Tag Archives: France

The Eye Beside the Sea, France.

“Let my soul smile through my heart and my heart smile through my eyes, that I may scatter rich smiles in sad hearts.”

Paramahansa Yogananda

“Behind the most beautiful eyes, lay secrets deeper and darker than the mysterious sea..”

-yld

Last night, I was trawling through Facebook, when I stumbled across this fantastic image of a big blue eye staring out to sea with a sense of the ocean being swept up inside and the waves crashing within.

Of course, I had to investigate it further. Investigate it via the only means at my disposal…Google. Sadly, there was no spontaneous trip to France for this little black duck. Yet, coincidently, I’m watching a travel doco set in Paris at this very moment. Well, I was until the ads started up.

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French artist Cece painted “The Eye” on a WWII blockhaus on the beach of Siouville-Hague, Normandy, France. The village of Siouville-Hague is located in North-West France, in the department of Manche in Basse-Normandie.

Normandy Landings

These days, it’s hard to imagine the scenes this blockhaus witnessed during WWII. I have no sense of direction at the best of times and it is difficult for me to get a real sense of the geography and the action it actually witnessed. However, I  gather this blockhaus witnessed The Normandy landings (codenamed Operation Neptune), which led to the liberation of France from the Nazis.

Getting back to the artwork, Cece explained:

“The basic idea was to revitalize an abandoned place full of history: a world war 2 blockhaus, collapsed, almost lying on its side. At first it was about to humanize this place with some poetry : before, the eye of the soldiers were watching the dead coming from the sea, and now there is this big blue eye, looking at the life and moves coming from waves movements, talks and answers , interactions of two creations coming from man and nature .. and then also I’ve wanted to point out the damage that may make human at some sites (into the pupil, the silhouette of the nuclear power plant from la hague).”

Yet, clearly “The Eye” also stands alone, divorced from the past. The eyes are the window to the soul and with this eye staring out and being washed by the sea, it’s redolent with meaning. I would love to stand there on the sand in front of it, peering deeply almost through the eye, and see what comes back to me. What mysteries would be revealed? Would “The Eye” reveal hidden, inner parts of myself? Or, perhaps even lead me into some kind of dance with its creator? Either way, I have no doubt,  that there’d be magic.

“Let my soul smile through my heart and my heart smile through my eyes, that I may scatter rich smiles in sad hearts.”

– Paramahansa Yogananda

Coincidently, a new TV series is about to start up here in Australia. Seasoned journalist, Ray Martin, will be hosting: Look Me In the Eye in which two estranged people sit in silence for five minutes, looking at each other. I’m looking forward to seeing how it pans out. Although we know eye contact is very powerful, is it enough?

By the way, if you have seen this magnificent artwork in the flesh, I’d love to hear what it was like. 

xx Rowena

In the City of Love…Friday Fictioneers.

Kate was tumbleweeding at the Shakespeare Bookshop in Paris. Yet, while she craved the smell of old books and inhaling the very air Hemingway breathed, she had to make love in Paris.

Or, at least be wined and dined by a real Frenchman.

The trouble was that it was July and all the Parisians had fled.

All except Anton, the IT Network Manager, at the Louvre.

“Worst blind date EVER. So, much for Mona Lisa watching! All his showed me was a bunch of cables. Bet he makes love to his laptop.”

That night, Anton added Kate to his database.

….

Back in 1992 as a 22 year old backpacker, I spent 6 weeks in Paris, which included doing a reading at the Shakespeare & Company Bookshop. I recently found out that travellers can sleep on the floors of the bookshop in exchange for working in the shop for an hour a day and on the proviso that they read a book a day. These people were called tumbleweeds. You can read more about Shakespeare & Company Here.

This weeks featured image is © Sandra Crook.

xx Rowena

Writing Memoir…Paris Encore!

A few days ago, I started getting stuck back into writing a memoir about my time as an Australian in Paris in the Summer of ’92.  I spent 6 weeks in Paris during a rogue backpacking trip after graduating from university.

The memoir revolves around a solo poetry reading I gave at the Shakespeare & Company Bookshop and spins out from there. It was a time of particularly deep thought and soul searching, not only for me but also most of the recent graduates we met. I’ll add that that there was also falling in love, being dumped and all the usual things that come with scraping up the entrails of your heart off the tarmac after taking a direct hit.

Poetry Reading

Poetry Reading Shakespeare & Company Bookshop, Paris.

