Paris, Paul Bert and Dom Perignons bones!

Opting to take the subway out to Pearson airport on Good Friday may not seem like the perfect start to a two week European sojourn but for us it seemed like a low key way to start our adventure. A kind of DIY eco friendly way to kick off the trip. All that hocus pocus went out the window when we were offered upgrades to the Air France lounge at the airport. Suddenly bubbly, nibbles and super comfy sofa’s seemed just the thing on a Friday afternoon before our evening flight!.

My last experience with Air France had been subpar so was impressed with their service, food and footrests. Charles de Gaulle finally loomed out of the clouds, the light drizzle turning into a deluge as we deplaned onto the tarmac and had to madly lope across a mini lake to the shuttle bus! Lost luggage is par for the course, but for me it was a first time experience in Paris. Said large red case turned up an hour or so later and we whisked through rapidly drying streets to the Hotel Glasgow in the 17th arrondissement.

Kicking off our travels in the Air France Lounge

This residential suburb is just the other side of the Arc de Triomphe and was a lovely surprise. Our minimal hotel was a narrow tall building near stunning food market streets, restaurants and the Villiers metro stop.

17th Arondissement

Quickly purchasing a three day metro pass we headed straight for the Rodin museum. Loved the house, gardens, café but was a little bored by the artworks. EEEK! Great to see these famous pieces but I quickly realized this trip was about us having fun and precious time together rather than culturally enhancing our sensibilities! We had a glorious lunch in the garden there, my ‘lentile salade’ was toooooo die for. Smoked salmon, lentils, savory herb, crème fraiche and lemon in a glass looked as intriguing as it tasted.

Window shopping on the Left Bank

Four weeks of DIY Italian lessons helped me direct two lost Italian women to the Tour d’Eiffel as we walked towards St Germaine du Pres. Learning some basic Italian helped me with my french too. There are so many similarities that Miss Daniels lessons jumped back into the forefront of my fuzzy brain!

Rodin Museum and Eiffel Tower

Easter crowds thronged all the tourist hot spots so we opted to wander our own path. Just enjoying the difference of pale stone buildings and French architecture, the Seine, spring blossoms and fresh air.
I tried to get Pip into Laduree at the Champs but it was inundated….so very glad this was not my first time in Paris as would have been devastated to have to wait in the huge queues for everything! Note to first time travellers…book all your tickets and sightseeing trips online before you leave so you don’t have to battle with lines of hot grumpy tourists and get up early in the morning!

Laduree

Later as the sun dipped we had a coup d’champagne (albeit the smallest bloody coup I’d ever seen) of Dom Perignon street side up the rue from our hotel, watching the antics of locals parking their sixpence sized cars in thrupenny sized parking spots.

Pip shopped for wine, cheese and baguettes along the rue and we took a little feast to our roof top garret, flung open the floor to ceiling windows, whipped out my trusty swiss army knife ( no self respecting kiwi girl should be out and about without one!), and popped the cork on a delish bottle of chardonnay. Drinking out of tooth mugs we had the most delicious meal of crusty bread with super duper stinky goat cheese, smoked duck breast, a well aged comte cheese and sliced apple. Phew eh! Bloody bewty mate !

Stinky goats cheese, fig jam, smoked duck and champagne in tooth mugs!!

Easter Sunday dawned fine so we headed off to the Marche Puces on the metro to Clignancourt. Rosie D had given us the heads up for lunch so we beelined for Rue Rosier’s and Café Paul Bert. My tongue was rolling along behind me (a la Ali McBeal!) salivating at the eclectic brocante and antiques lining the sides of the quaint narrow street that led to the café. I managed to do what I was told by my boyfriend and folded myself into a seat by the window. Minutes later we happily ordered ‘Coquilles St Jacques’ and ‘lamb ragout with white beans’. Bloody hell. Expecting brunch ,as it was barely midday, I wondered if my tummy would cope with such deliciousness so early in the day. No problems was the answer as our plates were set in front of us with a fragrant bottle of rose.

