Tea and Jae in the UK

Wales in black: of mountains and the night sky

2012-02-19T21:36:00.000Z

Our lovely cabin at Pen-y-Dre, the next morning

[We start with a bit I wrote mid week's end.]

February 18, 2012

I'm writing from that pleasant valley, on the cusp of a second wind. The endorphins from our hike up Sugar Loaf this afternoon have faded to satisfied sleepiness, slowly perking up now as I drain my cup of joe. I sit at the kitchen table in one of the Pen-y-Dre Farm's cottages in Llanvihangel Crucorney ("Sacred Enclosure of Michael at the Corner of the Rock"); the beams surrounding me are like none I've seen -- almost ostentatious in their rusticity.

We stopped at Raglan Castle the day before

Neither one of us can believe how well this day has come together. We spent last night at the manor house Llansantffraed Court -- more on that in a moment -- and contemplated the grim forecast over their fantastic full Welsh breakfast this morning. As we left for the market hall in Abergavenny, it seemed that heavy rain would indeed dominate the day. Thankfully, Tea was absolutely determined to hike, and so, after a pick-me-up, post-browsing cuppa, we made our way to the tourist information centre for advice on accommodation and hiking in the vicinity.

Llansantffraed Court -- great spot!

It wasn't until we left, with the aforementioned B & B and hill hike recommendations, that we realised the centre had closed minutes after our arrival -- our first bit of luck. And while initially it seemed that Pen-y-Dre Farms was booked up, as Tea chatted with the manager about alternatives he might suggest, his wife piped up to say that they just might have a room, if we could give them a few hours -- Bit of Luck #2. Add that we finished the 5 km hike without so much as a drop of rain, only to have the sky open up as we settled in our cottage -- to say nothing of the beautiful cottage itself, and tea and cake (man-sized wedges at that) that awaited us -- and you're looking at more luck than I can count on a hand. Awww yeah!

My mood of the morning's been turned on its head!

On the way to Sugar Loaf

The summit!

The highlight of the day was probably sitting on a windswept rock two-thirds of the way up Sugar Loaf, feet dangling like I'm a kid in dad's chair, passing a tasty pasty from the market hall back 'n' forth with Tea, watching the shadows of the clouds march across this wide open space like herds of buffalo.

* * *

The Gavenny Valley -- Sunday's hike

Llansantffraed Court was darn near perfect. We'd learned of it through Groupon, and following on from Buttonberg's rave reviews of it last weekend, had us a humdinger of a time. (Until this moment, we've basically retraced Buttonberg's steps, come to think of it, from Raglan Castle -- surely one of the most visually titilating I've seen -- to the manor, to Sugar Loaf.) Llansantffraed Court customised their fixed menu for my lactose intolerance, were consummate hosts through the six courses -- including cured salmon and caviar, confit duck, and loin and pressed shoulder of pork, to name a few -- and stoked an eyebrow-searing fire for us well into the whiskey-filled night.

Oh, and I can't forget the wine pairing: from the riesling (an Australian, from the Pewsey Vale, and Tea's favourite) to the bordeaux on down, each worked beautifully. My favourite was a local red, from the nearby Ancre Hill vineyard: so earthy and yeasty, beetroot in the nose; unlike any wine I've ever tasted. Buttonberg said they never like the same wine and both loved this one. I completely understand; it breaks the mold, and clearly meets in the middle of their tastes.

The end of that story embodies Wales: upon learning of the Buttonberg's gushing love for this local beauty the following morning, the manor called ahead to the vineyard, a few miles down the road, who opened their shop especially for them. They ended up with a case of the stuff.

* * *

On Saturday evening we decided to eat at the Skirrit Mountain Inn, just down the road from our cottage. We turned around almost immediately to grab a torch: there wasn't a street light to be seen in Llanvihangel Crucorney. It reminded me of my last trip to Hare Bay, Newfoundland; I was there for my grandfather's (Dadda's) funeral, and had to make my way back to my Aunt Queen's house each evening by the light of the moon. Now, as then, the constellations popped, as if we were in a planetarium; indeed we had a mobile one seconds later, when Tea fired up her app that labelled the stars (and planets) as you swung the phone around the night sky.

The Skirrid Mountain Inn claims to be Wales' oldest pub, having stood for nine centuries. However, Real Heritage Pubs of Wales puts it at "wholly mid- to late-17th century with major alterations in the 19th century." That said, its crackling hearth, tasty grub -- Tea's baby back ribs were a treat! -- and friendly staff were most welcomed, and we got a good dose of authentic history the following evening when we enjoyed a pint at the Llanthony Priory Hotel: "part of a medieval structure making it the oldest building in [the Real Heritage Pubs of Wales guide] that is now a pub."

* * *

February 19, 2012

The Skirrid, with its chasm of legend

After a nice lie-in, we made our way to the main farmhouse for a big fry-up. It was a fantastic start to the day: blue sky, donkeys and roosters putting their stamp on the morn, sunbeam-sleepy cats lounging in a kitchen so full of life lived.

Tea decided on a nearby hike that would take us through the Gavenny Valley and Cwmyoy -- and the famous crooked church of St. Martin's -- up and around the surrounding hills, along part of the Beacons Way, before circling back to the start. The Gavenny Valley stretched on for miles; such a sight in that crisp morning air. Once we were in it, however, looking up at Cwmyoy, the namesake of the previous evening's inn had our undivided attention:

The Skirrid is the most eye-catching mountain in the area. Shooting up from the Gavenny Valley... gentle green fields climb about halfway up its flanks, giving way suddenly to purple scrub and bracken... [It] has long been held to be a holy mountain; the almighty chasm that splits the peak is said to have been caused by the force of God's will on the death of Christ, a theory that drew St. Michael and legions of other pilgrims... Another theory claims that Noah's Ark clipped it as it passed by.

--The Lonely Planet's Guide to Wales

Inside 'crooked' St. Martin's

The toughest part of the day was still ahead of us: each time we crested a rise, expecting to see the Beacons Way that circled the valley, another hill would present itself. Boy, what a view awaited us at the peak, though. When we made it back to the car, well over four hours later, we were ready for a rest; particularly as we were very aware of the previous day's hike as well.

The last stop of the day was Llanthony Priory, and we made it with minutes to spare. We snapped a few shots as a mist began to fall, briefly taking shelter in the aforementioned hotel of the same name, before heading for home, the sun at our backs and setting the world afire. We soon outran the rain. You could see it in the distance, though; great sheets out near the horizon, tapering to funnels as they touched the earth.

Llanthony Priory

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

Nottingham: The Black Keys!

2012-02-04T14:24:00.000Z

Tea, in front of the caves in Castle Rock

Well, we almost beat the snow home. With "severe weather" forecast for the day, we thought it best to cut our weekend plans short: we saw the Black Keys at the Capital FM Arena in Nottingham last night -- awesome! -- and had planned to spend the day walking in and around Lincoln; oh well, another time. Ten centimetres is what they're calling for, and while that might not seem like much to my Canadian readership, it's 9.5 cm more than they can handle here; they simply don't have the equipment -- and, frankly, would probably be wasting public funds if they bought it. (If the winters we've seen since moving here are any indication of a colder trend, however, that may not hold true for much longer.)

Tea, at 'the Trip'

We took Friday off and had a leisurely drive to Nottingham, checking in at the Premier Inn around mid afternoon. (It was a really nice room, by the way, although, generally, I'd give it to Ibis by a nose in this category, as I prefer their bathroom layout. Incidentally, discount hotels in the UK are miles ahead of the North American standard.) With a few hours 'til the show, we decided to see what constituted a good cask ale pub in Nottingham.

I hadn't realized that the city is a hotbed of competition for the title of the oldest drinking establishment in England. We visited two claimants: Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem Inn (or 'the Trip') and Ye Olde Salutation Inn (or 'the Sal'). We had a tasty starter in the former to accompany our pints -- the fish cakes were particularly good -- taking in the unique atmosphere offered by the sandstone caves they use as the front drinking rooms. The latter dubs itself a "Rock 'n' Ale" pub, and certainly delivered on both counts: the tunes were nice 'n' heavy the whole time we were there -- thanks to an oversized iPod of a jukebox that was always busy -- and they had eight real ales on handpump! For the curious, here's what we sampled from both pubs:

Nottingham Brewery's Rock Mild
Nottingham Brewery's Extra Pale Ale (EPA): light hoppiness; very well balanced -- my favourite at 'the Trip'
Nottingham Brewery's Legend
Flipside Brewery's Sterling Pale: full-on hops; a palette-smasher to be sure, but I really enjoyed it
Burton Bridge Brewery's Damson Porter
Derventio Brewery's Cleopatra: a seasonal, big ol' smack of apricot; another favourite of the evening, although one pint's probably enough
Guaranteed Sunshine: nicely balanced golden ale; really wish I had more on who brews it: I thought the label said Dregs, but that's tough to google -- comment if you know more!

The impressive array of handpumps at 'the Sal'

Band of Skulls was already on as we took our seats; we hadn't heard them before, but thought they played a decent set. With a capacity of 10000, the arena was downright intimate by the standards of home, while still presenting an impressive sea of undulating heads and arms at the peaks of the light show. The Keys were fantastic. I've never seen them before, but can confidently state that. With the heavy production on their latest album, El Camino, I was a bit worried that the stage would be crammed; happily, it was just Dan and Patrick, and two guys on bass and keyboards -- really simple, with some improv in the bridges. Perfect! They even played Your Touch, kickin' it up to at least double time. (Can't imagine how bored they must be with playing that now.)

We spilled out on the streets around 11:00 p.m., ready for a proper meal. Luckily, most of the kids were looking for a drink, passing the tempting Greek restaurant, Eviva Taverna, by. It didn't disappoint, either: we shared an immense salad with our two skewers of souvlaki each; we were totally stuffed and sated long before we could clean our plates. (I do wish that I'd tackled the raw onions in that salad with a little less fervour, however: when I woke up this morning, my mouth tasted like I'd been using it for things better left unsaid on this blog.)

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the evening.

La Plagne: those dreaded diamonds

2012-01-15T08:12:00.000Z

[It's been a busy time. After hosting a great crowd at Christmas, we made our way to Edinburgh for New Year's celebrations. (You should check out Jodi's post on the trip too!) We pick up my journal mere days later, in the French Alps.]

January 8, 2012: 4:20 p.m.

Just woke up from a most luxurious nap. We had our first time on the slopes this morning.

It was like skiing for the first time.

Yes, I've skied in Canada. But this scenery must be unrivalled the world over. The way you'd see these incredible peaks around you, and then the sun would break through the clouds, putting far, distant peaks in glorious relief, was, well, simply stunning. I just found myself holding up, having these moments of feeling ever so small on such a truly awesome planet.

Of course, I'd be stretching artistic licence to breaking and beyond if I didn't say that utter exhaustion held me up just as many times, particularly as the morning progressed. And while I certainly didn't have my Wheaties this morning, it's my conditioning (or lack thereof) that's landed me in this pickle, I'm fairly certain.

Before leaving, I was chatting with a friend who's a big skier, and amongst his excitement and envy, he asked:
So, you've been doing a lot of squats and whatnot, getting ready? When did you say you're going again?
Uh, Mike, I'm leaving tomorrow. And, nope. Nothing.
(With the utmost sympathy and lament) Oh, JJ.

My quads aren't feeling it just yet, Mike, but I know I don't have long; oh, no. (And I did pack lots of Ibuprofen, as you advised, a la Plan B.)

This UCPA... community, for lack of a better term, is fantastic! (I was going to say 'resort' because it goes with 'ski' like peas 'n' carrots, but that's the last word you'd use to describe this.) The communal eating -- including clearing away your place afterwards, loading the dishwasher rack, etc. -- communal places to socialize, store your ski equipment, play video games, the list goes on, is truly wonderful. Everyone is so friendly, helpful, and patient with our limited French. My rental equipment, while clearly well used, is in good condition, and, thanks to their well-oiled machine, took no time to procure and fits me perfectly.

I should probably hold up here and point out something I mentioned to Tea earlier: while these facilities are certainly clean and functional -- I would definitely recommend this place to friends -- I am aware that they probably don't warrant so much gushing. Clearly I have some sort of deep-seated need to belong that this place is filling admirably. (For context, I did no extracurricular activities in school, be they band, sports of any sort, clubs, etc. Probably a lesson in that.)

Oh, I haven't mentioned the food: French and fantastic! Simple, delicious stuff, done so well -- for so many! The bread is great, of course, but also the ratatouille and gammon I had for lunch, for example. And the cold stuff is great too: I had this delicious goat's cheese at lunch as well, and an excellent bow-tie pasta salad with smoked salmon throughout; it's those little touches that impress me. There aren't enough hot drinks, though; that'd probably be my one, minor complaint. (See! I'm objective!)

The drive up yesterday was gorgeous. We flew to Geneva and met up with Tea's friends, then took a bus to Aime, France. It went past Lake Annecy, which was spectacular, and reminiscent of our trip to Lake Como last summer. Similarly, the second bus we took up to La Plagne could've been driving through Mittenwald or Innsbruck -- with more snow than that German and Austrian odyssey of 2010, mind. [Speaking of Innsbruck, La Plagne hosted Olympic events as well, in 1992.]

So many good memories. I'm so... blessed, really, to have had all these opportunities. I dreamed about going so often, and yet Europe is all that I imagined and more, as it turns out.

Ski lessons start tomorrow. Wish me luck!

* * *

January 10, 2012: 4:40 p.m.

Man, I'm pooped! There's nothing quite like exhaustion after exercise, particularly when you can reflect on the sorts of vistas I've taken in these past two days. You know that backdrop to the Paramount Pictures logo? It's real, and probably near here, if I'm not smack in the middle of it, with Mont Blanc there, out my window. [Yes, I now know that that's actually the Wasatch Range, and part of the Rockies. Sort of obvious, really, but I stand by the resemblance.]

Thankfully my performance on the slopes is now well above that disaster of a first day. I'm putting that down to my terrible diet on the travel day. I've been stuffing myself three times a day -- plus snacks -- since, and it seems to be doing the trick.

I know I've been saying this a lot over the past year, but I truly believe this is one of the best ways to spend a week. Those moments on that first day have continued, with my jaw dropping at the surrounding scene: snow-covered mountains as far as I can see -- which is pretty darn far with these clear blue skies; most unmarked, or sprinkled with animal tracks, like great ridges and mounds of meringue. (Others are covered in these hypnotic patterns cut by the off-piste skiers.) We're talking about trying to return regularly once we're back in Canada. We'll see.

Well, gotta grab a shower. Can't believe it's only hump day tomorrow; we've done so much already!

* * *

January 11, 2012: late

Wow, long day: we were out by half nine this morning, went straight 'til half one, then had a 90-minute lesson starting just after three. What an amazing day! Just gorgeous weather again. [We later learned that this season is their best in 20 years(!), and that it'd been snowing for a month straight prior to our arrival. All 134 runs were open most of the week! Talk about timing.] Our bodies seem to be holding up as well, I'm happy to say.

