Tuesday - day of departure

Tuesday - the day we parted company.  Annie and Steve's flight to New York was scheduled to leave at 11am. At 8am we walked to the nearest corner and waved them off in their Uber. Then we returned to the apartment for boiled eggs, soda bread toast and Irish Breakfast tea. After finishing our packing, we went for one last coffee at Mochaland.

As pre-arranged, the Johnson's driver Pasqual returned at 11am to drive us to the airport. Along the way, a young man with a paper cup approached the car while we were waiting at traffic lights. Pasqual waved him away. He said that  teams of  young Rumanian men worked the city begging and most of them were fitter than him. Perhaps my sentimental thoughts about the homeless during the past week  were slightly misplaced. However, I think Pasqual was something of a cynic. We witnessed enough haplessness on the streets of Dublin to know that there was genuine hardship.

While waiting at Dublin airport for our flight to Heathrow,  we found out via Facebook that Annie and Steve had been offloaded from their direct Aer Lingus flight to New York. They were offered a flight via Heathrow and compensated with a fistful of euros plus meal vouchers. They took the offer. As our arrival at Heathrow and their departure time to New York overlapped, I naively thought we might catch up in transit. Oh how misguided I was.

As there is no alliance between Aer Lingus and Air Mauritius, when we got to Heathrow we had to collect our luggage, then navigate the labyrinth that constitutes this airport. We finally arrived at platform 2,  where we were told to wait for the train to take us to terminal 4. Our train was due to leave in 5 minutes. We saw a train further up the platform. We waited for it to move on down to platform 2 to pick up passengers. 5 minutes became 4, then 3, 2, 1, and  lo and behold, the train shot past us on it's way to terminal 4. Next train in 20 minutes. But not from platform 2. The very official looking lady in railway uniform with a booming voice courtesy of a loud hailer told us to move across to platform 1.  We watched the digital clock tick down to 9 minutes. When we looked again a few seconds later, it read 12 minutes.  Lady with loud hailer apologised for the delay, a slight problem with the train. That certainly inspired our confidence. Visions of a lengthy stay underground freaked me out more than slightly.  And any fanciful notion I had entertained regarding catching up with the Johnsons faded with each passing minute. As it turned out, they had been in terminal 3 anyway and by this stage were already seated on their plane ready for take off. Except they sat on the tarmac for an hour while the luggage of the couple who had lost their passports was offloaded before the aircraft could depart. I think the Johnsons won the Heathrow horror story hands down.

Finally the train bound for terminal 4 appeared and we heaved our very heavy American Tourister suitcases on board. After going through the security routine yet again, we were able to proceed to the lounge to await our flight.

The twelve hour flight took us through the night once more. The lavish meal and drinks on demand had lost their lustre somewhat. After an orange juice and a glass of champagne, we flattened our seats to their full extent and tried as best we could to sleep the long flight away.

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Monday - last full day in Dublin

Off to breakfast at Mochaland, scrambled eggs (the only sort), bacon, sausage and tomato and sour dough toast, delicious. And of course the coffee. When we returned to the apartment, Annie and Steve were leaving to have a cooked breakfast at the Lemon Jelly, another café across the lane. We left soon after to catch the Luas (tram system in Dublin), heading for the zoo at Phoenix Park. It was zero degrees, I had on my big black coat, scarf, beanie and gloves. Michael made a small concession to the cold by wearing a jumper and a sleeveless jacket.

The zoo was situated about a kilometre from the entrance to Phoenix Park. The sky was cloudless and the sun was doing it's best to warm the landscape but was well below the tree line. It was freezing, and the path in parts was covered in ice. I almost slipped a couple of times even with my sturdy walkers on. By the time we reached the zoo gates, my gloved fingers were on the road to frost bite.