After a superb lunch we strolled the lanes of the Marche Paul Bert. At one point I was completely overwhelmed. Every eclectic piece I’d ever lusted over revealed itself in one day. Stunningly simple stone mantle and fire surround, mid century aged leather Eames chairs, huge ancient mirrors, peasant style green pottery, rustic timber tables, you name it IT was there…BUT …the catch was ….it was all fearfully expensive…even with the currency exchange from Canadian dollars at a reasonably friendly rate. The days of finding inexpensive treasures here may have gone.

The true pleasure was just seeing all these scrumdiddlydumptious treasures so artfully displayed amidst crumbling old buildings and rumpty cobbled lanes. Even better and more charming was the sight of stall owners gathered together in their neighbour’s shop, around tables set with linens, fine china and glassware, gorgeous spring flowers in abundance and goddamn mouth watering smelling dishes set up for Easter Sunday lunch. Quite a scene. The wine was flowing and no-one seemed to worried about selling anything at all!

Our next stop was to be the Atelier Brancusi (I want to replicate this place and live my life out in it) and the Marais but a dramatic hail storm stymied our plans and after a rather painful run through the storm just shy of the Pompidou we dodged back into the metro to see the storm off. Riding the subterranean rails we headed for the Jardins de Tuillieries.

Atelier Brancusi

Edging our way past the long suffering tourists standing in line at the Louvre under clearing skies(once again thank god I’d visited intensively a few years ago) we wandered past the little ‘Paul’ stand (fab pastries and café sold from black painted hut) down the long stretch of pale crushed stone past gardens not quite in bloom, we spied the fantastic bronzed fallen pine lying on its side. My hope to see the long Monet waterlillies panels at the Orangerie faded at the length of lineup there. (Thank god for the Moma in NYC who have a long panel on show year round) Instead we strolled past the place Vendome up to Place Madeleine with its handsome church dominating the square. Once again Laduree was chocka and with black and white striped Fouchon closed we headed into café Julie for a beer and to rest our feet. We hopped back on the Metro (we did have a couple of hiccups when our metrocards didn’t work…luckily the ticket office people were very obliging and willing to try to decipher my french explanations… and re-issued these twice) to Villiers opting for dinner at a bistro near our hotel, we hit the hay happy and exhausted.

Place Madeliene

Next morning after pain au chocolate and café we caught the train to Epernay at Gare l’est. The trip took about an hour and we sped alongside rivers and through charming countryside. Suddenly hills striped brown with vineyards appeared, every slope patterned the same. Too early for leaf bud the vineyards were waiting for the sun to do its thing.

Epernay on Easter Monday 2010

My friend Jennifer's parents, Marion and David, met us at Epernay station, popped us into their white Peugeot and whisked us past the pale stone champagne houses bathed in spring sunshine sporting spring bulbs in huge regal urns then off into the countryside.

Hauteviller near Epernay in the Champagne region

Hauteviller, the resting place of Dom Perignon was our destination. Set high on a hill overlooking the famous champagne vineyards all jumbled together, Hauteville is a quaint example of wine villages in the area. The sun shone as we walked up through narrow streets passed the washing trough and many small aged champagne houses. In the season the streets throng with people but today, Easter Monday, it was thankfully silent, as we entered the dim musty church where the revered Dom’s bones are laid to rest before the altar.

Dom Perignon's resting place.

Lunch was a fab picnic on the very top of the hill, looking back down over acres of sloping vines to the River Marne. A rather somber note is that the Marne was scene to terrible battles and hardships during both first and second world wars.

Champagne Picnic at Hauteviller overlooking vineyards and the Marne.

Sipping bubbly, toasting those fallen boys, we nibbled cheeses from many french regions. We drank in the view across the vines and river to the Chateau Veuve Clicquot, (Veuve means widow …. So didn’t those Clicquot, Vernay, etc widows do well!) before heading back to Marion and David’s riverboat at Conde-sur-Marne.