We started at La Grande Rochette this morning, the gateway to the other side of the mountain we've played on these last three days. From the plateau at the gondola drop-off, the blue run quickly fell away along a narrow course; a bit of a tough proposition, first thing out. I could hear our instructor Yann's "Courage!" (coo-RAJ) as I went over the lip. The course then continued in curves around small peaks, still narrow. At each turn, I'd drift, like some human rally car; it was awesome! I was shaking from the adrenaline at our first stop, sucking down wind and laughing alternately.

Liv and Tea walking to the Grotte (3250 m)

[So ends my notes. Between naps and Hearts -- that's the subtitle pun, by the way: we had the Queen of Spades go out on the 4♦ three times in one evening's session alone -- there was little time off-slopes for writing. But what a trip! Two more days of great skiing, then the bus, a quick flight back to Brum, and a short drive home.]

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the week.

Edinburgh: can you say Hogmanay?

2012-01-02T21:32:00.000Z

December 29, 2011

The bar at the Dome

The day started brisk, but nothing like our arrival by train last evening. ("B'ys, she was blowin' a gale," I'm sure Granddad would've said.) We went out with a childhood friend of Tea's who happened to be in Edinburgh at the time, and the words were torn from our mouths on more than one occasion. (My favourite moment of the evening was when Tea and Anna reminisced about seeing the Eurythmics when they were 10.) I'll take these blustery showers, particularly kitted out as we are with base layers and rain trousers.

Silly sods that we are, we wondered how we'd breakfast after our nice, long lie-in. Look no further than the Christmas market one street over from our hotel, on Princes Street. (Tea's like a bloodhound when it comes to them, I'm sure you've realized by now, dear reader.) Before long we were sated on ridiculously chunky seafood broth, toasties made with Isle of Mull cheddar, mulled wine and mead. (I feel that sentence needs a "Huzzah!")

Did someone say toasties? NOM.

Outside BrewDog Edinburgh

From there, it was on to our first BrewDog pub, ever! I know you're probably shaking your head in wonder, given how I go on and on about them, but they've only been around since 2007, and, based in Fraserburgh, Scotland, their pubs are understandably out of the reach of all but the thirstiest of Gloucestershire folk. We sampled half pints of their Christmas Porter and Scotch Ale, and both were excellent: the former was nicely spiced -- you could really taste the chillies -- and the latter had some nice toffee undertones.

In front of Edinburgh Castle

After a wander, taking pictures of the castle in the dying light -- barely gone 4 p.m., mind! -- we made our way down Grassmarket to a Chinese restaurant Tea had wanted to try for ages: Chop Chop. It wouldn't open for another hour, so we killed some time in the nearby Thomson's Bar (found with Tea's handy CAMRA app.). This one-room pub managed some real character, its walls lined with history. I was telling Tea that the various McEwan's, Younger, etc. beer ads, for sweet stout and other wonders of another time, were all chronicled in the Pete Brown book I'd started on the train ride up. (Tea's pint of Fyne Ales' Piper’s Gold was nice, but couldn't compete with my pint of the lovely Hophead by Dark Star that I'd first tried a few months ago in that absolute star of a pub, Cask.)

M'm, dumplings

Chop Chop immediately struck both of us as utterly professional. With no reservation, we worried that we might not get a table; and with good reason. Still, they squeezed us in a 90-minute slot, serving us efficiently, without rushing us. And the food was out of this world; it certainly opened my eyes to the possibilities in Chinese cuisine: pork and coriander dumplings; tasty, tangy cucumber salad; aubergine salad with lemongrass, garlic and other awesomeness I couldn't hope to identify; garlic lamb with cumin. Just amazing. And because we'd ordered the "Banquet for two," we could order more of any of those dishes at no extra charge (which we did, of course).

* * *

December 30, 2011

Arthur's Seat (to the left) at dawn

We got up early (for us) to have plenty of time to catch our tour bus at the Royal Mile at 9 a.m. Our destination: the Scottish Highlands. Tea had picked Rabbie's at random the night before, and in short order it was clear she'd hit the jackpot: Euan, both our driver and guide, was enthusiastic, engaging, funny and knowledgeable. Plus, he kept us to a schedule without being overbearing, invited questions throughout while keeping an eye on the road, and was perfectly calm in the proper snowstorm that threatened to ground us in Pitlochry.

Dunkeld Cathedral

Our route took us over the Firth (fjord) of Forth, past Fife and through Perth, to Dunkeld, notable for its proximity to Birnam (and the famous wood of the same name) and, despite a population of little more than 1000, its cathedral. After wandering the grounds of the latter and stopping for a quick bite to eat in the town itself, we hopped over to the Hermitage for a longer walk. While stunning, its beauty was marred by a recent hurricane. A local news story from mid-month explains:

After shutting down the Dunkeld woodland site, North Perthshire property manager Ben Notley explained: “The Hermitage took a battering with yesterday’s winds and unfortunately we have lost a lot of trees. Some of these are very large, root systems have been uprooted and the area is very unsafe... We hope to reopen in time for the Christmas holidays.”

Thank goodness they succeeded! Still, memories of touring Point Pleasant Park after Hurricane Juan followed me back to the bus.

Snow's arrived!

Next up was the Victorian spa town of Pitlochry. As we toured one of the town's two distilleries(!), Blair Athol -- whose single malt isn't sold beyond their shop, but makes up much of the Bell's blend -- however, the stormy weather caught us, cutting our route through the Highlands a bit short. Still, it made for a fun lunch stop: Tea's app. pegged the Moulin Inn and Brewery as our best bet, a mere two kilometres from the town's thoroughfare. What we failed to realize was that it was uphill, over a good layer of snow by that point. True to our heritage, we made it, scarfed down a delicious roast pork dinner, sampled all four of their brews(!) -- their light ale was the recommendation, and the best -- and made it back to the bus with minutes to spare. Tea even pushed out a stuck car on the way back! (Where was I, you say? U'm, well, I'd run ahead to flag down Euan, convinced we were late.)

At the Moulin Inn and Brewery

That roast pork was even tastier than it looks

Aside: the other distillery, Edradour, was a tantalizing few hundred metres beyond the inn. Ah, for more time. And I've never seen such a selection of their whisky as was behind that bar! Bottles of 'Straight from the Cask' I'd never heard of, tall bottles(!) -- I know them for their stubby bottles; there were easily a dozen varieties on display. I shall return!

Euan brought us back through Aberfeldy and Crieff as the snow gave way to rain. As we drove by Stirling Castle, the fog obscured all but a few lights at its base.

* * *

All the streets around the Royal Mile were closed in preparation for Hogmanay, but our cabbie managed to thread a route from our hotel to our apartment for the next few nights, near the foot of Arthur's Seat. Once there, we quickly dropped our bags and headed back in for the Torchlight Procession.

If you haven't heard of it, look it up! It - blew - my - mind.

The only other time I've been surrounded by that much open flame was at the candlelight service every Christmas Eve at Wesley United Church in St. John's when I was a kid -- where the colossal responsibility of tempering flame and wax barely left me breath to sing -- and these were flaming brands of wood, rope and wax longer than my forearm! The street was full of them! As far as the eye could see! And there was danger on the wind, for surely so much wood-smoke is no campfire, but a raging inferno, my brain would periodically pipe.

And as if that weren't enough, they closed it with fireworks right overhead, almost asking to be cupped in our upraised hands.

We truly were drunk on it. Back at the fair and Christmas market by the Scott Monument, we sang, can-can'd, and pole-danced, sanity be damned! Then, exhausted, we supped, and drank mulled whisky from a fish bowl. As Cassie would say, "Awww, yeah."

* * *

December 31, 2011

After the lie-in of champions, we seized the day, moving our New Year's Day walk up Arthur's Seat ahead. Our ambition knew no bounds as we tackled the steepest route, our breath ripped from our mouths by the gales, even as we needed it most. Still, we conquered, carefully celebrating amongst the jagged rocks and pooled water whilst being buffeted. The descent offered little respite, and while brown bums and scrapped hands surrounded us, we eventually emerged unscathed, largely thanks to the course struck by 'Billy Goat' Button.

[After a quick stop for groceries, it was time to prepare for the imminent celebrations...]

* * *

January 1, 2012

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Last night was a blast! So much goodwill and bonhomie. And it was really well organized as well: lots of toilets, and plenty of police and staff to answer questions; you could tell they'd done this before. To feel so safe amongst 80000 people is truly a testament.

The fireworks display, mirrored at Holyrood Palace and the castle, blew my socks off! And while things dispersed shortly thereafter, our band of eight kept the party goin' a good while longer.

Good times!

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Manchester: "POUR - SOME - SUGAR on me!"

2011-12-12T23:37:00.000Z

Tea got me CAMRA's Manchester Pub Guide a few months ago, and, as I'm sure you can imagine, it got some use this past weekend. Skip down to the Pubs section if that's your pleasure.

We got the 6 p.m. train to Manchester after work on Friday and arrived at Manchester Piccadilly station a few hours later, in the heart of the action. While The Mercure (formerly Piccadilly Hotel) wasn't anything to write home about, its location -- overlooking Piccadilly Gardens, all lit up for Christmas -- couldn't be beat, and the breakfast was very good.

Tea scored some tickets to the Wolves at Man U match on Saturday afternoon -- don't worry, Robbie, I didn't come back with any swag, and only cheered so the surrounding fans wouldn't hurt me -- so we spent the morning around Piccadilly Gardens and the European Christmas Market in the lee of the imposing Town Hall. (The following day we went inside, which has its own market, and enjoyed tea with a friend of Tea's from the area; really nice spot to warm up!)

Aside: there were nine Christmas markets in total, and of the highest calibre we've seen in the country to date. There were some really stand-out stalls -- a puppet maker and another with ornate metalwork lanterns come to mind -- and the themed markets were distinct: the ankerbrau on tap at the German market was a nice touch, and the seating in a stall at the French market gave it a cafe atmosphere of sorts; cognac is really nice in mulled wine, by the way.

Getting out to Old Trafford was a cinch: a few stops from Manchester Piccadilly. (Unfortunately, getting home after the match was another matter; we probably would've walked back to the town centre if we had our time back.) That first view of the pitch was amazing. With a capacity of nearly 80000, I have to say, the two Premier League matches I've been to have been a spectacle of staggering proportions. The steady thrum of noise, strikingly different from the typical Sens game, makes you feel so alive. Seated well up behind and to the side of one of the goal lines, we had a great view of three of the five goals in the 4-1 victory for Man U. (The Wolves played well, but were simply outclassed.)

Sunday was concert day! Steel Panther, Motley Crue and Def Leppard at the Arena! The venue was fantastic: right in the centre of town, just off the Shambles -- where we enjoyed supper at Cafe Rouge beforehand -- and again, like Old Trafford, was this big bowl of energy as we arrived. The Crue were great: pumping the crowd up and cooking 'em with crazy pyrotechnics -- we could feel the heat, in the seating way at the back! Tommy Lee's coaster-esque kit and set was like nothing I've ever seen. I laughed out loud, when, as part of the stills montage on the big screens during Girls, Girls, Girls, they flashed a picture of Justin Bieber.

Def Leppard's backdrop was toned down by comparison -- I could imagine it would've looked much the same twenty years ago -- but all the better for it: the shuttle footage on the floor-to-ceiling screens during Rocket, with their silhouettes out front, as they played on the three different levels, was fantastic. The whole show was great; everything I thought it would be -- Phil was still shirtless! -- and more. They seemed genuinely appreciative of the reception: Joe reminisced about driving back to Sheffield in a beat-up van in '79, having just opened for a band in Manchester: “You know, Manchester is really f*****' great.” And they ended saying, “Don't forget us; we won't forget you.” Good times!

Pubs

It's tough to choose between my two favourite pubs of the weekend. I think the Port St. Beer House has it by a nose: two levels, and not silly busy on the Saturday night we popped in, it hit a cosy rec room note we both took to immediately. The staff were knowledgeable and friendly: as usual Tea asked for a recommendation, and the barman's "Stunning!" for Thornbridge's Colorado Red was bang-on. Similarly, he raved about a recently-acquired saison that was a collaboration between local Marble Beers and Dark Star brewer, Mark Tranter; and with good reason: honestly, this may be the best beer I've ever tasted. So rich and smooth for a 9%, and much more than I'd dreamed a saison could be -- and I'm a big fan of Saison Dupont, understand.

Other hits of the evening included:

Utility IPA from Marble: excellent, even after the Colorado Red, which is saying something
Great Divide's Rumble: an oak aged IPA; so smooth, with caramel notes
Redwillow's Ageless, a beautiful Imperial IPA
BrewDog's Winter Porter
Otley's O-Ho-Ho: while good, it obviously paled in comparison to the heavy hitters

Enjoying a pint at the Old Wellington

Coming in a very close second was our second-to-last pub of the trip: the Knott Bar in Deansgate, Greater Manchester CAMRA Regional Pub of the Year 2010. The exterior wasn't much to look at from the side we approached, but a big grin broke out when I first stepped inside: really interesting, but understated decor, comfortable furniture, and, again, very friendly staff with a clear appreciation for real ale. They recommended Moor Beer Company's Southern Star, which was a great, hoppy pale. Marble's Bitter was the winner of the stop, although Redwillow's Heartless was an excellent stout. And as if that wasn't enough, the Irish (lamb) stew on special came bone-in; absolutely delicious. The bar is set in a former railway arch, and the periodic rumbling of the trains overhead was the icing on the cake.

Other stops included:

The Old Wellington can't be missed. The surrounding Shambles -– and it really was in '96 -– is a must-see, and whilst you're there, you could do far worse than this twice-moved landmark. Over two visits, Acorn's Barnsley Bitter, Itchen Valley's Treacle Stout, Rudgate's Auld Saint Nic and Venus Black IPA were all excellent.
Kro Piccadilly was right outside our hotel, and a great place to watch the wet-at-the-time world go by. The pump clip with Elbow's Build a Rocket Boys! called to me: slightly sweet with caramel notes, it went down very well; a good session beer.
Microbar, in Arndale Market: the location is small and odd, but it really works. Strands Brewery's Brown Bitter and Ellands Brewery's Tinsel Ticklers were both great (the latter being hoppy and bright, with a hint of orange rind).
Bulls Head: the guide hits the right note on this pub: smacks of professionalism and intimacy; quite the feat for a pub so close to the train station. Had Boondoggle and the Ugly Sisters, and was impressed by the latter.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the long weekend.

Berlin: "Even monkeys know this!"

2011-11-27T12:06:00.000Z

Early Tuesday morning we caught the Orlybus, right outside our hotel, to Paris-Orly airport for our Air Berlin flight to Tegel. It couldn't have gone smoother: the bus ride was less than half an hour, our packs fit perfectly in the overhead compartments, and we got these delicious fresh pretzels filled with butter as a snack on the short flight.

