel through Geneva, along the shores of the lake, negotiating the Sunday afternoon traffic - it seems that almost everyone is out on the roads, ready to see and be seen.

The quite quickly, we are again crossing back in to France and climbing back into the maountains. We finally arrive at Cordon (the Balcony of Mont Blanc) and a quaint village indeed it is - but where in the hell is the hotel. All the residential dwellings and hotels appear in to built in the same 'Alpine' design. Kate leads us the way which is barred by the ubiquitous barricades...groan....another detour. The detour is a result of a 'Bread Festival'...yes, you read correctly...a bread festival. What a sight as there are folk dressed in traditional Lederhosen combined with 'Oompa-pah' music. We see a horse-drawn wagon gaily decorated with revellers calling out jibes of good cheer.

Kate has tizzy fit in an attempt to redirect our route, however, we are almost going in circles - not quite, but almost. We decide to draw upon local knowledge, so Michael ventures forth with the trusty phrase book to seek help. He returns frustrated, he will need to search further to find someone who can speak some English. Success, Michael finds a tavern whereby after some gesticulating, smiles and phrases he obtains the necessary directions to 'Les Rhodos', our accommodation for tonight.

The hotel is perched high up a slope which provides a gob-smacking view. If anything, today has been a day of vistas! Our room is located on the first floor with a panoramic window, allowing us to absorb the view before us! Words at this point are just superfluous....

Settled into our room - which combines a rather unusual arrangement for ablutions? The bathroom at one side of the room and the WC on the other - next to one of the beds. (A description of sound effects is not provided....)

Before we make a move towards having dinner, we just watch the light change across the alps as the afternoon slowly descends into twilight. The only accompanying sound is the dangs and dongs of the distant cow bells. And we wonder about that lonely goatherd, or cow shepherd!

Dinner...hmm...just what Herr Doktor ordered:
Starters:
Club Sandwich au saumon fumé et sorbet tomate basilic (Club Sandwich with smoked salmon and tomato basil sorbet) Helen
Ravioles du Dauphiné au Beaufort (Ravioli Dauphine in Beaufort cheese) Michael and Maria
Mains:
Fondue Savoyarde - servie avec assiette de charcuteries et salade verte (Cheese fondue - served with sausage and salad) Maria and Helen
Souris de a'gneau confite au miel de citron et épices (Lamb shank with honey, lemon and spices) Michael
Dessert:
Creme Catalan (Rich creme brulee) Helen and Maria
Profiteroles au chocolat au beurre (Profiterole with chocolate butter) Michael

Once dinner was done, we got talking with Chef owner Pascal who runs this busy little hotel with his wife Valerie and their adorable little boy Titoeun (sorry guys if I have the spelling wrong - let me know and I will correct it!). He explains that he studied for 6 years to get qualified as a cook and then worked in various restaurants for another 5 years before coming to Cordon. It has paid off - his food is fabulous!

Eventually we head back up to our room and admire the moon rising behind Mont Blanc - my god what a majestic sight. It is at times like this that you sit, in awe of the beauty of the nature around us.

Paris - ring o ring the (roundabout) rosie

Things that make Hel laugh - sirens and burping irons that sound like growling lions! What a laugh huh! She was ironing her jeans when she came out with that little gem. Not a big brekky today - gosh, we were still full from the cheese last night - no, make that earlier this morning!

Planned for a big day today - over to the Arc de Triomphe travelling by metro and then down the Champs Elysee. Hels is not a fan of the underground rail system - whether it be the RER or the local metro. She finds it grubby and smelly and crowded - not good for someone who can get a little claustrophobic at times. All of a sudden I realise that she has never spent any significant time in anywhere with an undergound rail system - unlike Michael and I who commuted in Sydney for years and years. Now I am thinking that I should plan our trips around the bus network, but she insists she is OK - very brave of her (I am not being condescending).

You emerge from the subway onto the Champs Elysee facing the Arc de Triomphe - and what an awesome sight it is. Helen had no idea how big it was - I think I felt the same the first time I saw it. And the traffic that rushes around it put her hearth in her mouth just like it did mine! You hold your breath thinking there is going to be one huge pile-up, but there isn't. It is just so crazy and frenetic. There are a couple of German girls from near Stuttgart of all places trying to get a photo and I offer to take one for them. And they are more than happy to reciprocate. They are excited - they leave the for the US tomorrow and I can't resist giving them a little advice to make dealing with the entry requirements a little easier.