We bought our tickets (seniors of course) and in we went. There weren't that many folk about as yet even though it was after 10am.  We had barely started when a café appeared out of nowhere so we hurried in out of the cold and had a coffee. Finally warmed enough to venture out, we strolled along the path surrounding the savannah wetlands and gazed at giraffes, zebras, hippos and rhinos, all of which seemed oblivious to the icy conditions. We watched sea lions frolicking in their pool, along with lots of little humans who, with their parents, seemed to have suddenly descended on the zoo, probably while we were having our extended coffee break. We peered through viewing station windows to witness the antics of chimpanzees, gorillas and orangutans. We did a tour of the reptile house, saw some huge pythons, lizards of various varieties and a couple of alligators. I quickly stepped past the glass panel that bore the sign 'Tarantula". The word itself was horrifying enough, let alone actually clapping eyes on the creature.

There were Amur (Siberian) tigers, which apparently are the world's largest cats. We saw snow leopards and of course lions. The zoo's first lions were bought in 1855 (the zoo was opened in 1833)and these bred for the first time in 1857. The tour guide Abie from the Little Museum in Dublin told us that MGM used a lion from the Dublin Zoo as the logo for their films. Thinking it might be a bit of blarney, I used google to find out that it was indeed true. The first lion of seven in all, his name was Slats but he was renamed Leo. Rumour had it that the day after filming, he killed his trainer and two assistants, which, according to further research, was absolutely not true.

We were told when purchasing our tickets that all the birds in the zoo had been quarantined due to an outbreak of Bird Flu in Europe. I'm not a huge fan of birds but I was disappointed to miss out on the penguins. Our last port of call was the elephant enclosure. We had just arrived when one particularly amorous bull elephant made a gutsy effort to win the heart of a lady elephant but she was having none of it. A tantalising show which fizzled out all too quickly. We watched as two young bulls seemed to be play fighting. A baby elephant was trotting close to it's mother, who happened to be the object of the randy bull's unwanted attentions. No wonder she was not in the mood, she was dealing with a toddler.  We decided we had seen enough of Dublin Zoo and made our way out. It was after 1pm and the warmest part of the day. As we went through the exit, we passed a lengthy queue of people waiting to get in. Not sure who was the smartest, them for coming when it was warmer, or us for going just as it was about to be over-run by even more little people.

We caught the Luas back to town, a smooth and swift way to get around Dublin. Annie and Steve were out so I flicked on the TV and watched a movie, Parental Guidance, with Bette Midler and Billy Crystal, very silly, funny and quite emotional. Michael read his book. Steve arrived, having left Annie in the mall shopping. They had gone on a tour of Dublin Castle and thoroughly enjoyed it. Then the boys left to go to TP Smiths, a pub on the next corner to drink more guinness. After the movie finished, I went to Jervis shopping centre, got accosted by George from Jericho, hoodwinked into buying the Dead Sea salt scrub, moisturiser, mineral face mask, eye firming cream, with a nail kit thrown in. To be sure, slightly more euros than I should have spent but there was always the chance that this stuff might actually work miracles, as George claimed. I live in hope.

Our last supper together was at The Italian Corner. Our meals were superb, salmon for Anne, pork belly for Steve, pizza for Michael and seafood spaghetti for me. The wine was sublime, the service superior. We had no booking but were given a window table overlooking the Liffey River. Our waitress Gillian was friendly and very accommodating. To the point where, when Anne made a slight face after tasting the white wine she had selected, Gillian suggested that she bring a different sample for Annie to try. This wonderful waitress brought back, not one, but three glasses of different wines. Anne chose one and then the bottle was opened. Gillian said not to worry, the first bottle could easily be sold by the glass from the bar. Michael and I stuck to the Italian theme and shared a bottle of chianti, a smooth drop. We ordered two desserts only, panacotta for Anne and Steve, tiramisu ice cream with biscotti for Michael and I. We left a generous tip for Gillian and co, a wonderful Italian experience for our last night in Dublin. I asked Gillian where we could leave our bag of jumpers and my coat as a donation for the homeless. She said we could leave them with her and she would make sure they were delivered the next day as the drop-in centres were already closed. So I bade farewell to my calf length, black wool coat. Bought for $10 in an Albany op shop, it was in perfect condition. I knew it was to be a short affair and my beloved coat would be passed on at the end of our Irish stint. Still, I felt quietly emotional as we walked back along the bridge over the Liffey. We paused to put our remaining coins into the proffered paper cup of the quintessential homeless young man,  squatted against the bridge railing. These young men are dotted all over the city, varying from actively canvassing for funds to just huddling under a hoodie or blanket, seemingly comatose. This boy made no sign of acknowledgement. Perhaps the offering of money is less an act of charity than a transaction between two people, one able, one less able, as simple as that. Sure, there are older folk, and young women as well, desperately seeking spare euros. For me though, it's those young boys, either slumped on the ground with their cup, or cap, in front of them, or staggering along a footpath, so spaced out their eyes are rolled back, eyelids barely open. I felt fear for them, as a mother.