Each Champagne house had a little plaque marking its vines. There are 2500 Champagne houses in the region and the plots seemed to run together randomly in a higgledpiggedly way. Along the road different champagne houses vines grew within feet of their neighbours. With so many champagne houses bottling wine each year we must be missing out on some great bubblies by only drinking the big named brands. Luckily we got to sample a few bottles during our 8 hours in the region!

Marion and I left the boys on the boat with a good bottle of red and shot around the local Brocante Marche (bric-a-brac and produce) in Conde village. Before leaving Toronto I’d warned Pip that I wanted to buy an Italian olive wood chopping board and salad platter and possibly a pot from Dehillerin in the Marais in Paris. So he was warned! My eyes lit on a set of copper pots set amongst jumble and two dozen french silver forks and spoons in an old leather case. The stall owner dropped the price of the pots while I dithered delicately….!!!Done I said and handed over.E35 for the pots, E10 for the silver. Was I a happy camper or what? On a roll now I could have kept on going. The beautiful white linens…copper fish kettle…darling little ladies chair…chandeliers…OH GOD!!! But I didn’t.! ‘Cause I’m a ….an idiot!!!!

Conte sur Marne...my copper pots and silver purchased at the brocante marche at bottom left!

Much later on a neighbouring boat, drinking homemade Champagne then Ratafia (made from discarded champagne grape skins) and conversing in muddled French we whiled the evening away before hopping one mooring over for Pot au feu, homemade sloe gin and more wine with Marion and David. Their generous hospitality and knowledge of the area made this a day we'll both remember forever.

Wine and goodwill making new friends on the river Marne.

Taking the 8.30pm train back to Paris we were shortcut on sleep that night as our shuttle arrived at 4am for our flight to Rome. Paris had done us proud, three days of European food and style was just what the doctor ordered after a long cold winter!

Reflections on Old Stuff and home away from home.

As I sit on my balcony in the early morning sunshine, my laptop on my knee and little Mcgregor nestled beside me on the sofa, the almost quiet city is waking up. Toronto is the complete opposite to the bobbled lanes of old Rome and the noisy hustle and the bustle of the eternal city. Toronto is in all ways a modern city with nary a toehold to the past. Noted historical events range little further back than around 1813 when the town (York town) was sacked and burned by the marauding Americans! (there’s a battle they won!) (ps.One of my Great Greats, Donald MacLean, died defending the town in that war!)

People here don’t bother to talk about the thousands of years of autochthonous populations who flourished in this vast land….funny how one part of the world can be soooo proud of their ancient civilizations (just because they were clever enough to build everlasting monuments in marble and terracotta), while over here….on the eastern WASPy side of North America the masses prefer to forget there were people before Christopher Columbus, Mr. Hudson, Mr. Verrazano and Sam Champlain!

For me the overriding memory of Rome will be the ruins of that great Roman civilization. Of walking on paths so old you can barely get your head around the genius and blood, sweat and death that created them. I experienced an overwhelming sensation of smallness, of being a part of a tiny blip in an unremarkable moment of history, we probably wont be remembered too kindly in 2000 years time!

Another moment many around St Pauls Basilica will wish to forget, is the storm raging over the Pope, the Vatican anddodgy behaviour of some priests. The hand of the unknown jumped inside my camera to create this unexpected image (below), surely an interesting representation of the men of this church in 2010.

Golden Hockey Puck!

How'd you like that eh! The Canuks did it.....beat the USA to take the Gold in the Hockey. We were stoked for our country of residence. I screamed, Pip screamed, the whole country screamed when Sidney Crosby finagled the puck into the goal to score in overtime…this golden goal ended the match after the game had been tied up by a US goal just 27 seconds before the final bell.


It was a heck of a game and I gotta say I’ve become a bit of a fan. Finally a game that moves, these guys just keep on going and going. Its fast and rough but so skilful you can’t help but be impressed.

