Travel

Friday, August 16

My friend’s house was both huge and central. She stayed at home recovering from an early start getting her husband and stepson out to the airport and – once Mr. Waffle had nobly returned the hired car – we ventured out into Helsinki. We took ourselves to the market for lunch.

On the recommendation of our hosts, after lunch we went out to one of the islands in the bay called Suomenlinna (or Sveaborg in Swedish). Herself pointed out that if, at home, you were told that instructions were only available in Swedish, you would say, “How useless!” However, in Finland where the two official languages are Swedish and Finnish, the Swedish translation frequently saved our bacon as you have some hope of working out the Swedish but none at all of guessing what the Finnish might mean. I digress.

The island was rich in military museums and also boasted a submarine which we visited.

There was a lot about Mannerheim and the Winter War and we became reasonably expert. I was dimly aware that the Finns had fought the Russians alone at the start of World War II (or the Continuity War as it is known in Finland). I am now very aware that Russian invaded and the Finns fought back in 1939/40 and basically fought the Russians to a standstill. Apparently the Finns said, “They are so many/and our country is so small/where will we bury them all?” While numbers are a bit difficult to establish the estimate is that the Finns lost 20,000 men and the Russians some 230,000. Herself read a book on it in my friend’s house while we were there and she was a mine of information. She described how the Russians had so many men and were so indifferent to their welfare that they used to send rows of them across the land mined by the Finns. The Russians would walk along in rows and sing songs of the revolution until they got blown up. After a while they stopped using men and started using horses which, apparently, the Finns found very upsetting. Anyhow Mannerheim led the Finns and they loved him. He was very old and had been part of the Russian army in the Russo-Japanese war. He didn’t like the communists much though. Finland was a duchy of Sweden for 700 years and then part of Russian for 100 years before becoming independent in 1917. There was a super guide who told us all about the Winter War, basically the Finns defeated the Soviets and should possibly have bailed out at that point but when the Germans were fighting Russia on the basis of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, they supported Germany. In the longer run this was poor from a tactical point of view and they lost parts of Finland to Russia in the post war settlement. Did you know that the Russians still have Karelia? Who knew? Well, the Finns I suppose. Our guide’s grandparents were evacuated from there to Helsinki and never got back. They had some Russian equipment captured in the Winter War in the museum. Our guide said that a Russian visitor once asked whether they would give it back. Our guide replied, “When you give back Karelia.” Stubborn bunch the Finns with a difficult neighbour.

I said I would make dinner that evening (as there were five of us and only one of our hostess, it only seemed fair). It was a bit on the late side when we got back and I made a raid on the corner shop for dinner ingredients. I got chicken, green beans, potatoes, meringues and ice cream. How much did it come to, gentle reader? €118. I was not the better of it. Herself said it was the first time she had ever seen me check a receipt. I will tell you now, chicken is dear in Finland.

Saturday, August 17

My friend took us to a wonderful outdoor pool right in the centre of town. Herself opined it might have been the best thing we did on holidays. There was a heated pool and a sectioned off bit of baltic water as well as a sauna (obviously). We swam around in the pools for ages admiring the architecture of central Helsinki. I cannot recommend it highly enough. This photo is in no way representative of the extent of the pools or the delightfulness of the location but it’s something.

Encouraged by my friend, I took a big step and left the boys on their own in the pool for a bit. Call me over-protective. I had a grand old chat with the life guard who turned out to be from Gran Canaria which was a bit of a surprise.

Quite a while into our odyssey – I’d tested both pools, I’d showered outside, I’d sat in a deckchair – I put a hand to my waist and I thought, how odd, I didn’t know there was a seam there and then realised, to my utter horror, that I had left my underpants on outside my swimsuit. It turns out it is true, nobody looks at women over 50 particularly not their family who resolutely assured me that they hadn’t noticed at all.

It was our first time testing a sauna with real live Finns inside. Exciting. They get grumpy if you leave the door open we discovered.

We then went to the nearby market for lunch which was successful beyond my wildest dreams as everyone found something for lunch. Although it does not appear so from the photo, the boys were delighted with the classic ketchup, squid and chip combination.

We polished off the day with a wander around looking at art deco buildings and a coffee in the square above the fancy art museum. We didn’t go in but the children climbed on top of it which must be worth some mild art points.

Then back to the house where Mr. Waffle and the children stayed home and my friend and I got dressed up and went out. I have to say, it was lovely to spend so much time with her and have the children get to know her as well. She is my oldest friend and we have so many people and memories in common we spent ages reminiscing and I was quite pleased to have so many of my stories verified in front of the children by a third party.

Alas, we did all manage to get sunburnt though which is an achievement in Helsinki. There I am with herself looking pinkish. Has to be said that no matter what way you slice it, I am at least twice the size of her. Sigh.