At the moment, I’m only at the early planning and dare I say research stage, although I’ve handwritten a few pages a day of actual text. (I usually find handwriting my work helps gets me into the flow).

I had been making great progress on “Paris” about a year ago, until a hail storm peppered holes through the office roof and brutally destroyed my flow. The entire office had to be evacuated and the mess wasn’t pretty.

Anyway, at the moment I’m seriously trying to immerse myself back into my Paris. Kick start all those near-dead neurons and getting the party started.

Unfortunately, I’ve hit a frustrating hitch. I can’t remember the name of the cafe we used to hang out and it is rather central to the plot. So, yesterday I started hitting the problem with every tool at my disposal…from the sledgehammer through to the magnifying glass, but I’m still not convinced that I’ve found it.

Finding the cafe isn’t only hampered by a lot of water under the bridge. I also have no sense of direction and struggle to find my feet, let alone retrace my steps from 24 years ago. Indeed, after all my meanderings yesterday, I was lucky to make it out of the labyrinth alive and am pleased to report that the Minotaur didn’t get me either.

My first step was to dig out my Paris photos for clues.

Immediately, I hit another hitch. The album was missing. I was pretty sure it was readily accessible but with so many photo albums, books, book cases, nooks and crannies, it was looking like mission impossible.  Don’t you hate it when this happens!! As if the frustration isn’t bad enough, there’s also that self-righteous voice in your head saying you should be more organised. Declutter! (That’s where a fly swat comes in handy. Whack! That should do the job!)

Humph!

I try to wing it online and try various Google searches.

Nothing!

Nothing!

Nothing!

Finally, I find the photo album but there’s only one shot of us sitting outside at the cafe. Even after scrutinizing the photo, I can’t find a name anywhere. What I do remember is cheap coffee, not having to pay extra to sit outside and a broad area of outdoor seating. Also, it was on a sweeping corner with plenty of space.

Yet, this physical description fits many cafes.

Fortunately, despite my abysmal sense of direction, I’ve been able to limit the search zone. The cafe is on the Left Bank in Quartier Latin somewhere near Rue Dauphine, the Luxembourg Gardens and St Michel. In retrospect, I’m thinking that was something of a “pedestrian passenger” blindly following my friends to the cafe  without gouging the route into my neuropathways.

Yet, through the fog, there is a glimmer of light.I cross over Pont Neuf into Rue Dauphine in my head. I have a general direction but then the vision suddenly goes dead with no cafe in sight.I simply don’t remember. So, that leaves me playing detective trying to piece together foggy memories, Google searches, walking through the streets on Google maps. I even emailed a friend.

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My feet in the Luxembourg Gardens. Aren’t those flowers spectacular!!

I must’ve been in one of my doggedly persistent moods because I wasn’t going to let it go until I found it. I Googled cafes and boulangeries around St Michel. I consulted Google maps and walked at street view round and around and around the streets of the Left Bank and crossed one by one off my list. Indeed, I was trawling through Google like a crazed stalker and I wasn’t giving up.

By this stage, I was starting to think writing memoir was seriously over-rated and that I should turn this thing into a novel and be done with it. Then, I can simply make everything up without all this arduous digging.

But I’m NOT GIVING UP!!

Instead, I’m off to Paris. Well, I’m off to Paris via Google maps.  As much as I would sort of love to be in Paris and retracing my steps in reality, it doesn’t matter if I get lost in Google maps. Eventually, I’ll make it back to Pont Neuf without being exhausted.

Well, to read about my virtual cafe crawl through Paris, you’ll have to wait for the next installment.

Hey, if you have any idea where the cafe might be, please put me out of my misery!!

PLEASE!!!

Have you spent much time writing memoir or non-fiction? How did it compare to writing fiction?

I’d love to hear from you!

xx Rowena

 

 

 

 

Le Petit Chocolat.

This was determination. With a chocolate moustache painted across his upper lip, Little Man was stretching his tongue as far as he could, savouring each and every last smudge. Unlike his meals at home, none of this was going to waste!

Indeed, even as a rambunctious two year old, he knew there was chocolate and there was CHOCOLATE!!! This delicacy was so incredibly rich and creamy and as much as he loved his Freddo Frogs, this was an altogether different experience.

The older lady in the black dress had given him a chocolate. And then, even another!

