Beautifully Provincial.

I am currently in Strasbourg for work. Again. I really like Strasbourg. Work not so much. This time I had to fly into Frankfurt. I don’t have much to say about Frankfurt. The plane was half empty on the way over, which perhaps is an indication of why I don’t have much to say about Frankfurt.

Instead of getting the plane back and spending all that time waiting around in airports, I've decided to get the train back. Carbon footprint and all that. I’m catching the TGV from Strasbourg to Paris, not just any TGV, but the fastest train on the planet (cue argument about which train is fastest). I am excited. I think that officially makes me a nerd. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t make me a train spotter unless I write down the number of the train. I am also going business on Eurostar (cheaper to London than the airfare), so my boss is sortof happy too.

This is the first time I’ve been here in the summer and it’s very beautiful – lots of forests, and motorways. The motorways aren’t beautiful, but they are through the forest and the forests certainly are. I saw a deer gambolling through the fields on the way from Frankfurt to Strasbourg, too. I was hoping to eat venison for dinner, but had to make do with a healthy salad of foie gras, smoked cured duck, and ham.

I saw one of those brown tourist route signs for the Maginot Line on the way here. I wasn’t sure if it was part of a larger tourist route for great defence failures of the past 100 years or not, but I suppose it’s certainly one way of taking a negative and turning it into a positive.

Saturday I had to rise at the ungodly hour or 4:50am (that was 3:50 by my poor UK body clock) and be at work by 6:00am. I was back in Strasbourg by 15:00, but absolutely knackered. I even had a nap to compensate. I went out to have a good look around and do some shopping, but my heart wasn’t really in it. Today was a lot better, but the whole conversion process was running late, so our project lunch was cancelled. The upside of that wasn’t all that bad, was I didn’t have to spend an afternoon with techies with no personality. It's about as appealling as having your teeth pulled without anesthetic.

Last night I got to eat with a colleague form our client company. He’s quite good fun, but I feel I have to be a bit guarded around him, so it wasn’t a lot of fun for me. And we hadn’t booked anywhere, so we had to settle for an ok restaurant, which just about killed me. My steak was fine, but the frites and vegetables weren’t great. Sigh. And there is great food here, it seemed like such a missed opportunity.

Anyway, today I got to lie in the sun, which was pleasant. I had a conversation in pidgin French with the nice baguette lady at lunchtime (‘Tu American?’ ‘Je suis Australien’ ‘ D’accord. Much better’ – ouch!), it turned out she was from the town where our factory is, so she was on for a chat. Somehow she spotted my weak spot and got me to buy an éclair as well, but I wouldn’t buy a Tarte au fruit rouge.

I was turned away from the Cathedral today too, as they were ordaining priests, and I think they thought the boys might reconsider their vows or something if I went in. (Actually they had bouncers and no-one who wasn’t wearing a suit wasn’t getting in).

I called into what I thought was the new Gare (railway station) for the TGV. In fact it’s just a new façade for the old staion, but underneath the station has been redone as well. It’s quite beautiful and a lovely piece of contemporary architecture.


Of course Strasbourg is all about Europe as well, and I was glad to see there was some room left for expansion here, all that's required is to remove the European flags, and add the new members.



Strasbourg is all very nice, but I have been a bit bored. Friday night at the restaurant I ate at, the guy on the next table was Australian. He was phoning a friend and telling them he had had enough of Strasbourg. I though he was crazy, but after 3 day here, I feel a bit the same, it’s very beautiful, but it’s quite small and provincial, nothing seems to be going on. Maybe I just expect too much?

The Cathedral is amazing though. It absolutely dominates the city and you can see why medieveal peasants would have been astounded by it. I think sometimes we've lost the ability to be astounded.

Freude, schöner Götterfunken

So, earlier this week I was in Strasbourg for work. It seemed a pretty town, although I didn't get to see much of it as my new boss is a bit of a workaholic. But I like her anyway, because she doesn't pull any punches. And she seems to think I'm doing a good job, so it's all good.