Back to the apartment for the final rounds of canasta, the dregs of liquor and the remains of chocolate. Two weeks have slipped by all too quickly. 

Sunday - New Year's Day

New Year's Day - the aftermath. A bit of noise during the night from revellers but fairly quiet in comparison to previous nights. About 9am I got busy in the kitchen and boiled some eggs for our breakfast. Steve arose and had a cup of tea while watching the news. He was, in his words, feeling 'quite shabby' and refused the offer of eggs. Annie was still sound asleep.

Michael and I went for our constitutional coffee, then took a stroll down the mall. Michael took a photo of me standing beside a statue of James Joyce. There were quite a few shops open for a public holiday. I had a notion to buy knee high boots so Michael patiently followed me from shoe shop to department store in search of the perfect pair. In our meanderings, we found Lush, a shop that sells aromatic soaps. Michael has previously bought Lush soaps online and uses them as a shampoo, so he bought a modest supply. I didn't find any boots.

Back at the ranch, Steve was catching up on his travelogue after having a bit of Vegemite toast, always guaranteed to soothe a queasy stomach. Annie finally surfaced, not feeling too flash either. We ducked down to the Spar supermarket to get a couple of things. By the time we got back Steve had gone back to bed. They tag teamed their bedroom yet again when Annie went back for a snooze after Steve got up at about 2pm.

We were all finally functional around 5.30pm. Dinner consisted of tasty Thai takeaway from Koh Thai restaurant, yet another in the laneway. The Royal Variety Performance was on the telly so we all sat around in various states of interest watching the extravaganza. Michael went to bed about halfway through, I followed not long after. The Johnsons lasted the distance, having had a tad more sleep than us. No canasta for us weary revellers.

Saturday - New Year"s Eve

Day five - New Years Eve. After coffee at Mochaland, Michael went back to the apartment to read his book. Steve took Annie and I to the ticket office to get me an all day pass. Pretty sure I got seniors' rates without the girl even asking. Annie already had Steve's two day pass he got the day before. After he saw us on to the hop on hop off bus, Steve set out to explore the mall.

We sat on the top deck of the bus, under cover. It was still chilly but the view was obviously much better than the lower deck. We had a combination of live and recorded commentary. Having initially decided to stay on and be touted all over Dublin, we thought the Little Museum of Dublin sounded like it was worth a look. Before we got off, our driver gave us tickets which allowed us free entry as we had all day passes for the hoho bus (as Steve calls it). Bargain.

The tour turned out to be extremely entertaining. Our young guide with the unlikely name of Abie told us that not only would he give us a huge chunk of Irish history in 29 minutes, for an extra 16 minutes of our time at no additional cost, we would get about 900 years worth. He never stopped to draw breath, directly involved his audience, was very funny and informative. The time flew and before we knew it, Abie was entreating us to 'like him a lot' on TripAdvisor and we were back on the hoho bus. The next driver appeared to be the same one Steve had and was a bit of an Irish card. At each stop he introduced himself, Sean the first one, Dave the next, Seamus the one after that, and so on. Together with a smattering of Irish history with more than a few corny jokes thrown in, it was quite entertaining.