Last night the American couple we met had given us their tickets for one of the open bus tours - the tickets are valid for 2 days and they were leaving today. As luck would have it, the correct bus was sitting at the bus stop at the Arc. Now, Michael and I have used these buses in many cities - some are great, some are very ordinary. I wasn't sure if Helen would be happy to do a tour - it limits you to the main sights route - according to someone else. But no, she suggested that we use the tickets.

It was the best thing we could have done. With the limited time that we have in the City of Light, this was a great way to see all the major sights - and especially those that we knew we are not going to have time to visit seperately. And it gives you a bigger look - you are off the ground and can get a clearer impression of the siting and impressiveness of a place this way. She moved from awed silence, drinking in the atmosphere and the magic of this place and verbal excited chatting. I am so glad that I have her here in Paris with me. I really don't think that there is another person on this globe who sees so close to what I see (and then some I suspect).

When I was downloading the photos we took today (733 between us - her 440 of them!), we have unknowingly taken so many the same or similar in terms of the style, subject and perspective of a photo. Wow, thats my friend, mon ami!

You know there was so much to take in. Helen more than me was in visual overload and I am so glad that she has so many pics because she won't really be able to process them mentally until she is back at home in Australia and over her trip. Been there, happenend to me too. So, what did we see?

So, we left the Arc de Triompe and headed bravely across the intersection where there are up to five lanes of traffic, no lines and almost no rules. But as I said to Helen, the bus is bigger than the rest of the traffic, so we are pretty safe!

The route we follow is:
- down the Champs Elysee, into Winston Churchill Avenue to the Grand and Petit Palaces
- across the Seine to the back of the Trocadero then crawled slowly past so that we could all get a photo with the Eiffel Tower in the background
- around the front of the Trocadero and across the Pont d’Iéna to outside the Eiffel Tower where today there are thousands of people queueing for tickets
- through the Champ de Mars looking on one side back to the Eiffel Tower and on the other to the Ecole Militaire
- around to the Musée du Louvre where we are going tomorrow, admiring the space and use of architecture
- onto the Ilse de Cité to the Notré Dame
- down the Rue Lille to the Musée d'Orsay where the statues on the outside of the building are amazing
- around pass the stunning Opera House with all its gilded statues atop the corners that gleam in the sun
before we turn back onto the Champs Elysee for the journey back up to the Arc de Triomphe. It was quite a journey and the fact that we took so many photos is testament to the amazing sights that the City of Light provides.

By the time we got off the bus a couple of hours later we needed to make a comfort stop. We are passing McDonalds on the Champs Elysee and off Helen trots to join a pretty long looking queue. I didn't expect her back any time soon. After quite a while, she comes out all flustered - she had been stuck, locked in the toilets in Maccas! Hot ladies room, dark walled loos and my poor claustrophobic friend. Gosh, why did it have to happen to her. Anyway, we leave and get her some air outside and look for a nice open cafe to have a coffee. A little further down the Champs Elysee we find it.

We sit inside at the Cafe George V (little tip guys, terrace or pavement orders cost considerably more and I am sure the waiters knowingly encourage tourists to sit outside!) We even managed to order and repsond to our very obliging and engaging waiter in understandable French (wow, I am impressed with us!). We ordered Cafe au Lait and Crepes - mine with Grand Manier and Helen's with Creme Marron - both with Chantilly cream - yu-um! He very kindly offers to take a photo for us as soon as we have the camera out! But it paid off - he got a nice tip!

Cross the road to get a better photo of the Arc de Triomphe at the top of the road and find the banks are all on this side of the street - hurrah, we can replenish our dwindling cash! Then it is back across the road to go to the Virgin MegaStore so we can pre-buy our tickets for the Louvre tomorrow and so avoid the queues - we pay a tiny bit more, but well worth it. Continue down to get photos of the amazing gardens at Franklin Roosavelt Avenue - even though it is now winter and the blossoms are past their best, but the gardens are still stunning.

