THE SNOW - TAKE 2

All Clear At 1800M

The Lions

It's like learning to ride a bike apparently - if you fall off then just get back on (although I did fail tricycle!). With that analogy rining in our ears, The LegsyBoys once again assaulted the ski slopes of the mighty Sierra de Guadarrama last Saturday. We laid our well thought out plans to leave at 9.00am and beat the traffic; as we passed under the highway bulletin board stating "montaña aparcamiento completo" we noted it had just gone 11.00am and we still had 46km to go! But we weren't going to let a full carpark get in the way of us. And why?? Because it was a magnificent clear day, no wind, blue skies, and Buzzy could see the snow capped mountains the whole way. A quick comparison of snaps to last week's will adequately highlight the change - what a difference a day makes, as Dinah Washington once sang.


Still No Eagle



The Chalet

  At the 1300 metere mark the traffic was chocker, but we managed to climb the next 700 metres to carpark level in about 40 minutes, after which we spent  similar amount of time securing a space for Rocinante. Doors opened and.....a very pleasant 7C if you don't mind. We've got los ninos kitted out this time; Aimee looks like a Blue Meanie extra and Buzz could pass for the Michelin Man, but they're warm and....HAPPY! My eyes were opened up to a few misconceptions I've harboured for the duration of my relatively short life....it can be quite pleasant in the snow if you have appropriate togs on (in fact, there wasn't a real need to wear a scarf and woolly hat), and it doesn't have to be expensive. Sure, if you wanna go skiing (and I still can't think of a good reason to do so) then it will put a serious dent in the pocket, but if you just want to ride a sled, build snowmen and throw snowballs at your family members then it's a fabulously el cheapo day out - and damned tiring!

Dulcinea Defies Death



Look Out Dulcinea - Incoming Snowball

Starting The Snowman

Don L Masters The Slopes

Sheer Poetry

 The Aimster refrained from having a go on her sled, instead choosing to spend her time on the artier side of things, i.e. making a snowman and throwing snowballs. Dulcinea had a little go but otherwise kept the Aimster company. This left THE MEN to do what men do, and we were up for it. After 2 runs on the steepest run available, I had mastered the course and retired to take photos Buzzy Knieval; damned if that kid has no fear (a real chip off the not-so-old block!). He was in his element and the occasional bingle did nothing to shake his confidence and derring do. However, when he ultimately tried the 'toboggan run of terror', a 35 degree run with myriad moguls, he'd bitten off a tad more than he could chew. In scenes reminiscent of his father on his first bicycle ride many, many, many...years ago, he set off; the video was going but after 10 metres he had up such a head of steam I couldn't keep the camera on him; he blazed past me, his lungs exhaling a terrified "aaaaaah" as he went over a mogul resulting in the red sled continuing straight ahead (in mid air), his beanie coming adrift and somehow sailing of stage left, and Buzzy in a mid-air exit stage right (I didn't get the footage, but I DO have the sound - it's priceless!). I thought he'd broken every bone in his body; luckily, he'd just taken skin off his chin, got a fat, bleeding lip and a rash on his right cheek. That was our last sled run for the day! And here is where Don LegsyBoy learnt something else - snow isn't soft once it's compacted, in fact it's really hard and can have the effect of sandpaper on skin - go figure.

 



Good Job Girls

Goodness Gracious Great Balls Of...Snow

Our valour became discretion and we retired to watch the girls finish their admirable effort at building a snowman (although we did forget the carrot) and get a few more photo opportunities, before heading back to Rocinante and making our way home. Believe it or not, it was FUN, and apart from the cost of the kids snow gear (deliberately bought 2 sizes too big so's I don't have to buy any more whilst we're over here!) it cost zippo. Will we be back? Can't speak for the rest of the LegsyBoys, but I sure will be!

PHOTO GALLERY:



Looking Gooood!

...A Little Bit Of Throttle...



......Steady....

......Steady...



Hmmm....Could Be In A Spot Of Bother Here

Ouch!!

....And Ouch!!

....Ouch....





I Think That'll Do

I Went Down There





 

 

   

...And This Is Next!