After our tour, we went to the mall to do some shopping. This included Dunnes Department Store, which to be honest wasn't as fab as we'd remembered from 5 years ago. We bought a couple of clothing items then headed back to the apartment around 5 ish to prepare for the evening's entertainment. A couple of night's previous, Steve did a bit of research and found a pub just around the corner and down the road, facing the Liffey. The Arlington offered a three course meal plus traditional Irish music and dance for 45 euros each. We all agreed that this option ticked all the boxes and that the Temple Bar area would be far too boisterous for the likes of us. So Steve went and purchased our tickets that same night. A great idea Steve.

Our dinner sitting was for 8pm so off we went in all our finery to see the old year out and the new one in. After a bit of confusion as to what list we were on, we were ushered to our table, one row back from the stage. As we walked through, one of the front of house women said to me "Great coat by the way!" To be sure, I did preen slightly, having felt self conscious in my slightly flamboyant affair from Mont Martre.

The food was great, lots of mash of course, needed to fortify the stomach against all the drink consumed, including the free champagne to start. I asked our waitress if I could have some greens to go with my chicken. She told me with a laugh that honestly, the Irish weren't all that fond of their veggies, especially greens! She managed to rustle up some beans which was just fine.

The music was great, lots of clapping along. The dancers were tapping all over the place, had us all tapping under the table. The wine flowed, spirits were buoyant, it was all grand. An added bit of entertainment was a portrait directly above us, which, every 20 minutes or so, came to life and either started chatting, reading a book or listening to an iPod. Fascinating stuff.

As midnight drew closer, an eejit from the table in front of us kept coming and sitting at our table. His nickname was Budgie and he, his wife and their daughter, with policeman boyfriend in tow, were from Yorkshire and had come over the ditch to celebrate New Year. Steve told him Michael was 75
years old, whereupon he fell on Michael's neck and kept saying "I loov this guy, I want him to be me daard!" Although Michael was unaware at that stage he had aged 10 years, he took it in good humour, all harmless fun. There was a lot more hugging and kissing when midnight struck, the usual thing. People you wouldn't look sideways at any other day of the year, get embraced like they were the love of your life. Some people do get a bit carried away though. Annie had to bat Budgie off who was trying to give her a French kiss

We trooped back to the apartment about 12.30am, just modestly drunk. It had been a great evening, no canasta for once.

Friday - Guinness Storehouse

Day four in Dublin. Annie was still not feeling very well and decided to take it easy for at least the morning. Steve had purchased a pass for the hop on hop off bus so away he went to see the sights of Dublin on his own. After our coffee at Mochaland, Michael and I set out on foot. I wanted to visit the Wax Works. Again, after a few wrong turns and constant consultation with our map, we thought we found the spot where it should have been but it wasn't there. Eventually we noticed a sign tacked to a pole - Wax Works moving to a different location, re-opening in April 2017. Dublin, this was becoming a habit.

While meandering the cobbled streets, we stumbled across The Hard Rock Cafe. Michael had an Irish Coffee, while I could only manage a cup of tea so soon after my mocha at Mochaland. Michael noticed a mirror behind the bar that had notes of various currencies stuck in it's frame. He offered the barman a brand new Australian five dollar note to add to the collection.  The barman was chuffed and called the manager over who was full of thanks and cheeriness. I asked him if the Guinness factory was open. Given our track record so far, I didn't fancy another long walk only to be barred at the door. He said he would phone his rep and get back to us. True to his word, just as we were leaving, he rushed back to let us know it was open. Originally he said it was a good ten minute walk but then after circling the factory on our map, he told us it might be better to take a cab.

As we left, Michael tried to hail a cab but it sailed right past so we kept on walking, and walking, and walking. Forty five minutes later, we arrived at the Guinness Storehouse. Only to find a queue of airport check-in proportions in front of us.  Not to be denied now, we shuffled along, eventually reaching the counter and paying 17 euros each (seniors' rates).