From the moment Crosby scored the streets around us in Downtown Toronto roared. Reverberating with cheers and car horns well into the wee hours. A spontaneous party erupted along Yonge street for miles and miles culminating down at Dundas Square.

We went out in it for a while, me wearing my maple leaf toque. Random high 5’s from strangers along the way and joyous outbursts of 'Oh Canada' were great to share. There were maple leafs everywhere, from faces to shirts to flags.

Eventually we wandered home, smiling along with the rest of the melee. We had good reason to smile. Thanks to Julia Child we had a wicked roast chook in the oven and some celebratory bubbles to crack. Finally dozing off in front of the Closing Ceremony I reflected I’d had a great Olympics…cheered for the Kiwis when I could but really loving all the gold the Canadians’ got…especially the girls… it was great to see girls going for it in so many dangerous and skilful events. Bloody ripper really!

Oh to be young again!!

Guns and Noses

Link to TV coverage http://www.citytv.com/toronto/citynews/news/local/article/70707--huge-arsenal-of-guns-seized-from-downtown-apartment

Huge drama this week as the local armed Police response team staked out our building after a raid on a gun collector's apartment. Mac and I arrived back from a very freezing walk at Cherry Beach Monday morning to find our grounds bristling with cops.

Interviewed by the obligatory tall dark and handsome constable I was able to offer that we had in fact seen a suspicious character lurking extra late Saturday night where he shouldn’t, but we are so used to the shady behaviour of the down and outers, pimps, prossies and homeless that populate our downtown area that after remarking on seeing someone we promptly forgot all about it. Happy to report we did not stick our noses into that one!

We now know that a mere two floors above us hoarded in two locked bedrooms was a cache of arms. Even Pip was shocked when the cops rolled out trolleys loaded with Kalashnikovs and glocks and god knows what else. I’ll attach a link to the local tv coverage. Sent chills through me at first, replaced by anger that our super, the doughty Marie, allowed this stockpile of frightening weapons to be stored in our building. Not a place you expect this kind of stuff to go down.

No word yet on how they got in or out of our supposedly safe building!! We hope the videos from the door and hall surveillance will reveal that riddle.

We were a 24 hour wonder with news crews and when interviewed I sensibly kept mum about the inside goss I’d gleaned from chats with other tenants. I’ll share with you though. The collection belonged to an aged lawyer, whose office had been next door, he’d moved the collection in over a year ago, he's ill and currently lives elsewhere. The guns were not stored in secure lockers and although the bolts appeared to be removed from those we saw taken by the police we have no idea about the ones that got away! Just that they were handguns!!

Add to all that the first real snowstorm of the winter our 75 year old super Marie is set to have a heart attack.

We manage to continue life happily though admit to being rather disappointed at the warm temps and lack of real snow depth this winter.

Valentines Day at Blue Mountain

Just had a gorgeous experience at Blue Mountain Ski Resort, set on the escarpment that runs from Niagara up to Lake Huron. Short and sharp, the runs are fun and steep, and when I say short I do mean short. The snow was fab and the boyfriend is giving me a run for my money these days. I find I'm having to hussle to keep up with him when he lets his skis run. We had fun doing figure 8's down beside the trees. The view is gorgeous, Georgian Bay stretches out to the horizon iced up in patches and very blue.

Sadly no pics but will take some next time.

Apres ski we hit the Nordic Spa just 5 minutes from the ski hill. Set amongst tall silver birches this group of red painted barn like structures surrounds an artful group of outdoor pools ranging from deliciously hot to fffffffreeezin! After a hot dip and cold plunge we retreat to the eucalyptus steam silo and finnish sauna. Quiet rooms lead off these areas and guests lie around reading or contemplating the tranquil view. Silence is observed and I have to admit to being told politely to shut up at one point .....but I was not the only one! Its hard to be quiet when plunging ones body into a snow drift and making like a polar bear.

This was our second Nordic spa and it really is heaven. Made me remember all those wonderful nights at the hot pools at the Lake (Rotiti) as kids and how fabulous you feel afterwards from the combination of hot hot and cold cold water.