DISASTER IN THE SNOW



Siera de Guadarrama Behind Tres Cantos

 Santa gave los ninos a snow sled each, so at some stage it was obvious we would have to venture into the winter wonderland. Two weekends ago, that time had come, and so the LegsyBoys excitedly rugged up and piled into Rocinante for the relatively short trip into the nearby 'hills', the Sierra de Guadarrama. It's only 35 minutes to the village of Cercedilla located in the foothills of the sierras, at which point the single lane road escalates markedly. The road to Cercedilla parallels the mountains, which are shrouded in fog - is this a good or bad sign? Because thhere is no snow at 1,000 metres (and we can't see any higher), Buzzy cracks it in the back seat (he's SO like his father!).

1800 Metres and climbing

As we start to climb, white flakes dust the windscreen, but Buzz is still unconvinced; there's none on the ground. Fortunately, Aimee is a little more optimistic, so it's only one way disenchantment - at the moment. Finally, at 1400 metres the tell tale signs of 'white stuff' on the side of the road gets the back seat excited; yeah, alright, and the front too. It's bumper to bumper at snail pace from here on as we snake our way upwards, and we're getting impatient as we slowly count of the roadside markers every 100 metres. Twenty minutes sees us reach the ski village at the top of the pass (this is the mountain link to Segovia); we're 2,000 metres up and we're lucky to find a car park fairly quickly. It's nice and warm inside Rocinante!

Barely Visible Chalet

We quickly don our warmest clothes and open the doors - JEEEEEZUZ!!! I know it's snowing, but nobody said it would be FREEZING as well....there's a 20 kph howling wind that is whipping the snow into something approaching a blizzard, but we're oblivious to it all and head for the toboggan slopes. As we pass by the barely visible chalet, we notice the red neon temperature gauge telling us it's -4C, and there's a wind chill factor of another -10C. No worries, BRING-IT-ON (as Julia would doubtless say), the LegsyBoys are up for this. Buzz gets in a few runs on a small slope and is valiantly trying to manoeuvre his sled, with varying degrees of success, whilst the Aimster is happily making body imprints in the snow. We decide to walk the 800 metres to the proper toboggan run located near the ski lift that takes you to the summit (a few hundred metres further up and where the serious stuff happens). That's about when the party ended! By the time we reached the run, the ice winds have inflitrated through our denim jeans and I can feel my skin ulcerating. Dulcinea is wearing gumboots and I'm shod in my trusty leather Birkenstocks; los ninos are wearing canvas Converse gym shoes! By now, their shoes are saturated, their socks wringing wet, and their feet totally frozen; to make matters worse, the Aimster has somehow managed to twist her ankle by virtue of her involuntary shuddering and convulsions! It is, by any stretch, an unmitigated disaster!


Not A Weasel In Sight!

...Or An Eagle!

 The area usually abounds with wildlife normally, but even the ibex, deer, badgers, weasels, hares and eagles aren't silly enough to come out in this. The tears are flowing copiously as we abort and head back towards the chalet in search of something hot to warm us. No dice, it's packed with like minded snow bunnies, and so we head back to Rocinante. By the time we reach her, Buzzy and Aimee are both sobbing uncontrollably, shivering and quaking in their saturated clothing; we've all got stalagtites of 'boogah' hanging from our nostrils and body hair, and I'm forced to try and scrape the ice from the windscreen using the knuckles of my gloves - I must remember to buy one of those ice scrapers! As we made our way home and the warmth of the air inside the car thawed them out (the heater was set on 35C!!), Aimee & Buzz crashed in a beautiful mass of sibling exhaustion. I must confess that I actually LOVED it; there may be three LegsyBoys who like the feel of warmth on their Anzac backs, but one of us prefers to bask in the crispness of winter. That I spent the next week in bed battling the worst case of flu I've ever had is purely incidental!


Do I LOOK Happy!!

Nightmare On The Sierra

Pull mum.....

Mum...Pull!

 To say it didn't go well would be an understatement; we've never been snow bunnies and were totally ill-prpeared for our adventure; the only thing we got right was finding the place and at least having some dry clothes for Aimee and Liam to change into (even if their uncontrollable shivering made it almost impossible to perform the simplest of tasks, like putting on dry socks). But you know, we LegsyBoys are a resilient lot. Subject to certain conditions, Aimee and Liam want to give it another go; and so we've been to Decathlon (I'll tell you what that is at a later time) and they both now have snow shoes (a bargain at 12 euros), and I now own a purple beanie that makes me look like a Melbourne Storm supporter; tomorrow we'll fit them out in puffer snow trousers (10 euro a pair - another bargain), and then we'll give it another crack on Saturday. The weather is glorious but cold, clear blue skies that are forecast to continue for a few more days, so this time we'll get it right. We'll even take a carrot for the nose!! BRING.....IT.....ON........

