Today marked the first visit to my ancestral home of Ithaca. Steeped in mythology and immortalised as the home of Odysseus – Homer’s famed Greek hero from the epic poem ‘the Odyssey’ and his 10 year journey home to Ithaca after victory in the battle of Troy.

The 30min ferry ride from Sami in Kefalonia was smooth albeit windy. Arriving in the small port of Pisa-Atos we were greeted by my parents who were to escort and guide us to our village. It is less arid on Ithaki, but much steeper. My first observation after climbing out of the port via its steep road was the delightful aroma of rosemary and herbs. Growing wild on the roadside, branches are sometime broken by a veering car or hillside goat, unleashing a bouquet akin to a finely roasted dinner.

We stopped briefly in the middle of the island, where it is at its narrowest, to take in the view. We also stopped in Stavros on the way, to visit the church where my grandfather would sing in the local choir. The church is proudly located at the centre of the village. It is a small church that would fit no more than 50 people and much taller than it is wider. As is common with Greek churches, its décor is simple and understated only the relics and reliefs point to the religious purpose of this building.

Finally we were onto Frikes to check-into our hotel before reaching Kioni. Our hosts Nikki & Andreas warmly welcomed us and provided a quick tour. Bags down, we were onto my parent’s villa and my first look at Kioni. Towering high over the small port town, the village peers down in an almost protective way over the welcoming port below.

Dinner was an experience. We dinned in the port of Frikes. Dad took me from place to place introducing me to my relatives and local aussie’s who take an annual pilgrimage to escape the winter like Peter who owns the sailing bar ‘Fiorendino’ with his brother. Top on the list was my 3^rd cousin, Nektarios, and his wife Poppy who run the restaurant ‘Rementzo’

It had been a somewhat overwhelming but very happy day.

Day 4: Birthday.

The long awaited 7^th birthday of our eldest son was finally upon us. What do you do on a Greek island to celebrate a birthday? We decided that the best option was to hire some boats, find a remote & deserted beach and have some fun in the sun.

Jimmy, Nana, Uncle James, James’ girlfriend Eleni and the Turra Tucker’s Pilled into two boats, we headed off to some small pebble beaches not far from the port of Kioni.

The water is azure blue and crystal clear. The weather was as good as it gets, sunny & 35 degrees. Within 10 minutes we had to take our pick from three remote beaches. Having chosen our deserted beach, we dropped anchor and set up to relax. The boys had their aquatic toys inflated and took to the water in an instant. The day was simple – swim, eat, drink, swim, relax.

Dinner had long been planned for this evening. The 20^th of July, not only is Jean-luc’s birthday, but it also coincides with the biggest festival of the year for Kioni. The festival of the saints is a daylong event that commences with boats taking the locals out to a chapel by the sea that is only accessible from the water.

Following a customary siesta, the town takes to the waterside restaurants for the feast. The menu is simple – chicken, pork or lamb. Tough if you are a vegetarian, but we managed to get Claudine a few stuffed tomatoes and some fine roasted vegetables and the necessary Greek salad.

Day 5: Rest Day.

After a late night, we slept in and only stirred to catch the tail end of our breakfast service that stopped at 10:30am

The day was spent lazing around the hotel pool. This was an opportunity to recharge and catch-up on some blog posts.

I also took an opportunity to visit the Kioni village with my parents to scout potential villas for their return next year. We visited the local cemetery, hidden down a windy dirt track, which, following a small search located the resting place of my great-great-grandfather.

We also visited the old family windmill on the top on Kioni, which has fallen into significant disrepair. The roof and internal structure has collapsed in on itself making it a very sad sight, but this is an all too common sight in the islands. During my visit we saw countless windmills that were all in the same state. Not one windmill had a roof still intact, a sure sign of the times and attitude towards preservation of their agricultural heritage.

On a brighter side, the plot of land next to the windmill had a newly constructed residence on it. Curious to know more about their beautiful new house and if possible, information on their windmill neighbours, dad knocked on their front door. We were welcomed by the American owners Nicholas & Cynthia Zaferatos. Nicholas is an associate professor of Urban Planning at the Western Washington University.

Day 6: Boat day – take 2

Agreed on the evening of our first nautical voyage, we again took to Kioni this time taking out their largest boat. Speeding through the Mediterranean, we captured the best weather conditions yet. Sunshine, no breeze and little traffic.

Every beach was a postcard. Not a single boat to be seen, perfectly clear water as if it’s just been poured out of a Perrier bottle. The shadow of the boat could be easily seen to a depth of 30 meters on the sandy bottom making the boat appear to almost float in thin air.

With the bigger boat we could venture further afield and further away. Some breathtaking geological arrangements, most likely a result of the great 1953 quakes that devastated the entire island and sent the population fleeing to safer countries.

