The week that was 15-2025

Posted on April 7, 2025 by JJS

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Dancing Queens, warm ales & sunburnt noses

This week was brought to you by the letter A: ABBA, ale, art, and, well… after-sun lotion.

The highlight (and possibly the glitteriest moment of 2025 so far) was a quick cultural sojourn to London. While some go to the UK to see Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, or to complain about the price of a sandwich, we had a higher purpose: ABBA Voyage. Yes, we travelled to the future to see the past, holographically enhanced and fabulously choreographed in the ABBA Arena. Let me just say—if this is what aging gracefully looks like, I’m signing up for the digital version of myself immediately. Zero wrinkles, perfect pitch, and endless energy? Sign me up.

Naturally, no trip to London is complete without diving headfirst into some Real Ale research. Some might call it drinking, but I prefer to think of it as a practical seminar in liquid history. Each pint lovingly poured and sipped was part of a broader academic thesis on fermentation and British culture. Someone had to do it.

In between bouts of cultural enrichment and, uh, pub-hopping, we squeezed in museums, historic walks, and the odd spot of people-watching—mostly while waiting for my legs to forgive me for the urban marathon they had just been subjected to.

The rest of the week was a bit more grounded, filled with those nagging-but-necessary tasks like finalising bookings for upcoming trips (adventure awaits!) and catching up on correspondence that had been left to marinate far too long in the inbox of good intentions.

And then—drumroll, please—the sun came out! A rare celestial event that had us all blinking in disbelief like Victorian vampires. Naturally, I seized the opportunity to lounge outside with a book and pretend it was July. The sun, in return, seized the opportunity to gently roast my nose and face to a fetching shade of “lobster chic.” SPF? That’s a lesson for future me.

To round off the week and maintain the illusion that I’m a responsible adult, I gave the swimming pool a deep clean in preparation for next month’s grand summer opening. It felt like a small victory against the creeping chaos of the natural world (i.e., leaves, bugs, and mysterious floating objects).

So that’s the week: ABBA, ales, admin, and aloe vera.

Let’s see what next week brings—hopefully fewer UV rays and more excuses to continue my Real Ale doctoral thesis.

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(Translated by AI because I am a fairly lazy Frenchman)

Dancing Queens, bières tièdes et nez cramé

Cette semaine fut placée sous le signe de la lettre A : ABBA, ale (bière artisanale pour les non-initiés), art, et… après-soleil.

Le moment fort (et sans doute le plus pailleté de 2025 jusqu’à présent) fut une petite escapade culturelle à Londres. Tandis que certains vont au Royaume-Uni pour voir Big Ben, Buckingham Palace ou se plaindre du prix des sandwichs, nous avions un objectif bien plus noble : ABBA Voyage. Oui, nous avons voyagé dans le futur pour voir le passé, sous forme de projections holographiques brillamment chorégraphiées à l’ABBA Arena. Et franchement, si vieillir peut ressembler à ça, je veux bien être numérisé dès demain. Zéro ride, justesse vocale parfaite et énergie infinie ? Je dis oui.

Bien sûr, aucun séjour à Londres ne serait complet sans une plongée sérieuse dans la culture de la Real Ale. Certains appellent ça boire, moi je préfère parler de recherche appliquée en histoire liquide britannique. Chaque pinte dégustée faisait partie d’un mémoire universitaire très sérieux sur la fermentation et l’identité nationale. Le devoir avant tout.

Entre deux sessions de culture (et de pubs), on a quand même casé quelques monuments, des balades historiques et un peu d’observation urbaine — surtout pendant que mes jambes tentaient de récupérer du semi-marathon imposé par la ville.

Le reste de la semaine a été plus terre-à-terre, avec des tâches aussi palpitantes qu’essentielles : finaliser les réservations pour les voyages à venir (l’aventure continue !) et répondre à de la correspondance qui attendait depuis bien trop longtemps dans la boîte de réception des bonnes intentions.

Et puis, roulement de tambour, le soleil est sorti ! Un événement quasi-céleste qui nous a tous laissés cligner des yeux comme des vampires victoriens. Évidemment, j’ai sauté sur l’occasion pour m’installer dehors avec un bon livre et faire semblant que c’était déjà juillet. Le soleil, lui, a sauté sur l’occasion pour transformer mon nez et mon visage en un joli ton “homard délicatement saisi”. La crème solaire ? Un problème pour le moi du futur.

Pour finir la semaine sur une note adulte (ou du moins essayer), j’ai donné un bon nettoyage à la piscine, histoire de la préparer pour l’ouverture officielle de la saison estivale le mois prochain. Petite victoire sur les forces du chaos naturel (à savoir feuilles, insectes et objets flottants non identifiés).

