Paris Interlude 1

It’s a little intimidating trying to write a blog about Paris. So many great writers have described its every season, aspect and mood. All a humble tourist can do is to try to put together a set of impressions that communicate something about our personal experience of this beautiful city. Like New York, Paris is one of those places you somehow ‘know’ as part of your cultural capital, even if you’ve never been there. Expectations are inevitable – the grand monuments and promenades, the charming stores and street markets, the museums, the stylish Parisians (also described by many as rude, arrogant and hostile to foreigners) – and the first of these expectations to be challenged was the one about grandeur. Yes, it’s all there – the cathedrals, the tower, the Louvre, the Arc – but the really lovely thing is the human scale of the city. Thanks to Napoleon III and his town planner, Baron Haussman, very few buildings rise above six to eight storeys. The bottom floors are typically devoted to small (often tiny) shops, restaurants and businesses of incredible variety, with apartments above. This means that there is no dead commercial zone, and it also means a constant lively social life on the streets as people shop, chat in bars and cafes, seek and provide entertainment, protest (‘manifs’ are an everyday occurrence) and generally engage with one another on the streets, even in the depths of winter. I really enjoyed seeing so many family restaurants, tiny studios, quirky gift shops and boutiques, music stores, real tailors and bootmakers, florists, bookanistes, and specialists in every imaginable type of food. The front of each bakery, butcher, fish shop, grocery, fromagerie and patisserie is a work of art and it seems no self-respecting Parisian shopkeeper would settle for anything less. We even saw a combined laundromat/art gallery.

 

The big international chains are all here, it’s just that they don’t get to dominate. In keeping with the ‘small is beautiful’ theme, we stayed in the Hotel du Theatre, a pretty little boutique hotel in the 17^th Arondissement, just off the Rue des Batignoles. Decorated in the classic crimson and gold of traditional French theatre, the hotel had small but comfortable rooms – with immaculate new bathrooms – and friendly, helpful staff who all spoke excellent English but played along with my lame French. Which brings me to the next challenge – where were all those arrogant Parisians? Almost without exception, everyone we met was charming, friendly and helpful. I think making an effort to speak in French helped, or maybe it was being there in the off season, but the people were a delight. I wonder if that myth stems from the French insistence on remaining French, despite all the pressures of globalisation? From a very early age they learn to value their culture (witness groups of six year olds in colourful tunics, painting copies of Monets in the Louvre) and they don’t cave in to every customer demand for bigger, blander rooms or fries with that. I think the Gallic Shrug is an appropriate response to visitors’ efforts to make this place like everywhere else.

 

So, Parisians were far from rude, but they definitely were stylish. A smattering of high fashion along the expensive shopping avenues, but mostly people dressed in jeans, boots and well cut jackets. Caps, bags and scarves for colour and individual style – voila! It looks so simple, but somehow they just do it better. Our daggy boat clothes certainly didn’t win any awards, but we were an appreciative audience for the passing parade. I was amazed at how many of the women and children, with their dark eyes and creamy skin, could have posed for Renoir paintings (perhaps their great grandparents did?)

Just walking around, looking and listening, was great fun, but if you needed to get somewhere, the Metro is a terrific transport system – fast, simple and comprehensive. We bought Navigo cards that covered the week from Monday to Sunday (5E for the card, 19E for a week of heavy usage!) A bonus was the on-board entertainment, with talented buskers hopping aboard between stops to sing or play for a handful of coins.

On our first day, we rugged up in a few layers and took a long walk down to towards the river, via the Place de la Concorde. It was magical to see the Seine for the first time (with the Eiffel Tower in the distance, of course). With all the recent snow and meltwater from the mountains, it was flowing fast and cold. Water craft were clearly struggling against the current, though there were plenty of canal boats tied up along the banks, many of them with gardens, clotheslines and garden furniture that suggested they had thoroughly settled in. Highlights along the way: classy shops along the Rue Haussmann, and the accompanying classy shoppers; a whole shop featuring sculptures in chocolate; a delicious apricot crepe from a street stall; flower shops; the Luxor Obelisk; the massive square of Concorde, surrounded by beautiful buildings and statues; formerly this was the Place de la Revolution where the guillotine was erected and Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were executed in 1793. It’s weird to imagine the crowds of happy tourists replaced with cheering crowds as the heads rolled and the cobbles ran with blood.

 

Well, I might break at this reflective moment and publish Part 1 – Paris deux in a day or two. A bientot!

