For late night satisfaction: L’As du Fallafel:

A worthy find on Rue des Rosiers, in the Marais, just off the street of our Parisian home. Its offshoot streets remain central to the Kosher butchers and boulangeries, bookshops and synagogues. Jewish food of Eastern Europe alongside that of North Africa and the Middle East, the latter on which L’As du Fallafel bases its cuisine. If your not fond of hummus mayo dripping down your arm, may just want to sit in the bustling restaurant brimming with enthusiastic conversations and efficient, smiling waitstaff. And I don’t usually like Falafels!
Tips: Excellent value. Be prepared to cue. Huge serves, may wish to share unless your feeling piglety.
34 rue des Rosiers, 75004 Paris Marais

For cold day cosiness- Cafe Hugo

In the Bastille region this little Bistrot, situated on the inner rim of the Vosges Gardens serves a deliciously rustic French Onion Soup amongst other delights. Squeeze yourself onto a minuscule table, order a quart caraffe of Chianti while you wait and enjoy the animation of Parisian conversations around you. Coffee’s damn fine too.
Tips: Excellent value. Be prepared to brush arms with your neighbors, the intimacy providing opportunity to test your command on the language.
22 Place des Vosges, 75004, Paris

For a fluffy sensation – Le Soufflé

A soufflé sensory overload! If your a lover of these light fluffy concoctions, indulge yourself by selecting one for each course. From mushroom to cognac, my companions took their imaginary hats off to the Salmon Soufflé, mine had already been on the floor for some time. You can walk it off by climbing the Arch de Triumph stairwell tomorrow.
Tips: Tourists appear to be ushered to the back room. If you’d prefer to be seated up front ask while booking. Booking essential.
36 Rue du Mont, Thabor, Paris (near Place Vendome)

For a quirky Hi-Tea – Mariage Frères Salon de Thé

Open noon to 7pm, an extensive tea selection ranging from the exotic to mother’s favourite. An extensive menu, we went for the set breakfast. Small pots of scrambled egg, brioche with jam, sushi roles, prawns…an interesting selection with an eye on varying cultural breakfast expectations.
Tips: Top up the kitty. Choose wisely, ask for descriptions. Again, tourists tend to be ushered to the rear. Put your best ‘don’t mess with me’ face on and insist on your preferences if this doesn’t suit. Book an upfront table in advance if necessary.
A number of these Salons scattered across Paris. We tried 30 Rue du Bourg, Tibourg, Paris

For a spectacular backdrop – Jules Verne

One must visit this restaurant just once in one’s lifetime and we were fortunate to share a lovely friend’s birthday here. Funky chunky up side down plates and exceptionally slender cutlery signify one’s place setting. Delicate complimentary morsels and attentive staff let one know one’s dignified place. The Degustation menus offers one an excellent choice.
Tips: One glass of wine per person with the Degustation menu. One may wish to indulge in a bottle…or two. The ‘Baba’ dessert comes with a choice of liqueur, ask to pour one’s own else one will be singing merrily upon exit, and that simply won’t do!
Tour Eiffel 6 Avenue Gustave Eiffel, Paris

Bigger Tips:

There’s often a happy hour where favourite cocktails will come at great prices (let’s face it, that’s not hard compared to Australian prices!) along with piles of nibbles. For the truly budget conscious, heaven. Find your fave, preferably with a view of some sort and make it your local watering hole.

The wine is cheap and the house wines surprisingly good! Order a quart or half carafe and save the G&T or cocktails for happy hours.

If on a budget, avoid eateries around any of the squares, major thoroughfares, monuments or signature attractions. It’s down the back streets where you’ll find the hidden gems and authentic fare.

Order a ‘Cafe Gormande’ at dessert time and you may receive a coffee with several mini desserts, an economical way to sample dessert while telling yourself you’ve been ever so virtuous.

Avoid fussing with your order choices. Usually limited staff and the time required to understand and grasp your request pushes out their busy schedules and leads to frustration for all.

Butter probably won’t come with your Croissant. That’s because the best are already buttery but if you need beurre, be prepared to ask several times. Same with milk for your tea.

Greet and farewell, attempt your best high school French, smile a lot and drop into the conversation that your an Australian. The French seem to be more comfortable with us and that smile will usually win over even the most jaded wait person. We are, after all, equivalent to a guest in their home.

Oh! And don’t ever eat while walking along the street, or in the street for that matter. Ever so gauche in the eyes of the French.