Sunday August 18

I signed myself up to the Helsinki scooter app and scooted to mass. I was very proud. Mass was in English (happily) lengthy and crowded and, bizarrely, the missalettes were imported from Dublin.

The electric scooters were a hit with the children also.

In the afternoon, we went to the funfair. Probably not the cheapest outing we’ve ever been on but my friend came too and we sat around and had tea while watching the children undertaking death defying rides and ourselves went on the mildest possible roller coaster.

Monday, August 19

My poor friend went off to the office. Herself and myself went out together. We had breakfast in a local cafe and then took ourselves off to Stockmann (big Department store) where I indulged myself by buying multiple Moomin mugs all of which I got home safely.

We picked up unusual presents in the food market. Reindeer crisps at €8 a packet anyone? My father got the moose pâté. I await his verdict with interest.

In the afternoon we went to the design museum which was not a massive hit with the children other than the chair in the entrance hall which they loved. I quite enjoyed exploring the VR version of the Finnish installation at, if memory serves, the Venice Biennale but they didn’t really go for it. I had a lot of VR on this holiday and, for what it’s worth, I quite liked it when I wasn’t inadvertently walking into walls in the real world.

We went off and had a sustaining cup of tea before heading home for our last evening in Finland. My friend was a really wonderful hostess. She was calm and relaxed and this was more notable as she has a very busy job and she was moving to Brussels the next month (in fact next week will see her in a large house in Brussels which she may yet have the thrill of hosting us in).

Tuesday, August 20

We were up at the crack of dawn for our very early flight. My friend was up to as she was, ironically, flying to the Åland islands that morning. She reported that it was picturesque with great cycling infrastructure. Another time, perhaps.

Meanwhile, we were in very good time for our flight.

Inquiring minds will be delighted to know that I finished the last edition of the LRB which I had brought with me on the plane and stepped off in Dublin unencumbered by any back issues.

We got home to find the cat not displeased to see us; an embarrassingly generous present from our Hiberno-Dutch friends who had very briefly stayed in our house while we were away (they can stay anytime); a copy of a magazine in which Daniel and Michael had their poetry published together with royalties in the form of a €10 book voucher each and, of course, a new issue of the LRB.

Also, we’ve discovered that Mr. Next Door Neighbour’s brother is married to a Finn and lives in Helsinki and so does the brother of the man who cut the boys’ hair on our return home. There’s a lot of it about.

How were your own holidays?

Sunday, August 11

We tested out the sauna in the house. It was fine as these things go. Toasty. The whole set-up was pretty good with the sauna room beside the shower room and a little view from the tiny window of the sauna to the trees outside. I felt like a Finn getting back in touch with nature except that I had to leave once the temperature hit 80 degrees. The rest of the family pronounced the sauna experience tolerable also and we did do it a couple of times but maybe you have to be born to it to really appreciate the sauna experience.

Mr. Waffle and I took a stroll down to the Baltic where we met a mother and son who were swimming away. “Is it cold?” I asked. “Not if you swim every day,” said the mother. “Do you even swim in winter?” I asked. “No, not when it’s frozen,” she said. Fine, right, ok, good point. Apparently there was no snow last winter and it meant that the surface of the ice on the water was so smooth that you could skate from the inlet right out to the open sea and play ice hockey all winter long.

We went and had a look at the local church which reminded me a bit of some of the churches we saw in Denmark last year. A nice woman inside told us that the village where we were staying (Rymättylä – very rural) used to be a stop on the route from Stockholm to St. Petersburg and monied travellers paid for the church. Very nice too with an appealing graveyard as well.

We went into Turku for mass that evening. It was in English. The catholic population of Finland is small and mostly migrant although, I noticed that the celebrant seemed to be Finnish. Apparently all of Finland is one diocese so catholicism is a bit of a minority sport. This led to a long mass which always seems to be the way when catholics are a minority.

We had wandered around Turku before mass and been a bit underwhelmed. It was drizzly and cold and everything was closed. We decided to go for pizza after mass and found a pizzeria which closed at 7 – it was then 6.55. Why, why would you close your pizzeria at 7? A nice random Finnish man took pity on us and directed us towards a local pizza chain. It was the most depressing experience. The place was horrible and the pizza was dear and bad. I ordered the pizza Berlusconi with reindeer meat. It was developed in response to Berlusconi’s comments about Finnish food. If you ask me, it’s not exactly a riposte.

We shook the dust of Turku from our feet and went home. We had the comfort of beautiful views as we made our way back to our island home.

Monday August 12

Inspired by the hardy Finns, we went swimming in the Baltic. Poor Michael found it just too cold and Daniel slid in very slowly from rocks on the edge of the water but it was quite enjoyable and we got to have a sauna afterwards like real Finns.