Unrest

It was a strange day on Wednesday. When we walked into town, there seemed to be a few more police around than usual, and the main supermarket was closed for no apparent reason. We bought a couple of things in the other store, then found ourselves hustled out through the back door, along with all the other shoppers. On the way back to the marina, we could see a crowd gathering in the main square. Even the weather seemed ominous, the pleasant evening suddenly swept away by a vicious cold, gritty wind. Something was clearly going on, and it didn't look good.

Back at the dock, one of the French cruisers told us that a leader of one of Tunisia's small opposition parties had been assassinated, apparently by a Muslim extremist. In several parts of the country there were spontaneous protests by groups who felt that their new, hard-won freedoms were under threat, and others critical of an Islamist government that they felt had not done enough to control violent extremists. Chokri Belaid is to be buried tomorrow (Friday) and there will be a general strike. We plan to lay low - an easier decision because that terrible wind is still blowing out there. I just feel for the Tunisian people who are already struggling with poverty and unemployment - tourism and trade are way down already and this can only worsen the situation for them. Our own plans to see some of the rest of the country are on hold, of course; the last thing anyone needs is a couple of silly tourists mixed up in any unrest.

So, we are safe here for the moment; and being on a boat means we can leave pretty much instantly should the need arise, which is unlikely. The island of Lampedusa, which belongs to Italy, is only 80 miles away, and Malta is 160 - easy as long as that wind isn't on the nose.

To Market, to Market ... Boat Life #3

Of course the one thing we definitely WON'T find in the market here is anything to do with pigs - although I did read that Tunisia's only pig farm is close by, in Cap Bon. It is supposed to be heavily protected, but whether that's to stop the 'unclean' animals escaping or desperate Frenchmen breaking in to cut off a slice or two, I'm not sure. So, shopping. There are supermarkets here, as nearly everywhere, and it's always interesting to see what products are different (eg lots of varieties of couscous, chickpeas and halva, no oatmeal) but a trip to the market for fresh produce is much more interesting, as well as cheaper, fresher and more directly supportive of the local farmers. The daily markets near the medina in Monastir are excellent, with a huge area dedicated to fresh fish, lots of seasonal fruit and veges, dried fruits, nuts and legumes, and fresh meat and poultry. Halal meat is bled dry and ideally sold within a day of killing, so it tends to be tough and not so tasty. Further offputting is the head of the slaughtered beast which is often hung at the front of the stall to demonstrate freshness. I'm not squeamish about where my food comes from, but I'd really rather not look into its eyes, thanks. Poultry and fish, by contrast, are excellent.

On Saturday mornings there is a really big souk just out of town. This is where you see farm produce in bulk, and where local families come to buy up for the week. In addition to the food stalls, there are clothing, fabrics, kitchenware, tools, second hand goods and just about anything else you might want, generally at bargain prices. Sadly, a lot of the stuff for sale is junk made in China (like everywhere else on the planet), such a contrast to the beautiful Tunisian fabrics and ceramics - but much cheaper and more 'modern'. In a land which makes some of the most gorgeous carpets in the world, people buy hideous, garish nylon rugs for their homes. [Sigh] I guess that's the global economy for you.

Sea of plastic

 

At yesterday's souk, I bought navel oranges which are at the height of their season and delicious, cauliflower, peppers, spinach, fennel, zucchinis, giant multicoloured carrots, and celery - a special surprise for Terry as we haven't been able to find it before. With chicken breasts from our favourite poultry seller, we made a terrific stir-fry for dinner.

 

 

Contrary to popular belief, it is quite easy to buy alcohol here (except on Fridays), and Tunisia produces a decent local beer and some acceptable wines. And of course, being a former French colony, there are good French wines as well as excellent bread, pastries and icecream. Good cheese is harder to find, the local taste being on the bland side, but we have found a trader in the market who imports good strong cheese. We really enjoy the seasonality of market produce - strawberries are just starting to appear, signalling the beginning of spring - and time to cook a gateau fraise!

 

 

 



Cooking With Gas - Boat Life #2 [Terry]

This was going to be a short blog about cooking aboard, but Terry thought some background on one of the challenges behind the 'simple' preparation of a meal might be interesting too:

 

One of the greatest dangers on board is gas, as in Propane, not petrol.  Which is bad also, but you don’t cook with that. Our boat has two “off” systems for propane.  Most boats have one.  Usually, the propane tanks are outside and in self-draining lockers, as propane is heavier than air and will sit if it is allowed free.  You do not want this in your bilge waiting for a spark.  For an example of what this would look like, check out this photo

http://cruisingoutpost.com/2013/01/crash-test-boat-put-misery/

(you might need to cut-and-paste this)

To avoid this, boats are fitted with “sniffers’ down low as the propane will settle.  They are also fitted with a solenoid, normally on the electrical panel, that shuts off gas supply somewhere along the line.  As an additional measure, it is wise to turn off the gas bottle if you are leaving the boat.  Some really nervy types insist on turning it off after it is used each time.