Apres Nordic Spa!

Driving back from our trip we both felt totally chilled out until some dopey driver ahead decides to take the highway at 10 miles per hour....this behaviour does not go down well with my chauffeur....so we preceded to show those Canadians a thing or two about night driving and using ones high beam to illuminate the road. Apparently thats not something people do here!

Everytime we drive back into Toronto we are amazed at how huge the place is and how the urban sprawl just keeps creeping outwards as horrid lines of row housing sprout up where farmers grew corn when we first arrived.

Back at Isabella towering apartment buildings have sprouted in the 3 years we were away. The upshot is that the socio economic climate of our area has lifted which is great, not so many homeless types hanging around...more young business people and couples...as its so handy to all the good things like shops and subway.

Winter Carnivale in Quebec and The Ice Hotel

Leaving the city at midday last Friday, we hit the highway for a 810k drive to Quebec city. Last time we did this I swore we'd fly next time...but you know how it is....the boyfriend didn't like the idea of having Mcgregor under the seat in the dreaded doggie bag for the one hour trip so here we are! Still, if Pip was keen on driving the distance, Mac and I were happy to keep him company!

I'd baked till nearly midnight thursday night, producing two cakes, one banana and one plum kuchen and two huge lasagnes to take up with us, they were stowed in the back with the doggie.

We whiled away the 5 hours to Montreal learning Italian. I had my laptop on my knee with our 'Learn Italian in 10 minutes a day' CD whirring around. We uno, due, tre and quatro'd our way across the snowless miles of Ontario. It wasnt until we crossed the border into Quebec that the snow accumulation became significant. We pass pretty farms, with great arching barns and tall silos all the way. Livestock are rare, and further north the barns turn into great silver double storied chicken factories. (We buy organic eggs from chickens fed on the stuff that makes their yolks orange like the ones back home)

This countryside is flat...flat...flat....grain growing land. Quebec is just a big farm really and it produces some yummy stuff especially cheese. We hoped to sample a few of those delights this weekend.

Finally we crossed the St Lawrence and drove into old Quebec along the Boulevard Champlain which winds along the river, below the cliffs, to the old port. Darkness had fallen hours before and right on cue a great fireworks display erupted over the high plains of Abraham above the cliffs to herald our arrival in town!

We wound through the now familiar narrrow cobbled streets to our friend Jills house on Rue St Louis in the walled town. Jill, a Commander in the Canadian Navy, lives with her two sons in a fifteen room stone house, built in the early 1800's by the english. It has an aristocratic history and once sported gorgeous gardens, but these days is owned by the Government for the use of employees of the Forces.

Saturday morning and we're off on a trek to the Winter Carnivale to see the ice sculptures and Ice Palace. $12 buys a three week pass to the event and we wander the frozen streets and sideshows. Pip and I go head to head in the kids tent playing tennis on a wii....I think I won..but maybe not!... (He says not)! (His story is that he thrashed me...!) We also played some sort of wii dancing game which was great fun and just showed how rhymically challenged I really am. I was beaten soundly! Ian, Jills youngest son (green jacket at left) played a game of human fuze ball. Hilarious. People strapped themselves to sliding poles and moved just like a fuze ball table. To his delight, Ian kicked the winning goal.

Old fashioned horsedrawn sleighs drifted across the snow, making the snow covered Plains of Abraham look like they must of 200 years ago. Little Mac, clad in his red winter coat got the shakes as we walked around town on the way to the Soap Box derby. His dear dad picked him up and carried him home to get warm in Jills parlour.

Cariboo is the drink of the festival. A hot concoction of red wine and whisky dished up in funky ice glasses served from an ice bar by cute boys and girls in sub zero gear. We tried some later that night on our way home from the Auberge St Antoine, at an ice bar on Rue St Louis. We'd been at drinks in the hotel earlier to meet the champion ladies Ice Canoe team sponsored by the Hotel.