Scarred by our trip to Turku we decided to have a mild outing to Naantali about 20 minutes away. It’s a seaside town where the Finnish president has his holiday home. And seriously, why wouldn’t he? It was the most charming little place and I was utterly entranced. Sadly, herself was feeling a bit tired and stayed back at the house and although Mr. Waffle and the boys tried to enter into my enthusiasm, I could tell that their hearts weren’t in it. I loved every aspect of it, from the marina to the cute wooden house lined streets, the adorable shops sellling (holy mother of God expensive) tourist tat and the lovely church.

After the wild excitements of Naantali we had a quiet evening at home playing some of the many board games Michael had brought along with a steely determination to spend time with his family playing them.

Tuesday, August 13

We all took a morning dip in the Baltic. I can recommend this.

We had considered going to Turku that afternoon but I was still a bit scarred after our Sunday experience so we went back to Naantali instead. It was still charming but, I have to concede, it is small and I am not sure that its charms really warranted a second day. Herself was charmed though and we did get inside the church and the local museum.

Some of the churches had little miniature ships hanging from the ceiling. On inquiry as to why, I was told that there is a lot of fishing in Finland. I don’t know. I’m not entirely convinced.

I always have a soft spot for a local museum and this one was appealing in a mild way as it was an old house done up as it would have been 100 years ago. The exhibition of wallpaper through the ages was hard going though, even for me.

For dinner that evening, Mr. Waffle succeeded in making Yorkshire pudding and it would be fair to say that this was something of a highlight for the boys.

Wednesday, August 14

We had a quiet day at home as I put some serious effort in trying to get through a mountain of back issues of the London Review of Books which had been piling up in the hall for a good six months due to pressure of other business. I took them all on holidays and swore they would not come home. I’m not sure that they are designed to be read in quite this way but never mind.

We had a swim in the Baltic and later herself and myself went to look at a local junk shop. It was surrounded by houses getting rid of things (Kirppis – in case you need to know). The kind of stuff that sits in attics for years. But the cost! When I saw the IKEA festive biscuit tin on sale for €7, I knew that there would be absolutely nothing I would consider buying. Herself invested heavily in copy of Jaana 1975 which featured a story on the new Miss World who was previously Miss Finland at ludicrous expense. The vendor was able to tell us about Miss Finland’s grandchildren so she’s clearly still a big figure locally.

I said to herself that we might as well have a look at the church since it was nearby and she observed, “Oh I see, it’s like the trains at the station, one train can conceal another.” Anyhow, she was spared as the church was closed.

Myself and Mr. Waffle went for a walk leaving the children to their own devices which was quite pleasant for all parties.

Thursday, August 15

I couldn’t help pointing out to the children that in Italy this is Ferragosto, the height of the summer holidays but in Finland the children were back to school and the countryside felt quite autumnal. This insight was greeted with indifference and we went for a last swim before packing up and heading for Helsinki.

On our way to Helsinki, we stopped in Turku for a couple of hours. Oh regret. Although Turku on Sunday night had been utterly miserable, we had sadly misjudged it. It was lovely; we walked along the riverbank. We had a really good lunch in the centre and there was loads to see. I wished fervently we had gone back earlier.

We all went on a compulsory trip to the cathedral.

There was a thing signed by Mannerheim. I cannot believe I had never heard of Mannerheim before visiting Finland. I feel very ignorant. He’s big in Finland.

After this, we split forces. Herself was really keen to go to the modern art museum and the rest of us wanted to go to the castle (ok, the boys didn’t want to but they definitely wanted to more than they wanted to go to the modern art museum). I felt a bit daring setting her off to find the museum using Google maps on my phone but Mr. Waffle pointed out that she had been around Paris on her own and she was probably alright in a small university city in Finland. Fine. She was fine. We went to the castle of which I have no pictures (did it even happen then?) as herself had my phone. Mr. Waffle took a couple but it’s just not the same. We galloped around the castle a bit as Mr. Waffle began to worry that we would be late for my friend in Helsinki. “She’s known me all my life,” I reassured him, “she will expect me to be late.” He was not comforted.

We collected herself from the museum where she had a great time after some initial difficulties gaining entry due to not fitting readily into any of their categories of visitors (too old for a child; no card for a student; too young for an adult and unaccompanied by a family). Herself announced that she lay awake in bed last night wondering who was in charge in Algeria and that this is the kind of thing she had been suffering from since the loss of her phone. What to say. We sped on to Helsinki. I texted my friend that we might be late. She was delightfully unconcerned. I noticed that St Petersburg was signposted which was a bit weird but not for the Finns, I suppose.

We arrived safely in Helsinki and our hosts were ready for us with dinner and lots of beds which were both very welcome. One of them gave up a bed for us which was particularly virtuous but he and his father were leaving for Dublin in the morning so they assured us their sacrifice would be short-lived. It was noble all the same.

Part 3 detailing our Helsinki stay is coming. Stay tuned for further Finnish excitement.