The building is seven storeys high. Each floor tells a progressive tale of the production of guinness, from the recipe of ingredients, namely hops, barley, water and yeast to the secret ingredient, namely Arthur Guinness himself, founder of the storehouse. Impressive as it was, there were long queues for the more interactive floors, such as how to be a beer taster and how to pull your own glass of Guinness. As it was, we had spent more than an hour winding our way upwards so we skipped the queues and headed for the Gravity Bar. There we received a free glass of Guinness, some great entertainment from a band playing contemporary music and a 365 degree view of Dublin. It was a lovely interlude after traipsing around for hours, all our aches and pains coming to the fore.

Eventually, we felt compelled to move on and exit the building. Even though we were too weary to contemplate walking back, I had to coerce my husband to hail a horse and buggy. He grumbled like a grumpy old man until he met Molly the eight year old mare. It was love at first sight.  We had to have a photo shoot before departing. Gavin the driver tucked us in with a blanket as it was a very chilly mid afternoon. Molly was very placid, not fazed in the least by the busy Dublin streets. Gavin gave us a guided tour of sorts on the way back. He pointed out St Nicholas Church, under which a Viking chieftain was entombed. Or was it St Patrick, or St Ignatious, can't quite recall now. Extreme cold (and age) addles the brain.

Michael's love affair with Molly terminated at Temple Bar and we were dropped off to walk back over the Liffey to the apartment. After resting our weary bones, and being regaled by Steve's rendition of the hop on hop off  busdriver's shenanigans, we all trooped back over the Liffey, randomly went to the Auld Dubliner Bar and Grill for tea (more mash) and were treated to some great Irish music by a duo, Sharkey and Miflo Molly, two young guys who could sing and play the guitar and the banjo to match.

On our way back, we came across a volunteer group setting up a trestle to distribute food to the homeless. The fellow in charge said they were there Friday and Sunday nights and another group would be there Saturday night. He stressed they weren't a charity, just a group of people who donated their time as well as collecting food and clothing for the street people. I decided that I would give up my wonderful wool coat on Sunday night. I would never wear it in Albany and it was needed here. Back to the canasta contest. We swapped partners, couple versus couple. Michael and I lost. Which added to the theory that whatever team Steve plays on will win. Drat.

Thursday - visit to Howth (got days mixed up!)

Thursday was the designated golf day. We all caught the train to Howth, a little fishing village about 30 minutes from Dublin. Howth boasts two golf courses, Howth and Deer Park. The boys took a cab to Deer Park and Annie and I set off to explore. The idea was to find a spot to sit and spread out to do some artwork. However, the air was damp and chilly, the sky was heavily overcast with poor light so creativity didn't seem on the cards. We started off in Starbucks, an unlikely pit stop for us, almost akin to McDonalds. However, Starbucks had something we needed, namely a toilet, so in we went. It was surprisingly pleasant inside, warm and cosy, comfy chairs and great coffee.

Unfortunately, while partaking of coffee and cake, I received a video call from Albany regarding the kitchen cold tap not working. As it is connected to our rainwater tank, I was trying to direct my daughter how to turn it back to the main supply. Suddenly, a woman leapt in front of me, gesticulating wildly. You'd think she would be shrieking abuse to match but although her lips were frantically moving, it was a muffled voice that gave vent to her displeasure. So soft in fact that not only could we not hear what she was saying, but in what language she was saying it. Could  very well  have been the Gaelic. 

Suitably chastened, I fled to the street outside to sort out the plumbing problem. Eventually the lever was located under the sink, flicked to the other side and water was restored to the cold tap in the kitchen at 45 Hill St. The call ended, I returned to the warmth of Starbucks and the woman whose hackles I had raised with my rowdiness promptly left, obviously too incensed to remain in my presence.

Not long after, we also left and commenced trekking up what appeared to be the main street of Howth. We popped in and out of quaint little shops including McGirk's Golf Shop where I bought a pullover, a cap and some golf balls.  At another little shop selling everything from gifts to clothes, bags and shoes, I bought a shirt greatly reduced in cost while Annie found some lovely Christmas decorations for half price.