The cab ride to our apartment in Prenzlauer Berg, in former East Berlin, was one of the most entertaining of our lives: every taboo associated with the country's history had come up before we were even off the airport property, and it just went from there. A Berliner of Moroccan decent, he was nine when the wall came down. When asked what it was like, he said that the former East Berliners "just went crazy." Suddenly the world was available to them, and they wanted it in a single bite. "Bananas... They went crazy for them. But they didn't know how to open them. We had to teach them! Even monkeys know this!" While he was definitely hamming it up for us, a picture of the time emerged from the hyperbole.

What sticks with me now is how adrift he seemed: unable to fit in in the city of his birth because of the colour of his skin, his hair -- he told stories about a professor who was excited to supervise his work until they met face-to-face, fares now saying how good his German is and asking when he will be going home, the constant searches every time he travels -- and unable to fit in in Morocco (where his parents have now retired) because he doesn't speak Arabic. He repeated many times how he would leave Berlin after university; go anywhere else in Europe.

In some very small way, I could sympathize with his plight: as friendly as the Brits have been to us these last two years, those constant questions about how long we've been here, when we're going home, etc., ensure that this never truly feels like home. I am more thankful than ever that I do have a place to call home; where everyone sounds like me and... Well, I could go on and on about how much I've come to appreciate Canada, but let's get back to Berlin.

The main purpose of this leg of the trip was to see a few of the 50-odd Christmas markets and 80-odd pubs -- with Around Berlin in 80 Beers as our guide -- the city has to offer. I'll highlight a few of each, quickly comment on the others we visited, and then finish with the other sights we took in in between, during our five days in the German capital.

Note: all the places I'll mention were easily reachable from our apartment in Prenzlauer Berg, including what is considered the more remote borough of Spandau; cheaply as well: the passes we used for the whole trip, purchased at a convenience store near our apartment, gave us passage on any train (U- and S-Bahn) or tram, all for little more than €30 each.

Weihnachtsmarkts (Christmas Markets)

Topping our list is the WeihnachtsZauber Gendarmenmarkt, nestling between the French and German Cathedrals. We first happened upon it as the early sunset drew the afternoon fog to evening. It was almost magical, with the festive lights, smells and music, and the bigger city left in the mists. We enjoyed it so much that we stopped by the next day, enjoying delicious fried potato medallions, sausages and mulled wine before making our way to Checkpoint Charlie.

Next up would have to be the market at Charlotteburg Palace. Approaching it at night, walking up Schloss (Palace) Strasse, was a treat; it really was beautifully lit. With a good mix of outdoor stalls and heated indoor shopping, it was easy to spend some time there as well. Some local celebrities seemed to be on hand the night we visited: we turned a corner to find the avenue of stalls lit bright white, cameras following these two wide-smiling folks slowly making their way along, chatting with 'locals' in a clearly staged manner.

Other Christmas markets we visited included:

Alexanderplatz: a frequent stop, as it was closest to our apartment. Dominated by an enormous, beautifully-lit replica of a Christmas Pyramid, all in the shadow of Television Tower.
Der Grosse Berliner: like a fair or ex, with big rides and shooting galleries amongst the usual stalls and tasty fare.
Nostalgischer Weihnachtsmarkt: a nice market in Berlin's historic centre. Chips in a paper cone was a rare (and tasty!) treat there.
Potsdamer Platz: surrounded by skyscrapers, including the beautiful Sony Center (more on that later), we learned about the Hungarian origins of trdelnik (a Tea favourite) and bombed down a man-made icy slope in an inner tube!
City Weihnachtsmarkt: a bustling market in the shadow of the unique Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church.
Spandau Weihnachtsmarkt: about twenty minutes west of the famous Friedrichstrasse station by commuter train, this was well worth the trip. It had a small town feel and great community spirit. Plus the stalls serving Baileys in cocoa were a big hit. (And there was a great brewpub out there as well; more on that shortly.)
Lucia Weihnachtsmarkt in Kulturbrauerei: the last one we visited, with a medieval feel. There was some sort of reading going on in a nearby warehouse; the place had an awesome vibe. I saw German translations of Craig Thompson and Guy Delisle favourites on sale.

Stephen at Weihnachtsmarkt Alexanderplatz

Pubs and Brewpubs

Tea gave me a copy of Around Berlin in 80 Beers by Peter Sutcliffe a few days before we left, and, for me, it made the trip. There are just so many choices in Berlin -- well, in Germany in general, from what I've seen -- that you need a plan going in. This was reinforced right from the outset, as our first pick, Brauhaus Mitte, was amazing, and my #1 of those we visited. Everything Sutcliffe says is bang-on: you'd never know you're in a mall -- great atmosphere, really -- and while all four of their beers (brewed on-site) in the sampler were tasty, their Hefeweisse Hell was the star. And to top it all off, the meal was excellent as well.

"Tastes like chicken!"

My second choice is a bit tougher. In the end, I'll go with another brewpub, Lindenbrau, for a few reasons: we could see the roof of the beautiful Sony Center from where we were sitting; the one beer they brew, their Hofbrau-Weiße, was excellent; and, most importantly, when Tea asked the waiter to surprise her with a meal, not only did he fail to hesitate, he brought the winning meal in our minds: this beautiful cooked breast of duck. Great spot!

Other pubs we visited included:

zum Paddenwirt: a quiet, cosy pub; we'd popped in for a snack, and their soups hit the spot.
Mommsen-Eck (Haus der 100 Biere): yeah, that's a hundred beers, all right. Sutcliffe's recommendation was perfect: a rauchbier or smoked lager. The best bit? When I ordered it, the waiter got this big ole smile on his face, "Tastes like chicken!" He wasn't wrong.
Berliner Republik: great li'l' irreverent pub. Inspired by Tea's success at Lindenbrau, we all got fowl -- duck, duck, goose as she kept saying all night. Great food, I enjoyed my krug (two?) of Zwick'l, and we stuck around to see the stock ticker of beer prices start up: prices fluctuate based on volumes ordered!
Brauhaus in Spandau: as stated earlier, this is a bit out from the centre, but well worth the trip. As Sutcliffe says, their property is almost a neighbourhood, and there's a really warm, welcoming atmosphere. We tried their strong, deceptively smooth Weihnachtsbier (or seasonal specialty) and lighter Havelbrau, as well as enjoying a great supper.
Zillemarkt: the 'house beer' Zillebrau (technically, brewed off-site, but specifically for them) was excellent, as were our meals: my cabbage roll was epic! The works of Heinrich Zille are also on display throughout, and well worth a peek.
Alois S.: last, but not least, it's more of a restaurant (specializing in tapas, actually) than a pub. Unfortunately, they no longer have the Augustiner Edelstoff on tap, but the brewery's Hell is still very good. We tested it as a late night dessert spot, and, wow, did it blow our socks off. A great end to the trip.

The 'stock ticker' in Berliner Republik

Note: a comment or two about two misses:

Eschenbrau: doesn't open 'til later. I have no excuse, as Sutcliffe lists all the hours for every entry, but as it's a bit out of the way (in Wedding) and I was very disappointed to find it closed, I just thought I'd highlight it.
Willy Bresch: probably because it was so close to our apartment, I took this one for granted. Don't. Set aside a weeknight for it if you can, as it's really small, and, when busy, as it was the Friday we tried to go, incredibly smoky. (And I'm not normally overly bothered by that sort of thing.) A shame, as it's Sutcliffe's favourite pub in Berlin.

Sights

Visiting the Berlin Wall Memorial was a humbling experience. Across the street from the remaining section, the view on high really drives home how much more it was than a wall. Historical accounts, both there and at the Checkpoint Charlie Museum, were so immersive: they even had some of the modes of escape on display in the latter. Finally, the Window of Remembrance (also at the memorial) seemed to dampen all ambient sound: as I stared at the portraits of all those who died trying to escape, it seemed that nature itself mirrored the solemn moment.

The first victim shot trying to escape after the wall went up in '61

The nearby Chapel of Reconciliation provides a segue for the lasting impression the city left on me: that of a creative hub, still working to reinvent itself. The architecture on display -- the chapel, the Sony Center, and the Reichstag Dome all being excellent examples -- really made a big impression on me. It truly is a beautiful city.

Inside the Chapel of Reconciliation

Speaking of the Reichstag, you have to book tours of the Dome in advance. Luckily we found this out early enough in the trip to book a slot in the morning of our last full day in Berlin. What an impressive structure! That, the view, and the excellent audio guide made for an entertaining and educational hour or so -- from detailing the skyline, to discussion of how the cone reflects light down to the parliament floor and reclaims water, to describing the functions of the government itself. Certainly a highlight of the trip!

Although I was a bit too young (and immature) to appreciate the significance of those views of the Brandenburg Gate in 1989, no one can approach it today, particularly at night along Unter den Linden, free from the weight of history. That evening we then cut across the immense Tiergarten parkland to Potsdamer Platz, the leaves crunching underfoot in the near black adding to the solemnity of the occasion.

Finally, we spent a few hours in the Berlin Zoo as well. Highlights included the hippopotamuses -- one of the young ones stole the show -- the condors -- the whoop, whoop of their wings as they flew from perch to perch was truly awesome -- and the lions at feeding time: nearly wet my pants during the latter, if I'm honest; that cage looked like tinfoil by the time they all finally had their huge chunks o' meat.

Up next: the trip movie!

PS: Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Paris: The Gold Ring

2011-11-21T23:30:00.000Z

That's a tip of the hat to a great scene in one of my favourite movies, Pulp Fiction, where the one and only Christopher Walken, as Captain Koons, returns a family heirloom -- The Gold Watch -- to five-year-old Butch.

Read on for the story of the ring.

As we knew we only had one day in Paris, we got up early again and caught the commuter train from Disneyland in, our must-see lists in hand. Since Tea and I had been before, we started on Stephen and Nancy's list, after dropping our packs at the hotel. First up was the Catacombs, a block from where we were staying; unfortunately, they're closed on Monday (boo!), so we caught the metro to Île aux Cygnes to see the replica of the Statue of Liberty (a little over a quarter the size of the one on Ellis Island).

The Isle of the Swans was an oasis in the bustling city; a view that seems to be shared by the locals, given all the joggers we saw. From there, we grabbed some delicious baguette sandwiches to go, making our way to the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

The line-up for the first level wasn't bad at all, so we bought tickets and up we climbed. 328 steps. We were rewarded with an amazing view (once we'd caught our breath). Plus, unlike some, I find the structure itself to be beautiful, and much more so when you're amongst it, even. (Tea, Kae and I didn't spend much time there on our previous trip, and didn't go up.)

The Gold Ring

Once we'd walked along the Seine to the Flame of Liberty, that marked a good dent in Stephen and Nancy's list, so it was off to Montmartre. Along the way, as we admired the Alexander III bridge and l'Hôtel national des Invalides in the distance, a woman approached Stephen. In her hand was a gold ring the likes of which I've never seen; truly, it was like a Ring of Power, and all the more so when she began pointing at what I thought was an inscription, asking if it was Stephen's. (Well, it was an inscription -- no, nothing to do with ruling or binding -- but one supposedly indicating its purity; not a name or dedication, as I'd assumed. I only found that out later, after talking with Stephen.)

As Stephen faded back she turned to me, saying she'd just found it, and asking whether it was mine. She was sort of musing, though, it seemed to me, and with what I took to be wonderment, muttered something about bonne chance. Seizing on the chance to use my limited French, I jumped in with, "Ah, oui, c'est la bonne chance!" and made to move on. Well, at that point she started saying that she couldn't keep it, and that I should take it. I was shaking my head, no, no, with my hand up, and she kept pressing, both verbally, and with the ring, on my vertical palm.

I did manage to get away in the end, but it left me feeling a bit down. To this day, I'm so naive, and normally don't fare so well in those situations. Turns out this is very common in Paris (also called The Drop), although this woman never got to the asking for money bit.

* * *

At the Place de la Concorde we took another detour... for our first Christmas market of the trip! A complete surprise, it was a great way to get us all excited about what awaited us in Berlin. Our tummies full of mulled wine, pastries and smoked fish -- not all at once; trust me, it was awesome -- we hopped the metro to Montmartre and the Sacré-Cœur Basilica.

Om nom nom!

Sacré-Cœur Basilica

Avoiding the bracelet scam, we took a few minutes to enjoy the view and great people watching. The latter continued in spades as we sat outside a café in Place du Tertre, at first for wine, and then, tempted by the smells from the kitchen, for a full meal that included onion soup, beef bourguignon and escargot. Thanks to the heat lamps, we were there well past dark.

Place du Tertre

We then caught the metro back to our hotel, stopping off for a nightcap at the nearby l’Académie de la Bière, specializing in Belgian beer. With friendly staff, a cozy atmosphere and an impressive beer menu, it was the perfect way to close out the day.

l’Académie de la Bière

Up next: Berlin, Germany

PS: Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Disneyland Paris: "I need a Captain EO."

2011-11-20T23:08:00.000Z

On the Disney property, just behind our hotel

We got up nice 'n' early on Saturday to walk to St. Pancras, which was a breeze with backpacks. (We're seriously wondering if we'll ever vacation with luggage again, in fact.) The Eurostar took us to Lille, where we switched to the TVG (high-speed train) to Marne-la-Vallée – Chessy, inside Disneyland Paris. After quickly checking in at Sequoia Lodge, it was off to the parks, to make the most of our day and a half there.

The all-important "picking of the ears"

Highlights of our time there included:

The Christmas tree trimming in the Disneyland Park; we arrived in time for the unveiling.
That first glimpse of le château de la belle au bois dormant (Sleeping Beauty Castle) lit up at night.
It's A Small World: we all adore that ride. (It was my favourite part of the parks, actually; it satisfies something deep down in me.)
Space Mountain: Mission 2: we were expecting something along the lines of the original Space Mountain, 'til we saw the shoulder restraints; it's more like the Aerosmith Rock 'n' Roller Coaster, and all the better for the unexpected thrill.
Goofin' around on Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast: the girls had to take care of Zorg, as Stephen and I were too busy trying to screw up each other's shots.
The big roaring fireplace, open on two sides, in the Sequoia Lodge; a great way to banish the last of the evening's chill.
The Mad Hatter's Tea Cups, lit up beautifully with Chinese lanterns.

Early on, Stephen pointed out the profusion of what he deemed "space coats": puffy, shiny and ribbed, we then couldn't fail to see them, on adults, teenagers, kids, whole families. Maybe the French are starting something.

Finally, the subtitle comes from that 80s ride, which was playing in the Disneyland Park. Stephen told us about how he fell asleep in it the first time 'round, in the 80s, and was looking forward to seeing whether what he remembered was in the movie or just his dreams. Well, needless to say, history repeated itself, and he took Tea with him this time. (It was a euphemism for a nap from then on.)