Life is at its best when you have conditions like this. Even better, it was shared with my parents Raine & Jimmy who provided us with this great experience. We all could have spent a month living like this. I am sure that things would be different when the tourist season hits its peak in August & September.

Day 7: Au revior

We spent the morning just lazing by the poolside until early afternoon when we helped transport the luggage of my parents to the port of Pisa Aetos. The port is very very small and vehicle access is difficult at best. A choreography of cars is orchestrated by the port authority who check tickets and allow only the upcoming ferry passengers through. As we were just dropping off luggage we needed to be quick. A swift hug, kiss and bon voyage saw us back into the car and releasing a much needed car space.

We took the opportunity of being south by heading to the capital, Vathy.

We arrived at Kefalonia (Cephalonia) airport in glorious weather. 36 degrees and sunshine welcomed us to the ‘international’ terminal that has as much character as a cold war nuclear bunker. No customs, no officials – well none that were interested. The baggage collection was swift, not that you have many passengers on an A320.

The swiftness of our arrival was balanced by a gruelling 1hr wait for the car hire even though we had pre-booked. The southern European efficiency witnessed throughout our journey certainly continues here in Greece. Nothing apparently happens without a long conversation, seemingly irrelevant to the job at hand, before some more conversation then maybe, just maybe, some actual work – no wonder that they are in such economic trouble. I’m sure it is different in northern Europe.

We shoe-horned our luggage into the much smaller ‘Seat Leon’ which is a relative sports car in comparison to the Citroën C4 Picasso. Suddenly we are missing our 7 seater & ditzy.

Our drive from the airport through the regional capital and on to Sami took us past some amazing gum tree groupings. As in Corsica, there is an abundance of this true-blue hearty plant here. Again, they seem to thrive in this climate and make the ‘down-under’ traveler feel very at home.

The road to Sami takes you though the heart of the island. Mountains here are tall and arid. The speed limit goes no higher than 70km/hr making the drive leisurely on the wide’ish roads. The roads scarcely have any traffic on them. The passing towns are some the smallest we have seen, almost not large enough to even be titled a town. It is very dry and very quiet.

Upon the decent to Sami the landscape changes and becomes greener. The port, the third largest on the island is still small in comparison to, well, anything. Restaurants ring the port ensuring the prime positions for weary travelers by land and sea.

There are abandoned and unfinished homes everywhere, a sure sign of the economic woes of Greece. Sale signs are around but not as frequent as I imagined.

What is lovely here is the way they close the roads around the ports. From 7pm almost every port closes its seaside road allowing the restaurants, patrons and children safe passage without fear of mechanical menaces. I wonder if southern Sydney could benefit from such initiatives.

Our seaside hotel provided stunning views across to my ancestral island of Ithaki where my parents and brother were holidaying and where we would visit in a couple of days. We certainly were starting to really relax now, not much to do other than sit by the pool and have some drinks. Dinner in the port enabled a true ‘taverna’ experience. Food is much cheaper here than in other parts we have visited and by accident we certainly over-ordered.

Day 2: Cephalonia

Today was an exploration day. Both Claudine and I had our top objectives and fortunately they were all located in close proximity, not too hard when you can drive from one end of the island to the other in about 2 hours. First was a visit to the most Northern point and the port of Fiskardo. Having all the charm and charisma of a tuxedoed playboy, Fiskardo is alluring and visited by all sailors in the area. Natural beauty is the primary export here. The water in the bay is crystal clear and can be seen to a depth of 15 meters. Boats line up and jostle for the prime locations around this safe harbour. A few items purchased including our lunch and we were off to Myrtos beach.

Myrtos beach is often rated in the top 10 beaches in the world in addition to being voted the best beach on Greece. All passing tourists capture its beauty, firstly from on high from the surrounding cliffs towering around the beach and its zig-zag access road. Parking becomes difficult the closer to midday with the prime beach side parks at a premium. The beach is made from granite and marble pebbles. The milky blue water is a result of the marble grinding away, still perfectly transparent to the swimmer, but offering a striking view from high.

A cave on the southern end draws in the crowds to experience this cooling grotto and it’s opening to the sea. I could not pass up the opportunity of walking in one end, and swimming out the other.

Our last destination was the Melissani cave, positioned around the corner from our accommodation. Also referred to as the ‘cave of nymphs’ due to an archeological excavation revealing some dedications to the underground aquifer. The cooling water was a nice respite from the heat.

‘Tour guides’ in perfectly blue boats take visitors through the cave on a 15min round trip. We had hoped that we could be lucky enough for a swim in the 15-degree brackish water and we were lucky enough. Patrons are quickly assessed of their stamina and ability to withstand the freezing water before being permitted to take the plunge. The only way in and out of the water is via the boats, which have no ladder – certainly not an experience for the feeble, young, or inexperienced. I was lucky enough to be given the nod and can tick off an experience from my list, a swim in the Melissani lake.