The cold was taking it's toll though, so when we stumbled across a restaurant overlooking the town's graveyard and the harbour beyond, we decided it was time for lunch. The Boqueria was lovely and warm, with a log fire adding to the ambience. We chose a shared meal for two, consisting of four courses of tasters with a coffee to follow. Delicious and enjoyable.

Eventually,  however, we left to take a turn around the graveyard. St Mary's Cemetery seemed fairly unique to us in that although a lot of the graves date back to the early 1800s, there were plenty of recent burials. There were some headstones with no inscription that looked ancient so perhaps it dates back further in time.

After our fill of O'Connors (Anne's birth name) and O'Rourkes, it was time to meet the golfers at The Bloody Stream Hotel, so named because it was built over an ancient stream which become bloodied after a battle fought there centuries ago. The boys enjoyed a bracing game of golf, complete with five minutes of sunshine, a few lost balls and wet socks from the quagmire underfoot. They were starving so had some lunch while Annie and I shared a piece of apple pie and ice cream. Then it was back on the train to Dublin. Dinner was a mish mash of Mexican burritos and pizza followed by yet more rounds of Canasta. 

Wednesday - Exploring Dublin

Day two. No sign of life from the Johnsons so Michael and I went for a short walk. This turned into a trek as we quickly lost our bearings and became hopelessly lost. We walked through St Stephens Green where a monument commemorates the 1916 Easter Uprising, past Trinity College and ended up in the diplomatic and business district, passing Embassy after Embassy, solicitors' firms, medical specialists and the like. Eventually we found a tourist bureau where a helpful young man set us back on track.

On the way back to the apartment, just around the corner, was a café named Mochaland.  My hopes rose. I'm not sure if I mentioned in the Paris days that most of the coffee we drank there was disappointing. A short black might taste fine but as we preferred a cappuccino, mocha or latté, we were out of luck. The French baristas we encountered definitely did not love their milk when frothing.

We ventured inside to a very little space, with lots of little tables, elbow room only. Most of the patrons were tucking in to very large breakfasts, the common theme being scrambled eggs. A quick glance at the menu confirmed this one and only choice of egg. We were seated a few minutes later by a friendly young man and ordered our coffees. A latté for Michael and a mocha for me. The barista here definitely loved his milk, the coffee was divine. We didn't actually say so but we both knew we'd be back every day for the duration.

Back at the apartment, Annie and Steve were preparing to go out. Annie was suffering badly with a sinus infection so, after a breakfast of tea and toast with vegemite (yes, we found a jar in the local supermarket), she and Steve went to a medical centre in Dame Street, downtown Dublin.

Michael and I set off again to explore Temple Bar, an area of Dublin renowned for pubs and restaurants and generally the place to enjoy Irish nightlife. We crossed the River Liffey via the Millennium Bridge and into Temple Bar territory. After a few wrong turns, we ended up at another Tourist Bureau, getting directions to the Foggy Dew and Bad Bob's. Michael also asked the somewhat less than cheery fellow about golf courses in the area. He obliged with a map, marking a couple of places about half an hour by train from Dublin. He also told us that the Jameson Distillery was closed for renovations but they were still doing tastings at a pub next door.

We found the Foggy Dew which we thought might be a likely spot for New Year's Eve. We had a quick peek inside, it seemed a cosy pub, although completely empty. On to Bad Bob's which was
teeming with young people who appeared to be part of a tour group. We grabbed a seat at the bar, and had our first Guinness. It was light and smooth and went down a treat.

At the apartment, we reunited with the Johnsons. Annie had managed to make an appointment to see a doctor and was now fortified with antibiotics to try and rally in time for the flight to New York the
following week.

Leaving them to rest, we set off again to find one last pub that Jason, the waiter from Melbourne, had recommended. He said it was one that the locals frequented so it seemed a candidate for NYE. Along the way, we found Jameson's and sure enough it was well and truly corked up. The tastings were at The Generator just around the corner. We decided to forego this pleasure and pressed on to the Cobblestone Pub, only to find it didn't open until 4pm and more to the point, didn't serve meals.

