France - Paris Part 1

View from our Paris apartment. Main feature providing thrills was the tiny elevator which claimed it held 3 people, but actual only holds 2 people holding baguettes. Also on the highlights were the spiral staircase (a beauty to behold) and the electric toilet (a challenge to the jet lagged person, but nifty and efficient).

Metro sign - the metro was so convenient and efficient, compared to trying to get around by road. Only problem was that is is at least 10 degrees warmer down there so dressing each day must accommodate whether or not the metro will or will not be used.

Under the glass pyramid at the Louvre were we fought to get to Mona, setting off at a cracking pace behind Alysia, only to find that once we'd seen Mona behind her 17 thousand inches of glass, we could not find our way out again. Ahh, ended up in crazy labyrinth like staircases resembling Esher pictures where we had no idea where we were or what we were looking at. Fun but no good to the feet.

The Eiffel Tower, whose main feature these days is the men selling miniature Eiffel towers who run off every time the police come by but are not scared by the army men with automatic guns who are patrolling the major sites in case of terrorists. Still, a few great pictures, especially when you catch an unexpected glimpse through trees when you are looking for something else entirely.

Michael in his new beret and mum in her new red tourist hat (as only tourists seem to wear them) but essential for chilly weather.

The exam

The pins - the red one was for the first exam the the blue for the second.

Last week was the dreaded exam. It actually started the week before with the first part in Brisbane for two days, then the lucky people who did well were invited to go to Melbourne to do the second part.

I've been studying pretty hard. At least two hours a night every night for the last 3 months, or more when I miss a night. I have purchased new textbooks, I have purchased (and consumed) all sorts of wine in order to prepare for the exam.

What was this dreaded exam? The first part was an Introductory Level Sommelier exam run by the Court of Master Sommeliers. It was not as hard as the version I did several years ago, but maybe thats just experience. The second part was the actual exam to become a certified sommelier (ie the right to call yourself a fancy title).

I was pretty nervous and the night before I was due to go to Brisbane I came down with some funky flu that left me sweating and delirous and popping all the cold and flu tablets I could get.

By the time I got to the course I was bit of a wreck and thought I wasn't going to get through. The next two days were spent being lectured to a marathon pace. Italy was covered by a snappy New Yorker who spoke faster than the ears could comprehend, and the way the place names rolled off his tongue was magical. It did not help one bit with the exam but it was a wonder to behold that someone could be that comfortable with the wines of Italy that they did not have to stop for breath.

The rest of the proceedings went much the same way. I was pretty happy that most of the stuff being covered was very familiar from my study, so I sat back and just listened (pity the poor person who came expecting to actually learn and absorb something).

The worst part was the wines. We all had to stand up with a microphone and talk about an aspect of each of the 22 wines that were tasted over the two days. When it came to my turn I had to speak about the appearance and nose of a specific white wine. I had no nose to use, I had no legs to stand on (I was dizzy as anything from all that sniffing and tasting and spitting on top of all the cold and flu tablets). So I piked out and handed the mic on and stumbled out to the bathrooms.

The next day I did much better, I stood up and did the final sum up on a left bank Bordeaux from 2006. I dont think I have actually ever tasted a left bank Bordeaux from 2006, but it turns out my guesses are pretty good.

We watched a half hour demonstration of the proper steps of service and had a quick discussion about the kinds of things that we would be expected to learn for the next exam. I freaked out and decided there and then that if I was allowed to progress to the next stage I would turn it down.

Later that afternoon we had the first exam, 70 multiple choice questions in 45 minutes. I turned over the page, I took it slow, I made sure I was happy with each answer before I moved on and I did not go back to check or change my mind (as this is the falling down of girls who take multiple choice exams). I finished it in 7 minutes and was the only person to leave the room. I panicked - had I gone too fast, was I too careless?

When they read out the people who had passed I was holding my breath. They got to the last three certificates and said "these people have done the best in the class", they gave one to each of my two wine reps from work. I was crushed, I thought - OMG, I should have gone back and checked my answers. The last certificate was in their hand and they said, " this person has topped the class with the highest mark". They called my name. I just about died from relief.