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Wow! Little Man gravitated towards the shelves. There were chocolate Easter rabbits everywhere! He’d never even seen so much chocolate before in his life but the rabbits themselves also looked exquisite. It was almost like his magical picture-book world had suddenly sprung to life and he’d become absorbed into a chocolate fairytale. His big brown eyes were bursting out of their sockets. The smell was so intoxicatingly good, that even his nose was twitching!

Ooh, yes! Our Little Man didn’t need to tell me that he’d stumbled into chocolate Heaven.

I knew.

It might have been 25 years ago but I still remembered the very first time I walked into Du Plessy Praline holding my mother’s hand and experienced those chocolate rabbits myself. As a child, any chocolate is appreciated but this was pure heaven. The shelves were lined with an eclectic collection of handmade chocolate rabbits…racing car rabbits, a rabbit on a tractor. Indeed, there were rabbits everywhere . Of course, the rabbits for sale weren’t wrapped in foil like their poor relations at the supermarket. Rather, they were elegantly wrapped in clear cellophane, which was like looking through a window into heaven itself. Although I was definitely not allowed to touch ANYTHING, I could already taste all that divine chocolate.

Naturally, as much as I love that shop, it was also a hard place for a kid to visit. All of that chocolate and you’re under Mum’s thumb. I vowed then and there that when I grew up. I was going to buy and eat every single chocolate rabbit in the shop…even if it made me sick! After all, when you’re a grown up, you can do whatever you like. Mum can’t say: “No!”

Fortunately, the Easter Bunny had excellent taste and a Du Plessy rabbit would always arrive every Easter Sunday. Most years, it still does!

Du Plessy’s was nestled underneath Peterson’s of Pymble where we used to buy my school uniforms. Stylish yet simple in black, “Madame” was Du Plessy Praline. Naturally, Madame was French and in Sydney back in the eighties, that was synonymous with sophistication. Madame did not disappoint. In addition to their Easter chocolates, Du Plessy specialised in very thin, flavoured chocolate slices. This being the era of Red Tulip’s After Dinner Mints, needless to say, there was no comparison…only superlatives!

Madame’s understated elegance went way beyond the chocolate. Even the packaging was impeccable…an art form in itself. The box was meticulously wrapped in quality white paper etched with Du Plessy’s signature logo and tied with a piece of gold string. Looking like a little treasure chest, you could take that little white box anywhere on the North Shore and it didn’t need an introduction. It spoke for itself.

Although I knew her face so well, we didn’t know Madame in quite the same way we knew the butcher or the fruit man. No doubt, Mum had been in a rush on these visits, preparing for yet another dinner party. She’d pick up half –a-round of French Brie from Cheese Please next door and dart into Du Plessy’s for those inimitable after dinner chocolates. When you’re a kid, adults always move so fast. Even after all these years, I can still feel Mum’s intense busyness trying to get everything ready on time and that exasperating sense of impending doom. After all, who isn’t trying to raise The Titanic from the murky depths of the Atlantic, every time they have guests?!!

Indeed, when it comes to our place, The Titanic sank many moons ago and is long past resurrection. It’s gone!

These days, I still return to Du Plessy’s and its offspring Otello with my own children and the magic continues. While my daughter and I were in Sydney yesterday, we popped in. I was hoping to show her their Easter display but unfortunately we were two weeks early. We live about an hour away so it was unfortunate timing.

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Savoring A Chocolate Mouthful!

Remembering the photos I’d taken in their Turramurra shop, I asked whether they would like me to email them through. These were taken exactly ten years ago, as I mentioned, just after Mister had had his first haircut at Mum’s hairdresser.

It’s funny because I was a bit shy about mentioning the photos. I’m not sure why but I blame the usual self-doubts. However, who wouldn’t want to see photos taken in their family business ten years ago, especially when they involve chocolate?!!

Of course, they were thrilled. I was introduced to Madame’s daughter-in-law. As it turned out, they have no photos of that shop. I was so excited that my photos would at least fill some of that gap. This was almost like the return of a ghost, except unfortunately there were no photos of Madame. I’d had just enough pluck to ask her if I could photograph the kids in the shop but didn’t take that extra step. That’s an extra step you have to take as a photographer because more often than not, that is THE shot.

I really wished I had. Somehow, just having that picture of Madame in my head is no longer enough. She was such a uniquely special part of my childhood…the lady with all those magical chocolate rabbits! Who wouldn’t love her?

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Mister getting his hair cut.