Voilà donc : ABBA, bières, paperasse et coups de soleil.

On verra ce que nous réserve la semaine prochaine — avec un peu de chance, moins d’UV et plus d’occasions de poursuivre ma thèse sur la Real Ale.


Link back to my master Blog J2S 

Posted in Culture, Humour, Travel, Voyage | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A dream of holograms and a reality of airport queues

Posted on April 4, 2025 by JJS

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After a blissful night’s sleep filled with visions of holograms and swirling lights—thanks to the ABBA Voyage show—I woke up with the distinct impression that Bjorn and Benny had taken up residence in my subconscious. The concert had clearly left its mark, and for that, I was grateful. But today was not about virtual pop legends; today was about the journey home, an exercise in retracing our steps, albeit in reverse, like some sort of well-rehearsed magic trick.

The morning kicked off with yet another English breakfast at the hotel. Because if you haven’t had at least two full English breakfasts in a row, have you really been to the UK? Then, bags in tow, we bid farewell to our temporary home and made our way to Finsbury Park Underground station. A quick Victoria Line jaunt north took us to Tottenham Hale, where the ever-reliable Stansted Express awaited.

Thirty-five smooth minutes later, we emerged at the airport, far too early for our flight—perfect timing for an unnecessary but somehow inevitable duty-free meander.

Airports, I’ve decided, are the great global equaliser. No matter where you are, the layout is the same: a labyrinth of perfume-laden corridors designed to extract money from weary travellers before they even think about reaching their gate. Individuality? Long gone, replaced by the omnipresent scent of Chanel No. 5 and overpriced whisky.

Naturally, there was time for one last pint—an unofficial tradition that I suspect every traveler upholds. Around us, the background hum of humanity: laughter, conversation, the occasional boarding announcement lost in the din. Soon enough, it was time to board, which, in Ryanair terms, meant standing in a corridor and on a flight of stairs for 15 unnecessary minutes. A ritual I despise. My strategy? Stay seated until the absolute final call. Ryanair frowns upon this. I do not care.

Once on board, I settled into my seat: 1B. The throne of efficiency.

The reward? Being the first one off the plane in Carcassonne, gliding through passport control like some sort of travel wizard. Did it help? Not in the slightest—because my better half, stationed in row 17, was still 15 minutes away from freedom. So much for my master plan.

Home was mere minutes away. Bags unpacked, normal life resumed, but not before heading out to meet my brother and his wife for dinner at our local Vietnamese restaurant. A well-earned meal after a whirlwind 48 hours in London—two days that somehow felt like an entire week.

Would I do it all again? Without hesitation. But next time, perhaps with a bit less queuing and a bit more holographic ABBA.

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Un rêve d’hologrammes et une réalité de files d’attente

Après une nuit de sommeil paisible, peuplée de visions d’hologrammes et de lumières tourbillonnantes – merci au spectacle ABBA Voyage – je me suis réveillé avec la nette impression que Bjorn et Benny avaient pris leurs quartiers dans mon subconscient. Le concert avait clairement laissé son empreinte, et pour cela, j’étais reconnaissant. Mais aujourd’hui, point de légendes pop virtuelles au programme : il s’agissait de rentrer à la maison, un exercice de déplacement minutieusement chorégraphié, mais en sens inverse, tel un numéro de magie bien rodé.

La matinée a commencé avec un autre petit-déjeuner anglais à l’hôtel. Parce que, soyons honnêtes, si vous n’avez pas englouti au moins deux petits-déjeuners complets d’affilée, avez-vous vraiment été au Royaume-Uni ? Puis, valises en main, nous avons dit adieu à notre demeure temporaire pour rejoindre la station de métro de Finsbury Park. Un rapide saut sur la ligne Victoria en direction du nord nous a menés à Tottenham Hale, où nous attendait l’infaillible Stansted Express. Trente-cinq minutes de trajet fluide plus tard, nous étions à l’aéroport, bien trop en avance pour notre vol – l’occasion parfaite pour une errance futile mais inéluctable dans les dédales du duty-free.

Les aéroports, ai-je décidé, sont le grand égalisateur mondial. Peu importe où vous vous trouvez, leur agencement est identique : un labyrinthe de couloirs parfumés conçu pour dépouiller les voyageurs fatigués avant même qu’ils n’atteignent leur porte d’embarquement. L’individualité ? Disparue depuis longtemps, remplacée par l’omniprésente fragrance du Chanel No. 5 et du whisky hors de prix.

