Gerolstein: the season of 2015-6

I’ve been two weeks back at Gerolstein. And yes, if it’s Gerolstein … it simply must be spring. Kurt doesn’t do winter, or even autumn, in New Zealand. I must say that some ‘springs’ down here have, in recent years, strangely resembled those chilly seasons, but this year Canterbury is obviously trying to keep up with Yamba … the mornings are frisky, but the days are sunny and pleasantly warm, those vile winds have mostly (though not always) stayed locked up in their box … and Wendy has the place looking gloriously spick and span and on the verge of bursting into colour ..

The magnolia has been and mostly gone …

The cherry blossom arrived this week …

The first flowers are peeping out …

The rose gardens which survived last year’s floods are covered in red pre-leaves … they aren’t due to flower until Cup Week …

My alarm clock – or alarm-peaclock – and his sixteen brothers, cousins and uncles have caught the prevailing season and the air is rent with mating cries and post-orgasmic wails ….

The first foal is born …

And our only worry is – WE NEED RAIN! To make the grass and hay grow! So we can feed the horses. Ah, well. A farmer’s life… there’s always something … 

We’ve been here something like fifteen years now. And things have changed. The earthquakes and the winds have wrought a change in the landscape, and the outlook from my house – and even more from Wendy’s – is much less tree clad. But oddly that’s made things lighter and brighter ... if windier. Lighter, of course, means you see stuff behind the furniture and in the corners that you didn’t see before …

But oh!

The main furniture hasn’t been moved since it was put in place, on Day One. Bookcases, desks, chests … not even the two of us together can manage those. But yesterday …

We had to go to the vacuum cleaner shop for some bags (what a swiz those are!). The place has been earthquaked away from its old spot in the High Street so we thought, ‘why not see if Noel Leeming’s does them!’ (We like Noel Leeming’s and its nearer). And they did. So I bought two boxes: $38!!!!! And while I was doing so, Wendy wandered round the TV department. Cut to dénouement. $1,799. LG UHD 49 … I dunno. Dearest hoover bags I ever bought!

But. I said I would confirm when I had measured the space. I did. It was OK. The installer came and … arggggh! .. they'd given me the screen size! The bloody thing has splayed legs and they didn’t go on our telly-chest. Think quick! 

I have multiple desks and computers … desk .. desk .. we dragged one from its ancestral place .. mon Dieu! Quelle filth … and the installing fees rising by the hour ..

We let the delightful, helpful young man go after he’d sold us $400 upgrades, and sat down. It wasn’t right. Wendy got to work on discovering the mysteries of the machine, and I had an idea. Next morning, the pine desk was back in the office, and my father’s home-made desk was in the living room …

The old TV chest was in my bedroom (great!), and the C18th oak chest which had been .. in under the telly. I’m delighted … the room looks great! Well, I think so. I can’t stop saying so. And Mr P Cock came in to check that he approves. He likes Australian Masterchef.

Me? I’m down on my bony knees cleaning all the dank, dirty and dusty spots that have been brought to light by all that furniture shifting!

A cock-tale, or 'make it another gold-fashioned, please'

.
Do Bloody Marys count as cocktails? Or just ‘mixed drinks’. I love a good Bloody Mary. Well, they really don’t come in the singular, do they? Ian used to make wonderful jugs of the stuff, and we would sit on our balcony in the fading sun of the evening Côte d’azur, looking out at the village of St Paul de Vence … ah! Memories!

But looking-back wasn’t the reason for the question. If they don’t count, I think I can say that up to about age 64, I hadn’t really tasted what is referred to as ‘a cocktail’. But then, I discovered them. In Berlin. I choose my places! And I have become, late in life, a devotee.

My ‘master’ in the art of cocktail was a Bayern Munich fan, Ollie Mansary, who also just happened to be head cocktail honcho at the glorious Katz Orange restaurant, two wobbles and a run from my Berlin flat. I and my friends tried the whole panoply of his menu. But there was one drink that stood out … the ‘Gold Fashioned’. Many a one have we sipped over Ollie’s bar …

I put cocktails out of mind when I headed for Australia. It’s more a long-and-cold-drinks country. But the other night young friend Harry and I tried a previously unknown (to me) restaurant. It bears the incomprehensible name of ‘Fusion on the Hill’. Well, it’s on the hill all right. But what’s this dumb expression ‘Fusion’? Who invented that?

Anyway, Delightfully pretty spot with a nice open view over Yamba, run by the equally delightful Sunny and Rams and … good grief! They serve cocktails. No just Margaritas, but all sorts.

We had a splendid meal, and tried the odd cocktail …

And that got me nostalgic. So I told Sunny about the Gold Fashioned. And after Harry had helped me down the slippery hill in the pouring rain, I dug up the recipe that Olli had given me and I sent it to Sunny. I didn’t really think …

But 48 hours later, when I turned up, again, on the hill … there was a pretty good approximation of Olli’s masterpiece waiting for me! It wasn’t quite the same. Olli has a big Laphroaig ice-block as the centre-piece to his glass, which takes some making. But that was all that was missing! It was delicious … ‘Make it another gold-fashioned, please’. Well, I had my grand dinner, paid the bill and then … oh, just one more … wonderful, gutsy, wicked stuff …

Of course, what I didn’t think of was, that, without the big ice-block, those drinks were strong, strong, strong … I looked at the hillside, walking stick left at home, dark now …  and Sunny came to the rescue and safely chauffeured me home!