Then its on to the Metro to go back and have a look at Notre Dame and get there literally 5 minutes after they have closed. Helen had her first encounter with Gypsies around Paris today. Merv (the travel agent back in Maryborough) had warned her about the Africans selling souvenirs near the Eiffel Tower. But the Gypsies are another thing altogether. They are persistent and niggly - they invade your 'space' and here, the opening line is "Speak English?" so if you look dumb, don't make eye contact and just keep walking, the soon lose interest. I have been told by people in a number of cities as we have been travelling that the clever ones can bank up to €2,000 a week!

Afterwards we had a very ordinary dinner at Quasimodo Notre Dame. Guess that close to the Cathedral they serve a-la-tourist food - quick to cook, quick to serve. Get em in, get em fed, get em out!

So what stood out today? Gosh, what a stupid question - we are in Paris for gods sake! But the monuments and fountains are amazing as is the Paris skyline in general. And the Iron Lace on balconies gives the Parisian buildings a look of not only completedness, but also of eternal elegance. It does not matter that it differs from building to building. Because it all follows the same line, they look seamless. Absolutely fabulous!

We see the tunnel where Princess Diana met her death and remember where we were on that day. We hear the bells of the Cathedral chime out across the City.

The dinner cruise boats on the Seine are unbelievable. I mean there are boats running up and down all day long, but those at night have these incredibly strong lights that are directed to the shore. From the Eiffel Tower the other night they are so strong that when the are passing, you lose all your night vision. And when we are in the apartment, they light up both sides of the riverbank. I am so suprised that the powers that be have not legislated against them. It is the arrogance of the tourist industry and visual pollution at its very worst.

So a huge day and we get home knackered. Helen goes to bed early and will no doubt be up halfway during the night! Another big one tomorrow with the Louvre planned.

Moving on from Blaye

It is time to move on. The week at Villa St Simon with Les (the crazy South African) has been great, but we have been going non-stop almost all week. Neither of us slept very well - probably because we knew we had to get going earlier this morning. We had hoped to hit the road about 9 - ha ha ha, we got to breakfast after 8 and by the time we drove off it was nearly 10. But we did get Les to show us his current project - he is renovating another building across the street to make self catering units available. He hopes to have it ready to go for summer 2010.

Lesley and Rob (the newly graduated and the newly passed exam youngsters who are studying in Cardiff, Wales [she is Canadian, he German]) are leaving as well and as they have been there much of the week, the farewell is a little longer.
It really was great to have some more time with Les - you are an amazing host mon and few would leave Villa St Simon without agreeing with me.

So off we set. I have set Kate to avoid the motorways so we are seeing rural France right at the grass roots. And by doing it this way, it is easy to duck down a side road if something takes our eye - which we do a few times today. Mind you, we still encounter the trucks - we have not seen this many since we left Spain!
Rural France offers wonderful examples of architecture over the years and today we are treated as we have been over the last week (and to a lesser extent during our last visit). The most stunning example today is the Chateau Hautefort – we don’t have time to go find it, but from a distance it is amazing! We also make a quick detour to Chateau d'Excideuil now an art gallery - we have not seen many of these English style fortified castles so far.

We are still travelling towards Lascaux when we see signs to the Villars Grotte. As it is only 7 kms off our route, we go down for a look, but bugger, it is lunchtime and the information centre/ticket sales for the grotte won’t be open for another hour (it is now 1 pm), so after a quick toilet stop, we push on.

The worst thing about our next visit is that we can’t bring you any photos. Lascaux II – the site of Cro-Magnon cave paintings is just outside Montignac. Now, picture in your mind’s eye, every cave drawing you have ever seen in a book or on TV. Now, throw that puny little image with its stick figures out – cos the real thing ain’t nothing like that! At Lascaux there is the greatest concentration of cave paintings anywhere in Europe. When the cave man had returned from the hunt, gazelle draped over his well muscled shoulders, and dragged his woman by her hair to the fire pit to prepare it for him; he laid down his club and with his mates, went in to the cave to hang out, and to express his artistic flair.

The paintings are huge and prolific and detailed and complex. I guess there are a number of things that hit your senses when you first walk in – firstly the volume of paintings, second the size of the painted area and of the individual paintings and then later, much later, you realise that they are only high on the walls and on the ceiling of the cave.