Naturellement, il y avait du temps pour une dernière pinte – une tradition officieuse que, je soupçonne, tout voyageur respecte. Autour de nous, le bourdonnement de l’humanité : rires, conversations, annonces d’embarquement perdues dans le tumulte. Bien trop vite, le moment d’embarquer est arrivé. Chez Ryanair, cela signifie rester debout dans un couloir et sur un escalier pendant 15 longues minutes. Un rituel que je déteste. Ma stratégie ? Rester assis jusqu’à l’appel final. Ryanair désapprouve. Je m’en moque.

Une fois à bord, je me suis installé sur mon siège : 1B. Le trône de l’efficacité. La récompense ? Être le premier à descendre de l’avion à Carcassonne et à passer le contrôle des passeports en un clin d’œil, tel un sorcier du voyage. Utile ? Pas vraiment… Car ma moitié, installée en rangée 17, avait encore 15 minutes de retard sur moi. Adieu mon plan parfait.

Quelques minutes plus tard, nous étions chez nous. Valises défaites, retour à la normalité, mais pas avant d’aller retrouver mon frère et sa femme pour un dîner dans notre restaurant vietnamien local. Un repas bien mérité après un tourbillon de 48 heures à Londres – deux jours qui ont donné l’impression d’une semaine entière.

Le referais-je ? Sans hésitation. Mais la prochaine fois, avec moins de files d’attente et un peu plus d’ABBA holographique.


Link back to my master Blog J2S 

Posted in Airlines, Airports, London, Personal experiences, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

London calling

Posted on April 3, 2025 by JJS

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A taxi fare, a time warp and a touch of ABBA magic

Let’s start with a simple travel tip: if you ever feel like you got a great deal on a flight, London taxis will be happy to correct that notion for you. In less than 48 hours, we spent twice the amount on cab rides than our return airfare from Carcassonne to Stansted. A true budget travel experience—until you step foot in a black cab.

Determined not to hemorrhage any more funds on transport, we did London the way Londoners do: underground, overground, DLR, and on foot (lots of it). With a proper English breakfast as fuel, we set off for Westminster Abbey, arriving just as Big Ben struck 10 AM—a dramatic entrance if ever there was one.

It had been over half a century since I last stepped inside the Abbey, and while the architecture hadn’t changed, the guest list certainly had. A few more famous names had joined the eternal roll call, and of course, there had been a little event called a coronation just months prior. Entry: £27 for a senior, which felt steep for an hour’s visit. Note to self: Notre Dame in Paris is still free. When we emerged, Big Ben chimed again—11 AM, time to press on.

Next stop: Leicester Square, by way of Whitehall, Trafalgar Square, a cappuccino in Haymarket, and a nostalgic stroll through Piccadilly Circus. With time to spare, we settled at The Porcupine Pub for a pint, where our friend Gary had no trouble spotting us. Sitting outside, watching Londoners and tourists swirl around us, we felt right at home.

Gary, proving his impeccable taste, had booked a table at Beaujolais, a bistro so unapologetically French that we might as well have been in Montmartre.

Between bites of classic French fare and sips (read: bottles) of Pinot Noir, we caught up on life, reminisced, and toasted to old friendships.

Post-lunch siesta? Essential. Back to Finsbury Park for a well-earned nap before heading out again—this time, for something completely different: ABBA Voyage.

If you think watching holograms perform sounds gimmicky, think again. The technology is so immersive, so seamless, that for a moment, you’d swear the real ABBA had time-traveled straight from the 70s. And speaking of time travel, the audience was a spectacle in itself—many not-so-young fans decked out in full retro glory, reliving their disco dreams. It was brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that I’m already considering a return visit.

After the show, we splurged on one last black cab (because apparently, we hadn’t learned our lesson) back to the hotel, rounding off the night with two generously poured nightcaps. As I drifted off, my mind still pulsed with neon lights and ABBA tunes, my dreams a swirling mix of London streets, Westminster echoes, and the hum of a city that never really stops.

A day well spent. A trip well worth repeating. Maybe with fewer taxis next time.

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Londres nous appelle

Une fortune en taxi, un voyage dans le temps et une touche de magie ABBA

Commençons par un conseil voyage : si vous pensez avoir fait une bonne affaire sur un billet d’avion, les taxis londoniens se feront un plaisir de vous détromper. En moins de 48 heures, nous avons dépensé deux fois plus en courses de taxi que pour notre vol aller-retour entre Carcassonne et Stansted. Une vraie expérience de voyage économique… jusqu’à ce qu’on mette un pied dans un black cab.