Strasbourg is where the European Parliament sits when it's not in Brussels, and so work was a model of European harmony and I felt no guilt whatsoever about only using 10 words of French whilst I was there. ( I was not as bad as an American at breakfast who, after looking at the waiter's badge, said 'M-a-r-c. How do you pronounce that? Oh, Mark?'. What do they feed them??!!)

I did draw the line at telling a colleague I was having difficulty understanding him because of his heavily accented French though. I'm not that insensitive. I also love a French accent, so tried not to stare dreamily at him too much. It was quite ironic to be working with some Russians, a Pole, some Germans, a Japanese and some French, especially considering just over 60 years ago we would have been tearing each other limb from limb.

One of the differences I did notice was absolutely no-one was in the office before 9:00 and everyone left at 17:00. (except for me and my boss of course - I had to drag her out at 18:30, after a 10.5 hour day) And everyone had lunch in the (delicious and heavily-subsidised) canteen for an hour. Which is a million miles away from the eat-lunch-at-your-desk and maybe take 30 minutes for it culture here. And don't start me on the coffee breaks.....

My self-control went out the window, it was all french pastries for breakfast and wine (Pinot! Shiraz! Syrah!) and steak at dinner. I even ate at a cheese restaurant one night (La Cloche à Fromages), where, as you'd expect, cheese featured heavily on the menu and I could feel myself piling on the weight with every mouthful.

I had to fly into and out of Stuttgart airport (look at this - why can't Heathrow be like this?). The taxi to Strasbourg sped down the autobahn at 180kmh in driving rain. Even though I was safely ensconced in the back of a big Mercedes, it didn't stop me praying all the way to St Diana of Windsor.

My train to Heathrow took 50 minutes instead of 15, because someone had jumped at Southall... people nowadays are so inconsiderate. I blame Tony Blair.

I had a little time to spare at Stuttgart Airport, so took the opportunity to have a nice cold German lager in the cockpit bar. It was nice.

The sweet life

With the War on Toothpaste still not won, Friday night Paul and I rushed to get out to Heathrow, as getting through security on time is always a gamble. There's also the added excitement of not knowing how many items of clothing you'll have to remove, too. I only got to remove my belt and shoes this time, but because I now wear jeans that only cover half my bum, everyone got a good look at my underwear too. (Not really - I am not 16, I just try to dress that way).

A couple of lipstick lesbians were sat opposite us in the BA lounge, en route to Honkers. They had a small child with them, who was calling both of the ladies 'Mummy'. Both Mummy I and Mummy II were a bit grumpy though. I tried to give the little girl my best "Don't worry about grumpy mummies, they're probably not even going to sell you into the white slave trade, and even if they do, steamed rice and Kai lan is very slimming" smile, but I'm not sure if she got my vibe. At least I tried.

Our flight was delayed (thanks, BA!) and we ended up at Fiumicino on a public holiday, after public transport had stopped running. As much as I love Italy and Rome, that was enough to strike fear into our hearts, especially when we saw the size of the taxi queue. In most places taxis would be flying into the airport, but in Rome they were arriving at the rate of one every five minutes or so. We finally got a taxi over an hour later and didn't have a drink in our hand until after 1am.

We spent Saturday afternoon at Castel Romano, not some renaissance masterpiece or roman ruin, but an Italian Factory Outlet. If your idea of fun is trying to fight Italians off at cash registers (will they ever learn to queue?) and shopping for four hours, then you would have thought it was great. With hindsight, we spent a bit longer there than we would have liked, but Christmas demands sacrifices like that I suppose. Sophie picked us up from the metro station (€1 a trip!) and drove us out and Alexander and Edward joined us. It’s amazing how a balloon and a paper bag will keep young boys entertained for hours. Seriously. At one stage Edward was stroking my calves in the changing room telling me how hairy they were. I was just praying the whole thing wasn’t being captured on CCTV and I wouldn’t be spending the rest of the weekend explaining myself to the Carabinieri.