Would love to hear your faves and hints too!

For late night satisfaction: L’As du Fallafel:

A worthy find on Rue des Rosiers, in the Marais, just off the street of our Parisian home. Its offshoot streets remain central to the Kosher butchers and boulangeries, bookshops and synagogues. Jewish food of Eastern Europe alongside that of North Africa and the Middle East, the latter on which L’As du Fallafel bases its cuisine. If your not fond of hummus mayo dripping down your arm, may just want to sit in the bustling restaurant brimming with enthusiastic conversations and efficient, smiling waitstaff. And I don’t usually like Falafels!
Tips: Excellent value. Be prepared to cue. Huge serves, may wish to share unless your feeling piglety.
34 rue des Rosiers, 75004 Paris Marais

For cold day cosiness- Cafe Hugo

In the Bastille region this little Bistrot, situated on the inner rim of the Vosges Gardens serves a deliciously rustic French Onion Soup amongst other delights. Squeeze yourself onto a minuscule table, order a quart caraffe of Chianti while you wait and enjoy the animation of Parisian conversations around you. Coffee’s damn fine too.
Tips: Excellent value. Be prepared to brush arms with your neighbors, the intimacy providing opportunity to test your command on the language.
22 Place des Vosges, 75004, Paris

For a fluffy sensation – Le Soufflé

A soufflé sensory overload! If your a lover of these light fluffy concoctions, indulge yourself by selecting one for each course. From mushroom to cognac, my companions took their imaginary hats off to the Salmon Soufflé, mine had already been on the floor for some time. You can walk it off by climbing the Arch de Triumph stairwell tomorrow.
Tips: Tourists appear to be ushered to the back room. If you’d prefer to be seated up front ask while booking. Booking essential.
36 Rue du Mont, Thabor, Paris (near Place Vendome)

For a quirky Hi-Tea – Mariage Frères Salon de Thé

Open noon to 7pm, an extensive tea selection ranging from the exotic to mother’s favourite. An extensive menu, we went for the set breakfast. Small pots of scrambled egg, brioche with jam, sushi roles, prawns…an interesting selection with an eye on varying cultural breakfast expectations.
Tips: Top up the kitty. Choose wisely, ask for descriptions. Again, tourists tend to be ushered to the rear. Put your best ‘don’t mess with me’ face on and insist on your preferences if this doesn’t suit. Book an upfront table in advance if necessary.
A number of these Salons scattered across Paris. We tried 30 Rue du Bourg, Tibourg, Paris

For a spectacular backdrop – Jules Verne

One must visit this restaurant just once in one’s lifetime and we were fortunate to share a lovely friend’s birthday here. Funky chunky up side down plates and exceptionally slender cutlery signify one’s place setting. Delicate complimentary morsels and attentive staff let one know one’s dignified place. The Degustation menus offers one an excellent choice.
Tips: One glass of wine per person with the Degustation menu. One may wish to indulge in a bottle…or two. The ‘Baba’ dessert comes with a choice of liqueur, ask to pour one’s own else one will be singing merrily upon exit, and that simply won’t do!
Tour Eiffel 6 Avenue Gustave Eiffel, Paris

Bigger Tips:

There’s often a happy hour where favourite cocktails will come at great prices (let’s face it, that’s not hard compared to Australian prices!) along with piles of nibbles. For the truly budget conscious, heaven. Find your fave, preferably with a view of some sort and make it your local watering hole.

The wine is cheap and the house wines surprisingly good! Order a quart or half carafe and save the G&T or cocktails for happy hours.

If on a budget, avoid eateries around any of the squares, major thoroughfares, monuments or signature attractions. It’s down the back streets where you’ll find the hidden gems and authentic fare.

Order a ‘Cafe Gormande’ at dessert time and you may receive a coffee with several mini desserts, an economical way to sample dessert while telling yourself you’ve been ever so virtuous.

Avoid fussing with your order choices. Usually limited staff and the time required to understand and grasp your request pushes out their busy schedules and leads to frustration for all.

Butter probably won’t come with your Croissant. That’s because the best are already buttery but if you need beurre , be prepared to ask several times. Same with milk for your tea.

Greet and farewell, attempt your best high school French, smile a lot and drop into the conversation that your an Australian. The French seem to be more comfortable with us and that smile will usually win over even the most jaded wait person. We are, after all, equivalent to a guest in their home.