Déterminés à ne pas engloutir notre budget dans les transports, nous avons joué le jeu londonien : métro, train aérien, DLR, et surtout… beaucoup de marche. Après un solide English breakfast, nous avons pris la direction de Westminster Abbey, où nous avons émergé du métro au moment même où Big Ben sonnait 10 heures. Une entrée en scène dramatique, s’il en est.

Cela faisait plus de cinquante ans que je n’avais pas mis les pieds dans l’abbaye. L’architecture n’avait pas changé, mais la liste des illustres défunts s’était allongée. Et puis, il y avait eu un petit événement royal récemment : une coronation, rien que ça. La visite nous a pris une heure, ce qui, à 27 livres sterling pour un senior, revient à un tarif plutôt élevé. À noter : Notre-Dame de Paris, elle, est toujours gratuite. Lorsque nous avons quitté l’abbaye, Big Ben sonnait à nouveau : 11 heures. Il était temps de continuer notre périple.

Prochaine étape : Leicester Square, en passant par Whitehall, Trafalgar Square, un cappuccino à Haymarket, et une balade nostalgique à travers Piccadilly Circus. Arrivés en avance, nous avons profité de l’occasion pour nous installer au pub The Porcupine avec une pinte, parfaitement visibles pour notre ami Gary, qui nous a trouvés sans difficulté. Assis en terrasse, à observer le tourbillon de la vie londonienne, nous nous sentions parfaitement à notre place.

Gary, qui a manifestement un excellent goût, avait réservé une table au Beaujolais, un bistrot si résolument français qu’on aurait pu se croire à Montmartre. Entre plats classiques et quelques bouteilles (oui, au pluriel) de pinot noir, nous avons trinqué à l’amitié, partagé des souvenirs et refait le monde.

Petite sieste digestive ? Essentielle. Retour à Finsbury Park pour une pause bien méritée avant de repartir pour une soirée des plus originales : ABBA Voyage.

Si l’idée de voir des hologrammes sur scène vous semble un peu gadget, détrompez-vous. La technologie est si bluffante, si immersive, que l’on a vraiment l’impression d’être face au vrai groupe, tout droit sorti des années 70. Et que dire du public ? Un spectacle à lui tout seul : de nombreux fans, plus si jeunes, déguisés en mode disco pour revivre leurs plus belles années.

C’était brillant. Tellement brillant que je songe déjà à y retourner.

Après le show, nous avons fait une dernière folie en prenant un black cab (apparemment, nous n’avions toujours pas retenu la leçon) pour rentrer à l’hôtel, où nous avons conclu cette journée avec deux généreux verres en guise de nightcap. Je me suis endormi avec des néons dans la tête, de la musique plein les oreilles et des rêves où se mêlaient les rues de Londres, l’écho de Westminster et l’énergie d’une ville qui ne s’arrête jamais vraiment.

Une journée bien remplie. Un voyage à refaire. Peut-être avec moins de taxis, cette fois.

Link back to my master Blog J2S 

Posted in Airlines, Airports, City breaks, Personal experiences, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Quantum quandaries and pints in London

Posted on April 2, 2025 by JJS

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For once, my Ryanair flight to Stansted wasn’t a claustrophobic test of human endurance. In a rare twist of fate, the plane was half-empty, giving me enough space to almost stretch out and almost be comfortable. Small victories.

With nearly two hours to kill and no pressing distractions—no screaming babies, no seatmate aggressively claiming the armrest—I decided to persist with Alain Aspect’s book, If Einstein Had Known. A fascinating read, sure, but I’ll be honest: Quantum Physics is not exactly a page-turner. I kept rereading the same paragraphs, hoping the words would magically assemble themselves into something my brain could process. They did not.

A Quick Quantum Crash Course

If, like me, you find quantum entanglement mind-boggling, here’s the gist:

• Two particles can be linked, no matter how far apart they are.

• Measuring one instantly affects the other—even if it’s light-years away.

• Einstein was not a fan. He called it “spooky action at a distance.”

• Today, this spooky action is the backbone of futuristic tech like quantum computing and ultra-secure communication.

• Scientists keep proving it’s real. My brain, however, remains skeptical.

⚜️Touchdown & The Quest for a Pint

We landed on time, breezed through immigration (thank you, automatic passport gates!), and were on the Stansted Express within 20 minutes. A quick switch at Tottenham Hale, a short hop on the Victoria Line, and soon enough, we were checking into the Maldron Hotel in Finsbury Park.