At Least It's Warm!

Rocinante & Don L

Cold? Moi?



 

The Aftermath - Exhausted

PARIS UNHINGED

Charging Station

Electric Car Charge

DAY 8: And so it came to pass that today would prove a bridge, or museum to be specifically correct, too far. For our last day of organised sightseeing, we plan to firstly visit the crazy world of the Pompidou Centre, the modern art museum that looks for all the world like the builder has forgotten to render the walls. The weather is very dull, drizzly and cold; matched to my demeanour means I'm holding a full house! Blissfully ignorant of the toll the previous day has taken on Team LegsyBoys, Don L is less than enamoured when we are running nearly 2 hours behind the schedule that slow burns in his head. We stroll past parking/recharging stations for electric cars - I've never seen them before. By the time we arrive at the centre, even the priority queue has a lengthy waiting list. I insist upon standing in the queue and instruct Dulcinea et al to have a wander for an hour. Things degenerate quickly, as the queue moves more rapidly than expected; frantic texts are not received and by the time of their return, we've missed the queue boat and I'm steamin'!! Some call it sulking, I prefer to think of it as inner focus; whatever, the weather runs a pretty lame second when I get 'the huffs'.

Your Guess Is As Good As Mne

Hotel deVille

We skip Pompidou and stroll down past Place de Hotel deVille and the giant ice skating rink (we don't tempt fate again. From there, it's an aimless wander across Pont au Change onto Cite. We stop to point out Grandad's favourite bridge and Liam takes a couple of photos of it with THE camera (at this stage I've decided to cease documenting our tour - see, I told you I'm good at it!). We stand outisde The Conciergerie and explain its significance and head towards the beautiful Sainte Chapelle; perfect, it's closed for lunch - this wouldn't have happened if we'd been on time (more storm clouds brewing)! Onward - and we're marvelling at Quasimodo's dream - the Notre Dame Cathedral. The kids are impressed - and hungry. So we make for one of Don L's favourite establishments (in an earlier life), and find a table in the Brasserie de la Isle San Louis. The waiter approaches and we begin to place our order; a bowl of frites is met with a disdainful 'non', and the advice that without ordering full meals all round that we were not welcome. Perfect! The only blessing is that los ninos and Dulcinea were out the doror before me and didn't hear the gobful of vitriol I poured on the maitre'd (D for Dickhead doesn't cover it!). Anyway, we ate across the road. From there it was but a stroll around the corner to partake of the finest ice-cream known to man. Berthillon is an institution that is simply a MUST VISIT for anyone in Paris. I don't care what the weather's like, it's never too cold for Berthillon icre-cream, and the LegsyBoys prove this! I have some magnificent licorice flavoured ice-cream, and because I'm still stewin' I don't take any notice of what everyone else has. Great ice-cream, but I'm locked into my fog now.


Grandad's Bridge - Pont Neuf

Le Conciergerie

The rest of the day? Buzz and I end up separated from the girls and as we walk past the Pompidou, I notice there are no queues. 'You want to go in?' "NO THANKS DAD!!!" And that's when it hit me. Ten and seven year olds don't feel a need to experience everything, and what I thought may have been a priority wasn't necessarily theirs; they were quite happy just absorbing the surrounds. Now, I may have worked this out, but it took another 24 hours for 'the shroud' to evaporate!

DAY 8 GALLERY:



Is Quasimodo In?



Notre Dame Gargoyles



Bill Putt & Mike Rudd (Astride)



Respects To The President Of Club 27

Pere Lachaise Cemetery

DAY 9: Girls and boys day. Las chicas head off to do the fashion thing for the day and Buzzy and I head out for a quick visit to Pere Lachaise Cemetery. In all my visit I've never been and it seems the right opporunity, especially as Buzz is compliant on the understanding we hit the toy stores next. It's actually quite pleasant walking amongst the dead; we pay our respects to Chopin, Delacroix, Balzac and Proust, and of course the 'big ticket' headstones of Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf and Jim Morrison. Buzzy is interested in who each is, particularly Piaf and Morrison, both of whom he can assimilate with via a knowledge of their music.The plaque commemorating the site of the execution of the last Communards in 1871 also bears some reflection, even if we don't fully understand; man to man, I love bonding with the little fella. He's perceptive too, wanting to know why people write graffiti on graves, particularly those surrounding the famous sites, and so we discuss how desecrating ANY grave shows a lack of respect - even for those you think you're honouring.