Oh! And don’t ever eat while walking along the street, or in the street for that matter. Ever so gauche in the eyes of the French.

Would love to hear your faves and hints too!

The beach is pebbly, looks a tad uncomfortable though some tourists don’t seem to mind and are draped over it while others sprawl on blue and white striped deck chairs under matching beach umbrellas. The umbrella hues mirror the upturned fishing boats languishing near the rocky outcrops, some of them aged and peeling, just like a few said tourists. Clear sky and a soft hazy ocean, hard to differentiate where one begins and the other ends.

Pinching myself. Monterosso is definitely a worthy choice for my little sojourn, a relief because it’s not the easiest train journey if you, like me, will never be that enviable person who travels with nothing but a backpack, velcro sandals and a vintage SLR camera slung from their neck.

After jostling my luggage down and up the La Spezia train station subway to the Cinque Terra line within just 6.75 of the 7 transfer minutes, then squeezing in with the hop on-hop off tourists doing the five towns the easy way, am relieved to arrive sweaty but on time for Umberto. He speaks not a word of English, but that doesn’t deter him from describing scenic highlights as he drives me around the mountains to my new home. A treacherous goat track winds back down to the village below, handy, though my laziness says otherwise, thighs already anticipating testosterone fueled weight lifter outcomes.

No sooner examined my new home and contemplated the mundanity of dealing with an overdue pile of washing when Umberto’s wife Anna, who speaks three other languages but not a word of English, invites me to lunch at Il Ciliegio, their friend’s nearby restaurant. Washing can wait!

Classic Ligurian dishes including Antipasti Mista – assorted seafood marinated in olive oil; Pansotti del noce – tiny fish every way; mussel laden spaghetti shared from a huge cast iron pot; a swordfish steak and a fresh gelato to finish, all washed down with home made wine. The meal savored under a Chestnut tree on a terrace backdropped with the most breathtaking ocean view and complimented with laughter at my clumsy attempts to converse, tempered by the speed with which I’m able to type into my trusty iPhone translation app.

The restaurant owners, who speak not a word of English, later join us and, iPhone now drained, I’m content to just listen and smile right back. When Chef learns of my love for fresh cherries or ‘ciliegio’ (the restaurant’s namesake), he picks a bowl full of the sweet gems which we all share with a sauterne as the sky line starts to fade to pink, the rest bagged for me to bring home.

Gracious, curious, warm and so very welcoming. The furthermost of the five Cinque Terra villages may be known more for its tourism and beaches than the others however it’s hospitality such as this that makes Monterosso such a worthy spot. Along with that stunning vista.

PS: Thought my Italian was improving…until I asked for acqua minerale (mineral water) and was told the washing machine will be delivered on Monday…oh sweet lord help me…

Not going to share my outcomes however there was something about the new pool boy that caused the woman to fall back into the…but I digress!

You’ve just been introduced to my first hour at the ‘Art of Writing’ retreat. Held at Residence Il Borgo in the lush green Casentino region of Tuscany, Italy, a place where spiritual retreats thrive and where castles, medieval monasteries and sanctuaries generate a ‘calming of the spirit’. Little wonder the locals simply call it ‘the place of emotions’.

Dramatic at the best of times, mine were in overdrive. Finally, a place to make sense of the thousands of post-it notes floating around in my head! Our host, Lisa Clifford, an expat, down to earth, welcoming and wise, has chosen the scene well, thus too her supporting cast.

James (Jim) Friel, Program Leader for the M.A and Ph. D. in writing at Liverpool’s John Moores University, visiting writer at L’Universite de Rouen, France and author of four novels, a fifth due for release, is our lead tutor. Lisa (Clifford) two books under her belt including ‘The Promise’, a third on the launch pad; Morag (Anne Fraser) with 19 published Mills & Boon novels, the 20th book, and of an entirely different genre, about to launch. Deirdre Pirro, author of ‘Italian Sketches’ and regular columnist for various publications including ‘The Florentine’ an English speaking local paper; and Catherine McNamara, author of ‘The Divorced Lady’s Companion to Italy’ and two Blogs. An impressive team indeed and impress they do.

Collectively we learn about finding our voice, our audience and how to craft our earnestness into intelligible sentences that our audience might actually want to read. The importance of robust research, how to meld memoirs, shape scenes and a sense of place and edit, submit, deal with rejection, market, promote and publish…and likely remain poor but personally rewarded for the experience.