Wednesday, August 7

We booked flights on a Wednesday because they were cheaper. I was a bit displeased as I would have liked to be away slightly longer but on balance, we decided it was worth it.

We entered into complex arrangements with our neighbours in relation to feeding their hens and our cat. I always feel slightly upstaged by their ambitious holidays However, after the year when they climbed Kilimanjaro, I felt that they could hardly do better. “Where are you going this year?” I asked. “The Galapagos and Easter Island.”

I digress, our flight was at 9.25 in the morning which wasn’t too bad. We were a small bit late leaving home due to a fruitless search for the Brett Easton Ellis book herself was reading which was nowhere to be found. Then we missed the turn off for the long term car park – another 10 minutes gone; then the bus to the airport took ages to come. The upshot of it was 9.50 before we got to the airport and check-in was closed. I had a look at the hard-hearted Ryanair woman behind the desk and decided that resorting to tears would be utterly useless. In fairness, we’d probably not have made it to the gate in time at that stage. Alas and indeed alack. Mr. Waffle was heroic. Though grumpy when made to be late by his family now that the hour had actually come and our combined indifference to his punctuality concerns had made us miss the wretched flight, he was pretty zen and booked and paid for another flight that evening with unimpaired amiability (so much for economical Wednesday flights). I was filled with guilt. My friend in Helsinki sent me this and I could not but concede that it was apt:

Herself in correspondence with her friend told her about the missed flight and her friend said, “I didn’t know that happened to real people.” Fair. Although I am forced to point out that subsequently her friend’s father fell while refilling the car with petrol when they were on holidays in Norway and broke his hip. That doesn’t happen much to real people either, I can tell you. Friend was round yesterday and she says he is up and hobbling about and keen to spread a story that his injury was sustained climbing dramatic Norwegian mountains. After this exchange, the Princess’s phone died. I was pleased and quite surprised to see how well she managed without it for the next fortnight.

Our re-booked flight was for that evening so we took ourselves off to Malahide castle for a consolatory breakfast and the kids re-acquainted themselves with the playground where they had not been for several years. I bought a new anorak. It was actually surprisingly pleasant given the context.

Then we went home. Our cleaner had been hard at work on the house all morning and, cravenly, we hid in the car when we saw her leaving on her bike, too mortified to explain our idiocy to her. She already has a pretty low opinion of us already. We found that she had, as instructed, completely cleaned out the fridge. Alas.

We got in some food. We found Brett Easton Ellis misfiled with the school books and mid-afternoon we turned around and went back out to the airport allowing ample time to check in.

Of course, then, instead of arriving in Tallinn at lunch time, it was nearly 1 in the morning and we were all a bit tired and sorry for ourselves but we got there. It was some comfort that a taxi from the airport – for the five of us – only cost €13.40.

Thursday, 8 August

We woke up in Tallinn as planned. We stayed in a lovely Airbnb in the old city with the mandatory sauna – big feature in the Baltic, lads. The old town is very touristy and there weren’t really any shops other than ones selling souvenirs – amber, trolls, linen and knitwear are all big. And I imagine that, if you are from Tallinn you might not love the way that your old city centre has become essentially a tourist zone but we were tourists and we absolutely loved it. There were no cars in the city centre and it was small, clean (remarkably clean) and seemed very safe. We were able to let the children wander on their own which we all enjoyed.

My friend who lives in Helsinki and with whom we were to stay later in the holiday was actually in Tallinn with her family for a couple of days. They were familiar with the lie of the land and we met them for lunch which was very nice. Their accommodation featured a rat trap in the entrance hall with smelly corpses and, though my friend was stoic, I was quite glad that this was not a feature of our place as it might have tipped me over the edge.

We did mildly touristy things as we were in the city centre and it wasn’t very effortful.

Some of our number felt that the climb up to the Orthodox church wasn’t worth the effort but I liked it.

Definite highlight was having an afternoon snack of dumplings in a cafe in the square. Not your traditional afternoon snack but welcome all the same. Mr. Waffle has recreated them at home. Huge success.

I did not expect this at all but the food in Tallinn is excellent. Really good and cheap too. It was a Hanseatic league town (in the course of our visit, I frequently wished I had paid a bit more attention to a podcast on the Hanseatic league which I listened to earlier this year) and a cross-roads for trade and spices and even in Soviet times it was very popular for food with Russians and eastern Europeans. Who knew?

After dinner we sat up on our rooftop terrace and admired the view. Pretty good all round.

Friday, August 9

I gave herself my phone to investigate possible breakfast locations. Her own phone had broken and I was surprised and pleased by how well she managed for the next fortnight without a phone; although she was forced to read every book we’d brought with us and even finish “Catch 22” which she has been reading for months with no apparent enjoyment.