Our guide, a Frenchman speaking a heavily American accented English, gives us a wonderful insight into the world of these painters. As the colours they used are minerals, which you cannot date evidently, no one can be certain as to the age of the paintings. BUT they have dated candle holders and wicks, remnants of scaffolding, brush twigs and carved bones from the cave to 15,000 BC. (So this makes this cave the oldest evidence of human activity we have seen to date – only by 10,000 years!) The cave was discovered in the 1940s by a local teenager searching for his dog who fell down a hole. So for 14,956 years, the caves were undisturbed.

When the site was explored, they found more than 400 rocks that had been worn into candle holders, some still containing the rendered fat set with juniper wicks (juniper is one of the few timbers that burns without producing any smoke). They also found remnants of a scaffolding system. Cro-Magnon man was as tall as we are, but these paintings are out of the reach of anyone standing on the ground. They used five colours black (manganese dioxide), red (iron ore) yellow and brown (ochre) and white (clay). There are remains of ground powders, styli and stumps of ores. There was also a small amount of colour stained moss, indicating that they used a variety of techniques including sponging, outlining, spitting the mixed colour from their mouths as well as drawing.

And so to the paintings. They are all of single or grouped animals – cows, bison, horses, a variety of deer, one human figure and some felines. They are unbelievably realistic with depth and perspective being demonstrated by using the contours of the rocks and varying levels of darkness in the colours. They are life-like. When you look at the paintings, there is no way you can mistake what the subject is. Some are fully coloured, others partly, some are outlines with markings. There are repeated borders of horses or ponies, there is a bull (notable by having genitalia provided) with a number of cows. There are horses standing, nostrils flared, and others walking, trotting or at full gallop. There are deer with intricate (and slightly exaggerated) antlers. This is the veritable Sistine Chapel of cave paintings – figuratively and quite literally.

All in all we see more than 200 figures. Some are painted within other figures, others in front of or behind other paintings, and others standing lone and proud. The largest bison in the Bull Cave measures 8½ feet long from nosed to tail (that is almost 3 metres) and the largest cow is just 8 feet. The smallest pony is about 2 foot square. And they are all perfectly proportioned. See what I mean about throwing away old and erroneous thoughts. There is absolutely nothing small or insignificant about these works of art. And all of this was done by candle light! There is even one horse whose front is on a back wall and the rear is on the wall in front of it, separated by a cave tunnel!

There are also an abundance of symbols that no one has been able to decipher. Some are found at the beginning of a painted area, others at the end and some in all three areas. So much for the grunt!

In order to preserve the paintings, you do not go in to the actual cave, but rather an exact replica of it, contour for contour, bump for bump, rocky outcrop for rocky outcrop. And the paintings we see are exact replicas made using the same pigments and techniques. From the time of the discovery until they were permanently closed in the 1980s, a number of fungal diseases transported on the shoes or persons of visitors have attacked the real paintings. So, they survived for almost 15,000 years in pristine condition and when modern man bowled on in, came in his hordes and then arrogantly fitted air-conditioning, the paintings gave up their beauty to black spot and white spot diseases. Microbiologists are trying to cure them – particularly the white spot as presently the only way to remove it is to scrape it which also takes off the paint. There is a small museum attached with some of the artefacts found and a good explanation of the geology and the life of Cro-Magnon man as well as impressions of how they think that the paintings were done based on the items found.

It was a humbling and totally enlightening visit.

Dinner tonight at Hotel La Lascaux is amazing. They specialise in using regional produce and the results really show this to perfection. We eat at 7:30 pm (hey, it is now 10:40 pm and I just realise it is fully dark - amazing how much longer it stays light on the coast) as follows:
Entrees:
Foie gras de canard entier au naturel fait maison (Homemade duck foie gras natural) Michael
Coustillant de chevre chaud sur tomates confit (In wafer goat cheese with hot tomato confit) Maria
Mains:
Cuisse de canard confite, pommes de terre salardaise (Leg of duck confit, potatoes and salad) Michael
Fillet mignon de porc au fair caramelise a sauce soja (Fillet mignon of pork with a caramelized soy sauce) Maria
Desserts:
Glaces Indochine et Framboises (Indochina [lychee, jasmine, mango, strawberry] and Raspberry sorbet) Michael
Creme brulee (no need to explain!) Maria

The food is f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s! Heaven help the french chef we might find who cannot match the wonderful food we are having!!!

Will I still speak with you?

Or la di da to me! Gosh, not talking to you?! For me that would be wrist-slitting time!