On our way back to the apartment we found the Talbot St mall. On our last lightning visit five years ago, Annie and I had a ball shopping in Dunnes Department store. It was definitely on our to do list. In our absence, Annie had rallied and gone shoppping at the Jervis Shopping Centre, very close to the apartment. She bought up a storm from a shop within called Dorothy Perkins. Now Dorothy Perkins is the name of the rosebush we bought Annie when her Mum Dorothy passed away. We both agreed it was a sign from Dotty on high to buy more clothes!

For dinner, we went back over the Liffey to Temple Bar which was fairly hopping by nightfall. Most of the pubs were packed to bursting including the Foggy Dew where we landed but conversation was tricky so after one drink we moved on, ending up at an upstairs restaurant called The Old Mill where we all had a huge meal, loads of mashed potato and few vegetables. Not even Steve, renowned for loving a hearty meal, could finish his lamb shanks and mash No greens and big mash was to become a running theme of our Irish meals.

Mardi - au revoir Paris, croissant and baguette.

Tuesday, 28 December, the day we departed Paris. Armand, agent for the apartment"s owner, arrived
promptly at 10am to inspect the premises. All was in order so we summoned two Uber vehicles and arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport about two hours prior to departure. After passing through border control, we had a coffee and yet another pastry. Then I took the opportunity of the hour or so we had before boarding to catch up on this blog (only a week behind at the minute). I sat on one side of a bench, and started tapping away. A few lines later, a couple sat opposite me. I kept tapping, until the man half rose, leant over the bench into my space and remarked "That's a very large watch". Well, that was the end of the blog until boarding. Tim and Marie from Boston wanted to chat and so we did.


The flight to Dublin airport took less than two hours, and before we knew it, we were delivered into George's waiting mini van to take us to City Stay Apartments in Dublin city. George was friendly and chatty, giving us some running commentary on the way in. As City Stay Apartments is tucked away in a mall, we were dropped at one end. With our voluminous luggage in tow, we crammed into the narrow reception area and waited while the young lady on duty checked to see if our apartment was ready. Apparently it was not. The conversation went something like this: "Is number 51 ready now?" "Do you mean now, or no?" "Do you mean it's ready now, or no, it's not?" "No it's not? What about 52?  No?" And so it went on. We waited quietly, sensing quite a bit of chaos going on. Possibly the Irish version of Faulty Towers. Eventually: "59? Yes? Ok. " Success at last. We were handed two sets of keys, and directed to the building diagonally opposite.

When we got there, we had to breathe in to let the young man hauling a laundry trolley get past and into the lift first. As we contemplated squeezing in with him, another young lady rushed through the entrance to announce there had been a mistake and we had to return to reception immediately. So, once again, still with voluminous luggage in tow, we hobbled back over the cobblestones to the skinny reception area, now filled with other people. It transpired that the young lady at reception had been conversing about the availability of rooms with the young man attached to the laundry trolley. His English language skills were limited. He thought he was being sent to clean apartment 59.  He was more than qualified for the role of Manuel in our aforementioned Irish Faulty Towers. In the end, this young lady, who kept her cool throughout the whole ordeal, upgraded us to the apartment which took up the whole of the second floor directly above. Not as spacious, well equipped or as elegant as our Paris apartment but on the whole not too bad.

By this time, it was almost 4pm. We unpacked, then headed for Tesco to get a few essentials, bread, milk etc. Annie stayed behind, not feeling too flash with the beginnings of Steve's cold. We had dinner at a BBQ joint downstairs, pretty average food but we made the acquaintance of young Jason from Melbourne who gave us the heads up on a few pubs.

Then back to the apartment for a few drinks and further rounds of canasta, a thoroughly competitive and enjoyable game. Steve and I formed a winning team, but I suspect the Steve part was the reason. This was to be borne out in future games.