Wilde About Oscar



Buzzy & Piaf

GL Xmas Tree

And so to Galleries Lafayette for the rest of the day. We wander and play, do lunch and afternoon tea, and Liam overlooks the Lego for a new backpack - wonders never cease! We go back home and await the girls return with their booty (and they, too, have been in the GL!). The plan for dinner is to pop around the corner into the Marais, but upon arrival at Restaurante Derriere it is fully booked and even my charm can't get us in. No matter, we walk until we find a cosy bistro for a final night of traditional French fare - our plates are adorned with canard and steak and we have a wholly sumptuous repaste on this, our final evening. (Travel Tip: Paris, indeed France, has gone the way of other countries and it seems no longer leaves things to chance. Almost every establishment we ate in automatically added a 12.5% service charge, so gone are the days whena tip rewarded good service. It would seem that the cash cow food business that is the USofA may well be the last bastion of 'the tip').


DAY 9 Gallery:

Communards Execution 1871



Proust

Is That Really Where Demons Go?

Chopin

Jom Morrison - Pere Lachaise



What Can I Say??

DAY 10: We pack our bags, bid adieu o mine host Stefano (a lovely young Italian lad who owns half a dozen apartments in the area) and with 'bon voyage' ringing in our ears from the femme fatales, we head to Rocinante and load her up. There's time for nice walk along Rue St. Honore and we find ourselves at Colette, the fashion concept store that is THE name on everyone's lips. It's trendy - and seriously overpriced - but worth the look. There's also time for a bit to eat and time to put the final layer of cream on Buzzy's 'to-do' list; we share a plate of escargot, and it's superb. Man, that little boy just loves his food, and his preparedness to try things never ceases to amaze.

Escargot - Mmmm, Mmmm

Back to the car and it's an hour's drive to reach Charles DeGaulle airport, where Dulcinea and los ninos are to board an Easyjet flight home. Given I'd been, well...an ARSEHOLE for a day and a half, I was taken aback by Aimee and Liam's teary farewell; they are so forgiving and I am so lucky!

After 90 minutes of battling the immobile car park that is called the Peripherique, Rocinante can finally smell fresh air in her nostrils as we make for an overnight stop in Chatelleraut. The motel costs 29 euro; it's a bed and you get what you pay for. I head into town for one last serving of provincial cuisine only to be served the WORST canard I have ever had...period! Serves me right

Chatelleraut Roundabout Art

DAY 11: I've got some serious music on the seat beside me, the volumes cranked up to 'distortion' on the dial, there's a diet Coke in the drink tray and a bag full of treats. It's only 9 hours to home and it passes without incident. There's fog all the way to the border, and the French haven't eliminated the tolls during the week (it's a bit rude when there's no alternate road to take I have to say!). As I exit the el cheapo Spanish tollway gate near Burgos I am pulled over by the Policia. "Lo siento, no hablo Espanol" I nervously spit out, and he replies with the only English word he knows - "Licence". Now I'm a bit nervous at this point; even though I'm still legally able to drive on a foreign licence, I am all too aware of the penalties that are applied here, PLUS I have no idea what I've actually done since I have just exited a toll booth (and I am a religious 'cruise control' user yet to be convicted for speeding ANYWHERE!). I hand him my Victorian licence and he spends a confused 5 minutes just staring at it, clearly wondering how come I look so young given my date of birth. I pull out the International Drivers Licence and hand it to him; it's like a light bulb goes off - "AAAH!" He hands them back and waves me on with a "Gracias Guapo!". (Travel Tip: Get an IDL from your local RACV/NRMA etc if you intend driving overseas. All you need is a passport photo and current licence. They're cheap, produced on the spot and it takes 5 minutes. If you're gonna get pulled over then it makes a lot of sense to wave around a document that foreign policia can read).

 

Home and happy families. All holidays have their ups and downs, and ours are no different. We've had a ball in Paris and you know, I reckon we'll get back there. We know what's good, what's not, and we even have a great place to stay....plus there's the matter of a certain tower we need to climb!