By this point, one thing dominated my thoughts: a proper pint of real ale. Almost a week without one felt unnatural. Thankfully, The Porcupine, conveniently located across from Leicester Square, provided immediate relief. That first sip? Sublime.

⚜️Chinatown & The Classic Black Cab Experience

Fully rehydrated (or close enough), we wandered into Chinatown for a well-earned feast. Choosing a restaurant wasn’t difficult—they all looked inviting, and by that point, my main requirement was “food, now.”

After dinner, the idea of squeezing back into the Tube didn’t appeal, so we flagged down a Black Cab. Still the same iconic design, still as roomy—but now electric. Progress!

Back at the hotel, a nightcap (or two) at the bar rounded off the night perfectly.

⚜️London, You Still Have My Heart

It’s been a few years since I was last here, but every time I return, I’m reminded: London feels like home. The hustle, the history, the effortless blend of chaos and charm. I think we’ll be doing this more often.

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Written in English and translated with AI because I am fairly lazy although French

Quantiques, pintes et escapade Londonienne

Pour une fois, mon vol Ryanair vers Stansted n’a pas ressemblé à une épreuve de survie en milieu hostile. Dans un rare coup de chance, l’avion était à moitié vide, me permettant de presque m’étendre et de presque être confortable. Petites victoires.

Avec près de deux heures à tuer et aucune distraction majeure — pas de bébé hurlant, pas de voisin envahissant l’accoudoir — j’ai décidé de persévérer dans la lecture du livre d’Alain Aspect, Si Einstein avait su. Un ouvrage fascinant, certes, mais soyons honnêtes : la physique quantique, ce n’est pas exactement un roman de plage. J’ai relu plusieurs fois les mêmes paragraphes, espérant qu’ils finissent par avoir du sens. Spoiler : ce ne fut pas le cas.

Petit cours express sur l’intrication quantique

Si, comme moi, vous trouvez ce concept vertigineux, voici l’essentiel à retenir :

• Deux particules peuvent être liées, même si elles sont séparées par des milliards de kilomètres.

• Mesurer l’une affecte instantanément l’autre, où qu’elle soit.

• Einstein détestait cette idée. Il l’appelait « une action fantomatique à distance ».

• Aujourd’hui, ce phénomène est au cœur de l’informatique quantique et des communications ultra-sécurisées.

• Les scientifiques continuent de prouver que c’est bien réel. Mon cerveau, lui, reste sceptique.

⚜️Atterrissage & Quête d’une Pinte

Nous avons atterri à l’heure, passé l’immigration en un clin d’œil (merci aux portiques automatiques !) et pris le Stansted Express en moins de 20 minutes. Un changement à Tottenham Hale, quelques arrêts sur la Victoria Line, et nous voilà à l’hôtel Maldron à Finsbury Park.

À ce stade, une seule obsession : une vraie pinte de bière anglaise. Une semaine sans, c’est presque une hérésie. Heureusement, The Porcupine, juste en face de Leicester Square, était là pour sauver la situation. Cette première gorgée ? Une révélation.

⚜️Chinatown & Le Mythe du Black Cab

Une fois réhydratés (ou presque), direction Chinatown pour un festin bien mérité. Choisir un restaurant n’a pas été compliqué : ils avaient tous l’air excellents et, à ce stade, mon principal critère était « qu’on me nourrisse immédiatement ».

Après le dîner, pas question de s’entasser dans le métro, alors nous avons sauté dans un Black Cab. Toujours aussi emblématiques, toujours aussi spacieux—mais désormais électriques. Le progrès dans la tradition.

De retour à l’hôtel, un dernier verre (ou deux) au bar avant de filer au lit.

⚜️Londres, Toujours Un Peu Chez Moi

Cela faisait quelques années que je n’étais pas venu, mais à chaque fois que je reviens, la même impression : Londres, c’est un peu chez moi. L’énergie, l’histoire, cette façon unique de mêler chaos et élégance. On va devoir refaire ça plus souvent.


Link back to my master Blog J2S 

Posted in London, Personal reflections, Science & Curiosity, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The month that was – March 2025

Posted on April 1, 2025 by JJS

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The case of the disappearing month

Once again, I find myself asking: where on earth did March go? It barely arrived, made itself comfortable for about five minutes, and then vanished without so much as a goodbye. I checked my calendar—surely there must be a reasonable explanation. Did I hibernate? Was I abducted by time-traveling aliens? Nope. Apparently, I was quite busy, though it certainly didn’t feel that way at the time.