I was surrounded by people shaking my hand and all I could think of was "bugger, no way am I going to get out of going to Melbourne now". With a huge smile on my face but terror in my heart I caught the lift down to the lobby, shutting the lift doors on a poor guy who was running for it, I called my mum. As you do. And had a meltdown.

I found Michael, we headed for Borders, I purchased every book I could find on cocktails, vintages and spirits. I sincerely believed I would find time in the next 2 days to read 7 books, all on topics I hadn't bothered to study in the lead up to the first exam. In short, after a quickie dinner at a sushi train, we went back to our hotel room and I studied some more. We drove home at midnight because the Friday night partiers were distracting me.

The next day I went into work and promptly told Grace that if she did not send me home I would have no option but to sit at my desk and cry. I worked for 8 hours over the whole weekend, doing the bare minimum to get them through the next week when I would be away.

I spent the rest of my time sitting at my desk and making flashcards and reading cocktail books and silently freaking out. I changed my mind 8 or 9 times every hour as to whether I should get a doctor's note to allow me to back out of the exam or not (I was still pretty sick, so felt justified). The worst part was on Sunday night, before I had to fly to Melbourne, when I actually just sat in my room and cried because I just did not know what to do. I have never in my whole life been so stressed out. The cap off was when I read some guy's blog about when he failed the test in California. He sounded like he knew what he was doing and he still failed.

Monday was a blur of planes and buses and the security of my hotel room. I watched Sex in the City 2 because I was too distracted to study. I lost my voice. I went out and bought sushi and KFC chips and a cupcake. I did not know myself like this.

Tuesday morning, awake at 5. Got dressed, walked to the Crown for the first and second part of the 3 part exam. Got there an hour early and watched all the other jittery people arrive. There were 4 girls in this round (6 in the last round) and 26 guys.

We started with a blind tasting (it was worst than blind because I couldn't smell - what do you call that when you lose your smell?). Then a 40 question exam, both the tasting and exam within 45 minutes. I stayed until the end. I checked and rechecked my answers.

Then the wait for the last part, I had an hour and a half to kill before my turn for the service part. I practiced my recommendations with one of the other girls. We took turns asking about the ingredients in all the cocktails we had to learn. She rememebered a Negroni and I remembered a Tom Collins as our recommendations for an appretif.

They called us in.

My examiner was the man who wrote the textbook. I felt safe with him because I had had lunch with him at the Brisbane exam.

My first task was to open a bottle of champagne. And guess what - the cork would not come out. Not for anyone or anything. The examiner finally came over to help me and he had to use some crazy muscles to get the cork out (I felt abit better).

I carried 8 filled champagne glasses around a table without dropping them (apparently lots of people lose marks on this as they drop them). He asked me what was in a Negroni and I silently thanked my lobby friend for learning that cocktail. About 2 minutes later I walked out of the room. I had no idea how I had done but as soon as it was over I felt relief. Thats all.

I had a six hour wait until the results. I treated myself to lunch and a make over at the DJ's make up counters. I purchased a book (it was not on wine). I walked round and round the city in my suit and just felt relief.

When it was time to get the results we were kept waiting again, and again they did the slow torturous read out of names. They called my name about half way through the list. All I could think of was "thank you thank you and thank you" and relief - that it was over and I'd have my life back and that I can finally justify all the years and cost of study.

That night I went to celebrate with some old friends in Melbourne. My first drink was a lemonade - and it tasted fabulous.

The world's biggest and humpiest cow

This morning, driving down to the front gate on my way to work, I was comfronted, for the first time in weeks, by our whole herd of cows.
They were all over the road, just determined to wait until the last minute to skidaddle. I blame my concentration on the road by the fact that I almost missed what I saw next.

I glanced across to the big tree where some of the cows were munching on, and I said to myself, gee, thats a pretty big cow.

A second glance confirmed it, yes it was a big one.