Of course, I was back 48 hours later (older and a touch wiser) for my best meal yet, and … hey, hurry home, Harry, its Friday night and 5.30 … time to go up the hill again!

Europe doesn't want me ... but perhaps the EU has done me a favour!

.
I’ve been a resident of Yamba, New South Wales, for a week and a half now, and it’s starting, I think, to get a lot of stuff stirring in my head. Just starting. But stirring.

I keep thinking of all my elderly Victorian vocalists who retired (usually widow(er)ed) to Brighton or Margate or even Roquebrune or Eze-sur-mer … you know, Separate Tables country or the South of France with dwindling revenues. I thought that must have been such a comedown for them. But I understand a bit now …

Well, I’m getting on for elderly, I’ve tried the going-downhill South of France, and Brighton and Margate are dole-bludgers paradises nowadays …

I’ve kept zooming about until nearly my 70th birthday. But the European Union in its wisdom now excludes me, each year, after 90 days … I, who was born of an Austrian father and have lived most of my life in England, Monaco and France … I, who have (infirmity oblige) paid $10,000 to get there … but who, criminally, still have a passport from the land of my birth. New Zealand. So no more 'Grand Tours' and I’m looking around for another wintering spot in which to spend at least some of the XXX thousand euros until now devoted anually to Europe. I just may have found it.

Quiet: tick, Peaceful: tick; Small: tick; Warm: tick tick tick; Pretty (that’s putting it mildly) lots of ticks; Fresh sea air: more ticks … OK, no opera, but a grand masseuse, all the shops you need and ... restaurants? Chuckle. Oh yes. 

Here we go! A parade of pictures. It’s quite a change from my beloved Katz Orange and Asman… but I’m feasting …

Night out with my pal, Superharry. Yep, Superharry. He (again) scored the winning goal that put the local team into the area footy semi-final. Before heading back to Grafton to play … hockey. We got some nice eating in, just a wee lobster, with good beverage, in between …

And that evening little Foxy Dame (from Gerolstein) was running in Perth. I knew she’d come second. So we punted on her for a place  (the Boardroom and Bar has a TAB!) .., and yay, second!

Tom’s Chinese is a steep 100m up from Joe and Renée’s flat (that’s where I’m staying) so I checked in. And checked again in the next night and repeated the meal!

The star place for lunch (no, I don’t cook) is the Beachwood Café. With a Turkish flavour.  But this is New South Wales, so …of course … crab, prawns, squid, octopus …  but also peppered chicken livers, kofte, superior pasta … and a hostess who listens to your likes and dislikes, and even peels the tomatoes for your lunch when your false teeth can’t take the skins.

Well, for an (almost) 'elderly handicapped gentleman' who loves good food … and there's more where that comes from!

And, 200 metres away from my home, down the (steep) hill.  there’s a grocer who has Kichererbsen and soy, an on-site baker, a deli, a ‘bottlo’, a ‘fisho’ (prawns from the bay 14 euros a kilo)  …

So tonight I’m sitting here tonight with nearly a kilo (!) of fresh prawns, brown bread from the baker, Redlands Emily bubbly, a lump of plain cheddar … as dusk falls over the winter landscape ..

And I’m thinking. Yes, I’m thinking … Could this be an habitual wintertime haven for me?

Yamba: A walk on the breakwater …

. 

A fine winter’s midday in Yamba. Sky blue. Sun shining. Little cool breeze to remind you that (hurrah!) this isn’t summer …  Just right for a stroll out from Turner’s Bay, along the breakwater … 1.2km from end to end, it says. Piece of gateau.

Perhaps just a light lunch first? We seem to have eaten interminably the last few days in this town of infallible (so far) food. Too nice to eat inside. Let’s do the old-fashioned thing: fish’n’chips by the seaside!  There’s a table by the breakwater where the Hankinson family have lunched for many years, so … into Wato’s very superior chippy (pick your own fresh fillet and watch it cooked), and then off to ‘our’ table … yes, I’m an Hon Member of the family now!

My calamari and fishcakes grand … Paul’s schnapper and fries ditto … and now! Exercise.

It’s a splendid piece of construction, this breakwater. I didn’t need my stick, rarely an arm, there are no underfoot traps … a fine, flat walkway, for all ages. Nice! We strolled to the end, peering into the blue yonder in the hopes of spotting a whale or some dolphins … I’ve seen hundreds of them in my at-sea days, but you always want to see more. No luck. But as we headed back, things came to life. A skydiving shag hit the sea in search of his lunch. We watched to see him surface. But he didn’t. How long can a shag apnée?

I went to look and found a wondrous cache of wildlife. First, a shag that wanted to audition for us … La Loie Fuller in action!

Then his cool, calm and grandiose grey brother. Next a shoal of fish. 

And then a dragon. Yes it was. A baby dragon …

And the seabirds flew, and the wattle smiled …

And my ruddy camera battery had run out. So all these lovely pix were taken by tah-dah!