I found it really interesting, the way it obviously liberally borrowed from Star Wars, as well as the H. R. Giger Alien, while at the same time clearly inspiring those who would design the Borg: particularly their housings and the Queen.

All in all, we had a great time. It was surreal, standing in spots we'd swear we'd been before, only those were now some 7000 kilometres away. We all agreed that Tea summed it up best: while Disneyland Park was a fantastic copy of the Magic Kingdom in Orlando, you couldn't help feeling that it lacked depth; like there was something missing, below the surface. (Which is true, of course, as it is smaller.)

Up next: Paris, France

PS: Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

London: "Don't cross Euston Road at night!"

2011-11-19T07:21:00.000Z

We took the train to London on Friday afternoon to meet Nancy and Stephen, who'd flown in over night. From Paddington, the four of us decided to go straight to the hotel, the Thistle Euston, so Tea and I could discard our packs -- while the specially purchased 40-odd-litre backpacks were working out well, we saw no need to push our endurance right out of the gate.

That accomplished, it was supper time. After picking up our Eurostar tickets for the morning, the reality of the pop-in on a Friday night in London smacked us square in the face: we struck out a number of times before happening upon a sign pointing us to Thai food. Nancy and Stephen were a bit skeptical -- not of the cuisine, I should point out, though it would be Stephen's first taste of Thai -- standing outside the Dolphin, but once we assured them that our favourite Thai back home was also served in a well-worn pub -- specifically, at the Suffolk Arms -- they warmed up to the idea.

Aside: the funny thing was, later that night, at the Skinners Arms -- great pub, incidentally -- Nancy got talking to this American journalist now based in London, pretty much spitting distance from the Dolphin. He waxed lyrical about a number of subjects, including, importantly, how rough the Dolphin is -- like the Tooth Fairy lost a night's spoils out front come any given Saturday morning, apparently -- and, get this, how we should never cross Euston Road at night. He made to bless us when we squeaked how we'd have to do that very thing to get back to our hotel. Small wonder it was such a steal!

However, never fear, dear reader: we had a fantastic meal at the Dolphin -- so good, in fact, that that was Stephen's meal of choice at the end of the trip as well, back in Cheltenham, although from Thai Emerald (also excellent), as the Suffolk Arms doesn't serve it on Sundays -- enjoyed a few pints at the Skinners Arms and then at the lovely Bree Louise -- they were hosting a Disney themed fancy dress party, and us with tickets for Disneyland Paris the next day; you can't make this stuff up -- and made it back to the hotel safe 'n' sound.

For you real ale fans, highlights of the evening included:

Titanic's Anchor: lovely gold, with a big kick of bitter hops
Facers' Landslide (gravity fed!)
Ascot Ales' Winter Reserve (also gravity fed)
Otley's O8: first time I'd tried this "deceptively smooth" beauty

Up next: Disneyland, French style!

Bright Lights and Beacons

2011-11-06T22:14:00.000Z

The view from our roof

Another beautiful weekend is winding down. Friday evening was rather wet, but that didn't stop me from showing a friend, in town for just the day, my favourite pub and chippy. The weather really picked up on Saturday, setting the stage for gunpowder and treason -- or at least much fire in their remembrance. After a bit of hemming and hawing, we settled on taking in the spectacle from Cleeve Hill. A quick stop at B & Q for torches -- i.e., flashlights; should've put that one on our list -- and then we were in it.

It's difficult to describe how surreal it was, standing up on Cleeve Common, lit by moonlight alone, watching fireworks go off randomly all over the town, as far as the eye could see. In some cases we'd wait six or seven seconds before the bangs, pops and crackles (h'm, I'm hungry) would reach us, and then others would fly over our heads in an instant cacophony, as fellow Common squatters joined the party.

Aside: for the movie fans, I kept alternating between that opening shot of the city in Blade Runner, with those flames shooting up, and something out of The Crow, like Devil's Night, almost a week late. Surreal, in any event.

We stopped at a grocery store on the way home and picked up some mulled wine and appetizers for board game night -- a favourite way to spend an evening, now British style, with sausage rolls, egg bites and falafel augmenting the usual Italian meats, cheeses, bread, hummus, chicken wings, etc. We decided to try The Rivals For Catan this time, a two-player take on the better known Settlers... We were both impressed: lots of paths to victory, and for screwing over your rival in the pursuit of it. Plus, once you've mastered the basic game, there are three 'era' expansion packs included.

* * *

We struck out around noon today for Great Malvern, set on conquering the Worcestershire Beacon well before sundown. Tea was brimming with confidence, and would hear none of my burning quads after those first '99 steps' of the Rose Bank Gardens that open the walk. The temperature was perfect: we were just right in our long sleeves, even in the brisk wind on the crests of the lower hills (so long as we stayed in the sun). And the view from the top was fantastic: parts of thirteen counties can be seen on a clear day, apparently, and we certainly had that.

"Yay! We made it!"

The bar in the Great Malvern Hotel

Having worked up an appetite, we made our way to the Unicorn in Great Malvern. An old haunt of C. S. Lewis, it's probably seen better days; still, the staff were really friendly, the roast pork was excellent, and they did have Ringwood Best Bitter on tap. I then convinced Tea that we couldn't leave town without trying a pub from the GBG. The bar in the Great Malvern Hotel was what we settled on; such a homey place, with some interesting ales on when we visited: I tried Sharp's Red Ale, and enjoyed it.

P.S.: I've uploaded a few other pictures from the day, as well.

Homecoming

2011-10-25T04:11:00.000+01:00

It's our last night in Ottawa. It's been great, catching up with friends, some of whom we haven't seen in more than two years. It seems trite, but living abroad has opened our eyes to this beautiful city; Tea confessed as much to me yesterday, as, independently, it was coalescing for me.

My heart will always be on the east coast, but I can now imagine a life here again, in a year or so.

The Great British Cheese Festival

2011-09-25T17:21:00.000+01:00

Despite the grim forecast, we stuck to our plan of yet another day out in Cardiff; this time, for the Great British Cheese Festival, held on the castle grounds. We met Button at the train station, backpacks stuffed for all occasions with both a blanket and rain gear. We hadn't bought tickets in advance, and were brought up short by the massive line that stretched on in front of the castle. Luckily, however, it moved quickly, and we soon found ourselves on the grounds with an hour 'til our guided tour.

While Tea and Button made their way to the star of the show, I peeled off for the beer tent. Folks were seven and eight deep in front of the bar at that point, so it took me right up 'til tour time to get the two half pints I'd settled on: Sambrook's Wandle Ale -- I'd be wanting to try Sambrook's for a while now -- and Thornbridge's Sequoia. Well worth it, let me say; particularly the latter. (And I'd just brought a mini cask of their Jaipur to a leaving do the night before; you can't have too much Thornbridge in your life, I've decided.) The ladies helped me polish those off sharpish, and we made it to the start of the tour with a minute or two to spare.

After a fantastic guided tour, we met up with more friends, in Cardiff for the start of their holiday in Wales. Tea bought more cheese and breads, I bought a few remaining bottles of the popular Untapped Brewery's stock, and we filled up on Pieminister goodness. Unfortunately, as we ate and drank, watching the surprisingly competitive cheese tossing, they closed the keep. Button was undaunted, however, and amiable to our second choice for exercise: walking to Cardiff Bay; something Tea and I had talked about for as long as we'd been visiting Cardiff, but never done.

The Roald Dahl Plass (or plaza) was really something to see, but it was the smell of the sea -- and the freshwater lake before it, created by the barrage -- that hit us first. The Wales Millennium Centre, the Water Tower, and the Senedd -- home of the Welsh Government -- were all a feast for the eyes, particularly in the light of the setting sun. While we didn't make it all the way to the barrage, we made a good effort, treating ourselves to a taxi back to the castle afterwards. From there, we had time for a quick stop at Zero Degrees to buy a mini cask of the Oktoberfestbier I missed last weekend before catching the train home.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

Cardiff: day out

2011-09-18T11:40:00.000+01:00

It's been another great weekend so far. Mom's last one of this trip. We took Friday off, and with poor weather predicted for the weekend, decided to make the most of the sun with a day out in Cardiff. It's become a ritual to stop at Coffee #1 near the train station: they're really friendly, and always have a tempting selection of treats on display. After I'd ordered Triple Belgian Chocolate Brownies and tea for my ladies, the woman behind the counter said, "I have to ask. Where are you from?" My response brought gushes, not only from her, but also from the woman behind Mom in the queue: family, friends who'd been, loved it, wanted to go back, saving to go. The consistent enthusiasm for Canada that I've encountered in the UK and abroad over these past two years fills me with such pride. I really do count myself lucky -- the accident of my birth, as they say -- more fundamentally than I did back home, even as a proud Canadian and a proud Newfoundlander.

The Cardiff Market was our next stop: for welsh cakes and a browse of secondhand books; another ritual. Tea had a bit of shopping to do as well, so we agreed to meet at the castle later on. A new favourite of mine is the microbrewery Zero Degrees, and while I was a day too early for their Oktoberfestbier, I enjoyed a pint of their seasonal amber ale before meeting Tea and Mom at the gates of Cardiff Castle.

They'd added a new World War II shelter exhibit since our last visit. The kitchen display caught Mom's eye: she pointed out the old oil heater, imposing at three feet or so, and cast-iron with a large handle: they had one when she was growing up, to heat the front room or parlour when guests were over; the only source of heat outside the kitchen stove.

Mom w. Brains Dark at the Goat Major

We toured the walls, grounds and keep 'til closing, and then popped across the street for a pint at the Goat Major. A Brains pub with an impressive history of guest ales (if the pump clips behind the bar are any indication), we enjoyed pints of Brains' Legends, Dark and gravity-dispensed SA in its warm atmosphere. It was only as we made our way to Zero Degrees for supper that we realized we'd missed a heavy rain shower.

Once there, we had a great meal on an interior balcony that overlooked the kitchen. Tea and Mom were mesmerized by the delicate dance around the wood oven -- their menu focusses on pizza, which Tea again raved about. Plus, Mom really enjoyed their Mango Ale. I can't say enough about their Pale Ale -- a really nice hoppy character I keep going to back to -- and I finished with a half pint of their Black Lager: nice body with heavy coffee notes.

Supper at Zero Degrees

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

* * *

Yesterday, we were invited to a big barbecue the Americans had organized at Witcombe Cricket Club. We even got to be guest judges at their chili competition, a highly-anticipated annual event. (I had a tough time, going back for seconds to break ties, but persevered -- yes, the consummate professional, folks.) It was a fantastic atmosphere: great spread, games for the kids, and nice location and weather (early on, anyway) -- they even had an ice cream truck show up!

Later, we took Mom to see Jane Eyre, which we all really enjoyed; particularly the setting. And speaking of film, I should sign off and grab a shower; the main event (from my Mom's point of view) is on deck as a matinee: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. She's over the moon that it opened here ahead of the North American release.

The Third Annual Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer Festival

2011-09-11T14:34:00.000+01:00

Tea and I have made an appearance at the Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer and Wine Festival each of the three years it's been running. It's improving every year, and always seems to be well attended. We normally go on the Sunday, but yesterday was a nice change: the evening band in particular really dialled things up from the typically relaxed atmosphere, getting folks on their feet.

They planned for all weather as well; handy, given how the sky simply opened late in the afternoon; just bucketed for a good half hour, with uncommon thunder and lightning. The marquee held up well, though, and soon the festivities were spread out over the cricket grounds again.

The beers were excellent as well. My favourite had to be the Lakeland Lager, by Hawkshead Brewery, up in the Lake District. An odd choice, you might think, but, as they (and many others) say on their site, it's an excellent style that's got a bad name in the last few decades. I simply couldn't pass up the chance to try a cask-conditioned lager, and I'm so glad I did: what the tasting notes refer to as a dry character almost approached a sourness, for me, and put me in mind of some of the lambics I've enjoyed; really exciting and refreshing. And now, reading Hawkshead's own notes, it's mostly brewed for the bottle, not the cask, so I count myself doubly fortunate.

Mom, at last year's festival

Other favourites included:

Boggart Hole Clough Brewery's Dark Mild
Kelham Island Brewery's Pale Rider
Burton Bridge Brewery's Damson Porter and Bramble Stout
Stroud Brewery's Tom Long
Prescott Brewery's Hill Climb: old, local, wonderful standby

The Magical Forest (of Dean)

2011-09-09T22:30:00.000+01:00

We decided to make the most of a day off, and headed for Puzzlewood before noon. The rain held off, and there was barely another soul in the wood, making for a magical afternoon. It's easy to see how Tolkien was inspired; the range of vegetation and colour is truly surreal.

Having worked up an appetite, it was time for the second half of our plan: high tea at Aunt Martha's Victorian Tea Rooms in Drybrook. Tea had it on good authority that they offered an authentic Victorian experience -- and were a hoot to boot. Well, they're that and more. Nadine and "Old Ned" were so hospitable and entertaining: four hours simply flew by; we didn't even realise (and they certainly never hinted at) how long passed closing we'd kept them, chatting and touring their gardens.

But, for me, it was the sentiments echoed by a previous celiac customer -- relayed by Nadine, as we sampled tasty scones and "just tea" -- that stick with me now: I felt normal, eating there. Nadine herself has suffered from gluten and lactose intolerance in the past, and decided early on that she wanted to be able to enjoy all the treats on offer in her tea room. Both Mom and Tea raved about these savoury and sweet treats, and eventually I shed my trepidation, then diving in with gusto. It was a bit like a dream, to be honest, such was this sense of coming home, eating food I hadn't had much of, or enjoyed with such carefree abandon, since childhood.

We got chatting to some caravanners there who recommended Symonds Yat Rock and its impressive vistas, and so decided to push our luck with the grey clouds and waning daylight. That view of the River Wye really is amazing, and we spent a good hour gazing about, hoping to catch a glimpse of the peregrines that nest nearby. We did hear a number of birds of prey, and saw what I believe was a buzzard fly very close by; pretty good, considering the peregrine hunting season is finished now.

As the wind picked up, we decided a pub was in order. Tea's CAMRA Good Beer Guide application had a number of suggestions off the drive home. At random, we picked the Red Hart Inn in Blaisdon, and, oh my goodness, what a find! They do have a nice selection on the handpumps, but it's the atmosphere and the food that really set this place apart: the staff are uncommonly friendly, from the owner right down to the folks bussing the tables. Mom has to stick to a fairly strict diet, which they accommodated with ease. Tea and I had the pork belly, which had been slow roasting all afternoon; simply amazing. And they served it with blood pudding -- the first time I'd had it outside breakfast -- which was some of the best I've had, truth be told.

If you're getting the impression that it was a stellar day, my job is done. It really did exceed all expectations, and now sets the bar very high for days out in Gloucestershire.

Mom in London

2011-09-04T15:42:00.000+01:00

[Kept a few notes from our weekend in London with Mom.]

September 3, 2011

On the train to Paddington this morning for a weekend in London with Mom. Got the tube to Victoria Station and checked in at Topham's. After lunch at the Victoria, it was off to the London Eye, tops on Mom's To Do list. (Passed Buckingham Palace on the way, moseyed through St. James's Park.) The line for the Eye was out of sight, so we opted for Fast Track tickets. They let us use them straight away, despite their being for a few hours' time, meaning that the wait to get on wasn't much longer than the ten minutes it took to get tickets. Win!

After a stop for refreshments at St. Stephen's Tavern, we picked up our tickets for Billy Elliot at the Victoria Palace Theatre and went back to the hotel to get ready. The Palace Theatre was so ornate, with lush reds and velvets anywhere it wasn't. Before the curtain rose, the production manager was on stage telling us that tonight was a special night: it was Scott McKenzie's hundredth, and last, performance as Billy. He'd been away from his folks -- who just happened to be sat right behind us, we soon found out -- for 22 months, and performing the role for the last year.

What a send off they gave him!

I found the material was supercharged that evening: what I imagine as Scott's own experiences mirrored in this slice of Billy's life. Any scene about Billy's leaving home gave rise to fresh sniffles and clearing of throats behind us, and ended with thunderous roars and applause. (The Scots and Geordies -- for there were lots of the latter in attendance, let me tell you -- really know how to show their appreciation!)

The show ends with Billy leaving up the centre aisle, only to run back for the curtain call. They'd moved Scott's mom up to the front during the intermission, and he stopped mid run to give her a big kiss and hug -- Pretty sure the whole theatre melted.

We all really enjoyed the show. It was almost like, for those few hours, we all had a small hand in raising this talented young boy, bearing witness to this momentous time in his life... Or maybe I just got caught up in great theatre.

I think Mom was the most surprised, though: she'd hoped to see Les Misérables (which is booked up well out), and, I suspect, thought little else would measure up. Tea's (rightfully) lookin' pretty good about now: daughter in law extraordinaire!

* * *

Late last night, Tea booked us the 1230 slot to visit Buckingham Palace -- the only one still available; after a hearty hotel breakfast, we made our way to the National Gallery for the hours leading up to it. Favourites of this (short) visit were:

The Palace had changed since our last tour, flush with all things Kate: the dress, the cake, and the pictures. They'd also replaced the exhibit of the Queen's dresses with Royal Fabergé, much to Tea's disappointment.

From there, we dodged raindrops to Cask, West London's CAMRA Pub of the Year 2011. I cannot say enough about this spot; loved it to bits. They have a jaw-dropping selection of beers, good food, and genuinely friendly staff. (My only complaint is that they don't serve hot drinks; how am I supposed to sample all your wonderful delights if I can't keep Tea in the tea?)

It was an adventure of firsts for me; I was new to all these breweries, sampling:

Rooster's Hot Shot
Dark Star's Hophead: nice 'n' hoppy; not much to choose between these first two excellent beers
Mikkeller's Beer Geek Breakfast: lovely full body, coffee roast throughout
Magic Rock Brewing's Double IPA, Human Cannonball: dangerously drinkable, with a pine nose very reminiscent of the legendary Black Ops

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

Tewkesbury: "Is that mint?"

2011-08-21T22:32:00.000+01:00

With a lazy day yesterday, we were set to soak up the sun today. We decided to try one of the walks we'd picked up some time ago at the tourist information centre in Tewkesbury: almost nine kilometres, from Tewkesbury to Deerhurst and back, mostly along the River Severn.

After a bit of browsing in Bookworm -- where I found a few more Ward Lock Red Guides -- we started to make our way back to the car, which was parked near the Abbey and the start of our walk. The impressive exterior of the Royal Hop Pole caught my eye, however, and, much to my surprise, Tea was amenable to my mutterings about historical buildings and our only ever visiting Tewkesbury during their winter ale festival (in 2010 and again in 2011). My sort of hike, I thought, moments later, a pint of Grand Prix in hand.

In all honesty, it really is a beautiful hotel. As is the Bell Hotel, further down the road. We'd made it that far when we decided our substantial breakfast of sausages and eggs had been a few too many hours ago. An amazing pork roast later -- with a pint of Greene King's lovely St Edmunds to wash it down, in my case -- we finally felt fit for our challenge.

As we made our way down to the river, the view of the Malvern Hills stopped us short: such colours, and sheep dotting the landscape to near the horizon. It really was a beautiful day, and it was great to see so many people out enjoying it: whenever we passed picnic tables, they bore their namesake. Other families spread out on blankets near the path. (Never to the point of crowding, of course, with that rural British sense of space you'll always find, outside the hubs of London, Brum, etc. anyway.)

We picked out a solitary swing in the distance, as we left the paved road behind at the Cheltenham College Boat House. Tea had to stop for a few minutes, of course. Swinging idly, she pointed at some plants nearby. "Is that mint?" A new fan of real mint tea, I eagerly descended upon it, ready to rub it vigorously to release that wonderful scent. Far too late to alter my course, I hear, "Or is it poison ivy?" The next instant is a bit of a blur, as I yelped, staggering backward and staring at my hand in horror, certain that full needles fashioned of some fibrous matter to rival steel would now be bristling from my fingertips.

I'd imagine I had some sort of run in with stinging nettles in my childhood. You'd never know it, though, the way I wailed, and later snivelled, about my burning, then tingling, extremities. (It's with thoughts of you, dear reader, that I persevere with that pain even now, typing this missive.)

Once we'd reached Odda's Chapel, the guide's author struggled for notable landmarks. Or, rather, we struggled to find them amongst the various pens and fields of a nearby farm. With the sun dipping, we decided to retrace our steps; those views were definitely worth a second look, and the light was even better at that hour.

You can find more pictures from the day in our Tewkesbury to Deerhurst album.

Snowshill: "I've never been so uninteresting to bees"

2011-07-26T20:27:00.032+01:00

On Sunday we had some folks over for brunch to celebrate the birth of a friend's baby boy, Jonah. By mid afternoon, still coming down off the high of a good time, and barely organised to begin the clean, we dropped it all and hit the road for Snowshill. We'd been last fall, after the lavender harvest, and didn't mean to miss the spectacle of the flush fields a second time.

The website said mid July was the best time to see it -- when we were in London -- but even a week later, the harvest had only just begun. So many varieties and shades of lavender: fully 25, according to the flyer we got at the gate. It was surreal, to be honest; those sights, smells and sounds. I'll break it down: it looked like some big-budget sci-fi flick, with server farms interpreting some 50s dream of Mars. It smelled like the bath, according to Tea, particularly as we passed their distillery. (Other folks have since raised "like Gran's." Yup; full points.) And I've saved the best for last.

So - many - bees.

You couldn't call that sound buzzing. In the furrows, Tea's 50mm-equipped Rebel in hand -- she isn't a fan of bees, and her hair smelled like candy -- I can best describe it as a thrum; almost a pressure on your skin, and certainly like a constantly shifting one in your ears. Not unlike swimming underwater.

And - so - relaxing.

I've never been so uninteresting to bees. Ever.

Not repellent. More like I ceased to exist. And, yes, that even topped those beautiful views.

We decided to have supper at the Plough Inn in nearby Ford. While Tea navigated the small cart paths, I happened to catch sight of the sun as it topped an arc of these thick interwoven contrails, for all the world like the grand finale of a fireworks display at its apex, before it bursts in jaw-dropping blindness. (I'm reading The Book of Awesome right now. I'll leave my one word description of that moment as an exercise for the reader.)

We'd heard good things about the Sunday roast at the Plough Inn, and with good reason. (Thanks, Stew!) They have a lovely outdoor space, which is just perfect for days like this one, and the staff are super friendly. But it's the food that knocked our socks off: that pork was so tender, the homemade apple sauce just sweet enough, the dressing (stuffing to most of you, I guess, but the Newfies know what I'm on about) bready-herby heaven... We've had a lot of Sunday roasts and carveries, as faithful readers will know, and this one skyrocketed to the Top 3 after just a few bites. It may be the best. More testing is required. But don't worry; we're up for it.

Copenhagen: the long-awaited return to Tivoli!

2011-07-10T06:46:00.000+01:00

Tea, enjoying the ferris wheel at Tivoli Gardens

[These last few posts of the cruise were written as we sailed back to Amsterdam. We now continue on Thursday, July 7...]

Our last stop was Copenhagen, Denmark. Just a skip from the ship and that famous mermaid was lost in heartache before us.

Uh, no, the other one...

That's better

The walk along the waterfront to the Nyhavn was lovely. I have a soft spot for cities on the water, so by the time we'd stopped for coffee (slash cough pint), taking in those old wooden ships, I was near swooning for Copenhagen. The bill brought me closer to earth, mind -- Copenhagen is probably the most expensive city I've visited. Still, on a cruise littered with jaw-dropping canal shots -- in Amsterdam, of course, but also in Warnemunde and Stockholm -- these pictures are stars for me; particularly the ones from later in the day, when the sun came out.

Nyhavn

The Amazing Race shot on this very location a few days later!

Refreshed once more, we continued on. Our destination? Tivoli Gardens. Said to have inspired Walt Disney, it truly is a magical, lilliputian kingdom, nestled in the bustling city. It's founder, Georg Carstensen, said Tivoli would never be finished, and while the roller coasters and towering drop rides are anything but nineteenth century, the intricate open-air stages, elaborate fountains and rides like the tour of Hans Christian Andersen's works pleasingly harken back to what I see as a time of simpler pleasures.

The highlight of the park -- and the whole day, really -- had to be Tea's reactions: she'd been building Tivoli up so much, leading up to the cruise, and then during it; I couldn't see how it would live up to those special childhood memories. But it did; exceeding them even. It's so great to finally see all these places she's talked of for as long as I've known her, and just adds to the surreal nature of our time over here. I can't believe how these two years have flown by!

Speaking of time flying, such was the extent of our Tivoli fun that, by the time we left, we were entering that all-important "missing the boat" buffer we've learned to give ourselves (expert cruisers that we are /sarcasm). Still, there's always time for one last pint -- in this case, at the fantastic Brewpub København: beautiful, secluded outdoor space, excellent beers -- a must-see for beer lovers!

There was a real vibe to the city as we quickly walked back to the ship: whether it was the late afternoon visit from a previously-absent sun, the more respectable hour, or both and more besides, outdoor seating in the plazas and patios we passed was at a premium, and smiles and laughter abounded.

And so ended another fantastic trip. We all agreed it was our best cruise to date. Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day. And if you've stumbled here first, check out the other posts from the trip. (Finally, Stephen put together a movie of the trip; just write me or him if you'd like to see it.)

Tallinn: Canada rocks the archery contest

2011-07-09T21:30:00.000+01:00

Entering Old Town

[These last few posts of the cruise were written as we sailed back to Amsterdam. We now continue on Tuesday, July 5, returning from our two days in Russia...]

Our next stop was Tallinn, Estonia. Unlike many of the earlier stops, the Old Town -- one of the most beautifully preserved in Europe, we're told -- was but a short walk from the port. While we'd arrived very early, we did manage to find some coffee in the sleepy Town Hall Square, right in the impressive hall itself. (Which was a good thing, as it was a bit chilly.)

Town Hall, in the square of the same name

The highlight of the day was an archery contest we stumbled upon: Tea did well initially, as did I -- so long as you count perfectly lining the arrows up along the left-hand edge of the target as "well" -- but the star of the show was Stephen, who nearly doubled the top scores on the leader board with back-to-back 43s. We left with a nice bottle of Estonian wine, Canada dominating the standings.

Apparently I need rebalancing

Take that, Pepe!

Old Hansa

Archery works up a good appetite, so it was lucky that Alla had recommended a traditional restaurant, in the medieval style, right off Town Hall Square: Old Hansa was even better than we'd hoped, serving all sorts of interesting meats like bear, elk and wild boar, as well as their own beer, flavoured with honey or strong herbs.

Ketikoerad

We finished the afternoon with a spontaneous rock 'n' roll show near the pier -- the band was Ketikoerad, and they played a mean Born To Be Wild -- a bottle of the local porter from Saku in hand.

Up next: Copenhagen, Denmark

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

St. Petersburg: Day 2

2011-07-09T14:33:00.000+01:00

Outside the Hermitage on our first day in the city

[These last few posts of the cruise were written as we sailed back to Amsterdam. We now continue from our first day in Russia's second-largest city...]

The second day started with a ride on the metro. St. Petersburg's Metro stations fall under three distinct categories: Stalin's "Palaces for the people" of the 50s; the utilitarian ones built after his death, in the 60s; and, finally, a return to finery -- if with less controversial murals (e.g., of Peter the Great's favourite regiment).

The statue of Pushkin in the Pushkinskaya metro station

From there, we made our way out of the city proper, to Catherine's Palace. As we passed more communal housing, Alla explained its origins: before the Bolsheviks, whole floors of these beautiful buildings were rented or owned by nobility and those of means. After the revolution, accommodations were allocated based on family size: these apartments of old could now house dozens of families, all sharing bathroom and kitchen facilities, utility bills, etc.

Alla grew up like that, and attributes her parents' divorce in later years to those difficult conditions; and they only shared with one other family, who weren't alcoholics or loud students -- a rarity, according to her. Fourteen percent of the population still lives this way; ownership was transferred to the residents as part of Perestroika. Alla said that you can always pick out the communal spaces by the old windows in the once-beautiful façades.

Catherine's Palace

The Great Hall

Catherine's Palace -- Catherine I, not Catherine the Great -- was very busy. Still, seeing the Amber Room, fully restored -- at great expense -- was well worth it. Peterhof (Peter's Court) Palace was also busy, but as the tour covered the grounds as well, it was relaxing and enjoyable overall. As many of you will know, the highlight was the astounding fountains:

Fountains were intrinsic to Peter the Great's original plans for Peterhof -- it was the impossibility of engineering sufficiently powerful jets of water that prompted him to move his attentions from the Strelna site to Peterhof -- and subsequent generations competed with their predecessors to add grander, and ever more ingenious, water features [all without pumps!] to the parkland surrounding the Grand Palace.

Peterhof Palace

Us in front of the famous "Samson and the Lion" fountain

Part of the Grand Cascade

Absolutely stunning; and they must've been nothing short of miraculous in the 1700s!

Up next: Tallinn, Estonia

There are more pictures of our time in Russia in our Picasa album.

St. Petersburg: Day 1

2011-07-09T05:30:00.000+01:00

[And so, the big day arrives...]

July 8, 2011

It's been a busy few days. We're now sailing back to Amsterdam. Sunday, July 3, marked a historic day in my life: my first steps on Russian soil.

That's Alla on the right

We hired a private tour guide and driver for the two days through DenRus, a course I cannot recommend highly enough. Our guide, Alla, a young woman in her late twenties, was old enough to remember life in the Soviet Union. While we really appreciated her commentary in the Hermitage Museum and the various palaces we visited, she grew up in St. Petersburg, and it was those windows on life -- both as a child there, and then as a young woman travelling for the first time, after Perestroika -- that gave the visit such humbling significance.

Unfortunately, we didn't get to know our driver, Mikhail, as well. Alla said his English wasn't good, but I think it had more to do with his taking a while to warm to us: late in the second day, Nancy was asking about typical working hours -- we questioned Alla constantly on such seemingly mundane subjects throughout the two days, and her patience, and, as I've said, insights on ordinary life there, is something I'll treasure -- when Mikhail suddenly spoke up (pretty much for the first time), "Well, I can tell you that this factory on the left finished work at 3 p.m. sharp, as I used to build tanks there."

As it turned out, he was a military engineer, building tanks under the Soviet regime, and then industrial-grade tractors and earth-movers after its fall. We all lamented that we didn't have more time to tease out his memories of a life lived mostly behind the iron curtain.

From the port, St. Petersburg was daunting. Soviet-era apartment complexes formed a wall on the horizon. As we drove to the UNESCO-protected portion of the city, a sense of oppression descended upon us. It wasn't until later in the day that we realized that it was the unrepresentative lack of locals (even for a Sunday), typical signs, businesses, etc. that was getting us down -- in spite of the beautiful architecture and views on display. By that first afternoon, we were in the heart of local life, aware that St. Petersburg (now) offers a lifestyle closer to home than anywhere else in Europe (e.g., huge supermarkets with ready-to-serve food, their own version of Home Depot: Castorama, etc. -- all on a scale unknown in Spain, France or Italy, for example). [I've since learned that Castorama is a French company, which does hurt my argument a bit; I'll amend it to "anywhere else in Europe that I've visited."]

I even picked up some unpasteurized beer at their supermarket chain, O'KEY; they were bottling it right there in the store, in plastic. It was an excellent ale, in the English style, so I guess you could argue that they live better than I did in Ottawa. [Again, since then I've had excellent ales in Ottawa -- cask-conditioned in one case, and IPAs that'd knock your socks off (e.g., Flying Monkeys' Smash Bomb Atomic IPA and Muskoka's Mad Tom IPA) -- so I'm looking forward to living very well when I return, thank you very much.]

Our first major stop of the day was St. Isaac's Cathedral, one of the biggest domed churches in the world. Alla explained that under the Communists, all religions were banned, and so began an inventory of all places of worship. Any that were not deemed to be of architectural value were slated for demolition. Those that passed muster, such as St. Isaac's, were converted to new purposes; the Museum of Anti-religion in its case, or warehouses, etc. Alla remembered skating in another church as a young child.

Our next stop, the Cathedral on Spilled Blood, faced worse than that ignominy: despite being just about the best surviving example of the fantastically colourful Russian medieval architectural style, the Communists wanted it destroyed. Luckily, however, it was surrounded by so many sites to be preserved, and with demolition techniques so imprecise at the time, it was converted to a warehouse instead; before long, locals began calling it the Cathedral of Potatoes, according to Alla.

All the mosaics inside have now been beautifully restored, and a museum in one corner gives you an idea of the extensive work that was required. It also gave Alla an opportunity to point out that while city life under the Soviets was very secular, both her grannies, out in villages like those depicts in the museum, never stopped attending mass, even as they were excited by the possibilities under the new regime; such dichotomies rested easily on their shoulders, she said. (Similarly, the irony of Lenin's legacy, according to her, is that his body -- on display, and looking three days dead at most -- is worshipped, like some patron saint of anti-religion; a state of affairs Alla claimed most of her generation deem ridiculous.)

Inside the Cathedral on Spilled Blood

You really got a sense of a place in flux. Alla said even up until 2000, the old style of shops selling two types of overcoats, two types of shoes -- and the rush to grab new stock as it arrived, even if it didn't fit, so you could barter for something more suitable with your neighbours -- was still prevalent. She said that the changes between then and 2005, and again between 2005 and today, have been nothing short of exponential.

Up next was a boat tour, finishing at the Peter and Paul Fortress. It was there that Peter the Great's vision of a cultural centre and a "window to the sea" for Russia first began, back in 1703. Here the movie-set or abandoned-city feeling began to dissipate, as many locals sunned themselves on the fortress' rocky beach. (We were very lucky with the weather both days.) After visiting the cathedral of the same name -- housing the remains of most of the Romanov tsars, including Peter I himself -- it was time for lunch.

"We always have soup at home," Alla explained. And while we had to wait 'til the second day for our first taste of the traditional borscht, a beetroot soup, it was well worth it. Speaking of traditional foods, we'd asked Alla about vodka early on, of course: the younger generation drinks anything but, she said. Vehemently so! (I feel a bit like a prophet, transcribing the words of Alla... Wocka wocka wocka!) But if they waver in this, it's only for Russian Standard -- this really surprised me, as they heavily advertise it in the UK; apparently television isn't all lies! (Smirnoff is crap, apparently.) [I've since heard the same thing about Russian Standard, incidentally. And I learned to take Alla's opinions with a grain of salt as we spent more time together; those on the 2002 Nord-Ost siege were colourful at best -- almost revisionist, in truth.] That said, while I did sample this vodka in a few shops, it was their champagne that they were eager to showcase. (It was very good, for all my opinion is worth on such matters.)

Inside Peter and Paul Cathedral

We spent the afternoon at the Hermitage, a museum on the scale and grandeur of the Louvre. It was very, very busy, as it always is in the summer, Alla assured us. (Tourism dips in the winter, for reasons I can't fathom!) The extensive Rembrandt collection was the highlight for me.

A final comment on the first day: Celebrity took the opportunity of overnighting in port to invite the local Moroshka ballet on board. They put on a fantastic show, singing and dancing; it was probably the best entertainment I've ever seen on a cruise ship, and the perfect cap on the day.

Up next: St. Petersburg, Day 2

There are more pictures of St. Petersburg in our Picasa album.

Baltic cruise: Helsinki: sauna nation

2011-07-03T03:34:00.000+01:00

[We pick up my travel journal on the eve of our historic first steps on Russian soil.

The post title comes from the two million saunas in Finland; enough to house the 5.1 million Finns simultaneously, with room to spare.]

July 2, 2011: Helsinki

Back on the boat, docked in Helsinki. What a fantastic day! Not a cloud in the sky. We passed a sign before midday that read 29℃; hilarious, when you consider that we thought this'd be our coldest stop. (It is our most northern one.)

♫ One of these things is not like the others ♪

Sailing into Helsinki was very reminiscent of the approach to Stockholm, with the many treeds islands and islets. As we entered the port -- which is rare amongst the Nordic countries for its tendency to freeze in the winter, and explains Finnish expertise in the manufacture of icebreakers -- sailing vessels lined the horizon: while we were too early for the regatta in Warnemünde, we docked smack in the middle of one in Helsinki. They're very serious about their boating: their oldest yachting club began in the mid 1800s and is still in operation.

The day began with markets: first, the covered Hakaniemi Market Hall, built in 1914. It sold all sorts of food -- including amazing fish, of course -- and I loved all the old photographs of its early days, displayed throughout. Then we took in the nearby, open-air kauppatori (market square). There were all sorts of vendors again, including fishmongers selling their catch right from their boats, those selling all manner of woollen garments -- later, I picked up a pair of wool socks from a woman who spoke very little English; a rarity, I can assure you (at least in Helsinki, despite the two official languages being Finnish and Swedish) -- florists, painters, jewellers, and many, many food stands. We made a note to come back for lunch.

Uspenski Cathedral

So began the religious segment of the day: first, the Eastern Orthodox church, Uspenski Cathedral. Oddly, it was open to tourists during a baptism; tourism trumps all in Helsinki, apparently. Next up was the Lutheran church, Helsinki Cathedral. The dramatic white steps leading up to it, and the cobblestone square and fountain before it, make it a natural congregation point for the Finns, it seems. On this day, it was the start of their gay pride parade, Helsinki Pride.

We could feel the energy building as we made our way to one final church, and the last sight on our list: the famous Rock (Temppeliaukio) Church. (Unfortunately, it was closed for a wedding; scrap that tourism trumps all bit.) This energy reached Notting Hill Festival proportions as we headed back to the kauppatori. All the city's green space -- plenty enough to rival Stockholm, incidentally, which has been widely lauded on that point throughout our cruise -- was lined with picnickers, out to show their support, enjoy the sun, have fun, or all of the above.

Helsinki Cathedral

Frequent readers will know the weight I give a city's vibe or pulse. Helsinki has it in spades, as well as a sense of conviviality and community (if that milktoast term means anything these days) that I hope extends beyond the celebrations of the day; that's the problem with day stops to new places, of course: I don't know. Frankly, residents might risk cardiac arrest, displaying such joie de vivre on a daily basis.

I suspect much of what I felt is there year round, because there was plenty of evidence unrelated to gay pride: one intersection was strung with many laden clotheslines, whether as art or in fun (or both, of course), I couldn't say. In a park, a band included a cardboard box drummer -- and a good one at that!

Everywhere you turned, people were out enjoying themselves, in groups big and small. After seeing a few hen dos in full swing mid afternoon, it came to us that the seasons may have a lot to do with this: in the winter, parts of northern Finland never see the sun, and even Helsinki is limited to three or four hours of daylight for long stretches. Best get out and enjoy that (almost endless, at times) sunlight when it comes then!

I'm forever relating new places to those I've seen. With Helsinki, I struggled. Much of it reminded me of what I'd imagine the southern USA is like, along the coast. (But I'm relying on television for much of that, I hasten to qualify.) The public transportation is all European, though, even if the street cars hint at San Francisco. We really enjoyed Stockholm, but, particularly for a short stay, you can't beat Helsinki's accessibility; it's a walker's city. (I do see a long weekend in Sweden in our future, however, when we have the time to explore.)

We rounded out the day with a (late) fish lunch in the kauppatori -- even tastier than we'd been imagining on our long walk back -- and a boat tour of the harbour. The latter may have squeaked in as the highlight of an amazing day, as it allowed us to take in the sights (and a load off!) in a fully licensed environment.

I met two lost ladies from St. Petersburg earlier in the day -- they were looking for the bus terminal; luckily a passer-by spoke Russian and was able to direct them -- and tomorrow I get to see it. Can hardly wait!

Up next: St. Petersburg, Russia

There are more pictures from the amazing day in our Picasa album, as usual.

Baltic cruise: Stockholm: hottubbing next to greatness

2011-07-02T11:30:00.000+01:00

[My travel journal continues, in the wee hours, sailing to Helsinki.

I note that I failed to reference the many crew who wished us a happy Canada Day, unprompted and with barely a pause for breath, once they'd confirmed we weren't illegitimately wearing the swag. A nice touch, Celebrity!]

July 1, 2011: Stockholm

With the time change, it will now be close to midnight. Fog has once more enveloped our view of the forested islands surrounding Stockholm -- a view much like the Thousand Islands, we all agreed. Only we're actually a river, an ocean and a sea away, well on our way to Helsinki, Finland now.

Stockholm was beautiful. It reminded me of Ottawa at times (at least, initially). Once we started hitting the canals, however, Prague was a closer match -- or how I imagine it in the summer. We walked the whole (short, admittedly) day, ending at Skansen. There, we found out just how expensive Stockholm is: park admittance and a meal on the property shortly thereafter saw us drop $180 CAD, for Swedish meatballs -- simply meatballs there, of course -- and pickled herring. [A nice, tasty time, mind you, but not the Tivoli experience Tea later admitted she was hoping for. More on that in later posts. Stay tuned!] Unsurprisingly, we were through our Swedish krona -- trading at 7:1 -- in very short order indeed. Luckily, they also take euros.

Once back onboard, we took our tired feet to the hot tub. There, Stephen and I met a very interesting gentleman: Kamel was a retired businessman from New Delhi who'd been to Austria and the French Riviera prior to flying to Amsterdam to sail with us. Not only that, he'd paid for much of his extended family to join him, and they'd all spent many days (and in some cases, weeks) at these intermediate destinations. "Life's good," was probably Kamel's most common refrain during our many subsequent chats.

I had difficulty believing he was a day over 55, until he explained that he'd been ranked as high as third in the country on the Indian squash circuit; sport has kept him young, although now, at 72, he sticks to golf. Whip smart, and a hoot to boot, early on in the conversation, he asked, "What sport do you play?" Very different from the typical, "Do you play any sports?" He went on to say that while sport is great at any age, it's the key to a long life, firing both the brain and the body. As I write this evening, it's a gravity about the need to commit to tennis again that sits with me.

Up next: Helsinki, Finland

There are more pictures from the day in Stockholm in our Picasa album.

Baltic cruise: the North Sea and Warnemünde, Germany: "Who's the celebrity?"

2011-07-01T16:31:00.003+01:00

[We pick up my travel journal with ruminations on sailing out of Amsterdam and the subsequent day in the North Sea.]

June 27, 2011: a few hours out of the 'dam

I can hear Stephen playing with our two-way radios in the second of our adjoining cabins. We had a great day in Amsterdam: Nancy and I joined Tea and Stephen for their second round at the Chinese massage parlour, after a breakfast of toasted sandwiches -- shredded chicken, avocado slices, loads of creamy goat's cheese, and honey were some of wonderful ingredients therein across all our selections -- out in the sun by a canal; it was the way to start the day.

We've just come back from an exclusive area of the ship's spa -- for a price, of course; highlights included form-fitted, heated stone benches and a Turkish bath with cold water taps (so you don't overheat). So relaxed right now. And, look! It's time for supper! What's on the menu tonight?

* * *

In port, looking off the back deck

Supper was strange. Our waiter was too chatty after delivering the food, and there were a number of presentation and spicing problems. Celebrity may be aiming to treat us as such -- at one point, Tea, reading through the events calendar, asked, "Celebrity Wine Tasting... Who's the celebrity?" Nancy's "Us!" was priceless -- but that dining room has nothing on Royal Caribbean.

Lido deck

June 28, 2011: sailing

Breakfast this morning confirms it: the level of English comprehension amongst the front-line servers is significantly below what we're used to, which is a problem when you're relying on them to serve you. (It's a pseudo buffet, for lack of a better term.) However, it wasn't crowded at all, and the air is pleasantly crisp here.

* * *

O.K., all's right in the world after a half hour in the Turkish bath, followed by a swim. Now, lunch time!

11:00 p.m.

We had an excellent supper in the specialty Italian restaurant. Many amusing moments: Stephen's 'cheesecake', which the waiter personally retrieved from the downstairs dining room, and, oddly, had all the attributes of what one would call a cheese plate. [Our waiter was a great sport about it, and each of our many trips back to that restaurant featured many a joke about accents.] And then there was the moment when Tea discovered her dessert garnish was Pop Rocks. Holy snap, crackle, pop, Batman!