After some searching, I finally found the photos. They were taken exactly ten years ago in Easter 2006. Our daughter was only 10 weeks old and Mister had just turned two. We’d just taken Mister for his first hair cut and the chocolate shop was just around the corner. Mum, the kids and I made what you could only describe as a pilgrimage to this very special place from my childhood so I could pass that magic on. After all these chocolate rabbits had become such a part of our family’s Easter tradition.

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Little Man with his letter sister and Grandma.

I often find revisiting photos rather enlightening. So often, I miss things at the time and it’s only when I come back, that I finally see between the lines.

In this instance, I found were photos of a lively, curious 2 year old boy feasting on chocolates inside the shop!!

That’s right. Mister is actually eating chocolates inside the “look but don’t touch” chocolate shop.

What was the meaning of this?

Well, Madame had given him a couple of chocolates…petits cadeaux!

That was really special and really touched my heart and unfortunately, I didn’t appreciate the significance at the time. That gesture of love and Madame’s appreciation of our Little Man.

After all, as you might have experienced yourself, little men usually aren’t welcome in shops. Or, for that matter, in a great many locations. They’re boisterous, loud and seemingly have more tentacles than an octopus, sticking their little fingers into everything. Even when my son was being perfectly behaved, he’d somehow get in trouble. It seemed being a little kid, especially a boy, was enough!!

However, obviously my son had found his way into Madame’s chocolate heart, which was melting all over his mouth, little fingers and creating a scrumptious chocolate moustache.

Now, that my Little Man is almost 12 and recently started high school, I understand why Madame cherished my son so much. I have no doubt that he reminded her of her own precious son who had well and truly grown up by then. This is the very same son who is now running the business continuing their family tradition of hand-making, incredibly scrumptious French chocolates under our hot Australian sun. More than 50 years later, Du Plessy still lives on!

Of course, he is carrying on so much more than just a family business!

After all, you never quite know when a chocolate heart filled with love, might just make all the difference!

I should know. I’m eating one now…a gift for the random photographer!

This has been such a beautiful trip down memory lane but I need some more chocolate!

xx Rowena

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Too young for chocolate, our very own Miss Bunny Rabbit, aged 10 weeks.

 

Liberté, égalité, fraternité!

Our deepest condolences to the people of Paris in the wake of the latest terrorist attacks. We stand in solidarity as you defend: Liberté, égalité, fraternité!

I can only offer my words. Words from the heart but we have to have faith that the pen is mightier than the sword. That the pen can fight for all that is good in our world…even though the technology has changed.

The Statue of Liberty. Source: Wikipaedia.

The Statue of Liberty. Source: Wikipaedia.

On October 28, 1886 the Statue of Liberty, a gift from the French people to the United States, was dedicated. More than a century on, she still represents freedom and in our modern world, still shining her light.

Paris is known as the City of Light.. la ville des lumières!

We are with you!

xx Rowena

Writing Memoir: Unpacking the Past.

While being November, there’s been a lot of talk in the blogosphere about NaNoWriMo and many have leaped onboard the Nano juggernaut. How many words have been written. How people are progressing towards their target. Or, if things aren’t progressing as hoped, there are tips, words of encouragement and probably even a stiff drink or caffeine hit as well.

Being the sort who’s usually easy lead astray, I almost jumped onboard the NaNoWriMo juggernaut myself. However, thankfully I recognised a distraction for what it was and kept walking. I am quite proud of myself because I usually lap up such distractions and wake up in a different universe before I realise just how far off course I’ve ended up.

However, even though November in Sydney is a lousy time of year to embark on any kind of lengthy writing project, after almost ten years of fiddy faddling around with the Book Project, I am finally making headway. I bought myself a set of multicoloured cards and a file box, a box of black pens and a packet of multi-coloured pens and the research process is well and truly underway. Of course, buying the pre-requisite stationery is an important precursor to writing. However, I’ve also progressed to typing up excerpts from my Paris journal, revisiting Paris through Google Earth and getting in touch with people I met.I’ve even been re-working poems and writing new ones.

The Book Project is on. It’s definitely on!!

However, I always knew writing this story wasn’t going to be easy.

Of course, writing any great story isn’t usually easy. It’s exhilarating but there’s usually at least some kind of hard work involved…or much angst. As much as angst hurts and even destroys, it also does wonders for my creative juices…just like some huge, salivating slobber-dog eyeing off a bone. (Remember Beethoven: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShFd7rYSTkE)

Writing on the Window Sill at the Hotel Henri IV July, 1992.