We don’t do this BUT we have a second “off” system fitted.  We have installed a shut-out valve a couple of inches from the gas bottle itself.  It also has a sniffer in the bilge (so we have 2).  The advantage of this second switch is that if it smells gas it turns it off at the bottle, whilst the original one turns it off nearer the stove.  It’s only a small amount of gas but it could make the difference between a “pop” and a “boom”.

The disadvantage of our second switch is that it draws 3 amps to relay messages back and forth about whether it can smell something and whether it should stay open.  If you forget to switch it off, it gets unbelievably hot!  The first time we encountered this was the day it was fitted.  The guy who fitted it went home and left it on. We found it nearly smoking and we had no idea what to do – we hadn’t been introduced to the switch panel at this stage.  Solution?  Cut the wires.  That worked.

The upshot of it all is that to cook on our stove, first you must touch the Firebox control panel to switch that on, then go over to the electrical panel and turn on the solenoid.  It will only allow gas through if both are on.  Then you have to remember to turn them both off.

To top all this off, it is extremely difficult to find propane in Europe where we are.  You can get it north (better than Butane/Camping Gas in the cold) but not in US bottles.  And no-one will fill a US bottle due to nanny-state regulations.  We did find a chap in Portugal who would, and the chap in the workshop in this marina fills them with butane with no problem.  In the EU, though, it is usually not possible.  Even in the US it was hard to find filling stations, as most have gone to the more common exchange system.  However, we don’t want to exchange our bottles as they are extremely expensive aluminium bottles for marine use and cost $200 each.  I made up a gas line that will fit into our supply to the boat and still allow both the alarm/safety switches to operate so we can use European gas (Camping Gaz) in the future.

 

[Carol] So now we're ready to cook. We can store a reasonable amount of canned and dry food in our dry store and pantry, and even in some nooks and crannies behind the cabin seats and under the floorboards. Common Sense has a small fridge with a little freezer (which is not cold enough for ice-cream, according to the sweeter-toothed amongst us) and we use nets for some fresh fruit and veges. Typically we make a base using stuff from our store (pasta, rice, tacos, cous-cous etc) and buy fresh meat or fish, eggs and vegetables, from local markets each day. Food from the markets in Portugal, Spain, Morocco and Tunisia has been wonderful, especially the fresh fish, the delicious earthy-smelling vegetables and whatever fruit is in season (oranges here at the moment - the best I've tasted.) And the bread <3

 

 

Our best acquisition for the galley has definitely been the pressure cooker - quick, high pressure cooking saves gas, saves overheating the cabin and saves time. (When we're at sea, I spend as little time as possible down below, the best way to avoid queasiness.) It also makes food really tender and delicious. One of our favourites is also the simplest - chicken (or turkey), whatever veges are available, lentils or other grains, and stock - 10 minutes in the PC and you have a wonderful rich soup to warm you up on a cold windy night. As you can see, the galley is a bit smaller than Terry's Masterchef kitchen at home, but we manage surprisingly well.

For Australia Day, we made batches of lamingtons and meat pies to share with the French cruisers at our weekly barbecue. They were quite a hit, as was the Vegemite - with fresh baguettes and butter, at least half a dozen newbies were won over to its delights.

 

For next week's blog, I'll take you shopping at the local market.

 

 

Boat Life #1

On our recent trip home, quite a few people asked me questions about day-to-day life aboard Common Sense – what do we do about shopping, cooking, cleaning? How do we do the laundry and get rid of rubbish? What about showers and toilets? How do we get around? What do we do with all our stuff in such a small living space? So I figured it was time, while we are sitting here in Monastir for the winter, to try to capture a sense of this semi-nomadic lifestyle aboard a 42 ft (12.6 metre) sailing yacht.

So, keeping in mind that everything is more challenging than on land, let’s start with something relatively simple – laundry. We don’t have a washing machine so there are two options: hand-wash it or save it all up until you get to a marina or harbour. While we’re making a passage there isn’t really much point in changing your clothes unless you get horribly wet and miserable. You can hand-wash undies in a basin or bucket if you want/ need to, remembering that on a long passage, fresh water is precious and cannot be wasted. On parts of the Atlantic passage I was wearing so many layers that it was like an archaeological dig trying to go to the toilet – make that an archaeological dig during an earthquake – and clean clothes were the last thing on my mind. Once you’ve hand-washed things, they can be strung up colourfully on the various lines and halyards of the boat where they will be encrusted with salt spray, fine grit and rust stains before being blown overboard.