Tomorrow we depart to Ithaki and join the rest of the Tucker clan, very excited!!!

Where the former now reside. I challenge any credible travel writer to note any cemetery worthy a visit. All right, there may be a few, but the largest cemetery in Milan is certainly worthy of a stop. We happened by chance as we were parking on the outskirts of Milan in order to catch a tram to the centre.

Immediately noticeable was the district of tombstone and associated sculptures. Then came the florists with their assortment of natural and faux-natural bouquets. It was eerie, loved ones shopped along the street for suitable adornments for the last resting place for their dearly deceased, or soon to be.

It all became obvious when we turned a corner and were presented with the triumphal archway of the ‘Cimitero Maggiore di Milano’ and the surprises within. Accepted that this visit was rather morbid, but also very impressive. Trust the Catholics to out do each other when it comes to the deceased. Family tombs are unlike any that we see in Australia. Large above and underground chapels hold whole families in a series of one-upmanship. So impressive are these tombs, we battled the searing 35 degree heat to see as much as we could. When the heat became too much, we headed underground where the endless subterranean tunnels of the cremated were kept. Enamel photos of the entombed adorn the walls ranging from 2-month-old babies to great-grandparents. This was also the first resting place of the infamous Mussolini, in an unmarked grave, following his death in 1945.

This unorthodox family visit turned out to be a great educational experience for our boys whom had never experienced anything like this and had many questions about death, and religion, and birth and families….

Our quick visit had turned into 45min and we had to head to the city. We boarded our tram for a leisurely trip to the city centre. But not before a well dressed, middle aged, tanned man using a walking cane boarded. Upon entering the tram he started a conversation to no one in particular. At first it was simply a quiet discussion but before long he was addressing the entire tram. His passion for the subject, guessing it was politically based, was at first inspiring but quickly turned to near violence when nearby passengers – some with small children, confronted him and pleaded and end.

From earth to Heaven. One of my must see stops in Milan was the Cathedral of Milan. The 5th largest cathedral in the world, it took 600 years to complete. Rounding the corner from our tram stop we were confronted by the big, white, spired beast. The cathedral has no less than 120 spires and when bathed in sunlight, which I am told is not a regular occurrence, is truly an impressive building.

So large that queues are not necessary, it can house everyone. A quick check by the military, some adherences to respectful dress regulations and we were in. Currently undergoing some much-needed restoration to the walls that were suffering from pollution damage, there is some internal scaffolding but this did not detract from the experience.

We are becoming accustomed to the spiritual visits. But what we were not prepared to see were the mummified cardinals, one dead for some 450 years, resting in state, on show, for all to see. This, as you can imagine, was the source of many questions from the boys. Who is he? Why is he not in the ground? Is that a real person? Is he a zombie? True, it was an impressive view but I am not sure it is the most respectful. Lying in state, in a glorified fish tank for all to see and gaze in bewilderment.

Where the ‘bling-bling’ go to shop. I must admit that I had been warned about Milan. I was to expect a city that did not live up to expectations. I was surprised. Sure, the exterior of the city was worn and tattered, just like any large European city would. But if your sights are adequately set on shopping and some little sight seeing, you will not be left disappointed. The shopping, ohh the shopping. There are boutiques from every brand imaginable, and more. From the exterior it is quite clear that this is a rag-tag city. Small clothing shops brim full of the latest must-have, Chinese made clothing, albeit still very fashionable.

Once you penetrate this outer layer you reach the real shopping. For kilometers radiating from the centre you will find arcades full of shops, none grander than the ‘Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II’ which is reputed to be the worlds oldest shopping mall. The Galleria was an impressive sight. Think of the QVB building on steroids.

After 36 days and just shy of 4,000km it was time to hand over the keys to ‘ditzy’ to its new Italian owner. So many fond memories, many more than we would have had if we stuck to the most direct route and not taken the ‘ditzy’ scenic way.

The remainder of our stay was on the outskirts of Milan where we were to connect with a flight to Greece and the Ionian islands of Kefalonia and Ithaki.

Driving north and across the mountain range, we descended on the seaside port of Saint Florent. In search for one of Corsica’s best beaches, ‘Lotu’ is reached only by ferry. So popular, a ferry departs every 30min. Having nominated our return time, a necessity at departure, we boarded the ferry with just enough space to accommodate our mob of 9.

Upon arrival Claudine was recommended to take a ‘small’ detour to another nearby beach that afforded more tranquil surrounds. We took to the recommended dirt track that would test the best modern day stroller. Alas, some of the terrain was too much for the ‘mountain buggy’ that was transporting Claudine’s nephew – Oliver. 25min later we resigned to the fact that we were lost. The lack of any signposting and multiple trails proved too much. Not even a scout or two could determine our location or proximity to this phantom beach. We concluded the most sensible outcome was to about face and return to the ferry and location of the beach where all our fellow passengers descended upon.