The first three weeks looked deceptively open, but they filled up in a flash. A couple of day trips here, a few rugby matches watched at the local Irish pub there (purely for cultural enrichment, of course), and some leisurely lunches sprinkled in for good measure. Somewhere in the mix, I even attempted to fly my mini drone—an activity that, if nothing else, confirmed I will not be pursuing a career as a drone pilot.

Then there was the screen time. Oh, the screen time. Hours spent meticulously arranging travel requests to the UK and USA, wrestling with bureaucracy for a new ID card, and putting the finishing touches on the April and May travel plans. Researching hotels, plotting itineraries, and double-checking everything to avoid those ‘why didn’t I book that sooner?’ moments. Not the most thrilling of tasks, but essential nonetheless.

The last ten days of March? Now, those were excellent. A six-day adventure in Devon, where the landscapes were as charming as the cream teas, followed by a couple of days closer to home in Ortaffa and along the seaside. Fresh air, good company, and the occasional seagull attempting grand larceny with my snacks—what more could one ask for?

And just like that, we’re into April. But no time to dwell! April is off to a flying start—literally, as I’ll be hopping on a plane to London later today. No doubt, in a blink, I’ll be wondering where this month disappeared to as well. But for now, let the adventure begin!

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Le mystère du mois disparu

Une fois de plus, je me pose la question : où diable est passé le mois de mars ? À peine arrivé, il s’est installé confortablement cinq minutes avant de disparaître sans même un au revoir. J’ai vérifié mon calendrier—il doit bien y avoir une explication raisonnable. Ai-je hiberné ? Ai-je été enlevé par des extraterrestres voyageurs du temps ? Non. Apparemment, j’ai été bien occupé, même si cela ne m’a pas semblé être le cas sur le moment.

Les trois premières semaines semblaient étonnamment dégagées, mais elles se sont remplies en un clin d’œil. Quelques excursions ici, quelques matchs de rugby regardés au pub irlandais du coin là (strictement pour l’enrichissement culturel, bien sûr), et quelques déjeuners tranquilles pour compléter le tout. Entre-temps, j’ai même tenté de faire voler mon mini drone—une expérience qui a au moins confirmé que je ne ferai jamais carrière en tant que pilote de drone.

Puis, il y a eu le temps d’écran. Ah, le temps d’écran. Des heures passées à organiser minutieusement des demandes de voyage pour le Royaume-Uni et les États-Unis, à batailler avec l’administration pour une nouvelle carte d’identité et à finaliser les préparatifs pour les voyages d’avril et de mai. Recherche d’hôtels, planification d’itinéraires et double vérification pour éviter ces moments “Pourquoi je n’ai pas réservé ça plus tôt ?”. Pas l’activité la plus palpitante, mais essentielle néanmoins.

Les dix derniers jours de mars ? Ceux-là étaient excellents. Une aventure de six jours dans le Devon, où les paysages étaient aussi charmants que les cream teas, suivie de quelques jours plus près de chez moi à Oertaffa et sur le littoral. Air frais, bonne compagnie et quelques mouettes tentant de commettre des larcins sur mes snacks—que demander de plus ?

Et tout à coup, nous voilà en avril. Mais pas le temps de souffler ! Le mois démarre sur les chapeaux de roues—littéralement, puisque je prends l’avion pour Londres plus tard dans la journée. Nul doute qu’en un clin d’œil, je me demanderai où ce mois-là a bien pu passer aussi. Mais pour l’instant, place à l’aventure !


Link back to my master Blog J2S 

Posted in Lifestyle, Monthly Recaps, Personal reflections, Travel, Travel and adventure | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The week that was 13-2025

Posted on March 30, 2025 by JJS

A week of winds, pills and pasta

Some weeks have a theme, and this one’s was wind—howling, relentless, and determined to push me over. But let’s start at the beginning.

The week began delightfully in Devon, where spring flirted with the landscape. Mild weather, pleasant temperatures—England at its most charming. I made the most of it, fully aware that this tranquility wouldn’t last. And sure enough, my Wednesday flight home delivered me back to a world of rain, grey clouds, and the aforementioned wind. A proper welcome committee.

Thursday was dedicated to my quarterly medical pit stop: blood tests, a doctor’s visit, and the replenishment of my pharmaceutical arsenal for the next three months. Not quite the adventure one dreams of, but essential nonetheless. One must stay in shape to face the trials of life, particularly when those trials include near-hurricane-force gales.

Friday was much more satisfying—we tested out a brand-new fresh pasta restaurant that had just opened its doors. First impressions? Success. Good food, good company, and an excellent distraction from the persistent wind attempting to make a name for itself.