She came good and we went to a lovely place leaving her brothers behind in bed. The lure of a good cinnamon bun was insufficient to tempt them out. Their mistake. While herself went off for a wander in the market and her brothers stayed in bed, Mr. Waffle and I went on a tour of Reval (did you know that Tallinn was always Reval and only changed its name to Tallinn 100 years ago? There’s a whole world out there). The tour was pretty good – a bit gimmicky but interesting all the same. I wish I had prodded the boys out of bed as there was tons of audience participation which, Michael at least, would have loved.

After lunch at home we went to a hotel which apparently does a very good tour involving KGB spying equipment. I say apparently as we had failed to book and there were no tours we could get on until the following day when, alas, we were leaving. We went for a restorative cup of tea in a nice cafe which herself had unearthed in her internet researches and then decided to go to the museum of occupation instead. It was a half hour trek away under the merciless Estonian sun and we arrived red faced and exhausted. The museum was interesting enough in its own way. A lot of interactive stuff, including a mock up of a soviet era flat where you could look in all the cupboards and a VR headset which allowed you to furnish your flat from a relatively limited range of options.

Then back home to play board games with Michael who had brought several and was determined to get value for his efforts.

We went out for dinner in a lovely Italian restaurant by the city walls recommended by our friends. There was an Italian waiter and it was a relief to both of us to speak in Italian. He said his Estonian was only middling. I sympathise.

Saturday, August 10

We said goodbye to Tallinn with some regret. We would not at all have minded another couple of days there. As we were leaving I saw that the former KGB interrogation cells – now a museum – were across the road from our Airbnb. Possibly for the best to have missed that.

We took the ferry across to Helsinki. The ferry ride was pleasant and only took about 3 hours. The ferry was enormous and very similar to the ferry we used to get to France; the fact that the latter was a Baltic ferry before being purchased by Irish Ferries may explain that. Aside from the explosion of the open jar of jam which one of us had packed in our bags in Tallinn, the journey was uneventful.

We presented ourselves at Helsinki railway station to pick up our hired car. We weren’t in any rush but we should have been. We turned up at 4.29 and the woman behind the desk said, “We close at 4. We gave you until 4.30, if you hadn’t turned up we were going to lock up.” The Finns, telling it like it is. In fairness, we were very pleased to get into our car and herself opined for the first but not the last time on the holiday that the Finns had been unfairly maligned as being on the surly side.

We got a sat nav after our immensely positive experience with last year’s built in sat nav which Mr. Waffle absolutely loved and we had christened Sybil because, you know, it was good at prophecy, it sounded a bit like a Sybil and we’re notiony. The new sat nav was not good particularly on the way out of Helsinki. “Maybe we should christen it, to make it feel better, what might we call it?” “Unsybil,” said herself from the back.

We got safely to our island Airbnb south of Turku which itself is in the South of Finland. This part of Finland is very island rich. We have friends who live on the Åland islands which we thought were nearby and thought we might visit them. Spoiler alert, we did not, it’s a five hour ferry ride and ferries are irregular.

The house was across a small rural road from a lake but access was not easy as all access to the lake was via neighbours’ gardens and they didn’t seem to take to tourists tripping through.

The house was lovely with most of the bedrooms downstairs and a big room upstairs so that it felt like living in a tree house.

More soon. Hold on to your hats etc.

Tuesday, April 16

Regular readers will recall that herself spent three months in Tours before Christmas. Many months ago, we booked to spend a week in Tours at Easter. Serious first world problem alert – but to be honest, it was probably a bit close to our week skiing and it felt like we had only unpacked and we were packing up to head off again. Due to various commitments on my part this is the first weekend I’ve spent at home since early March (I’d say you’re delighted I’m spending it updating the old blog, go on, you know you are) and I would say I possibly over-scheduled myself.

Anyhow, we packed like pros and took ourselves off to the airport in very good time due to Mr. Waffle’s extreme punctuality. We were all a bit ratty as we found ourselves in the airport with two and a half hours to spare but never mind it’s better than being late, I suppose.

As we went through security, I tossed my jacket on top of the tray which my firstborn had selected for her gear and she looked at me in horror. “Have you not seen the instructions? When I went through Charles de Gaulle last, the security man said to me ‘Parfait, c’est juste comme il faut’ and he was pretty irate as well because the people from Honduras who went through before me were not on top of the security arrangements. You are ruining my reputation Madame ‘manteau sur sac’.” Was it for this etc?

The flight was uneventful and we got the train from Charles de Gaulle direct to Tours which was a fantastic service. Our Airbnb hosts met us at the station. When we stay places in France we often end up in places that are slightly bohemian and Michael looked around the Airbnb and said, “Why do we always stay in the same place in France?” I knew what he meant. I suppose it’s a combination of wanting the children to have a bedroom each and not wanting to spend the earth.

Relying on herself for suggestions, we had dinner in a Brasserie in Tours and a nighttime wander. It’s a really attractive small city.

Wednesday, April 17

There was a small market in the local park and I spent the morning poking around there and the local Intermarché. Don’t judge. We got the bus into town and went to Place Plumereau which is the centre of the old town where our hosts had warned us not to buy food due to the extortionate prices but we were tourists so we said to hell with it. The weather was beautiful. There seemed to be lots of French people, perhaps tourists, but very few non francophone tourists and there was little danger of people speaking English to us which is unusual in France these days, I find.

We dutifully checked out the cathedral which had particularly impressive 13th century stained glass but the children were resolutely unimpressed.

We then took ourselves home for dinner. After dinner I was sitting near the open door reading when something caught my eye. Was that a sparrow or some other bird hopping near the pot plant across the room? It was not, it was a rat. In what was, arguably, not my finest hour, I ran squealing from the room and up the stairs where I locked myself in my bedroom. Shortly afterwards, I heard noises from the living room where I had inadvertently locked in the children and Mr. Waffle with the rat. I let herself out. “How is it down there?” I asked as we cowered on the bed. “Well,” she said, “when you screamed ‘rat, rat’ the boys and I jumped up on chairs in the kitchen like in ‘Dead Poets Society’ and Daddy started thwacking the rat with the brush trying to get it out the door and it was jumping and squealing.” Not great then.

In time we all made our way back down to the open plan kitchen/living room to be greeted by a pretty annoyed Mr. Waffle who pointed out that I was useless and a bad example to the children to boot. While accepting this completely, I wanted to know where the rat was. “It was a mouse,” said Mr. Waffle and, addressing herself, “sorry miss, it ran into your bedroom but, in a house with two cats, it’s bound to be gone shortly one way or the other.” Herself, unwilling to face ratty alone, swapped bedrooms with Mr. Waffle and me and all night I heard the rat/mouse scrabbling in the walls which was, frankly, not restful.

Thursday, April 18

We decided to leave ratland behind and hire a car to visit Chenonceau a beautiful chateau in the Loire valley which I had visited with my family some 35 years before and where herself assured us there was an excellent restaurant. It was not to be. There was not a car to be hired anywhere in the Touraine. Top tip, if you’re going to Tours for Easter, book your hire car in advance.

So after a vain morning calling increasingly distant car hire locations we went back into Tours and visited the Musée des Beaux Arts which was appealing in a small regional museum kind of way but stiflingly warm.

Then we went for a walk around the streets of the old town and I tried to buy a Lapsang equivalent in a tea shop and they had hardly any left so gave me what they had for free which filled me with, possibly excessive, joy. However, overall there was a certain amount of wilting in the heat and we took ourselves willingly back to the house for dinner and I laid myself down on my bed with a migraine like a 19th century damsel.

Herself bravely decided to go back to her own room for the night.

Friday, April 19

Herself confirmed, gloomily, that she had heard the pitter patter of little paws in the night. Her father stood by his position that it was a mouse.

Herself and myself went to the pharmacist in the square to buy suncream. He looked at us in utter bafflement, “But it’s April.” He had no suncream. We left and he came running after us with two tiny little samples, “Pour vous dépanner pour aujourd’hui.” Unpopular opinion, as the kids say, French people are really nice.

I went to the Tabac to pick up the paper and had a proud moment speaking to the man behind the counter who asked incredulously whether I was really Irish. Hard to know whether this is an indictment of the language skills of Irish people in general or praise of my abilities in particular. Let’s go with the latter.

We went for lunch with the host family where herself had stayed for 3 months. They were really lovely. They lived in the sunny northern suburbs whereas we were in the distant urban southern suburbs so it was a bit of a trek to get there. But worth the effort and they gave us a lift home. I had been slightly in the horrors that the boys would refuse to eat anything but they were really good and made an effort to try lots of things and actually ate a reasonable amount. It’s like the end of an era but in a really good way.

When we got home, we turned to the train timetable to see about getting the train to Chenonceau the next day being unwilling to renounce our dream of seeing at least one castle while in the Loire valley. I said bracingly to the troops, “There’s a train at 9.10 and then the train back is at 4.36, we can spend the day there.” I met with outright mutiny with Mr. Waffle leading the charge. There was a general feeling that a whole sweltering day in the castle might not be for us and, added, Mr. Waffle, “Suppose that the restaurant can’t take us, we’ll be trapped with no hope of lunch.”

Saturday, 20 April

There was a larger market in our little square which I inspected in some detail and picked up ingredients for a picnic. We went to one of the islands on the Seine (Île Simon). We carried our picnic in a tasteful and authentic wicker basket taken from the French people’s house. Let the record show that these are awkward and heavy to carry. I’ve gone right off the idea of acquiring one. The island, however, was a delight. The children paddled in the Loire and wandered around happily. We sat in the shade of the trees and listened to the bagpipe music coming from the bandstand (yes, really, why? couldn’t say).