The third glance told - no, its not a cow, its a camel.

My first reaction was not what you'd expect actually. I didn't think, gee - its a long way from the desert for a camel, or who brought their camel over and dumped it at our place. I've been fascinated by the camels that live on property and was tickled that one had found its way across the property (all 12000 acres of it) to our house.

As you can see, he was doing a pretty good job of blending in with the cows and we hope he sticks around, as it is bit of excitement, and really, how many people can say that they have a camel in their front yard?

Your Majesty

Tonight's study, only one week prior to the dreaded exam, was based largely on reading the chapters of The Book devoted to stuff that I already know or take for granted like upselling, correct service procedures etc.

This is a major part of the second exam, but having done it for years now I am quietly confident of this bit. However, I was completly unprepared when I came to the section "Some Correct forms of Address". I was expecting a little ettiquette such as Sir, Ma'am etc, the usual thing you learn to do in your first week. I was struck a little aghast at the correct way to address THE QUEEN, or ROYAL PRINCES AND PRINCESSES.

Firtly, I'm pretty sure that if I'm ever called upon to serve the queen or recommend her a nice wine, that I would have passed a lot more tests than this one.

Second, I'm fairly confident that I will never come face to face with either the queen or anyone called prince or princess.

Third, I'm certain that if I were ever in this position, I would be struck speechless and just point. And maybe mumble a 'bwer' 'um um um um blah', and maybe pour something in her glass (hopefully something drinkable and potable, not just the water from the flower vase).

However, it has made me think about what kind of wine I'd recommend to the queen (most certinly something fruity, or sweet, given her age, what a sad generalisation - although, she stikes me as being someone who'd drink scotch - neat). And what I'd pour myself afterward to drink (much harder).

Afterall, she's lived through years and years of vintages, many of which would be crap, some amazing. Wine has been dirty and minimalist (because they were basic and didn't know any better and would lock up the chai for their summer holidays and leave their wine to just ferment and do its thing), to the revolution of the modern squeaky clean dry wines, with plenty of new oak and oozing flavour, and now the minimalise gravity approach with lots of unfiltered and non intervention but with cultured yeasts that make wine making so much easier, that dont taste like cultured yeasts (designed to be deceptively , but with a design, uncultured culture) it all must have come as bit of a shock to her over time (if she reflected at all, I'm sure it was all a bit subtle over the years).

She must have the most amazing wines tucked away in her cellar. I wonder is its all scary function wine, or if she has some real gems.

It would all be a bit weird having to do it at all (serve the queen), let alone call her something while doing it.

I will be very pleased if it turns up on next week's exam in the mutiple choice section as I have now studied it:
What is the correct way to address the queen?
a) yoohoo
b) oy
c) ma'am or your majesty
d) excuse me deary, would you like another glass?

Wise Words

Three kraters (bowls used for wine) do I mix for the temperate:
One to health, which they empty first
The second to love and pleasure
The third to sleep
When this bowl is drunk up, wise guests go home
The fourth bowl is ours no longer but belongs to hubris
The fifth to uproar
The sixth the prancing about
The seventh to black eyes
The eight brings the police
The ninth belongs to vomiting
And the tenth to insanity and hurling of furniture

Eubulus C4th BC

A little amusement I have come across in my study...

This little piggy went to market

This is a pic of some of our adorable farm animals at work in the kids nursery.

On Saturday it was such a nice day, the sun was out, it was a silly 29 degrees in July. Lately we've had these great sunny weekend days, and on Tuesdays and Wednesdays it rains. The rain cycle was like this in Victoria when I was going to uni. It would be lovely all week and then pour rain for both my days off. It was so regular that if you didn't know what day it was, you could work it out by the rain.
Its been cold and overcast here on my days off for about 8 weeks now. Because its winter is rarely rains here, which I miss, being the opposite to Victoria. At least when its cold and it rains you feel justified spending the whole day in front of the fire.
Anyway, the point is, it feels like years since we've had a good sunny day off. The Markets were on at Fernvale and all the locals say that they are the best markets around. We promptly arranged days off and invited Sue, one of our work friends.

The next morning we met at nine o'clock, very late in the market going world, and drove to the markets, about 40 minutes away. The town is just a small place on the other side of the highway, hidden past a bunch of winding country roads and long stretches of farming flats, all bright greenn with winter vegetables.

I had been warned that it was the type of market you could buy anything, and the girls at work all wanted me to buy a pig. There has been a trend amongst the 'imports' - the staff who have moved here from somewhere else. Without fail, everyone ends up a little 'countrified', or in the case of our FOM, owning 2 ducks, 2 chooks, 2 goats, 2 kitties and 2 rats within his first month of moving to the country and is always seen carrying the trading post animal section.
I was not sure what I would come home with.

At the market, the first thing we noticed was the dogs. There was a guy selling puppies at the front gate. Everyone in the market had a dog, it was like a compulsory accessory, like an environmental shopping bag. Actual there were alot more dogs there than eco friendly bags. The dogs were big and small, some miniature and just a few weeks old. I looked in one baby pram and expected to see some cute baby wrapped up there, but it was a dog, looking through the sun shade gauze. There were 3 different places selling dogs, so if you'd made a mistake and come to the market with your eco bag, you could trade it in for a dog.

The next thing we noticed was the number of ladies in kaftans, yes, kaftans. Big old orange ones with Indian designs. Now I've not got anything against a kaftan, but it was almost like Mr X had said to his wife that morning 'put on your kaftan love, we're going to the market and theres a dress code'.

Anyway, what did they actaully sell at the market? There was licorice, lots of vegies shops and a man selling strawberries faster than Maccas churns out hamburgers. There was also the customary junk shops, plant sales and a man selling old engagement rings. Sue stopped to talk to a friend, who had a toilet tank tucked under her arm. The kitchen sink store was also doing a roaring trade.

What did I buy? Some incence (naturally, it is the market and the lady who sold it to me couldn't add up so I got it ridiculously cheap), some pistachios and some strawberries, which I enjoyed later that night with some honey mead (to marinate the strawberries for an hour), served on top of crushed meringues, with some hoboken crunch ice cream.

There were no pigs for sale, which I very much regretted, and decided that we must have arrived too late and all the pigs were sold out and only dogs were left.

Handing in my licence

The other day I had to hand in my licence in order to get a QLD licence in order to get my passport. To move forward I have to hand in the past. The whole thing was really difficult, just because up here nothing has the same rhyme or reason as the other Eastern states. It was just hard to work out what exactly to do and hard to find the time to do it. When I had finally got it all changed over I was in tears.

Why, and why tell you, whoever is out there? It was seeing that girl at the dept of transport throw my licence under her computer screen, like it did not matter, that really got to me. I would never have had such a link to my VIC licence if it wasn't the last thing I had that reminds me of Marysville on a daily basis. It never meant that much when I got it. I remember having to drive for over an hour to the nearest office to get it sorted out and I thought Victorians were backwards.

The picture on it was fairly crap. It was the address, the last place we lived in Marysville before it burnt down two months later. Even though we werem't living there when it happened it was still a huge shock, and came at a time when we realised how much we hated our new jobs and situation. We hadn't even finished our mail rediversion, it actually expired on the same day as the fires went through and I had been seriously contemplating just extending it as we were being lazy. It was nice to feel connected still to our past where at least things made sense. All our friends were there and we were talking every few days like we were just on holiday and due back 'next week'.

After the fires everything felt very strange and there was nothing to connect us to anywhere anymore and our friends were all adrift as well. When we all came to QLD it was like being back in VIC again, but hotter.

The licence change saga began when Michael had to change his rego a few months agao. We had all been driving around with our VIC plates, as a reminder that we are not from this loopy place and have a past where we were all in it together. When Michael changed his plates, I looked for every way possible to avoid it, but the passport wins out.

It is a way forward, and discarding the past is the only way for me to get there.