* * *

June 30, 2011: Warnemünde

Yesterday was our first stop: Warnemünde, Germany. I've been to Germany a few times now, and thought I'd some idea as to the range of experiences available there; unsurprisingly, I suppose, the sea alters that, my quaint beribboned Deutschland.

Invariably it's these small ports that really speak to me. Despite my family's not having made a living from the sea in a generation, those sounds and smells -- the water lapping, the fresh catches -- take me back to St. John's harbour, and my youth. Warnemünde was closer to the South Shore of Nova Scotia or Howth, Ireland, with many fishing vessels, yes, but also many pleasure craft, as they geared up for their big regatta the following week.

I got chatting to a Norwegian gentleman who couldn't say enough good things about Warnemünde. He'd sailed all over the world, but kept coming back. He loved the proximity of the facilities, and that you could tie up to the boardwalk, amidst it all. He also had very nice things to say about Canada. (Another Roots swag win; that's why he'd stopped me.) He said it was very beautiful, and that he'd really enjoyed his time in Halifax and St. John's. I left him with an even greater determination to see the fjords; he was a very proud, if reserved, Norwegian.

A three hour train journey from Warnemünde, we quickly discard Berlin as a potential destination for the day. Instead, we set out for the nearby town of Rostock, first by train, then by tram. The Old Town was lovely, with an open air market surrounded by Dutch-gabled buildings (much like we'd seen in Zaanse Schans a few months ago).

Rostock -- across from city hall

We passed the large tower that features on the label of their brewery's beer [which I believe was the Western Gate Tower, and part of the old city wall, marking the original limits], circled by birds of all sorts, including swifts, I'm convinced, thanks to my studies on Lake Como. Bird watching has really captured my imagination as a pursuit, although I'm convinced I lack patience for it.

M'm... goulash and pils

Unfortunately, the brewery was closed, but we found a shaded patio for sampling their Rostocker pils anyway, and the house special of goulash. Stephen asked for a burger, and while it didn't look promising initially -- we think the waitress was attempting to literally translate his request for a hamburger -- he absolutely loved his selection; we couldn't get him to shut up about it for the rest of the day, truth be told.

From there, we took the train back to Warnemünde. We sat in a large car lined with folded seats -- for bicycles, mostly, we soon found out, as new arrivals pulled out hidden belts to hold their many cycles securely, while they folded down a seat beside them. (Oh, if only they'd had a car like that on the train from Schipol to Amsterdam; that train was convenient for backpackers, not cruisers.)

Back in Warnemünde, munching on a basket of fresh strawberries from a nearby stand, we made our way down the boardwalk to the pier. It was a lovely sunny day, but even so, the sight of hundreds -- if not thousands -- of people enjoying the white sandy (man made) beach and surf took our breath away for a moment; not what we expected of the Baltic!

Aside: both in an elaborate fountain in Rostock, and on the beach in Warnemünde, there were children playing, naked as the day they were born; their screeches and giggles were pure joy. It can't help but warm your heart, something so simple and natural, in a world that can seem anything but for long stretches.

We wiled away the rest of the afternoon on patios, sampling other local beers, and fried and pickled herring -- the latter is lush with fresh dill! It was getting on for 9:00 p.m. as we headed back to the ship, the sun still high in the sky. A rare treat (for cruisers) awaited us: live folk music up on deck as we sailed for Stockholm, the sun finally setting a hour or so before midnight.

Up next: Stockholm, Sweden

There are more pictures of our first days on the cruise in our on ship album, and in our Germany one.

Baltic cruise: Amsterdam

2011-06-27T16:57:00.011+01:00

[Notes from the travel journal I kept on our recent cruise of the Baltic.]

June 26, 2011: Amsterdam

Just off the train from Schipol. Great view of the action from the Ibis. Our ship leaves tomorrow; 'til then, the mission is to give Stephen and Nancy a taste of the 'dam.

Last night, the Gloucester Old Spot was a pleasant surprise: friendly staff -- an incredulous "Why did you come here?" came from our waitress when she found out we were Canadian -- and excellent pork and beef. Such a rustic atmosphere too -- fit for a king of old. Conversation was silly, as usual: somehow, we got on the subject of the 80s TV show, That's Incredible!, and proceeded to use the phrase throughout the rest of the meal and evening in response to even the most mundane of observations. It'll probably be the catchphrase of the trip. Wild times await, my friends, wild times.

Train travel with luggage enough for two weeks is no fun, but it was a seamless morning otherwise -- the ticket machines at Schipol take Visa, unlike in Amsterdam, where it will look like it's working right up to the point verifying the transaction. Stephen is puzzled by how often he must produce his passport (e.g., the border check in Schipol, checking in at the hotel in Amsterdam).

11:00 p.m.

Couldn't even stop eating for a picture -- m'm, tapas

So tired. Lots of walking. Did the Red Light District twice; it's even stranger in the light of day. Later, on our second pass, we tried to witness a transaction closed (from across the canal); close -- the guy went back 'n' forth between the doorway and his friends for a good half hour -- but no cigar. We also walked the flower market -- stopping for tapas -- and the Dam, the latter very sparse compared to festivities of our last trip.

Tea and Stephen got Chinese massages -- complete with ladies walking on their backs while pushing down from handrails on the ceiling -- while Nancy and I went in search of a favourite pub of our last trip, "In de Wildeman". Unfortunately it was closed, but we assuaged our sorrows -- well, mine mostly -- nicely at Beer Temple. My Double Dog Double Pale Ale and BrewDog Riptide were both excellent; Nancy also discovered she's a fan of the Belgian wheat beer style. It's a great spot, with genuinely friendly staff, which is so important when you have such an extensive, intimidating menu (much like their sister pub, t'Arendsnest, on both counts, incidentally).

Up next: sail away! And Warnemünde, Germany

La bella Varenna

2011-06-03T17:55:00.550+01:00

[Notes from our short trip to Northern Italy the weekend past.]

May 27, 2011: Varenna, Lake Como, Italy

I'm writing this on a balcony, looking across Lake Como at the town of Bellagio, while classical music that I know, but can't name (Dvořák?), plays in a villa further down the coast. [The Wedding March could be heard a bit later, so I thought the first piece might also be Mendelssohn. Now that I'm home and fiddling, I know it was Bach's Air on the G String, at a point past that distinctive harpsichord.]

I am so happy to be here. So happy the ash cloud moved along. We had some rough weather coming into Malpensa airport, but the torrents didn't even last our whole bus ride to Milan.

Now... Well, now, it's just gorgeous.

Our train, in Varenna

We met a lovely older lady on the train to Varenna. She was very curious about two Canadians traveling there, but unfortunately my Italian wasn't up to the explanation.

This is the best view I've ever had from a hotel room or apartment. Ever. (And we booked it at the last minute at a little more than €200 per night.)

San Giorgio, Varenna

There goes the church bell. I'm almost giddy. [And a bit disjointed. What's with all these new paragraphs?] The sound of the lake lapping at the shore, the birdsong... Where could the locals possibly vacation? [I was reading Beppe Severgnini's La Bella Figura at the time, and he says Italians go abroad simply to reaffirm that they have it the best.]

The sun is filtering through the slowly dissipating clouds, down on the heavily forested mountain face; stunning. We came through so many tunnels on the train journey here. (Jules, Dev would love this place! Mountains in the foreground, snowcapped Alps at the horizon. Sigh.)

The hotel stocks Menabrea 150° Anniversario, "the flagship" of Forst (according to one of my beer books), in the mini-bar; nice touch. There's also a little grocery store across the street. Loving the Royal Victoria so far.

Parts of Milan reminded us both of Naples. Getting Severgnini's perspective on the same route, from Malpensa to Milan, was a treat, particularly when informed by Solly's take on Italians: I finished his book, The Xenophobe's Guide to the Italians, on the flight over.

10:00 p.m.

After the storm

Such an entertaining storm earlier! Stayed in the room, popping out for snaps of the scene, long past supper time. Eventually went out to our little grocery, and then to the pizzeria/hotel across the street, Albergo del Sole. There was a big family ahead of us, but it was well worth the wait. It's clearly a favourite with the locals: they moved a Reserved sign to a different table for one couple; the guy immediately went back to the kitchen to say hello. And it's cheap too: our appetizer, wine and pizzas only came to €32! We left a big tip, in case they made a mistake, as we'll definitely be back.

* * *

May 29, 2011

The view from our balcony

We're taking it easy today, beside the pool. It looks out over the lake to Bellagio. There's barely a cloud in the sky, again.

I was just saying to Tea that, in idle moments, I'm still trying to categorize this place. And failing. The view outside our window, off our balcony, convinces me we're cruising the Mediterranean each morning. This outdoor space reminds me of a resort, if only in my desire to stay on the property and relax -- no resort I've stayed at could hope to replicate these sights and this solace.

Yesterday, we took a slower ferry down to Como; it was about a two-hour journey. (You can take a faster one that will get you there in less than half the time, by paying a supplement.) It was so relaxing. Almost too much so: I nodded off in my seat, a cat in a sunbeam, and burned my thighs and forearms. (I'm writing this in the shade. Tenderly.)

On the ferry to Como

And such sights! We must've passed twenty towns on the way down, stopping at close to a dozen of them. The combination of the brightly painted houses -- just like the outport communities back home in Newfoundland -- the heavily forested mountainsides, the terraced gardens, the single belfry of each community, and the crew chatting in Italian behind us was pure bliss.

We heard a lady behind us comment on the water being too rough for her boat, so she and her husband decided to take the ferry to Cernobbio (two stops before Como) to meet friends for lunch instead. I cannot imagine living here, or how calm the water must typically be if that is considered rough.

We were hungry by the time we docked in Como, and so set about finding a restaurant. Nothing could be simpler in Como. We were soon sat on a shaded patio across from the amazing Duomo (Cathedral). Tea had a delicious bellini with her pizza, while I had a piadina -- unleavened Italian bread folded over like a wrap -- with cured beef, goat's cheese and chicory; a fantastic combination.

We then wandered the streets -- very much like Florence, I found, particularly around the Duomo -- and open-air markets, before taking the fast ferry back as far as Bellagio. It was so fast, compared with the morning. I dozed again, below deck this time, thankfully. The biggest surprise was that Tea didn't need to take any motion sickness medication, as it was a rough ride at times, as we crossed others' wakes.

The Duomo, in Como

Bellagio is beautiful, but for your money, staying in Varenna or Menaggio and taking day trips over has to be the way to do it. Still, at no point did I feel like I was dabbling my toes in the pool of my betters: Tea got gelato at the oldest gelateria in town (from the turn of the century, no less), and we enjoyed drinks on a patio later, right down by the lake -- at no point was anyone anything less than warm, friendly and helpful.

We were enjoying ourselves so much that we missed the last passenger ferry to Varenna. No matter. We caught a car ferry back shortly thereafter. And what a view, pulling in as the last of the day's light hit our beautiful town. (Ours for the weekend, anyway.)

We stopped for supper shortly after docking, as we figured we wouldn't leave our room again if we went straight back: the local wine we bought in Bellagio, Sant'Andrea Valtellina Superiore, from the north, and a special harvest of grapes on the thirtieth of November each year -- for a mere €17 -- was calling our names.

Waiting for the ferry in Bellagio

Vecchi Varenna caught our eye with its inspired, confident menu, and then rewarded us with such good, beautifully-presented food and friendly wait staff. Add to this their passion for serving locally sourced food from a menu they change monthly, and I absolutely cannot recommend this place enough. The prices are even reasonable. I defy anyone to correctly guess their bill based on Vecchi Varenna's fantastic location, down by the water, and the calibre of their food -- both its taste and presentation. Honestly, it felt like a glimpse of the life of the rich and famous -- as I imagine it, anyway -- all for €85 (which included excellent wine, starters and dessert).

Pulling into Varenna

At the risk of boring you, dear reader, one final point: an Italian family with two young children came in partway through our meal. Later, as Tea and I wondered what the children would eat off the (largely lake-fish based) menu, they came out with meals made especially for them. At no point was it a big production, for them or the wait staff. And the little ones were nibbling off their parents' plates of local delicacies to boot. Such a contrast to the chaos of the large British party at Albergo del Sole the other night; their staff were saints for what they put up with.

10:30 p.m.

We weren't out and about for long before we settled on a lakeside cafe for another break. Over rosé, bruschetta, prosciutto and melon, and pizza (topped with the most exquisite mushrooms), we watched the world pass by.

Cuppa Fruita

A woman in a bikini, rowing nowhere quickly, puzzled us. I'd almost accepted Tea's theory of a fisherwoman -- "Does anyone actually work in a bikini?" I wondered -- when she tied up to a buoy a bit out from shore and proceeded to lay out for a few hours. I guess that's one way to stake your claim on a sunbeam. As Tea enjoyed her enormous 'cuppa fruita' -- "Do you want to share?" should've been a hint at its size, but Tea persevered -- the sunbather called it a day, expertly guiding her boat in.

At this point, Tea decides she wants to hike up the quarter mile to Castillo di Vezio. An Aussie couple we met partway up let me know how it could be worse: their hiking epiphany came after three bottles of rosé.

Such a view! Probably the most spectacular we've been treated to to date. It recalls memories of our drive through the Alps last year, but then add the lake beside them, train tunnels between the two, brightly-coloured roofs all 'round, and the quaint -- particularly from this height -- Varenna, with its belfry, below us. And the cherry on top was the sun setting on another gorgeous day.

After quickly freshening up at the hotel, it was back out to the attached restaurant for yet more pizza -- Tea concluded it was the best so far -- wine, and, to finish, our first taste of grappa.

* * *

May 30, 2011

Another piercing blue sky. I'm on our balcony (again), fascinated by the variety of birds that live around here; and even right above me now, in the roof of our hotel. One species in particular has captured my imagination: they're small and dark, with what seems to be a splash of white at their throats. The odd bit, in my mind, however, is their movements: I mistook them for bats yesterday evening, the flit of their wings is so quick and free from visible feathers.

And then there's their cry: easily twice them, so strong and sharp, like a falcon's. They don't seem to go far, but circle our hotel and call out to one another. I've spent so long trying to get a decent shot of one -- without success -- but oh, how they surround my head with flapping and screams the moment I sit down to pen this. Clearly I amuse them.

[Subsequent discussions, and a flip through Collins Bird Guide, suggest that they were a species of swift, because they never seemed to land in that roof nest and their voice matches the description to a T. Thanks, Katy!]

Speaking of amusement, I think the cleaning staff got a good chuckle from us. Tea heard them laughing and whispering outside our door this morning when they found our homemade sign. (We didn't have a "Do not disturb" sign when we checked in, and kept having the Italian, non-English-speaking maids come in on us in the mornings.) I'm pretty sure the translation of our sign would be closer to "No trouble, please," like we feared being held up by gunslingers each morn.