Writing on the Window Sill at the Hotel Henri IV July, 1992.

At the moment, I am immersing myself in the Paris part of the story. While in some ways Paris might sound a bit clichéd and what hasn’t been written about Paris? However, I was an Australian in Paris and this story is going to land in Australia and even criss-cross the Nullarbor a few times between Sydney and Perth and even head North up to Geraldton. So, it’s not your classic Paris story at all!!

George and I at Nature's Window, Kalbarri North of Perth in 2002.

George and I at Nature’s Window, Kalbarri North of Perth in 2002.

I know I’m sitting on a great story. That’s not a point of pride or showing off. It is an adventure where the landscape reflects an inner journey searching for all those answers that we look for in our twenties yet through a distorted perspective. I had undiagnosed hydrocephalus, or fluid in the brain, which was an absolute time bomb ticking in my head which ultimately exploded. Yes, it wasn’t pretty either!

However, brain surgery, family friends, my faith and much reading and soul searching brought me to a place of healing. Not perfection but healing…an important distinction!

My husband and I met in the aftermath of that catastrophe and he loved me and accepted me (well, most of the time) for who I was. It was as close to an unconditional love as you could find and we’ve been through immense struggles, argued, almost fallen apart but we’re still together. We’re still walking together…along with our kids and the two dogs.

Our Wedding Day

Our Wedding Day

One of the troubles I’ve had with writing the parts of my story before meeting my husband, is that they do not involve him. That’s awkward in itself because like most of us, I’ve shut the door on all of that and we don’t talk about it. We don’t need to. However, through writing a memoir, it’s inevitable that a lot of this other stuff is going to dug up and even if it didn’t involve sex, there were intimate emotional attachments and these also encroach on what we have. After all, a marriage isn’t just about sexual fidelity. It’s also about sharing yourself, your heart and soul and grey matter.

When writing a memoir, there can potentially be a very broad cast of what might be minor characters in my story yet they’re still the protagonist in their own life. They don’t need to end up being a character at all. They’re just hiding under a rock and no doubt want to stay there in peace.

I need to respect other people’s privacy and also their need to have their integrity left in tact. They need to be able to walk down the street and feel good about themselves no matter what someone might have written about them. That’s even when it’s tempting to wield the pen, when you can’t use a sword. A bit of poetic justice might feel justified but writing a book is a responsibility. I am carrying all these people on my shoulders through what I say and also what I don’t say.

It’s no wonder I haven’t told this story before.

However, it’s a story that needs to be told. Too many of these motivational speakers and writers out there are selling false dreams. That if you want something bad enough, you can make anything happen. That’s just not true and it makes people feel like losers when they can’t pull of such miracles for themselves. Indeed, when they find out they’re only human!

I have had some incredibly dark moments along the road and these happen. People, especially young people, need to be equipped to get through and learn the incredible lessons these moments give us rather than avoiding the struggle or giving up but I also believe they often need a helping hand.

I’ve also got to be honest and say that I want to make it as a successful writer. I want that book published with my name on the spine and I want a bit of credibility. At the moment, I’m a gunna-do and that is even worse than being stuck in a real job.

Hey, Ive just written  1,074 words about getting started. I wonder if that counts towards the word count? Actually, I think it reads like a Mission Statement. A rather long one but something to keep me going.I’m going to need to remember why I am doing this and the hours mount up.

Any thoughts or suggestions? I’d love to hear from you!

xx Rowena

PS: I’m excited!

Easter is Growing Up!

This year, there was no Easter Hat parade with all the school children singing: “Here Comes Peter Cottontail hopping down the bunny trail…” www.youtube.com/watch?v=0G6F0pyaT7c Both kids are in primary now and considered too mature for such childish things.

Yum! All that yummy Easter chocolate!

Yum! All that yummy Easter chocolate!

To add salt to the wound,  crime to end all crimes, the kids shot the Easter Bunny, Santa and the Tooth Fairy with one very effective bullet not so long ago. For years I’ve been telling them they had to “believe to receive” but seemingly weren’t listening. They weren’t happy when I didn’t leave any Easter eggs out.However, they hadn’t left any baskets out either.

A very Happy Chappy!

A very Happy Chappy!

Somehow, I don't think eating a Lindt carrot quite qualifies for the Paleo Diet!!

Somehow, I don’t think eating a Lindt carrot quite qualifies for the Paleo Diet!!