Although slightly overcast, we all enjoyed the beach and it’s waist high lukewarm water. Building of sandcastles and playing of beach side games commenced swiftly after some lunch. A small excursion located a freshwater lagoon that was the domain of the resident bovines. A few iconic photos later, some more swimming and playing then it was time to pack up and return. One of our fellow passengers had clearly enjoyed the beach a bit too much and consumption of the local Pietra beer. To the jeers of the almost full boat, our boozed passenger experienced some difficulty walking down the jetty and took an unplanned plunge. There certainly are worse places for a swim, and with his submerged esky, he certainly had some familiar company.

Day 8: Marie-The’s lunch

2013 is a year of great significance for the Felce family. Not only was it to mark the return of the Aussie’s chapter but it marks the 90th birthday celebrations for Marie-The. Although the actual date was in April, today was held as a date of celebration for the available relatives.

Henri, Claudine’s uncle and now permanent Corsican resident, had been recommended a beach side restaurant recently opened by a local restaurateur who has had much success with his other establishments. In the most ideal beach front, almost rastafarian style, we all thoroughly enjoyed a magnificent seafood inspired menu.

How time flies when you enjoy your surrounds, before we knew it was late afternoon. Claudine had elected to collect our friend Flore and her travelling companion from Paris who were arriving at almost midnight.

Staying up late to welcome our ‘continental’ friends we were provided a firework display, maybe to celebrate the US 4th of July, at the uncivilised hour of 1:30am. With the strike of 3 it was time to sleep and pray that the morning would not be filled with pots and pans ‘dans la tete’

Day 9: Beach & Helicopter.

Posted around Moriani for the past few days were advertisements for Helicopter rides. At 39euro a ride I graciously allowed Claudine the thrill end experience of taking to the skies to see our surrounds like ever before. Our apartment was positioned directly under the flight path that provided some initial entertainment for the boys but grew tiresome after the second day.

Every disembarking passenger praised the experience and encouraged Claudine to take to the skies. And she was not disappointed. Although the ride lasted less than 10min, the pilot ensured that the ride was memorable with some twists and turns and a fly over of some of the best landscapes.

On return, Claudine regaled us with a breathtaking video of her trip, which she was fortunate enough to fly ‘shotgun’.

The remainder of the day was spent not too far from home, in an effort to hide from the giant pink elephants that were trying to tap the peanuts out of our head, yes, some were a bit hung-over.

The sun was out in force and we wanted to find a nearby pebble-fee beach. Following a 45min drive south, we settled on a beach both Claudine & I frequented on our last trip, just south of Solenzara. But not before driving past a coastal mountain range that was still dusted in snow. Now I can accept 30 degree heat and snow capped mountains when in the Alps, but in the middle of the Mediterranean? I am accepting the fact that when in France you are to expect the unexpected.

Towels down, swimmers on, bodies immersed in water. The beach is called ‘La Dolce Vita’ and is sure is sweet here. The beach is breathtaking with the culmination of turquoise blue water, white sandy beach & red ocher rocks.

We took to the beach like garlic on French food. The boys took turns in riding on my back like a horse – must have been such fun for them, was a good work out for me. I even went out for a swim, taking past the sheltered bay for open water. The water is crystal clear and cold. Less than a meter under the surface and the temperature drops from 24degrees to 16degrees. A walk around the point on the rocks, some lunch & an ice cream later and we were back in the car heading home.

No Internet means no updates, unless you’re eating or drinking. The largest drawback of our accommodation is that there are no easily accessible Internet points. Alas, I was not able to sit on the beach, eat my cheese and drink my wine. Updates required transportation to a remote reception office or a nearby restaurant that experiences intermittent reception. There are bigger problems in life. But this is my excuse for falling behind in my posts.

Day 5: Rest Day

Today is a day for just lazing around and not doing too much. Partly because we all got a bit of sun yesterday and partly because we have not had a rest day since our departure from Sydney some 25 days ago. This meant for some just reclining on the beach, for me, it was sitting down and watching the coverage of the tour de France.

Experiencing the tour on TV in France is a treat in its self. The stages usually depart round midday, which provides the TV stations an opportunity to tout the cultural and regional specialties of the host departure point. A celebrity chef takes to a staged kitchen and wows the crowd with seemingly impossibly easy meals. Former race legends take to a panel of interviews and recount their glory days specific to the stage of the day.

The telecast of the race itself is very similar to home, but in French. Breathtaking shots via a helicopter pilot on a death wish provides viewers with images that only falcons are privileged with. Tandem bike riders channel their inner Evil Knievel and hang effortlessly backwards whilst speeding through packs of cyclists and cars. But I cannot help but think that the best telecast goes to France, none of the jittery, intermittent interference broadcast here, not like at home.

A few beers, a couple of glasses of wine some stinky cheese and plenty of relaxation. Exactly what we needed.

Day 6: Bonifacio

Faced with 4 hours of driving, we set off as early as possible to our destination in the far South of Corsica.

Driving south you start to notice something…. strangely familiar. On my first trip to Corsica some 14 years ago it took some time to work out what it was. But then it became apparent. Large parts of the south and east are covered in gum trees. It’s not entirely known who imported these trees to the island from Australia, but they do flourish here. I some spots, if you didn’t know better, you would swear that you were in the Australia outback between the swaying gums & chirping cicada’s.

Upon reaching the Southern tip you notice a change in the geology and white eroded cliff faces become pronounced. Roads narrow and funnel tourists and locals alike into rank and file until, without little notice, you emerge at the port and base of a great citadel. Modern war fortifications surround battlements from earlier centuries identifying this location as important and strategic.

The port, surrounded by steep cliffs, is a focal point for ‘bling bling’ as the locals say. Super yachts are rested and meticulously pampered whilst its owners, temporary or otherwise, enjoy the delights of the citadel above.

Many journey by foot up cobbled streets that test the metal of the traveler, we chose a more sensible approach, by car. Skirting the perimeter we parked at the point just past the cemetery with its endless array of family crypts. The point provides the visitor with a striking view along the coastline and if fortunate, glimpses of the Italian island of Sardinia. Walking through the streets of the citadel you are taken back to a time when invaders from the continent would strike constant fear in the residents. A relaxing pizza lunch later and we walked off the heaviness of the meal through the quaint streets too small to accommodate even the smallest European car. One of the resounding images from Bonifacio are the cliff top terraces almost defying gravity. A few snaps around the village, a hopeless search for the parking ticket & a lost ticket fee that could have paid for all the cars in Corsica and we took a quick drive the southern light house to take in a view looking back to Bonifacio.

200km later we were back at our apartment for a light dinner and an early night.

We disembarked our bright yellow aquatic caravan early, too early for some people’s liking but it was not like there were any other options.

In an ode to an old Conder tradition we had breakfast at Place Saint-Nicolas in Bastia. Taking to the road again, we drove the relatively short distance to Moriani where we would stay a week in the coming days. It is also the town where Claudine’s grandmother now resides after many years living in the remote family village. We then headed to the hills. The drive to the village Felce, as the crow fly’s, is not that long at all. It is the twisting, turning, blind corners and guard-less roads that make the journey almost an hour trip. The roads here traverses the mountains in a perilous way, seemingly only carved for mountain goats, cars barely cling to the side.

To be honest, the roads are being improved and widened but I am told this effort commenced two years ago and is seemingly far from being finished. In spaces the newly widened road has slipped a bit and now rests in the canyon hundreds of meters below.

But before long we were once again in the village, named after Claudine’s maternal family.

Life is simpler in the village. Time becomes irrelevant, the silence is sometimes somewhat deafening. There are no shops, outside a small roadside market which offers the occasional tourist local specialties. The baker visits once a day, tooting his car horn to announce his arrival like the pied piper calling out the housewife’s to freshly baked bits and pieces. The butcher also makes a similar journey however this is less frequent.

Everything here is old. What is not old, stands out. Electrical wiring is an example. The house was built some 500+ years ago and was lit solely by candles. When the modern demands eventually caught up with the village the house was retro-fitted and wires now crisscross throughout the house like a permanent reminder that the house was born in simpler times.

Day 2: Moriani

We were able to gain access to our hotel a day early, more importantly a day before the Tour de France giving us time to unpack, undertake some much needed food shopping and relax.

Our new accommodation is the same we had four years ago, a beachfront self-contained apartment. We loved it during our last stay, and since then it had undergone a tasteful remodel – at least the inside anyway. Bags dropped and off to shop. With the mainstay supplies acquired, Claudine set off to collect Danielle from the airport.

Not wanting to undertake too much strenuous activity, we ventured no further than a 100m radius of our apartment including dinning at a local restaurant that was featuring Corsican folk singing, a polyphonic trio of talented musicians. Suitably refreshed and refuelled, we retired to our balcony where we continued our Corsican adventure though sound and vigneron.

Lunch’s in France can be just as large and elaborate as dinner. 3 course menus are a prominent part of every restaurants menu hover there is simply a limit to how many 3 course lunch’s and dinners you can consume before it catches up to you!

The caravan of mobile crowd entertainment could be heard far and wide. Heavily branded merchandise – predominantly hats, are tossed into the crowd. Radio stations pump out their latest & most popular tunes engaging the crowd. None more so when the Gendarme drives past to the sound of booing and hissing.

Unashamedly brandishing more Australian flags than a $2 dollar shop, we were noticeable far and wide. A french camera crew from BFMTV cornered us and asked if we oblige with a short interview, in french. Fortunately Claudine & her mum were on had to provide a few comments. We would know only tonight if we made the cut.

The race had a leading group of 3 rides a couple of minutes ahead. This afforded us a snippet of what was to come, but nothing is quite like it.

With my telescopic camera zoom I could see the advancing peloton. Growing lager and larger at a tremendous pace it hurtled towards us. The crowds bunched closer and closer to the cyclists. As the peloton were upon us it was clear to me that my boys, whom were by my side, we perilously close the riders who almost invisibly pushed the crowds back. In an instant I pushed the boys gently back to safety all the while taking shots with the camera in a ‘point & hope’ approach.

Blink, the riders were gone. Then the endless procession of team support cars, officials and police follow but within minutes the streets were clear and the town went back to normal. Hearts still pumping furiously from the power of the tour pack and the close call, we wondered back to the beach and discussed our experiences and memorable moments.

And guess what, we did make the cut. Our interview was shown on national TV. Claudine’s uncle who lives in Paris almost choked on his snails when he saw his family on TV. I also managed to see a highlight of our interview but it was too late to tape it – we hopefully can track down a copy and post it soon.

The mistral (southern France) winds were more aggressive today so our initial plan of a canoe ride was held over for more favourable conditions. Instead we headed off to the ancient Papal wine producing region of Chateauneuf du Pape. Upon reaching the outskirts of the region you can notice an increase in vineyards, more specifically, you start to notice the age and size of these twisted stumpy gnarly old vines. Some, over 120 years old, produce as little as 6 bunch’s per vine a year.

First was a wine tasting. The wine in this region isn’t graded like other regions in France which usually use a ‘cru’ system (1^st cru being the premier then so-on and so-forth) which has very strict rules and regulations attached to it governing yields, production methods and of course, quality. In this region the premier cru is ‘Chateauneuf du Pape’ followed by ‘Cote du Rhone’, then ‘Cote du Rhone Villages’.

Known to me only by their red wine, I was excited to try their white, which only accounts for slightly less than 6% of the regional production. This is a brave statement, but I believe that on a euro-to-euro basis, their white wine is far and away the better wine. A little tasting and a few bottles procured we were off for lunch. A pizza, and a Nicoise salad to die for and some more wine, we headed off for more wine tasting. We were recommended to visit a cave run by the wife of a local producer who also carried a selection of other vineyards. We received an education in the local region, terroir (french word for the geographic and geological composition & orientation of the land) production methods and the quality between the various vintages. A lovely experience cemented with the acquisition of a couple of great bottles.

Swaying slightly (these wines have a high alcohol content – close to 16%) we ascended to the top of the village where the remains of a once great Papal Chateaux stood which fell into disrepair and is simply a shadow of its former self.

Once again in the car, our drive this time was to Fontaine de Vaucluse. The source of the river Sorgue, explorers have attempted to locate the bottom which nearly claimed the life of the famous Jacques Cousteau and bested an automatic robot which descended 300 meters with no success. You start in the town where the torrents of water indicate the power and ferocity of this source. Winding up the stream, you get to the top, and its cavernous mouth in almost serene tranquillity oblivious to the furious rapids downstream.

An ice cream and a visit to the local paper mill with its artisan producing hand made paper & we were back in the car with our sights set for home.

<b><span style=”text-decoration: underline;”>Day 5: Avignon, Saint Rémy de Provence, Glanum &amp; L’Isle sur la sorgue.</span></b>

Another day, more wind. This time we headed off to Avignon and the ancient seat of the Catholic Church during the 1300’s and the Papal residence. Bordering the Rhone river, the Pope’s palace dominates its surrounds, surpassing the famed Pont d’Avignon &amp; and the intimidating and well-preserved city walls.

The tour of the Palace takes you through some of the best preserved and restored rooms of this once lavish residence. Little soft furnishings remain, obviously removed and relocated in the current seat, the Vatican. Many of the once splendorous frescos and freezes were destroyed or covered over once the Popes moved back to Rome and a century or two as a military barracks which liked to white-wash walls. The view from the upper battlements provides the visitor with a glorious panorama of the city, pity we were nearly knocked off by the winds.

Also hosting an art exhibition at the time, grotesque beast like sculptures and installations. Not my taste, but there was a few more subtle pieces that were more pleasing to the eye.

A walk down to the river side and we were afforded a visit of the Pont D’Avignon. A broken but still proud bridge immortalised in children’s songs. Stone construction and an almost endless series of patchwork repairs were not enough to overcome the brutal Rhone River.

A planned afternoon tea in Saint Remy had us visiting Claudine’s Aunt’s godparents Claude &amp; Danielle. Danielle, a psychic who foresaw Claudine’s marriage to me (clearly in a lot more specific detail) and her three children, is often said to be more accurate than an Australian meteorologist. Lets just see about those three children! News flash, Danielle is currently expecting twins, or in the very near future.

We were told that we simply had to visit to local site archeologiqe of Glanum, which affords the visitor a tour of one of the best preserved roman towns outside of Italy. Concluding our visit so we could make the 6:30pm closing time, the godparents were correct, this place was amazing! With reconstructions accompanying certain ruins you can easily imagine yourself during the times when romans were the masters of these surroundings. A fantastic experience for the boys who could tie in some other roman sites that they had recently visited.

Not wanting to undertake more cleaning up before we departed for the coast tomorrow, we dined out in L’Isle sur la sorgue at a local river-side restaurant. Another TarTar d’beouf under my belt and we were home to pack. Tomorrow the coast!

<b><span style=”text-decoration: underline;”>Day 6: La Ciotat, Toulouse</span></b>

Murphies law strikes again. We awoke to a beautiful day. The wicked mistral winds had died down however it was time for us to turn our often trusty Citroen towards the Mediterranean coast. Our lunch stop was in famed town of Aix en Provence. A smoke salmon open sandwich later and we were off to the TGV station to drop off Danielle for her continuation to Saint Rafael. 2,100km after taking the keys to our modern day chariot we arrived at the glistening blue boarder of the Mediterranean Sea. It was a milestone in our journey, as we will be drinking, eating, swimming, sleeping, drinking &amp; drinking beside this sea for the remainder of the trip. An ice cream, a short shopping excursion and a look at the boats and we were back on the french mainland roads for the last time on this trip before taking to the sea.

The port of Toulon was the departure point for our Corsica Ferries unashamedly and impossibly yellow overnight ferry. Normally queuing in and endless procession of holiday cars, caravans and refrigerated semi trailers we were ushered straight into the bowels of this mega aquatic caravan. Numbers are down this time of year, too early to be the peak holiday season but buoyed by tourists to see the first three days of the Tour de France. Media and official vehicles made up the numbers and dominated the boat. We had booked a cabin for us, relative luxury in comparison to our previous journeys (sans children) where we would often take to the floor and sleeping bag. One overnight trip we slept (only just) on the roof of the boat but only after realising our chosen spot was above the ships nightclub… never again!

Next stop…. Corsica!

Driving from Annecy to the Luberon was a glorious day. The drive took us through some amazing landscapes – the first of which was Pont en Royans. An amazing ‘hanging town’ above a raging gorge takes you back to another time when houses were made simply of mud, sticks and stones. I can not imagine myself venturing out to any of the hanging balconies perched high above the frigid stream. We arrived during the set-up for the festival of music on a 30+ degree day. River-side is the place to be and is the centre of relaxation. Channelling via a dramatic moss covered waterfall is a series of man-made ponds that provide children and the young at heart a chance to cool down and soak their feet.

A series of spectacular shots and a very quick splash later, we were back in the car onwards to our destination. The drive provided an opportunity to witness the dramatic mountain ranges leading you endlessly onwards to Grenoble. Often dusted in snow, one would only think that the impossibly steep cliff faces could not become more impressive, you would be wrong. An hour later and we were undertaking my fifth favourite French pastime (behind drinking, eating, sightseeing &amp; people watching) supermarket shopping. This actually combines 2 of my favourite pastimes because the French supermarkets are full of fantastic food (and smells) as well as the best collection of wine outside of a Nicolas shop. In fact, the supermarket we chose had its own sommelier who helped you navigate through the endless regions and vintages. Finally arriving at our Gite (the French word for privately owned self-contained accommodation) we were provided with a tour by our very friendly host quickly followed by getting un-packed, putting some loads of washing on and getting stuck into making dinner.

Washing machine, WIFI, a pool &amp; self-contained accommodation – what more does a modern traveller want? To be honest, after 2 weeks of no clean clothes left we were starting to smell a bit….

<b><span style=”text-decoration: underline;”>Day 2: Orange &amp; Danielle</span></b>

We had organised to visit some of Claudine’s family in Orange, her Aunt, Great Aunt and some cousins. This tied in well to a trip to Orange, which was on the itinerary anyway. It also turned out to be the rendezvous point for our dear friend Danielle who was travelling from London to holiday with us for two weeks.

A short lunch with a 90 year-old great-aunt shouldn’t take too long – WRONG. The French like to entertain and they do it very well. You simply cannot start a meal without an aperitif – my chosen poison in France is a Pastis, an aniseed drink similar to the Greek ouzo but watered down to taste. A couple of drinks later over some polite conversation and we were served some nibbles, which included pickled garlic – those crazy French! Sceptical and hesitant, I was persuaded to give one a try. I am glad that I did! They were delicious and absent the overpowering garlic trademarks including breath that could slay 100 Spartans – so nice I had half dozen.