Undeterred by the weather, we set off on Saturday for a weekend visit to my cousin Dominique in Ortaffa. The journey included a pit stop in Port Leucate for a quick bite, which almost didn’t happen as everything was closed. Finding an open restaurant felt like an extreme sport, made even trickier by the wind’s apparent mission to see me flat on the pavement. I wobbled, stumbled, and very nearly achieved liftoff, but perseverance prevailed.

The evening took us to Villeneuve de la Raho, where we enjoyed a charming dinner in a friendly restaurant. The wind, ever the overachiever, kept pushing against the right side of the car as if determined to reroute our evening plans. It failed. Dinner was excellent, and back at home, we settled the world’s affairs over a whisky nightcap (or two). The idea was to stay up until 2 a.m. to witness the change to summer time, but fatigue won that battle.

Sunday morning greeted us with clear blue skies—finally! The wind, however, remained insistent. The plan? A seaside aperitif before lunch, followed by a relaxed afternoon drive home. If the wind allows it, that is.

Here’s to another week ahead—preferably with less risk of being airborne.

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Devon – Day VI

Posted on March 26, 2025 by JJS

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From Mercedes to EasyJet

A journey through contrasts

This morning, we bid farewell to Devon and make our way back to Bristol Airport in style—courtesy of the rental Mercedes C200. Unlike the journey down, this time it’s daylight, and I can actually see what all the buttons do. A revelation! Most importantly, I finally manage to switch on the head-up display. Small victories.

Upon arrival at the airport, the peacefulness of the past few days is instantly shattered. Bristol Airport has adopted that uniquely American tradition of shouting instructions at travelers, particularly in the security queue. I can’t say I fully grasped what was being yelled, thanks to the thick West Country accent, but I suspect a few simple pictograms would be both clearer and significantly quieter.

Once past security, we navigate the self-checkout-heavy duty-free section, where we stock up on Polos and other hard-to-find-in-France sweets. I remain undecided on the merits of self-checkouts. Efficient? Perhaps. Impersonal? Definitely.

With time to spare, we indulge in one last British classic—a pint and a plate of chicken tikka masala. The perfect farewell meal.

Our EasyJet flight departs on time, a pleasant surprise. The plane is either brand new or recently refurbished, though no amount of refurbishment can make the seats any wider. The flight is a brisk 1 hour 35 minutes, and upon landing in Toulouse, we’re greeted by a notable drop in temperature. The drive back to Carcassonne is uneventful, and now it’s straight back to reality.

The Devon trip? A resounding success. We saw a lot, walked a lot, ate a lot—exactly how a good trip should be. Now, time to unpack, repack, and get ready for the next adventure.


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Devon – Day V

Posted on March 25, 2025 by JJS

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A day of mystery, mead and mighty Gin & Tonics in Devon

Some nights are best left unspoken, and this was certainly one of them. But as the morning light crept in, so did the reassuring scent of sizzling bacon—a universal cure for all manner of existential crises. Chris, as ever, was at the helm of breakfast operations, masterfully assembling a spread worthy of a full English champion: eggs, bacon, black pudding, tomatoes, and, lest we forget, toast.

With bellies full and spirits lifted, we set off in our pre-booked taxi, which—by British standards—was “more or less” on time. Our destination? Torquay, the birthplace of Agatha Christie, as any self-respecting mystery lover should know. The driver dutifully deposited us in front of Torre Abbey, where we meandered through its elegant gardens and a rather impressive greenhouse, the kind of place where one half expects to stumble upon an eccentric botanist murmuring about rare orchids.

A brief detour through the so-called Spanish Barn (tragically devoid of tapas or flamenco dancers) and we were on our way to lunch. But first, a crucial pit stop: a pint at the Grand Hôtel. The weather, miraculously mild and sunny, allowed us to sip our drinks outside, basking in the rare British sunshine as if it were an endangered species.

From there, we embarked on the scenic walk to Cockington, a charming route that follows a meadow path alongside a small stream.

And what a delight awaited us at the end! A picture-perfect village straight out of a storybook, with thatched cottages so quaint they could almost make you believe in fairies.

In the heart of it stood the Drum Inn, where we had a 2 PM lunch reservation.

Right on cue, our friends H and Lybie arrived, and the six of us settled in for an aperitif, which naturally led to food, which—shockingly—was not just good but very good. Wine flowed as if rationing had never been invented, and two hours later, we were suitably fortified for the return to Torquay.

Rather than retracing our steps from the morning , we opted for a classic British experience: a ride atop a blue-and-yellow double-decker bus. After all, what’s a trip to England without one slightly wobbly bus ride with a front-row view of hedgerows and occasional near-misses?