Somehow we ended up settled into the Artifact bar at the Auberge, with Evan and a new group of friends, sampling gorgeous nibbles, oysters and scallops washed down by lashings of lovely wine! We met a lovely couple from Boston, he was Prof of Economics at MIT (very handsome) and she a stay at home Mum. Another very beautiful young couple, a financier and advertising gal, were from Toronto and the last couple lived in Ottawa, he was Welsh and she worked for the Government. Two of these couples were indulging in romantic weekends at the Ice Hotel, something we'd toyed with doing but put in the too hard basket.

Sunday we watched Evan and his Bonjour Quebec team in the Ice Canoe Race with Muffy (in the shiny black coat), Dominique (turquoise pants), Annabelle and Nic Price. The girls in the Auberge St Antoine team lead the womens section out across the ice and into the St Laurent river but sadly could only manage 4th after the grueling  test against ice, swift current and blowing snow  Evans team started from the back of the bunch and finished a creditable 6th. There were some hairy moments when boats, rowed by four rowers and a captain steering with a paddle, clashed together, trapped in the ice, as sharp pick ended oars crashed together and carbon fibre hulls clattered against the river iceflows, the rowers desperately trying to get into clear water and away from their opponents. The Elite mens race was won by the crack Chateau Frontenac team who'd won for years on end. (The rowers all wear Canterbury rugby boots modified with long sharpened bolt like sprigs so they can run on the ice.)

After a few warming mulled wines back at the Auberge, Pip and I joined Jill and her boys for Sunday dinner and played board games until bedtime.

Next day we packed our dusty chevrolet and headed off to the Ice Hotel. I had a preconceived idea of what it would look like. Of course it was completely different. On the outside the shape of the building is very simple, its not until you walk through the deerskin covered doors that the magic starts. Every pillar, wall, chandelier, bed, chair, table and stool is carved from ice. Seats and beds are draped with pelts and skins and clever lighting transforms each room into something super romantic. Cathedral ceilings soar in the public areas, there was even an ice slide in one of the bars.

Its weird walking through a building with snow floors and ice walls, bloody cold actually, even though we're in our boots and down parkas. I baulked at going right inside a little igloo (claustrophobia) but didnt think twice about stretching out on a bearskin rug on an icy bed. Guests arrive in the evening for drinks and nordic spas, are given artic sleeping bags and the ice beds are heaped with pelts and rugs. There are no doors and there are air holes in the ceiling of each room. Some of the larger suits have fireplaces too. The Ice Hotel has a lodge where each guest also has a room to flee to if the cold gets too much in the night!

The chapel took my breath away, it was serene and incredibly beautiful, like a fairytale dream place!

We had to trek back into Quebec as the boyfriend had left his wallet warming above Jill's radiator at Rue St Louis. The trip, though long, seems to slip by now we have become familiar with it again. Just a short 9 hours later we drove into our parking lot at Isabella Street after smooth trip on the dead straight road, wee Mac snoozing in his tartan bed in the backseat.

Another weekend behind us and good memories to sleep on.

Auberge Saint Antoine in old Quebec for New Year

Once again we were drawn to travel to the chilly north for New Year. Just an eight hour drive between Toronto blighted by a green Christmas and Quebec dusted with snowflakes for a  joyeus noel and bonne annee!

Leaving Toronto in the late afternoon we stopped overnight in Montreal, always gorgeously done up for the holidays with funky lights,  this year huge lit angels adorned the facade of Notre Dame in the Vieux Port.

Sadly the hotel was full up with bus loads of eighteen year olds making the New Years trip to legally drink in Quebec where the legal age is nineteen. Pip was up most of the night while our neighbour argey bargeyd with a security guard until the disturber was thrown out about three hours too late for my boy to have a nights sleep.  Mcgregor and I slept on uncaring of his discomfit!