Once we had concluded our 6 hour, 5 course lunch it was time to walk it off. Around the corner from the great-aunt’s apartment is the Roman amphitheatre. To entertain the self-guided audio tour you need to allow over an hour, alas we had just 45min and needed to skip a few elements. The theatre exterior is bold, non-descript and unimpressive appearing protective of the glamour of the stage and coliseum like seating concealed behind it. It is said to be one of the best-preserved roman amphitheatres due to its almost continual use through the ages. The tour provides an insight into how the theatre looked and was used during the roman, Victorian and current day – in fact the theatre hosted the Orange festival of music just a few nights before.

A stroll back to the car and off to the train station to pick up Danielle. Safely packed into the car we headed back to our latest home for drinks, dinner and some relaxation. Summer in Provence around the summer solstice provides somewhere near 16 hours of sunlight, not disappearing until 10:30pm making late dinners and some post dinner aperitif sunlight. I can get used to this!

<b><span style=”text-decoration: underline;”>Day 3: Markets, Gordes &amp; Sénanque Abbey.</span></b>

We wanted to visit a local market and apparently on a Thursday L’Isle sur la sorgue is the place to go. And they are right. This is an impressive provincial market place full of lavender, casually elegant clothing, fruits &amp; vegetables, cheese, meat and music. To tour the sprawling market over is focal point against the river and surrounding maze of back street and alleys you need almost a complete day. We collected some Porchetta, some bread, cheese and a punnet of strawberries for our picnic lunch.

Gordes is an impressive hillside town that has preserved its historical identity through the ages. A major tourist attraction for the region, it provides the visitor with scenic views, good food and wine. All the buildings remain true to their heritage of dry stone construction, which is an impressive sight in such a large scale. We sought out a shady spot under a tree overlooking the surrounding valley and systematically gorged on our recently purchased delicacies.

Almost around the corner from Gordes is the Cistercian Sénanque Abbey. It is impossible to pick up a calendar of Provence and not see a photo of this Abbey and is bulging lavender fields. As an active abbey it still houses Cistercian monks who live in apparent harmony with the endless queues of tourists, although their vows of silences makes it difficult to object.

Still sluggish from our lunch extravaganza, we flopped into the car and headed home to a light dinner.

Our apartment is located as close to the shoreline as possible so we could capitalise on the view and its surroundings. A quick shop at the local express supermarket (which also sold a 2001 Penfold’s Grange for 210 ~ 350AUD) and we were ready to have our first night in for two weeks. It also provided an opportunity to do some hand washing – clean clothes is another thing we had been running out of after two weeks, although we were starting to smell more like the locals

Swimming in the lake under snow capped mountains. Before we had dinner and could settle in for the night we all decided to go for a swim. The fresh water lake, although in the alpine region, was not as frigid as you would expect and locals swim without hesitation ~ it was really no different than swimming at Bondi on a summers day! except with swans paddling around.

The town & a picnic. We woke to less than impressive skies for our next day. Plans of hiring bikes and boats were still on the cards but we were to squeeze this in only if the weather permitted. Heading straight for the old town to take in the sights you can not help but be impressed by this town. The obvious focal point is the lake which is largely fringed by parks, small beaches, marinas and a bike track. The city is adorable and has some fantastic shopping and restaurants. Streets are intersected by little canals which not only cools down the entire area but also provides a postcard view no matter where you walk. We picked up some small sandwiches and drinks then headed to the lake side for our lunch. It was very relaxed and enjoyable, the fine weather had brought out the families and health conscious.

Bike ride. Having waited until 2pm when the bike shop re-opened after lunch, we all were sized up for bikes and set off for a peddle around the lake. The Turra Tuckers in convey was a site to behold, maybe we should have taken a family sized tandem bike after all….. a quick stop for some ice creams and a couple of beers (when in France….) we were back in the saddle and heading for home. And not a moment too soon as the heavens stated to warn about the impending deluge that loomed over us like a hunting animal. No sooner that we had entered the bike shop after our 10km ride than the rain really came down.

No time for shopping, guess we will have to eat out. All the activities for the day left us a bit late to do some shopping so we needed to have a meal somewhere. We settled on a local Hotel/Restaurant that had some regional specialties. Entering the dining room was a scene straight out of National Lampoons – in unison the sparsely attended restaurant whose patrons must have been attending the local retirement village tour, all stopped eating, put their cutlery and glass down to look at and stare at us like we were a two-headed Hawaiian shirt wearing monster. A small smile, a nod & that awkward moment over and we sat down to a quaint meal. Duck breast in a red wine sauce was the pinnacle for me, cooked almost crispy on the outside and close to blue on the inside – perfect!

Leaving in perfect conditions. We woke the next day to the most ideal of conditions – Bugger!! especially given we needed to hit the road early to chip away at the 350km distance to our next destination. A quick pack, bills settled and we were on the road again….. Such a beautiful city full of amazing activities and scenery. We will be back here again, I believe it is close to a perfect location for a holiday house…. Mum &amp; Dad?

Next stop the Luberon & Provence!