Honeymoons and homecomings

So, the evening of our wedding was spent on this beautiful catamaran.
The sunset was beautiful, as was the dinner we ate and the turtles we swam with.
We were of course already in Barbados, a dream honeymoon destination, but we decided to take one night away from our families, and stayed at the Savannah Hotel.
Here it is from the outside.
This is the downstairs balcony and (dare I say it?) tired new husband(!)
and this is our view.

A few days later, we went from this...

....to this.

Just to be clear: from this...

...to this.

That's right, we went to Montreal, to see some of my husband's (can't get used to that yet!) friends and family.
First visit as always, was to the West Island, and his grandparents.
Second, also customary, was to a poutine shack.
I've explained before about this dish, but this particular diner had been voted by the people of Montreal to be the best poutine in town.
I have not sampled them all, but I like the best.

I cannot stress, reader, how cold Montreal is at that time of year.

Oh, here's an example: Think you'll leave that bottle of water in the car, do you?

And there's so much snow.
We shovelled twice a day sometimes. I confess, if I were a resident I'm pretty sure I'd pay one of the hundred companies that offer to shovel your drive for you, at a price.
They also have massive ploughs and snow-throwers, and huge lorries that take snow to landfill sites because there just isn't enough room for the stuff, but I couldn't get a good picture.

There were two big things I tried this time in Canada. One was cross-country skiing, which is most-definitely a breach of my performance contract but hey, I'm a devil-may-care kinda gal!
Eric's a fan.
Me? Not much. Instead of just your feet to take care of, there's 6 foot of slippery metal to contend with as well, only half-attached to your foot. Weird what some people enjoy...

The second thing was much more to my liking, the Ofuro Spa in the north of Montreal, a version of what's commonly called a Polar Bear Club. Allow me to explain.
As this leaflet sorta shows, everything is done in rotation. You steam or sauna, you go in a really cold plunge pool outside (minus 27, remember) for 3-5 seconds, you heat up again in the steam room, you go to the hot-tub, you chill in the relaxation area etc.
No cameras inside, but it was awesome. My whole body stung when I came out of the frozen river and into the heat, but I was extremely proud I did it.

We saw some friends also, showing them our wedding pictures and enjoying Marc's new place, complete with bamboo bar in the basement.
All it needs is a Guinness mat...

Oh, one amazing thing happened...

We got hitched!

He proposed back in September, the day before my Birthday, on the London Eye.

We took a stroll on Sunday along the London embankment, with my man all the while checking his watch, on a schedule.






I've always wanted to take a flight on The Eye ever since I saw it erected on my train journey into college back in '99. They took ages to right it, for over a week it rested precariously on a 30 degree angle, so it was a great surprise when he presented me with a ticket.

It was strange to me that Eric wasn't taking more pictures once we were on our way. He also seemed nervous, and I've never known him to be afraid of heights.
At the very top, and surrounded by total strangers, most of whom were on a group tour, Eric got on one knee, whipped out a ring and asked me to be his wife.


After we came back down to ground-level (literally, figuratively etc.) we went for a drink, and headed home.
But the excitement wasn't over. Eric organised a surprise party for me! Good job I said yes, eh?!

So, we got married in Barbados on December 29th. I know, I know, so soon...well, why not? The holiday was already booked, and how often does one find oneself presented with the opportunity to get married in Barbados?

The Andromeda Botanical Gardens, Bathsheba, the wild, north-easterly part of the island, was our venue. It was gorgeous.

My sister made the dress. It too was gorgeous. Everything, was, you've guessed it...

Oh, the silence...

Ah, I have not written in some time... It's all to do with the show, and the following it enjoys, and how as a mere player in it, I can mention nothing on it. I'm well, and it's fun, but I need to write about WHERE I am and basically be vague about everything else, lest I attract attention, it would seem.
So, more posts to follow.

The skeletons in Paris' basement

So, on our third and final morning in Paris, the early-morning attraction du jour involved over a kilometre of underground tunnel-walking and thousands upon thousands of human skeletons.

Make sure you're ready if you head down to the Catacombes.

Yes, reader, by this point in the holiday, I'd given up on makeup...

To be honest, it is kind of foreboding. Apparently Paris has a massive network of underground caves and tunnels, which are of course forbidden to the public because, for one thing, it's really easy to get lost.

But I did hear a rumour that a bunch of people got busted for setting up a secret cinema down in one in the 80s, and stealing electricity to power it.

Anyway, this is what you walk down once you're through the gates. For quite a while.

Then it gets more warren-like. In order to navigate, workers painted a black line on the ceiling of the tunnels which, when candle-light was shone upward, showed the way.
We're following this route.
Every now and then, you see a brick with some initials and a date on, like this, to show who laid this particular brickwork to uphold the tunnel, and when.
These amazing handmade sculptures, replicas of Parisian cityscapes were dedicated to a man who used to work in the caves but who had been accused of a crime. I was enjoying the story, until they revealed that the man in question later died during a 'cave-in' down here. A CAVE-IN!
Anyone suffer from claustrophobia?


They built wells down here, so that workers could wash/drink without needing to go back above ground.
After some time, you come to this. See the black line?
The rest of your walk underground is sobering and shocking simply because of the sheer numbers of the unnamed dead who finally came to rest here.
It's not like there's one room of skeletons.
They are stacked over 6 feet high, bones upon bones, and the walk takes at least a further 20 minutes to cover wthout stopping.

At the end of the tour, they actually check your bag. Apparently people have stolen bones in the past.



Needing something light like Retail Therapy after our morning, we hopped on a metro, only to discover the market we wanted to go to wasn't on today. We eventually found a vintage/flea market and whiled away an hour haggling in French.


Then it was on to Montmartre, where we climbed some steps to view the Basilique du Sacre-cour
and this lovely landscape, but mostly, we did what has to be one of the best things to do in Paris and went to a cafe for lunch.
I had snails, Eric had beef. We both had chilled red wine which on a hot day hits the spot.


Sadly, after some book-shopping for Eric (he bought authors who are amongst those buried in the catacombes) and one last drink at our local, it was time for the metro.
A bientot, Paris!