Further breaking with tradition, we’re on holidays and so we didn’t make it to Church and even though we did try to find a service, we still missed out.

It’s also hard to think about the symbolism rebirth of the resurrection which is more in tune with a Northern Spring than Autumn in Australia where the leaves are changing colour and starting to die  as we head towards Winter.

In other words, our Easter was all topsy turvey and upside down. No regrets because we had a fabulous day. It just wasn’t how we usually spend Easter.

Yet, as John Lennon said:

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”.

However, while the kids were too grown up to believe in the Easter Bunny anymore, they were still keen for an Easter Egg Hunt and we invited the kids from next door over to join in the fun. We had a second hunt today and the rain hit just as the search began. Oh yes! Our scruffy Lady puppy dog snatched one of the eggs and tried making a speedy getaway as Geoff chased the dogs out of the hunting grounds. We don’t feed our dogs chocolate but we’ve only had Lady for about 6 months and she knows all about chocolate. She loves it and appears at the light whenever chocolate appears much to her disappointment. Chocolate, especially dark chocolate can kill dogs.

"Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day. I have a wonderful feeling, Everything's going my way"-"Oklahoma".

“Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day. I have a wonderful feeling, Everything’s going my way”-“Oklahoma” Frank Sinatra: www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNm76stOJis

We were also thrilled that after two days of solid rain and predictions of more to come, that the clouds lifted and we woke up to bright, glorious sunshine and we were out the door to make the most of what had been “the view”. The dogs were particularly thrilled and as soon as the gate was open they sped down to the beach. However, it was high tide meaning they couldn’t get very far on foot and so we bungled them into the kayak with me and they certainly got more than they bargained. Bilbo’s lucky his claws didn’t get stuck in the plastic. He was very uncomfortable and not the courageous adventurer at all!! You’ll read more about that as the A-K Blogging Challenge continues under K: Kayaking with Dogs.

Kayaking with two dogs onboard certainly is an acquired skill, especially with Bilbo who hates getting his paws wet and prefers terra firma.

Kayaking with two dogs onboard certainly is an acquired skill, especially with Bilbo who hates getting his paws wet and prefers terra firma.

My parents came round for an Easter meal. While setting the table, I discovered the glass table top reflected the clouds and immediately grabbed the camera:

Sunseting over Pittwater with the cloudy sky reflected on the dining table.

Sunsetting over Pittwater with the cloudy sky reflected on the dining table.

Despite wanting to keep this post simple, I couldn’t resist looking up Easter traditions around the world:

Sydney, Australia: The Royal Easter Show: http://www.eastershow.com.au/

France: If you fancy some spring cleaning, head to Alsace in France: http://www.frenchmoments.eu/easter-in-alsace/

Italy: we have Pan di Ramarino: http://sociopalate.com/2015/04/02/golossary-pan-di-ramarino/ and Agnello Pasquale, A marzipan lamb, is a typical Sicilian Easter dessert.http://sociopalate.com/2015/03/30/golossary-agnello-pasquale/

Ireland: http://www.irishcentral.com/roots/how-the-traditional-irish-easter-was-celebrated-120536204-237383821.html#

Germany: A beautiful German Easter tradition is the Osterstrauch. This is a branch or small tree decorated with hollowed-out eggs: http://www.quick-german-recipes.com/easter-in-germany.html

Argentina: the world’s biggest hand-made chocolate Easter Egg:http://globalnews.ca/news/1922341/giant-easter-egg-cracked-open-in-argentina/

Latvia:When I was in infant’s school one of the Mums who came from Latvia taught us how to make coloured eggs boiling up brown onion skins to make the dye. As young child, I was amazed! Check this out: http://www.latvianstuff.com/Lieldienas.html

The Phillipines: https://mangosalute.com/magazine/what-do-filipinos-do-during-easter

Weird Easter Traditions Around the World: http://www.mirror.co.uk/usvsth3m/flying-bell-weird-easter-traditions-5451736

Preparations for the Easter Hunt.

Preparations for the Easter Hunt.

How did you spend your Easter? I hope you had a wonderful day!

Anyway, we would like to wish you all a Happy & Blessed Easter reflecting on Christ’s resurrection while also enjoying all the fun stuff as well…Easter eggs, Easter Egg hunts and making all sorts of Easter arts and crafts.

Love and Easter Blessings,

Rowena

PS Here are some interesting Easter curiosities from around the world: