My mum and Josef are spending four months in Europe, house-swapping their way across the continent. In July they spent two weeks in a farmhouse in Burgundy, and they invited us to join them for a long weekend. Adrian’s mum was staying with us, so we all hopped in a hire car and drove down through the countryside.

As we had the rare use of a car, we made sure to visit a few of the more isolated World Heritage places along the way – the Château royal de Fontainebleau, la Basilique Sainte-Marie-Madeleine de Vézelay, and the Abbaye de Fontenay. However, the highlight for me was the Ferme du Château de Saint-Fargeau that I insisted that we stop and visit.

As soon as we walked through the door we were greeted by three hungry goats. I bent down to greet them and the white one promptly ate my map. I realised that it was best to return to reception and buy a bucket of feed. Returning with adequate supplies, they frantically ate out of my hands as if they hadn’t seen food for days. Adrian and I explored the farm further and found donkeys, piglets, calves, lambs, chicks, and ducklings to feed, then returned to the goats. They happily finished off the feed, with one little kid getting so enthusiastic that the bucket got stuck on her head until she managed to shake it off. The Ferme du Château de Saint-Fargeau may not have World Heritage status, but I still think it contributes to the common heritage of humanity.

One of my favourite days in Georgia was our day trip to Kazbegi (ყაზბეგი), a small town high up in the Greater Caucasus mountains of Georgia. Our bus spent a few hours winding zigzagging the Georgian Military Highway, and we watched the cows grazing on steep slopes like dozens of tiny ants across undulations still dappled with snow.

When we reached the base of the mountain, our guide NeNe gave us a choice: we could hike up for two hours, or we could ride up in a Soviet-era jeep. I felt as the youngest members of the group we should trek up the mountain, but John and Adrian were fans of motorised transport. The rest of the group mocked us for our slothfulness. Even NeNe chastised us, telling us with a smile that we were very lazy and we should hike up, and we will miss out on many amazing sights. Adrian asked if there would be bears, and she told us with a straight face that there would be hundreds of them.

I was convinced to take the jeep, and we chose a little purple 4×4 AvtoVAZ Lada to take us to the top of the mountain. Our driver knew the rocky one-way path very well, expertly manoeuvring across the rocks and the mud, and even reversing down the hill to let another car pass us. Abundant wilderness and emerald foliage trees embraced the car as it tackled the precipitous incline.

After a bumpy but beautiful 40 minute trip, we reached the top and saw the Gergiti Church ahead of us. We strolled through a vast field of wildflowers, passing through a heard of cows munching on the flora. I wasn’t able to enter the church (no dress, no entry), but I was able to run through a massive meadow of millions of marigolds. We then perched on top of an old stone wall to enjoy our picnic lunch of potato salad and coleslaw.

An hour later, we saw the first members of the hikers emerge from over the crest, looking red, sweaty and exhausted. I greeted NeNe brightly, and asked her if she had seen any bears. “I hate you”, was her exhausted reply. Suddenly the weather changed, and the blue sky disappeared behind gloomy grey clouds. We decided to return back to the village in our Lada, and the hikers had to turn around too, in order to make it back by 3pm. As soon as we hopped in our car, it started to hail, and I am ashamed to admit that we might have waved to the hikers as they trudged through the mud on the way down.

As we drove through the village, our chauffeur stopped to talk to a farmer with six spotted piglets. I hoped for a second that we were going to give all the wiggly piglets a ride in the jeep, but sadly we kept on driving without taking on any porcine passengers. While the rest of the group limped back into town, we spent the afternoon in a very low-frills café and its shrill Georgian pop music. The end of the tape would bring short-lived relief, until our hostess would emerge from the other room to turn over the cassette to ensure the performance was repeated.

In Australia, international borders are very uncomplicated. Once you reach the ocean, the country stops. Over here, things are a lot more complex. Armenia has closed its borders to Turkey, Russia has closed its borders to Georgia, and Azerbaijan has closed its borders to Armenia. Within Georgia itself, there are three autonomous regions – the infamous South Ossetia, as well as Abkhazia and Adjara (spelled Ajaria on the map below).

Image from newzar

We weren’t able to visit South Ossetia, as the borders are still closed and it is not considered safe. However, we were able to spend a lovely day by the Black Sea in Batumi, the capital of The Autonomous Republic of Adjara. Our guide told us that they manage all local politics and issues internally, but international decisions are still made by Georgia.

This is the most popular holiday spot in Georgia, with a long stretch of (grey pebbly) beach lined by cafes, restaurants, and apartment blocks. We ate our lunch in a bungalow, looking out across the water appreciating the cool breezes that mitigated the heat. There is a million-dollar statue of Medea holding Jason’s Golden Fleece in the main square, and we wandered through the park watching children running through fountains in the bright summer sun. Happily, this state seems to have found an equilibrium that permits autonomy of its inhabitants while allowing integration with Georgia.

Blue sky days on the weekend are a bit of a burden in Belgium. After our long cold grey spring, any glimpse of sunshine must be embraced wholeheartedly. The sun rose on Saturday full of warmth and promise, so we were out of the house by nine to explore a little bit more of Belgium. Everyone else in Brussels also seemed to be outdoors, soaking up the light.

We decided to visit Tournai, one of the oldest cities in Belgium. It has an excellent Belfry and is the only city here ever to be ruled by England. An hour on the train took us to the heart of this new city. As we walked towards the cathedral, we spotted a market with a great deal of activity.

Along with fresh produce, there were also birds and goats for sale. The vendors had arranged them according to cuteness. We began with old-looking geese, and as we walked along we finally reached the chicks and ducklings. Excited looking children were choosing their new pets, and the vendors popped them into cardboard boxes and tied them up with string. The children distractedly carried the boxes in one had, and we could see anxious-looking beaks poking out of the holes.

We discovered a little duckling sitting in a box by himself, occasionally bounding up to poke his beak over the edge. Adrian called him Jumpling and we were very tempted to take him home and keep him in the bath. However, we decided that Peppermint might not be so welcoming.

The belfry was constructed separately from the cathedral, and we slowly climbed up the winding staircase to the top of the tower. The top was decorated with a gilded dragon, and golden gargoyles looked over our shoulders out at the view.

We finished up with a lunch in the main square, underneath the ferris wheel and between the market stalls, and then meandered home again. A bright spring morning sucessfully celebrated.