Saturday night was our designated Trastevere night. First we had dinner here, and it was very good, and everyone got to try the spigola with truffles. It was ridiculously cheap at €30 a head for 3 courses, wine, coffee. La Dolce Vita indeed.

We even had some Amaro.





Afterwards we wandered around Trastevere, (so much more crowded than it used to be, just ask Iz!) and went for a drink at the little Scala. Paul and I checked out our old apartment and tsked over the state of the shutters.





I went for cornetti for the group. Then we ended up in some sort of social club, where we drank a little later than we should have. It was just like old times.



Sunday was more like Melbourne – it rained solidly all day – so we abandoned any hope of strolling through piazzas, and instead went for lunch. After trying to call a taxi and failing miserably, fate then had the good grace to delay us at the metro because some old girl couldn’t work the ticket machine and of course the others were broken. Then arriving at Colosseo metro, buses weren’t running. We were reminded of how frustrating we found living in Rome. It didn’t stop us admiring the roman ruins and renaissance architecture on the way to lunch though – what Rome lacks in infrastructure and service it certainly makes up for in atmosphere. And good coffee. I didn’t have a dud one all weekend – it’s always perfect.




I sort of stuffed myself at lunch, purely because I knew I wasn't going to back for a while, and being a bit hungover helped too. Spagetti with Swordfish and Melanzane, Maialino (roast baby pig), and a fried artichoke then Millefoglie. Lunch over, it was time to jump in the car and head back to the airport at 160KPH – this time not in a taxi, but in a chauffeur-driven leather-upholstered Lancia. Nice (and only €40 – the same as the taxi). The whole weekend was a bit of a rushed trip, but it was very enjoyable and good to catch up with Steve, Iz, Gary, Debs, Trish, Sophs and the boys (H was away), Jean and Mary again.

They discovered sea-routes to India and West Africa, you know

So after the whirlwind that was Mark and Robert’s visit to London (more on that to follow) Paul and I set off for Lisbon last Tuesday lunchtime. And what a good time to travel – no hassle on the train to Heathrow, quiet enough in the BA lounge, and Heathrow wasn’t too manic either. The flight was a little late, but Marta (our landlady for 5 days) was patient at the apartment and she greeted us in whirl of flawless olive skin, white teeth and hesitant english. And what a great apartment it was – high 15ft ceilings, shuttered windows onto the street, all-white, cute little euro-kitchen and bathroom, polished floorboards, chic gentrified working-class location - ticking almost every clichéd European stereotype you can muster.

The apartment was at the bottom of Bairro Alto, just above Bica, which led straight down to the river. Apparently, a lot of Bica was washed away in a landslide. There was a funicular to get the old and infirm (and by the smell of them, the drunk, but maybe that was just my breath) up and down the hill and trams ran outside too (almost a w-class, but smaller!).

It’s pretty amazing how a short flight you can transport you from safe, (relatively) clean London, to fearing for your life in a speeding taxi and dodging dog turds as you walk the streets of some 400-y-o neighbourhood full of decaying houses. So last Tuesday night, Paul and I found ourselves dodging dog-turds and dealers, as we hit Bairro Alto for some great tasting seafood, then a quick tour of the bars of Principe Real. Bairro Alto was busyish (for a school-night), but Principe Real was very quiet. So quiet, we went back to Barrio Alto and drank at some coolly distressed bar – it was so very Fitzroy, it almost made me homesick.

Our next few days consisted of pretty much the same pattern, sleeping in, late breakfast, sightseeing and then dinner (either in the apartment or out). Lisbon had some great inexpensive restaurants and I ate possibly the finest piece of tuna I’ve ever eaten on Saturday night. And that’s before I start on the Pasteis de Nata. I tried (successfully, for the most part) to limit myself to one a day, which was difficult for someone with a sweet-tooth like mine (See? It’s easy – all you need to say is ‘I like dessert’. You know who you are.)

Lisbon was hosting an Herbalife conference while we were there, I have never seen ‘Lose weight now, ask me how’ badges in French, Spanish, German and Dutch before. I can now die happy. We struck up a conversation with a Spanish woman on the tram from Barcelona, who gave us her card ‘in case we had any questions’. I am now on a diet.

Saturday we went out to Belem, which was formerly a different town to Lisbon, but now is a suburb. We caught the tram, not the rattley ding-ding w-class impersonator, but the smooth honk-honk Citadis and Combino type. More Melbourne flashbacks. Belem was beautiful, the Torre de Belem enchantingly so, and the San Jeronimos Cathedral too. I was busting so we called in the Centro Cultural de Belem (CCB), and it was pretty cool too. All pink-sandstone and lovely open spaces. Sort of like Federation Square, but not trying as hard. Which is not to say I don't like Fed Sq., or prefer the CCB, the CCB was not as architecturally challenging.

Unfortunately the CCB were in the middle of changing the signs for the toilets, so it took about 20 mins to find one. I think urine-stained jeans were a small price to pay for hanging around architectural magnificence. I finally found relief in one of the cafés there, where some impeccably dressed dark-haired, olive-skinned Mediterranean type was there gazing out over the perfectly landscaped terrace with it’s vista over the river, smoking himself to an early death, while poring over his architectural drawings. It was all so achingly hip and European, that I couldn’t help but put my sunglasses on my head and my jumper over my shoulders.




The tower at Belem was pretty amazing too, they don’t build fortresses like they used to. It’s UNESCO world heritage registered and Paul and I were undecided about going in (what does the UN know about culture, anyway?), but once we were in we were hooked and spent over an hour looking round. It must have been the dungeons that got us. I’m not sure if it was the sunglasses on my head or the jumper over the shoulders, but a couple of times I was asked in Portuguese to take photos. (note to self: must buy deodorant). From there we dashed to San Jeronimos, where I was outraged by the level of noise in a cathedral, and the inanity of the conversation (‘Oh, and do you get someone in?’ ‘Yeah, I have a cleaner come once a week’ – Go to a café to chat you idiots!!). We missed the cloisters, because it’s always good to have a reason to return. I didn’t miss calling into the Pasteis de Belem manufacturer where there was literally a rugby scrum to grab half a dozen tarts.



Saturday night we skipped the bars of Principe Real, and went for dinner in Bairro Alto, then to Setimo Ceu for a drink – I kept Paul out until 2am and the street was still full of crazy Lisboetas drinking – they are almost as clinically insane as the Spanish. Summer must be great.

While the weather wasn’t fantastic it was pretty good – 17C at least and Saturday and Sunday were around 21C. The cleaner in our building was tsking over the weather this morning when I chatted to her (she’s Portuguese), she thought it was cold for this time of year. I suppose it’s all relative. We were out most nights in a tshirt and jacket.

And cheap? We couldn’t believe it – 1.30 euro for two coffees and two pastries. That’s less than 90p. Meals were inexpensive as well, and wine was dirt cheap too. At a We went to this wine bar we had two glasses of excellent vedelho (keeping my promise to drink more vedelho this year), and an antipasto plate for under a tenner – and we thought that was pricy. If only it was Spain, we’d be there like shot. But I must admit Lisbon has rocketed from nowhere into my top 10 cities list (ooh- that sounds like a good idea for a blog post!).

And the people were so nice – the wine bloke in the supermarket was happy to spend 15 minutes with us tasting wines and telling us the differences between them, and Marta (our olive-skinned landlady/goddess) even offered to look for big houses to rent next year for us……. How nice is that? How can you not like a city that produces people like that? More photos here.