I prefer to save everything in a laundry bag until we arrive at a new marina or port. After solving the puzzle of how to check in with the Police, Harbour Control, Customs, Immigration and whoever else needs to know, the next challenge is to work out how to do the washing. In the USA, every little marina had a laundry with coin-operated washing machines and dryers, the prices and reliability of the machines varying somewhat from place to place. Many of the laundries also had book exchanges and other social amenities and were a good place to meet and chat with other boaters. In the Bahamas (where we wore far fewer clothes) it was a matter of asking around until you found the local Laundromat – typically operated by a large authoritative lady who managed quite efficiently considering the variability of the power supply in many places.

Marina laundries in Portugal were expensive – we found that a large load could be washed, dried and folded by a team of amiable local women for less than it cost to feed the marina machines with the necessary supply of tokens (which, inconveniently, had to be purchased from the office about half a kilometre away). In Morocco and Tunisia, we have had to track down local people who take in laundry. I always like to try to contribute a few Australian dollars to the local economy and it’s another way to meet folks other than our fellow cruisers. Like this lovely lady in Monastir, for example, who, as well as doing a fine job with the washing, patiently helps me to improve my French each week. Stay tuned for next week's exciting episode on creating culinary masterpieces in a two square metre  kitchen!

Where the Heart Is

We've had a wonderful few weeks catching up with dozens of old friends and loved ones and we are endlessly grateful to all the kind people who have offered us a place to stay, a meal, a coffee, a few drinks or some entertainment (including our first games of croquet and indoor beach volleyball, a surprise haircut and an early morning swim with a pug!) Thanks for all that, and for listening to our stories, even the ones you've heard before. Quite a few friends are planning to join us for some time on Common Sense over the next couple of years and we are really looking forward to welcoming them aboard.

Beach at Bunbury

Our month at home coincided precisely with a record heatwave with most days over 40 degrees Celsius, and one day the hottest ever recorded across Australia as a whole. Whew! In spite of the heat we were really able to appreciate the good things about home - the beauty of the bush and the coastline; the fact that everything looks clean, cared-for and prosperous compared to nearly everywhere else we've been, the friendliness and competence of almost everyone we dealt with in shops, offices and other services. Only real dislikes - the traffic and the prices!

Perth City from South Perth

We've decided to come home each year from now on - two years is too long away. So now it's time to head back to Common Sense - two long flights, an 18 hour layover in Doha and a three hour train trip away - and we'll see all you lovely people again in 11 months time if you don't visit us earlier, somewhere in Malta, Greece or Turkey.

Homeward Bound

We spent our last day in Monastir preparing Common Sense for a little rest, cleaning and securing everything and locking her up safely. Then, after completing the last few stages of the complex process of visa acquisition, we were off on a three hour train ride to Tunis, Tunisia's capital. We spent a couple of days there - and what a fantastic city it is, with the best of modern Europe and ancient Arab culture side by side. When we finally located it, the Bardo museum was a stunning highlight - a beautiful exhibition space filled with Roman mosaics and the few precious artefacts that survived the burning of nearby Carthage.

There's that Neptune bloke again

 

Then at last, after a year and ten months away, it was time to head for home. We boarded the Qatar Airways flight to Dohar (about five hours) then changed over for the ten hour flight to Perth. We were pretty impressed with the service on Qatar, especially their care and attentiveness when I managed to faint a couple of hours into the second leg. I recommend passing out as an effective, though slightly extreme, way to get a nice lie down if you're fed up with being cramped in your seat. The less said about the waiting lines in Customs in Perth Airport, the better, apart from the fact that it puts a serious dampener on your excitement at coming home, and must create a rotten first impression of Australia for new arrivals. This was sad, as the Brits on board had been just about orgasmic at the prospect of 24 degrees at 6pm in the evening.

 

Fortunately we discovered that our passports had microchips and we could go through the self-check-in, leaving all the other poor passengers seething in their endless slow-motion queues. The it was out into the clear air and the lovely balmy evening. In spite of the slightly jarring discovery that I'd let my driving licence lapse, our car-hire proceeded smoothly and off we went, back on the left hand side like we'd never had to change.



It was a very weird feeling to be driving through a familiar cityscape where we felt like strangers - tourists in our own home town. But I'll save the Australian travelogue for the next blog. It really is great to be back!