Lundi - Boxing Day

Monday - our last day in Paris. Our first mission was to return the tad-too-tight jumpers. Luckily the little shop was open for business so after paying extra euro, Steve came out with a shirt and Michael a pair of cord trousers. Our first mission accomplished, I wanted to visit Palais Garnier so after arranging to meet the husbands at our designated lunch venue, Annie and I took off on the Metro. The day was overcast and drizzling, and very chilly of course, although we seemed to be acclimatising.
With only a little fuss, we found Palais Garnier and ascended the elegant staircase to view the stage from one of the private boxes. There was activity behind the closed curtains, possibly a rehearsal and/or stage setting for an upcoming performance.

After a quick tour of the gift shop, it was back to the Metro for Mont Martre. We made it to Le Basilic just after 1.30pm but the boys had beaten us to it. The restaurant was very narrow, sandwiched between two converging lanes. It was very cosy, not a lot of elbow room and obviously very popular. We booked online and could only reserve a table for lunch, not dinner as we had originally planned. The food was amazing, the service excellent, our waiter manoeuvering between the tightly packed tables, tray balanced aloft,  with all the grace of a principal dancer at Palais Garnier.

Not only was the meal the best we had consumed in Paris, Le Basilic holds the distinction of being the only restaurant in which the toilet was upstairs. In every other restaurant, les toilettes were downstairs.

Dimanche - Christmas Day!

Sunday dawned in typical northern winter style, fashionably late at approximately 8.40am. Even though it was Christmas Day, we also arose at a leisurely pace, had croissants and a cup of tea. About 10am, we exchanged gifts from under our tiny tree. This was a mixed bag, some gifts successful, others not so much. Annie and I bought our men a jumper each, both in the largest size in their respective range. Unfortunately both were a tad snug and were then put aside for exchange. Annie and I bought each other art equipment from Sennelier's Art Supplies, surprise, surprise. Steve gave Annie a pair of fur lined gloves and a lovely peaked woollen cap. Michael gave me a red leather wallet, guaranteed to last longer than either of us. We unwittingly gave each other a box of chocolates from the same stall at the Christmas Markets. They seemed like a good idea at the time but a tad too rich for tummy comfort.

Then it was time for champagne, video calls to various children, who were each treated to a tour of our Parisian apartment. They all seemed suitably impressed, although some were a little shocked when face to face with the painting of ten nude men.

Lunch was a team effort. Steve was in charge of cooking the meat, Michael handled the roast veggies, I made the gravy from scratch and Annie did an amazing job of decorating the living area and also made a very elegant centre piece for the table. We sat down to eat at 2pm, put on our party hats and told jokes from the bonbons and had a very festive time. The food was just delicious and the cakes from Lenôtre topped off our gastronomic feast, with the help of a scoop of ice cream.






As we enjoyed our dessert, our poet laureate Michael whipped out a few verses he had penned the day before:

Parisian Interlude

Off to gay Paree we did go

Our friends Annie and Steve all in tow

Anne's 60th birthday was the event at hand

An Eiffel dinner was had, alas no band

Parlez vous Anglaise was our constant urge

Je ne sais quoi replied the Frenchman called Serge

Parlez vous Australie, we switched our attack

Oui oui Messieurs et Mesdames, we never looked back 

Christmas Day in Paris is the day for us

Baguettes, croissants, bonbons, what's the fuss

A party for four with all the Christmas cheer

Jacks, champagne, caviar, don't forget the beer

Together we celebrate the Yuletide season

Happy with great company, no other reason

But our hearts wander to a land unique

To Australia, where love of family is magnifique

Trés bien, bonjour, au revoir we say

The French language we attempt in our own sweet way

So whatever it's been, it's certainly been fun

Now off to Ireland to let the leprechauns run.

Une poème magnifique, the rest of us agreed, quite emotional towards the end. 

The remainder of the day was spent lying around, cleaning up, a tea of leftovers, more drinking and a Euchre fest. None of us left the apartment.