OK so today was the other planned highlight of our week back in Bordeaux, for today is the day we are going to Le Médoc to visit Château Mouton-Rothschild. Our appointment is for 10 am so it is an early start on the 7:30 am ferry. Today is overcast and a little cooler - much more to my liking! No time for breakfast before we go, so once on the peninsula we drive down to Paulliac on the coast for coffee and criossants. Then we visit a local vin shop that sells all sorts of regional produce and local wines from a couple of euro each up to €1584 per bottle. I bought a bottle of Pastis Citron - sounded interesting - I'll let you know what it's like Fliss.

The last lot of my whisky has reached Australia and again, there is duty and tax payable. I got Gen to scan the letter for me and there is a statement on the bottom of the letter advising 'Postal gift concession for alcohol revoked 1 September 2008' so I won't bother to send too much more home.

The road to Paulliac is locally dubbed 'the Château road' due to the countless chateaux that face it from both sides of the road. This one Château Pinchon-Baron is probably one of the ones with the best street view and epitomises the grace of these estates, but there are literally countless others - all with immaculate lawns and gardens and beautifully kept buildings. I guess if you have a chateau (translated as a castle without a keep) on Le Medoc then you also have the means to upkeep it.

We pass the daily life of Le Médoc. There is machinery amoungst the vines, huge tractors with beams that cover up to five rows, spraying, or tilling the soil. Then there are also lots of manual workers whose main job at the moment is to remove by hand any leaves that cover the grapes, ensuring that all the grapes are exposed to the maximum possible sunshine. It seems strange that they discard the leaves to mulch rather than market them for culinary purposes (think dolmades!).

We have been slowly making our way through these chateaux to Château Mouton-Rosthchild. Our guided tour is booked for 10 am and when we arrive there is only two other cars in the car park. This is very neat - so neat that it kind of looks like a raked Japanese garden!

And the visitor centre is nowhere to be seen, hidden behind gardens. Not sure why, it is a beautifully appointed building in it's own right. But the gardens are beautiful with lots of herbs and flowers. There are one or two I can't identify - and neither can anyone else I ask. There has been a mix-up in the bookngs and the château were expecting us yesterday, however, after a few hurried phone calls, the girls at reception manage to find us an English speaking guide and off we set.

Now, Mouton Rothschild is one of the premier wine estates in Le Médoc. From humble beginnings in 1853, the Rothschild family has built an incredible empire based around the wine made from the grapes grown on their properties. Our guide takes us on a tour that includes an introductory video on a 3D screen, an explanation of the history, a tour of a representative grape plot (where the plot size of the crop is proportionate to the precentage grown on the estate), a tour of the new and old cellars and a quick dash into the 100m Barrel Hall which was being set up for a dinner. And because half of our little group are wine makers or agents, we get to listen to them quiz the guide on the technical aspects of the setup which was very interesting.

But the highlight of the tour for us is a visit to the Wine in Art Museum. The museum at Château Mouton Rothschild was opened by the Baron Philippe de Rothschild in 1962. It features art displays including Persian beakers from the eighth and ninth centuries BC, Alsace tapestries, Ming vases, Delft pottery, Venetian glasswork and works by modern artists. The main hall is a former cellar. This museum is an amazing collection. While not accessible to the population at large, the family is to be commended that they make this amazing collection available to visitors to the Château. Phillipe Rothschild began the collection and his daughter Phillipina now continues the collection. They are very philanthropic in the Arts with many Rothschild collections in Europes greatest galleries. And the there are the artist labels where leading artists and other notable people are commissioned to paint the artwork for the Mouton Rothschild vintage each year.

Once we had drooled sufficiently in the museum (and felt the eyes of Chinese traders in one tapestry follow our every move!) we returned to the visitor centre where we got to taste the 2008 vintage - nice and full bodied with complex berry tones, but still carrying too much tanin - a good ager up to 10 years. I am told the average year's produce needs 10 years, but a great year needs 20 - go figure!! (help please Brian)

Then it was back to Paulliac and lunch at Le Salamandre. The clouds were really beginning to roll in and the air pressure was dropping quickly - a sure sign of rain. We managed to have our entrees and mains and were part way through desserts before the heavens opened. Most of us chose from the €13 menu and were thrilled with our choices:
Entrees:
Gizzard salad (Michael)

Goat cheese pizza (Maria)
Mains:
We both chose the Lamb Tagine
Desserts:
We both had (well, at least I started one) Creme Caramel

From here with the weather having turned to crap, and unable to get into Pichon-Longueville (as the boking had also ben made for yesterday) we opted to go back to Lamarque and await the ferry. We did not realise until we got there that we would have a 90 minute wait, so we do the best thing we can in the rain - nap! When the ferry gets here it is dead low tide and so the trip is a little longer than it was last time as we have to travel further downstream to avoid the mud banks before we can turn in for Blaye.