With our considerably lighter (though still not a negligible weight) basket we wandered into Place Plumereau and had a drink and then saw the Basilica of Saint Martin (quite the famous Catholic saint) and went to the Monoprix. I love the Monoprix. Sad, but there it is. Herself peeled off and went to the contemporary art museum but none of the rest of us could quite face it.

When we got home, we had lasagna for dinner and Michael startled me by eating absolutely loads of it, where will this end? Daniel also startled all of us by hurtling out of the bathroom at high speed shouting, “There’s a rat in there!” “A mouse,” said Mr. Waffle adding gloomily, “those cats are absolutely useless.” We tried to get the rodent out to the garden using a chicane but it wisely retreated to its lair in the walls.

Herself disseminated a quiz to us all called rat or mouse: Michael got 8/12, Daniel and I got 9/12 and herself got 10/12 but Mr. Waffle got 11/12. Maybe it was a mouse after all.

Easter Sunday, 21 April

I had announced early in our stay that we would be going to mass in the cathedral on Easter Sunday. The children were resigned. In the morning we left at 10.45 and I thought we were in good time as mass started at 11.30. It did not, it started at 11 and we were 15 minutes late. I was very annoyed. The church was absolutely packed and we had to stand in a side aisle. All of the children said they had never seen a fuller church in their lives. As mass went on, and on, I began to regret less and less that we had been 15 minutes late. It was nearly 1 when we emerged blinking in the sunlight.

We went to a nasty Italian restaurant for lunch (it looked fine, but it really was not). Then herself went off to meet her friends from Tours and Mr. Waffle and the boys and I visited the Natural History museum; small but alright. Then we went to an escape room. This was a huge success. We all really enjoyed it. Although the boys were very keen, I was pretty dubious in advance but it was great and really well organised. The boys are very keen to try something similar in Dublin. We will see.

We then met herself in the Brasserie near our tram stop and had a last drink. No sooner had we got on the tram than I realised that I had yet again been outfoxed by the arcane and complex ticketing system. “I’ll have to get off and buy a ticket, you stay on,” I said. Happily a bus arrived shortly afterwards which saw me home a good 20 minutes before the others, I was smug.

After the children went to bed, Mr. Waffle and I stayed up reading for a while. He went to feed the cats and I heard him say, “Feck it!” with feeling. There, dead, stretched out by the cat bowl was the body of the offending rodent. I took a picture. Everyone I have shown it to says it’s a rat. Feel free to weigh in.

Monday, April 22

It’s basically deathly quiet in Tours on Easter Monday. Even the local boulangeries were closed. We were forced to eat croissants from the Intermarché*. We spent the morning tidying up and then our hosts gave us a lift to Tours airport which is tiny and no place to spend ages waiting for a delayed Ryanair flight but theoretically very handy.

We were delighted to be home even though some of us had to clear up dried up cat vomit from the stairs.

Would we go back? Yes, definitely. Would we stay in the same Airbnb? Probably not.

*Sometimes I think I might be beyond parody. Would you tell me if this were the case?

Day 4 – Wednesday, March 20

The weather improved. It was a beautiful day.

Emboldened by this Mr. Waffle and I decided to explore the resort a bit further; a decision we frankly regretted as we were exhausted by the end of the morning; had missed our regularly scheduled cup of tea; and inadvertently done a couple of red runs (not for us the daring of my nephew who completed a black run very handily as my brother-in-law showed us on his phone, it only occurred to me some time later that my brother-in-law, by far the best skier in the group, must have followed his son down at a fair old clip while filming. Frankly, the horror).

All three of the children meanwhile had a very successful morning at ski school and Dan’s knee was entirely recovered. My own knee was starting to act up a bit on foot of the unaccustomed exercise regime it was enjoying.

We had an expensive and slightly unsatisfactory lunch involving venison burgers.

The boys went back to the hotel but Mr. Waffle, herself and myself disported ourselves further. One advantage of our over-exertions in the morning was that we had discovered routes to a couple of other runs that were suitable for everyone. Herself was keen to try one which she thought she might go out on at night (that did not work out for a variety of reasons but none of them were to do with her enthusiasm levels which remained very high.)

After an afternoon of achievement we stopped for a well deserved cup of tea in the Austria Inn. The staff were a bit surly and when I asked whether we could order from them, one of them eyed me dubiously and said, “It would be easier if you ordered from the bar.” “Clearly for him yes but not for me,” I thought bitterly as I clumped out from the bar with tray of drinks.

As we sat enjoying our drinks, I saw a woman of slightly similar dimensions to my own edging her way precariously and quite gingerly to the ski lift as though she had never been on skis before. I noticed she had the same skis as me, “I bet those are the skis they rent out to mediocre fat lady skiers,” I said gloomily.