Arriving at the Auberge Saint-Antoine is a lovely thing. Handsome young men with sexy french accents usher one in through the huge doors,  up into the lobby with its crackling fire and witty iron chandeliers. I can never resist stopping to view the three dioarama, set in a wall, depicting the changes to the hotel site from the 17th century and cleverly showing the placement of the current building. Reclaimation over the last 400 years has seen the shore line expand outwards. The Auberge, a Relais and Chateaux establishment owned by the Price family of Quebec, stands on the site of several old warehouses, artefacts from three centuries of merchant business's are artfully encased a la museum style along the walls in all the main public areas of the hotel, giving it a unique museo-art vibe.  The glass boxes are funky and intriguing, lit in a very modern way to show off the gorgous green, pink and red glass along with shards of fine china and metal domestic items.

Dining that night in Panache, the fine dining restaurant housed in an original warehouse attached to the hotel, with Madame Price, Muffy to her friends, was a rare treat.  We met in the bar and drank delicious cocktails made from blackberries, kirsch, vodka and simple syrup. Lucious briny poached oysters and tender scallops in their shells accompanied drinks but our stand out fave was the spicy popcorn. We guessed it was tossed with pork fat, paprika and cayenne.. whatever the recipe it was addicting!

Moving to the ancient timber beamed restaurant, designed in 2003 by Muffy to honor the integrity of its original use mixed up with contemporary french chic to create another unique space. Placed in front of the fire we dined first on fois gras, Atlantic scallop, then the most divinely crispy sweetbread with rosemary sauce that was one of the best things I've ever put in my mouth! Chef Francoios Blais does a wonderful job melding old quebec recipes and comfort foods fusing them with contemporary twists and an elegance suited to this lovely room. Each yummy course was pared with a spirit or wine, very cool for us as these were all new wines whose provenance ranged from Canada, Italy, France, South Africa and Venezuela!

Rich caribou filet with a porcini mushroom mustard sauce was matched with a big red from Ernie Els vineyard in South Africa. Being golfers we enjoyed that connection. After a delicious local organic blue cheese, raisin toast and candied fruits we finished with a shot of Venezuelan Rum and a luscious chocolate confection.

Midnight burst forth with Laurent Perrier and cannons of streamers in the bar. The pastry chef had created a tower of chocolate and dessert delights that guests just couldn't resist. I found a little pile of chocolate brittle on my bedside table in the morning, I must have pocketed them on my way to bed!

Skiing at Mont Sainte Anne 45mins from downtown Quebec the next day with distant cousin Evan and his two teens was fun though we did more socialising than skiing in the end. Pip went off on his own and skied three times the runs I did until we met up again and skied back to the car in the gently falling snow.

Invited back to dinner with Evan's family we found our summer tyres were very dodgy on the snow covered road up to the ski house. In the end we had to back the chevvy down the snowy hill and park on the flat, Evan chauffering us back to the house!

Another sensational meal, this time the big filet mignon was cooked to perfection by Eric, Evan's brother-in-law, in the fireplace over a bed of glowing coals. Marie and Dominique created magic in the kitchen, producing a scrummy potato gratin and a tarte aux citron amongst other things. Eric and Marie visited New Zealand, along with beautiful daughters Sophie and Lilly, last Christmas and have happy memories of their holiday to share. (Phew....the rain must have stayed on that 'plain in spain' while they were in town!!

The following day we had brunch at Panache which was a treat. Lazing around the hotel, enjoying the snow falling softly outside and the glowing fires in the public spaces we chatted with other guests, read newspapers and crosswords then headed back to Mont Sainte Anne to Zonespa. Evan had suggested we try this Nordic experience. One glimpse of the snow surrounded hot pools and my heart was won over.A dream come true. Snow. Hot Water. Fresh crisp air. My loved one beside me! Gingerly I managed to  roll half naked in the snow too, Pip led the way into the froxen lake by dipping head and all under. I thought he'd have a heart attack from the shock of it but he survived, revived by a stinging dip back in the hot pool. I didn't quite manage to get my heart under the freezing water but was pleased to do that much. Later we tripped through the snow clad in wet togs and white fluffy robes to a Yurt retreat where a fire warmed the air and comfy recliners ringed the ciruclar canvas walls. We spent some time just snoozing in the silent warmth. Really delish. More hot and cold dips then into the steam room and finishing under the indoor cold waterfall. We felt relaxed and pampered and completely content.