My fellow participants, a mixture of Australian and expat Aussies, an American and an expat Italian now settled in Cairo, are interesting and interested, have fabulous stories to tell and faces as confused as mine. By week’s end trepidation replaced with quiet determination.

We have whipped our concepts into something that may even fly, bonded over shared Lingurian feasts cooked by the delightful Umberta, who speaks not a word of English but saved by the many who have a command on Italian. How I envy them. We’ve also milked sheep, made pecorino and ricotta cheese from the outcomes, examined one of the oldest flour mills in Europe and banqueted inside the 10th-11th century Porciano Medieval Tower.

We have also made a pact to support each other’s book launches…or that may just have been the wine speaking? Or just an excuse to return? You bet!

Penny who deals with all things administrative and Lisa the glue that binds, thank you!

Thus I declare this a day of statues!

Make my way to the Piazza della Signoria to take a snap of a copy of Michelangelo’s Statue of David as photos are not allowed in the Accademia, then take a peek inside the Palazzo Vecchio where I fall in love with a couple of sweet Lions.

Following this, an up close and personal with the statues residing in the Loggia dei Lanzi including Baccio Bandinelli’s Heracles and Cacus; two statues by Giambologna including the equestrian statue of Grand Duke Cosimo I and one of my personal faves, the Rape of a Sabine, the fine detail of fingers pressed into her flesh has always intrigued. Beautiful work.

As well, Cellini’s Perseus and Medusa. And of course who can ignore the Neptune Fountain, designed by Ammanati and particularly spectacular at night.

Right! Statues done, wrap the morning by finding a tiny little restaurant with the very best spag yet…but that’s another story!

A minor setback…rain! Bucketing! When yesterday there was none, today necessitating brollies, raincoats, and hoodies and we have ‘em all…just back in Florence. Fifi is NOT amused! Two Nana rain coat purchases later, the vision of poor sad backpack bedraggled Fifi and Pixi quickly transgressed into fits of giggles and the need to emulate Quasi Modo…da bells! da bells!

While Fifi refuses to fight stairs in the pouring rain, Pix forges ahead to capture grey mist driven views of the usually vibrant hillside villages. Tiny softly muted houses clinging to cliff sides, boats bobbing in the turbulent harbour, fishermen waiting patiently for a break in the clouds, brightly coloured boats upturned and scattered across the rocks and slipway…the vision is beautifully raw, rugged and wild. Just imagine what it will look like on the sunny days?

The day is saved by a lovely little crab linguini and a crisp white to wash it down in a little seaside restaurant, followed by Plan B…a visit to the pretty walled city of Lucca ,which also happens to be the home of Pinnochio’s creator Carlo Lorenzini, better known by the pen name Carlom Collodi. Or his Mum’s home at least for apparently the jury’s still out on exactly which village can claim ownership. Bet ya didn’t know that!

Being Miss Curious, or Miss Marples depending on the subject’s reluctance to share and my reluctance to leave my career consultant hat back home, queried Roger’s daytime job and, upon hearing he’d been another victim to an economic downturn somewhere in the world, just HAD to question his job search marketing strategy.

Aha! There it was…a willingness to let his production work speak for itself and pave the way. A recent mini TV piece he and a small team had developed, for which he is most passionate, and where all efforts have been focused on seeking funding and release. http://natureforecast.com/

Being a Parisian Greeter certainly beats stacking supermarket shelves or driving taxis while in transition but it’s no Plan B, at least for Roger. When asked about Plan B, a vague response indicated maybe the music industry, possibly educational visual fare, a change of subject. Which brings me to my point.

The creative ones have dreams. Jotted on post it notes, sketched in notebooks, on napkins, shared in conversations, yet they frequently lack trigger mechanisms to turn the dream into reality. For the famous, the practicalities are taken care of by agents and assistants. For the man on the street, shoe leather, a strong constitution for knock backs and bloody minded perseverance. Roger has translated his dreams to reality, has constitution and shoe leather, but needs a stimulating job to survive while peddling his production.

A strong ‘self marketing’ business plan, starting with an ‘ideal job’ description; a list of top three industry and job preferences and top three companies that fit that criterion; a sound desktop and networking research strategy. A solid resume selling strengths that will benefit a prospective employer. Advice, Information and Referral (AIR) conversations to hone in on decision makers who may be interested in employing the breadth and scope of his capabilities over and above that production piece. Roger blanched at this, no mean feat as the man is black, but rose to the occasion.