We finished up to be on time for the last lift back to our side of the mountain. “Where are my skis?” I said, looking anxiously at the carousel where we had left them. “There,” said Mr. Waffle. “They’re not my skis,” I said. “They must be, they’re the only set left.” I took them down and noticed they were stuck in the snow one ski up and one ski down. I looked again. I tried them on. The bindings fitted; they were similar in colour; they had the ski hire place name on them, but yet. Anyhow, there was no other way home, so off we trotted. On the lift I looked at them more closely and said, “I think fat lady took my skis.” The others laughed at me. But yet. When we got back to the ski locker, I checked photos from earlier in the week. Were they my skis, gentle reader? They were not.

Much grief and heartache ensued. It turned out that fat lady’s skis were ex-hire skis from the year before and I had to turn them in to the ski shop to hand over to the police. I then had to pay the ski shop €270. As herself said sympathetically, “It’s like having to buy skis without getting any skis.” Sigh.

Mr. Waffle and I trudged back to the Austria Inn to see whether my skis had been mysteriously returned but no.

The children meanwhile were having a great time. Before dinner, Daniel and Michael went swimming with their cousin J while all the girl cousins (nearly 16, nearly 11, nearly 2) hung out together. My children were unfeasibly excited by the discovery that they could charge drinks to their rooms. Late in the holiday was a good time for them to discover this.

Day 5 – Thursday, March 21

After sending off the children to ski school we went off to the police station to declare the lost skis. The policeman felt our claim was a lot of paperwork – what if the skis turned up (spoiler, they didn’t) – but we needed it for insurance so we insisted. “I bet this never happens!” I said in my best Leaving Cert German. “Every day of the week,” he said dourly. I had my PSC card with me which is not perhaps the most loved Irish piece of documentation and so far has only been useful to me for picking up parcels from the post office, but the Austrian policeman unbent visibly when he saw it and picked it up with a fond smile. Papers, what’s not to love?

We ran into my sister-in-law and baby S in a ski buggy which they got from the hotel and I had my most successful interaction ever with S by hiding behind a large glove puppet. It may not be a sustainable long term strategy for building our relationship.

We met the children after ski school and went up the cable car and had lunch at the top. We got some great photos with the Hollybough. I’m hopeful we’ll make the cut this Christmas. Just saying.

Then we all skied back to the hotel together. We met with middling success. The top was a bit on the steep side and the descent was slow and careful but it picked up after a bit.

Michael and I went back to the hotel to recover after the arduous descent. Then I went out for a bit to a nice tame run with herself (who became unstoppable over the course of the week) and my sister-in-law.

Then back to the pool and dinner. The children played a complex card game which Michael had brought out to Austria from home. My niece G was so enthusiastic that I heard her ask Michael whether they could play again at breakfast. This, this is the core objective of family holidays; for your children to get a chance to play elaborate games with cousins who are, crucially, faster on the uptake and more enthusiastic than parents.

Day 6 – Friday, March 22

The boys got the bus to ski school but the Princess was keen to ski across and I accompanied her. Mr. Waffle joined me shortly afterwards and the pair of us did a bit of skiing near the children’s ski school and did a couple of new runs which was very pleasant. Then we had a nice cup of tea up the mountain and headed home to meet the children from ski school.

I got a text message from herself “I’m going to ski home from the top of the cable car lift, don’t panic.” I would have but I hardly had a chance as she arrived two minutes after the bus disgorging her brothers arrived.

We went for lunch across the road from the hotel in a related establishment where we should have gone sooner as it was handy and pleasant. In the afternoon the whole group, except for my sister-in-law who was confined to barracks minding little S, went and did some easy runs together. My brother-in-law took my nephew off to tackle a black run and while he was gone the two girls were keen to go on what they assured me was a straightforward red. As a grown-up I felt honour bound to go and check it out with them which, in retrospect, was a pity as only one person fell over on that run and it wasn’t either of them. Still the snow was soft and slushy and the only injury was to my dignity. My brother was skiing in France at the same time and he sent the photo below to cheer me. It was effective. I have to say, I would love if he could come with us next time we go because even though he drives me crazy, he’s great fun on holidays and he’d be able to keep up with the children who are going to be far better than Mr. Waffle and me very soon.

So, on to our last dinner. I was sad. More particularly so when I discovered that we had lingered so long over dessert that the cheese buffet which I had loved every other evening had been put away. Oh the cheese buffet.

Last Day – Saturday, 23 March

Departure day. We were up at 7 which wasn’t too awful. We had one last lovely breakfast in the hotel and then an hour and a bit to Salzburg and then we shunted ourselves on to different flights along with hundreds of other Irish people (the airport was full of Irish people many of whom knew each other including a friend of my brother-in-law who had fallen two days before and was operated on the day before and was sitting on a wheelchair waiting to be wheeled on to a Ryanair flight. Grim.)

So would I do it again? Like a shot; it was great. Are my knees convinced this is wise? Not entirely. Will I be saving up to pay for it? All year.