Back in Brixham, we parted ways—H and Lybie veering left toward home, while the four of us made the executive decision to taxi up the rather unreasonably steep hill instead of attempting it on foot. A wise choice, I might add.

Once home, I declared an official siesta emergency and set my alarm for one hour. By the time I resurfaced, it was (unsurprisingly) aperitif o’clock. Chris, ever the mixologist, prepared some mighty Gin & Tonics, because after a day of cultural enrichment and countryside meandering, one must recalibrate with a proper drink.

Tonight? We’re staying in. Even the most adventurous need a moment of respite—after all, there’s another day of Devonian delights waiting just around the corner.


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Devon – Day IV

Posted on March 24, 2025 by JJS

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À day of ferries, pints and decisions (mostly about drinks)

An early start today—well, early by our standards. A taxi was booked for 9 AM to whisk us off to Kingswear, just a few miles away, where we would board the ferry across the River Dart. And by “ferry,” I mean a barge with a boat that politely nudges it along. A charmingly low-tech approach to river crossings, but hey, it works.

At 10 AM, we met our guide for a two-hour tour of the Britannia Royal Naval College (BRNC). A place steeped in history, tradition, and crisp uniforms. Walking through as part of a civilian tour group while naval personnel bustled past on serious business made us feel like imposters—but very interested imposters.

By 12:30, our brains were bursting with naval knowledge and our stomachs were demanding immediate attention. A short walk upstream led us to the Floating Bridge Pub, where a pint of Otter Bitter disappeared alarmingly fast, swiftly followed by a Jail Ale, which met the same fate. Hydration is key, after all.

Post-lunch, the sun made a grand entrance, and we wandered through town, dipping into a few shops. One painting caught our eye, but EasyJet’s strict luggage policies ensured that an impulse purchase was out of the question. The shop owner kindly offered to investigate shipping options, so the fate of the painting now rests on logistics (and whether we still love it after a night’s sleep).

Ferry-crossing number two ensued, and upon stepping off, we called a taxi to return home. A well-earned nap was not only needed—it was taken.

The evening was an exercise in efficiency:

• Step 1: G&T aperitif (while making grand plans for tomorrow).

• Step 2: Dice games (fuelled by a second G&T).

• Step 3: A homemade Chris Chowder, following a recipe from the now-legendary New York pub, The Spotted Pig.

• Step 4: Cheese, crackers, and a final bottle of wine, because restraint is overrated.

With full stomachs and slightly foggy heads, it was time to call it a night—ready to do it all over again tomorrow. Well, maybe with fewer ferries.


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Devon – Day III

Posted on March 24, 2025 by JJS

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A day in the life of a well seasoned walker (and drinker)

Walk, drink, eat, repeat. A simple yet effective mantra for a day well spent.

The morning began with another first-class English breakfast—because nothing fuels a day of adventure quite like a plate stacked with bacon, eggs, and possibly a questionable number of sausages. Fully fortified, we stepped out into the glorious spring sunshine, ready to take on the coastal path.

Now, if you’ve never strolled along this particular stretch of coastline, let me assure you: the views are the kind that make you consider a career as a landscape painter. Simply breathtaking (photos pending, as my laptop is currently enjoying a well-earned break back home).

First stop: Berry Head Hotel. A perfect spot to rest, take in the bay, and, crucially, enjoy the first pint of the day. One could easily linger here indefinitely, but alas, duty (and the promise of more beverages) called.

We pressed on toward the harbour, where the Prince William pub awaited. A “small lunch” was in order, and, as fate would have it, they were serving Jail Ale—a clear sign that a couple of pints were non-negotiable.

Somewhere between pints and pondering life’s mysteries, I found myself acquiring a Sherlock Holmes-style hat. Why? The heart wants what it wants.

With no taxis in sight, we were left with no choice but to walk home—a route that seemed to consist of 90% uphill struggle and 10% questioning my life choices. Seven kilometres later (but mostly uphill, I swear), I collapsed onto the sofa, caught up on the headlines, and indulged in a well-earned mid-afternoon nap.

By 18:30, we were back on our feet, heading into town to meet our friends H & Lybie at the New Quay Inn. Two pints of London Pride later, I was sufficiently restored and ready for the next leg: dinner at Olive. Tapas, wine, and excellent company ensured we dined in style.

There was zero chance of walking back up that monstrous hill, so a taxi was summoned. Unlike earlier in the day, this one actually existed and whisked us home in blissful comfort.

To round off a day of exemplary decision-making, a small nightcap was in order—because if you’re going to repeat the cycle tomorrow, you may as well end today in style.


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