GI Jane (apparently my new moniker) coached and critiqued a pretty damn fine resume and the rest now lies in Roger’s charm, personality, connections, a healthy dose of persistence and a bucket load of that perseverance. The entertainment industry will certainly benefit from the outcome.

But why the effort? Networking. Friendships. A love for the truly creative. ‘Paying it forward’. The man knows the Paris apartment rental market and I’ll need similar guidance as I navigate through the challenges of best price long term accommodation at the end of this journey. Plus! A reciprocated Risotto and Chianti. The girl may be broke by then!

Buy train ticket for Monterosso and an Italian SIM card, a triple A battery for my Bose NC headphones (no you dirty minded persons, ‘they’ take size C!!), a ticket for The Accademia to later see Michelangelo’s Statue of David and generally wander…and what a lovely experience…

A thunderstorm without benefit of the three raincoats and two umbrellas back in the Hotel. No matter, it’s only water. Warm raindrops, hot paver steam, lightening. I’m afraid of lightening yet view it with disengaged curiosity. A 50 minute queue to buy train ticket at the Santa Maria Novella Salone Biglietti. No urgency, take your time, I’ve all the time in the world. And I do.

A young Italian couple in heated hand gesturing argument. She walks away. He doesn’t follow…a relationship break up with one witness…me. Tourists with brash American accents seeking off street leather outlets, gelato dripping down their arms. Mine’s in check.

Polizia gossiping on corners, Nigerians hawking umbrellas, women coveting jewelry on the Ponte Vecchio while their men sit patiently in nearby Ristorantes sipping beer and sweating over smoldering credit cards. Leather markets in full swing, the banter, the colours, the smell. Another couple, lips locked in passion oblivious to curious passers by. Observed break up now negated.

Waiters spruiking punters to their Ristorantes only to studiously ignore them once seated. The pretty carousel in the Piazza Della Repubblica. The magnificent Duomo, marbled greens, pinks and whites freshly rain washed and sparkling to the thrill of photographers gathered around her base. My iconic compass for finding the way home.

A classical guitarist, a comedian, a jazz trio, a singer, pavement chalkers, live statuettes all clamoring for attention, hawking their talents to win meagre coins from jaded tourists. Endless visual feasts and photo moments.

Now officially exhausted, sipping a Chianti, fighting a persistent Pigeon for my Bruschetta while marveling at the ambient sunset bathing the city from my terrace table. Duomo bells ringing, swallows fluttering, I stroke the ladybug silver trinket on my leather wristlet, a testament to friendship and gifted by my dear traveling friend, and conclude…Florence really is a mighty fine place to commence a journey of discovery.

Starting from Amiens we visited the 1918 battlefields at Villers-Bretonneux and an imposing Memorial commemorating nearly 11,000 Australians who died in France but have no known grave.

From there to the village to visit the Franco-Australian Museum full of Australian photographs and memorabilia, then Pozières where so many Australians lost their lives over the summer months of 1916.

Followed this with a visit to the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing – 72,000 British and South African men in this case. Also visited the Newfoundland Memorial Park at Beaumont-Hamel where we walked through the zigzag trenches still evident almost a century later. Oh my. We struggle to remain composed as our guide describes unimaginable scenes played out there.

Also visited a special spot where Jenny’s Great Uncle was interred and where she planted a small Australian flag and memorial. So nice to recognise and acknowledge at least one of the so very many who sacrificed their lives on the Somme battlefields.

Initially ambivalent about the trip, rewarded with a whole new appreciation for the courage and bravery acknowledged, appreciated and respected by this little part of our world.

Yet it’s just a garden, a tad larger than average but just a garden. Similar flora busily blossoming right under our noses in our own country…in our parks, over the neighbor’s fence, on window ledges, by the side of the road, heck even doing their bit in old tyres turned into swan shaped planters so frequent to the central west and many a Nana’s back yard. And all thanks to folk who share the same passion as Monet did. But how often do we take the time to appreciate a gardener’s efforts? I make a note to take the time to do so from now on.

Seasonally dependent, reliant on just the right weather mix (the waterlilies were yet to open due to unseasonably cold weather), bud to bloom to wither so rapid, fleeting. Thank goodness Monet was inspired to capture the beauty of his Giverny garden for us all to enjoy, all year round. Thanks Claude!