None of us are really hungry so the idea of a barbecue gets thrown out the window. Instead, we head to LeClerc for salad ingredients, fruit, cheese and cold cuts. Add a loaf of bread and presto - we have the makings of a light feast which we enjoy a little later in the evening with a few bottles of good wine. At 10 pm, Les suggests a game of petanque and five of them head across the road to join all the others at play. Remember, it is not getting dark until 11 pm!! Anyway, I'll sign off and let Michael tell you about the game because I was thoroughly knackered and went to bed.

Petanque is very similar to Bocce, whereas the only difference is that the swearing is in French and not Italian. That may be true, however the actual differences between the two games is (as explained to me):
Petanque is where players 'toss' the balls palm down whereas Bocce players 'bowl' the balls palm up.
Petanque balls are always made of metal, about the size of an orange and hollow. Bocce balls are larger (grapefruit size) and made usually of wood or resin and are of varying bright colours.
The Bocce court should be smooth and different variations as to court size and layout; whereas Petanque players prefer any surface and preferably uneven terrain to make it more challenging.
Oh, and one last point as it was arbitrarily explained to me: 'Petanque' is a derivative of the Provincal French - pieds tanquer meaning to anchor or tie-down. Petanque balls are tossed from a stationary position, whereas with Bocce players run up to their bowling line.

Anyhow, we head across to the park around 10:10pm where there are about eight other games of Petanque being played - a veritable tournament. The French take their game veeerrry seriously as I was to find out....

Now, Petanque is played with two teams each with either 1-6 players. Teams with 1-4 players, each team member use 3 balls each. Teams with 5-6 players team members use 2 balls each. Considering there were only five of us this posed a 'red herring', how were the teams to be decided? Diplomatically of course; we each tossed a ball in turn and the the teams were sorted according to the distance thrown - if you can work that one out.....
Anyhow, I was the 'ring-in' so I was at the mercy of their honesty...and honorable people they are indeed. So, two teams consisting of 2 and 3 players accepted, and all players to play using 3 balls each.

Well, we had intended to play only one game, however, HONOUR was at stake this night. Now, I had mentioned earlier the French take their Petanque seriously - and my team-mate was Nikki, and she was just as passionate about the game as were the men. By 10:50pm Nikki and I were lagging by 5 points - the score being 6-11; and Nikki being less than impressed. The French expletives were being released at a furious rate as were the Aussie curses! By 11:05pm we creamed the bastards and wiped the smirk off their dials.

It was 10:56pm and Nikki's turn to toss...tension mounting...concentration was extending like lightening bolts...then - thud, down went Nikki's last ball and everyone was holding their breath as the toss knocked away two of the opposing teams' balls and came to bestow a kiss against the 'jack'! 10:58pm and the other team attempted to consolidate, but the pressure being as it was their tosses turned into right 'Tossers' - the balls going in every direction. The game being against the wire, it was my turn to toss my remaining two balls (...yes, I still speak with a deep voice!) and I was the last to toss. I walked up to the line, surveyed the field and fired torpedo #1. Lobbing beautifully, the ball returned to earth amongst a group of balls - CRACK! - my lobb knocked two of the opposing balls out of the loop which pushed Nikki's other two closer the 'jack'!

11:01pm, and it was my last toss...torpedo #2 - FIRE - a handsome piece of work as my silver sphere rolled gently up to the 'jack' - a ball's length away. WE WON! We were called cheats(?), so I called them 'pricks' - I have no idea what Nikki called them, it sounded pretty good though. Anyhow, as I stated - HONOUR was at stake, and now it was to make amends. An evening which started out as one game of Petanque extended into three, with the last game ending at 12:55am. An epilogue...? Petanque I have to admit could become extremely addictive and not taken too seriously. The evening's final score....Nikki and I won the first two games, however we got creamed in the third and final - 5-13!