Dinner that night at Cafe Artefact started with dirty martini's beside the fire in one of the reading nooks at the Auberge.  We met an interesting couple from Montreal, ate a really good soup and fab croque monseiur. Later we had a few drinks with author Douglas Kennedy a fascinating guy we liked alot. He'd driven over from Maine and was a regular guest at the Auberge.

Checking out the following day we joined friend Jill and her sons, David and Ian for a really festive sunday lunch. Turkey with all the trimmings. I chipped in an made my mother's bread sauce.

Moira's Bread Sauce

• 2 Bay leaves
• ground pepper (white is prettier)
• salt
• half a stick of butter (more if you like to be daring)
• half and half ( cream or full cream milk)
• 1/2 white, vadahlia or yellow onion, diced finely
• 4 " slab of stale white bread, crust cut off. or 4 -6 slices torn or roughly cut up
• (Crushed cardomom pods can be added to milk infusion if using with goose or duck)

Using a wooden spoon to stir, place butter in a saucepot and  melt, add onion and melt gently until translucent but not coloured. Add 2 cups of milk, bay leaf, good pinch of pepper and salt and infuse gently over low heat for 5 minutes.
Add torn bread to milk mix and continue to heat gently over medium heat until mix thickens and bread loses shape. I stir with wooden spoon from time to time. Continue to add milk or bread if needed until good thick consistency. Keep warm over a low heat or in warm spot on stove. Can be made a day or so in advance, flavour develops even more. Remove bay leaf before serving in a warm bowl with all roast fowl. Perfect with sage and onion stuffed roast chicken, creamed sweet corn side, roasted or steamed vegies and rich gravy made from thickened pan drippings, good stock or veggie water and a dash of soy sauce to brighten flavours and some wine.

After lunch Jill and I took the boys to the Musee de la Civilisation for the annual fete of the Three Kings, a French religious custom after New Year. We sampled the galette and then viewed three exhibitions. Human copyright was a fascinating look at the difference between the human brain and animals, evolution and the mechanical brains of robots and computers. 7 sins explored these deadly obsessions showcasing items from the museums inventory and lastely we visited the model of the Battle in 1756 on the Plains of Abraham where both General Wolfe (British) and Montcalm (French) lost their lives. The Battle famous as the turning point in the British fortunes in New France. I was interested as it was very much an exhibition from the French point of view... I forget that this was their town.... as I am always looking at it historically through the eyes of an English descendant of the battleof the Plains of Abraham.

Pip and Mcgregor met us at the Dufferin Terrace in front of the Chateau Frontenac. We bought tickets for the toboggan slide and hike up the hill towing the 6 ft long, one hundred year old toboggans as the sinking sun turned the river and hills behind lilac and silver. Not known for my love of roller coasters and the like I was determined to do this little ride. Jill and I hopped on, much to Mcgregors horror, then sped hooting and hollering like kids down the shute. Pip and the little boys went so fast they overshot the landing area by about 20 feet. Pip ended up with his legs in the air on his back laughing his head off.

The next morning we packed the car, found Evan's son's missing track pants, duely delivered them to the Auberge for pick up and rolled out of town along the Chemin Cartier which runs along the mighty fleuvre. I haven't talked about the Saint Lawrence river, but its the heartbeat of the old town. In the winter its choked with ice moving with the strong tide. Its quite disconcerting seeing it flowing back up the river  as the tide rushes in. Evan and friends defy this current by racing ice canoes through and up over the ice in a death defying display of daring, strength and stamina. We're going to make the trip back early February to see the big ice canoe race at the Winter Carnivale.