At least they replaced it with a proper one.

2:00 p.m.

In the gardens of the Villa Monastero

Enjoying some wine -- a pinot grigio for Tea and Villa Sandi prosecco for me -- in the cafe of the Villa Monastero. It's amazing what the waiter can offer from these limited facilities; my gnocchi is delicious, and Tea says the Torta Santa Honore is heavenly; like a roulade.

What a way to spend the day. Before this, we wandered the gardens of the Hotel Villa Cipressi, and dipped our toes in the lake from a (very secluded) public access.

5:00 p.m.

The beach outside our hotel

The gardens continued well down the coast. So beautiful. By the time we're up and back, however, the heat was getting to us. Our hotel pool called.

So cool. "Like swimming in a glass of water," is how I put it; no chlorine to speak of, and unheated. Sipping our Sant'Andrea poolside now, dozing off. There's talk of seeing the boardwalk in Menaggio later, or maybe tomorrow.

* * *

May 31, 2011

Definitely a muted feel to the morning. Like we've had a four-day party and this is the morning after, is how Tea put it. Strikes close to the mark, I'd say.

* * *

We're at Varenna's station now, waiting for our train to Milan. Thick black smoke blanketed the area as we started up the hill from town; looked like the station was in flames. We got the tracks in view in time to see an old-fashioned steam-powered locomotive leaving with its load. Incredible. That's a sound from film and recordings for me.

Hard to believe this is a travel day. Started walking by the lakeside, watching swans and ducks pick at yesterday's bread, discarded in the water from nearby restaurants. Then we got the ferry to Menaggio and walked its lovely boardwalk for a bit. When we got hungry, we stopped for a fantastic lunch on the lakeside patio of the Hotel Bellavista.

In Menaggio

We even caught the ferry back to Varenna in time to enjoy a glass of wine on the waterfront. Such a relaxing day -- in spite of the prospect of driving from Gatwick looming ahead of us.

* * *

On the bus now. Ah, Milan Centrale; such grandeur and beauty. It, and our train -- so, so old -- inspire romance. Well, and the kids sneaking kisses around the corners. Severgnini likes the noise of the trains, and the open windows -- for precious ventilation -- certainly permit a cacophony. He also warns us to reject this romanticism, though.

* * *

Antipasti at the Bellavista

An old man preps for surgery in the toilet. A young woman pumps her arms to an unheard beat -- to squeals of delight from the other end of her Facetime et al. conversation, judging by her smile -- half a bottle of wine to one side.

Malpensa airport is alive.

Speaking of wine, to sit down in a restaurant, and enjoy a delicious red -- oh, the wine we've had on this trip! -- and al dente pasta sounds about as far from the airport experience as one could get. And yet, here it is; able to support the number of travelers around me and then some.

These Italians are on to something: why deprive yourself, even if you have somewhere to be? There's always time.

* * *

[We've been home a few days now. Time enough to realize what an amazing trip we had; honestly, probably my favourite one to date.

The drive back was tiring and a bit stressful -- largely thanks to the closure of the A417 near Cirencester and subsequent detour to the M5 -- but, oh, the sights we saw. To have the Alps, but also the feeling that you're by the sea -- it doesn't feel like a lake -- checks two of my top-five boxes. Then to have that food, that wine and that weather... Paradise.

As usual, we have a Picasa album with more pictures from the trip. Tea has an album on Facebook as well.]

The Netherlands: Amsterdam and the Keukenhof

2011-05-07T17:26:00.342+01:00

[The last of my trip notes.]

April 26, 2011: the Keukenhof

"I'm on a boat!"

After another great breakfast up in our wheelhouse, watching the world go by (on bicycle, mostly), we head to the train station; it's deserted compared to yesterday, and we quickly purchase return tickets to Leiden. Once there, we get our coach tickets for the Keukenhof at the Travelex. [We thought there was no difference between going there via Leiden or Schiphol -- the distances are comparable -- but it turns out that you can get the latter as a single fare, and therefore save money; this isn't clear in any of the documentation.]

This is surely the Disney World of gardens! From the moment I hear, and then lay eyes on, the beautiful street organ near the entrance, I'm grinning from ear to ear. They call the park the most beautiful spring garden in the world, and it isn't hard to see why. Tea (and Kae) are over the moon: "best gardens, hands down," is out of her mouth half an hour in. And while I agree, the Lost Gardens of Heligan still hold a special place in my heart. I think it's the trees; somethin's changed with me since I've come over: I can't get enough of the different trees they have over here, and the cascading blooming you'll see from month to month. Don't get me wrong, though: this park is stunning.

I think the Japanese Garden is my favourite bit. It's so beautifully laid out, with many cherry blossoms, of course. While Tea and Kae really seem to be enjoying the orchid display, I know for Tea, it's all about the tulips -- of which there are many; go figure.

Gotta love the street art

Once back in Amsterdam, we decide to check out the Mexican restaurant, Guadalupe, that Tea spied on our first evening out. The owner is a real kidder, and before we've sat down, he and Kae strike up some Spanish banter. I don't pretend to follow it all, but I think he poked a bit of fun at one point when she used 'gran' to say that she learned some Spanish (or Portuguese?) from her grandfather. I heard something along the lines of, "Do you have a small father too? Oh, pity," around that cheese-eating grin of his. [If I've got this right, you could literally translate what Kae said as "big father," where they would typically say "abuelo"... maybe.] The food was really good too, breaking a long drought for Tea and me. [The Brits do not understand what Mexican is supposed to taste like, as far as I can tell.]

April 27, 2011: Our last day in Amsterdam

One of our many great suppers 'aboard'

A lazy morning. Anne Frank is growing up before my eyes (again). I forgot how heart-wrenching it is, to read about her wishes for the future. I certainly have a lot more context this time, having now walked the view she looked at with such longing.

The Van Gogh Museum is on the agenda this morning, so we buy tram day passes again -- it's well away from the city centre. Long queues seem to be the norm in Amsterdam, but, thanks to Kae, we can bypass the one outside this museum: she points out an English sign in the middle of the sidewalk, claiming that fast passes are available at the Diamond Museum. The funny thing is, you can see the Diamond Museum from the line, just down the road. We are there and back in five minutes -- you don't need to buy any extra admissions; it's just another till -- and then straight in.

Dessert at De Balie

I'm surprised by how much I'm enjoying myself. The layout is great: a good mix of his works and influences at various stages of his life. I'm not familiar with a lot of it. My favourites (on display) include: Crab on its Back, Pink Orchard, and the Sheep Shearer; the latter, a striking example of his influences.

From there, lunch at De Balie. Our waiter is another kidder.

Kae: "I had a teacher..."
Waiter, whip quick: "You did?"

The menu is in Dutch. For every second thing Tea points at:
Waiter: "I can't tell you that."

Handing him our near-sparkling cleaned plates:
Tea: "Oh, that was terrible. Can we see a dessert menu?"
Waiter, hand on chest: "No. You've been rude. On your bike and go."

And, again, the food is amazing; pesto to die for. They have lots of interesting beer on tap too. Enjoying my two glasses of Wieckse (pronounced 'vicks').

* * *

"In de Wildeman"

I'm sitting "In de Wildeman" now. Probably the best pub in Amsterdam. The ladies are shopping. Tasting notes so far:

Blanche de Namur: tasty, with ginger notes.
t'Volen Zeebonck: fruity and sweet, full body. (The bartender translates this as "sailor", puffing up his chest; love the way he serves me at the table.)
De Prael De Melkman: a milk stout; very tasty, and just a touch sour. According to Beer Advocate, it was brewed for the 25^th anniversary of In de Wildeman. Cool! Got that T-shirt too; it's awesome.

If you only have time to visit one bar in Amsterdam, this has to be it. The ladies are back now. We're heading to the last one on my list: 't Arendsnest (or "Eagle's Nest"). It's a lovely little spot. Another friendly barman; runs a tab without my even asking. I have:

Texelse Skuumkoppe: I've had their Wit as an imported selection with the (now defunct *sad face*) CAMRA Beer Club; this one has more body. Very nice. Followed by;
De Prael Koude André: the same brewery as the milk stout, and just as impressive.

Cinema Paradiso

Italian is the consensus this evening. After striking out a few times, we find ourselves at Cinema Paradiso. As the name suggests, it's a old converted cinema with a lot of charm. The food is very good, and the real mint teas -- lots of mint leaves and hot water; that's it -- are a perfect end to one heck of a good trip.

Check out our Keukenhof and Amsterdam albums for more pictures from the last two days of our trip.

The Netherlands: Amsterdam and Zaanse Schans

2011-05-05T22:25:00.003+01:00

[More notes from the trip, covering the next two days.]

April 24, 2011: Amsterdam

Inside our houseboat

Waking up in the houseboat is a dream: it's naturally cool; easily five degrees lower than the outside temperature. And it isn't stale either, even though there's no obvious air circulation (with the windows closed). After relaxing for a bit, it's off to the tourist information, across the tram lines from Amsterdam Centraal Station.

The place is packed -- with the ubiquitous "take a number" system in effect; the Dutch don't queue well -- but Tea and Kae manage to wrangle someone stocking shelves; as well as pointing out which tram we'll need to take to the Dutch brewery, Brouwerij ’t IJ (attached to the De Gooyer windmill), she offers some excellent suggestions for both windmill and flower gazing. (The plan for the next two days.)

[Note: you don't need to stand in line at the tourist information unless you're booking something (e.g., tours, hotel rooms, etc.), which isn't immediately obvious when you first enter the madhouse.]

From there, we catch a tram to the flower market on the banks of the Singel. Lunch, at De Beiaard's 'bierencafé' (on Spui), is our first order of business, though; happily, it's another excellent choice: the smoked chicken salad with pineapple, walnuts and raisins that I share with Tea is fantastic, and Kae really enjoys her fried mushroom and pesto sandwich with cheese. They also have De Bekeerde Suster's beer on tap; I enjoy their tripel this time, while the ladies stick with the excellent Witte Ros of the previous evening.

Brouwerij ’t IJ, attached to De Gooyer windmill

(Very cheap) tulips -- and a cheese shop -- rule the next hour or so. Then we take another tram a ways out of the city centre to Brouwerij ’t IJ. Unfortunately, there are no brewery tours today -- a private function, it seems -- but we still enjoy a few glasses of their beer -- both the Natte, and their tripel, Columbus; neither much to write home about, incidentally -- on the banks of the Nieuwe Vaart, watching dozens of boaters go by. The bar is packed as we leave; evidence that they need more breweries in Amsterdam, I'd say.

Kae in Oud Holland

We jump off to see the Anne Frank museum afterwards, but the line goes on for blocks. [This would continue for the rest of our visit, unfortunately. I'll echo Lonely Planet on this point: if you do happen to see a short line out front, drop whatever you're doing and see it, as that's rarely the case.] So it's back on the tram -- day passes are key! -- to the 'Dam', as we'd scoped out the nearby Oud Holland for supper the night before. We then pass a lovely few hours with their excellent 'home cooked' food, served family style, and friendly staff.

April 25, 2011: Zaanse Schans

The lady working in the tourist information said Zaanse Schans was the place to see windmills, so we are braving the holiday Monday crowds and buying return tickets to Zaandijk. We're puzzled as we disembark, however, because the scent of chocolate is all around (like when Mom lets you lick the mixing bowl and your whole head is in there), and we don't really know where to go. The former is easily solved -- ADM Cocoa is just down the road -- as is the latter, when the convenience stand man gives us a map in exchange for buying some bottled water. [Turns out the maps are free just outside the train station. You have to admire the man's ingenuity.]

It's a quick walk from the train station to the bridge that connects Zaandijk to Zaanse Schans. Looking out to that flat horizon, broken by so many spinning windmills, is really mesmerizing. According to our guide book, the heyday of the Zaan Region saw 600 such mills in operation, but the tourist attraction before us this day has its roots in the mid twentieth century: in an effort to preserve the region's cultural heritage, a plan was conceived to consolidate the iconic houses and mills in Zaanse Schans. De Zoeker (or "seeker/viewfinder") oil mill was moved to its current spot in 1968, for example.

The mill in De Zoeker

They still make peanut oil there today -- it's an amazing sight, watching the enormous wheels grind those peanuts down -- and, in a brave moment, we climb a steep, narrow ladder to take in the view from its platform. It's hard to grasp just how fast those sails are moving, until you're right next to them, that is, with only a rope and a sign separating you. From there, we continue along the path, past De Os (a mill without sails, preserved as an example of the transition from wind to steam power), to De Bonte Hen (or "the speckled hen"), where a small ferry takes us back to Zaandijk. We slowly walk back to the train station, Tea reading off notes from the ferryman and his wife, telling us all about the region's famed decorative facades as we pass them.

The view from De Zoeker

There's a queue at the locks back in Zaandijk

Walking through Zaandijk, toward the train station

[My notes jump around a bit, with the history of this and that. After we crossed the bridge, but before we got to the mills, we spent some time in the clog workshop and museum.]

The clog workshop is a treat! Kooijman Souvenirs & Gifts combines a wooden shoe workshop, store and museum, and is "one of the largest and best collections of clogs in the Netherlands," according to our guide book. We see them made before our very eyes -- the demonstration of how wet they are prior to the days of drying is my favourite bit: blowing inside, toward the toe, causes an enormous froth to gush forth -- and we spend a good, long while trying to decide which ones to buy.

"Start the car!"

You're supposed to be able to fit a finger in comfortably behind your heel when wearing good wool socks; as a satisfy myself that I've picked a good pair, a worker comments on my "good arches" for clogs -- ha ha! A use for flat feet! We stop for a snack -- Dutch pancakes, which look like crepes made with cheese and salami, and a sandwich for me -- before heading to the mills.

Up next: the Keukenhof, and the best pubs in Amsterdam

Check out our Amsterdam and Zaanse Schans albums for more pictures from the two days.

The Netherlands: Day 1: Amsterdam

2011-05-03T18:46:00.317+01:00

[Notes from the trip continue.]

April 23, 2011: Amsterdam

Our houseboat

We knew it was a stroke of good fortune to buy the tickets to Amsterdam the day before from the moment we entered Brussels-Central train station: Saturday on a holiday weekend was in full swing, with long queues to both the automated and traditional tellers. [Note that we had difficulty buying tickets from the machines in Brussels and Amsterdam -- even those that said they accepted Maestro didn't; you're better off going to straight to the tellers, we found.] Our congratulatory mood quickly faded as we boarded the train, however: the air-conditioning wasn't working, and each of the six-person cabins we passed were jammed with luggage and sweating bodies (as was the corridor, shortly thereafter). In retrospect, the extra €50 for the high-speed train would've been a much better option.

Tea, modeling it -- it was long

This country is flat. I haven't been to the Prairies, but I'd imagine this is what it's like. My guide to the Dutch includes a famous story about a son who bought his parents their first holiday, to Switzerland, for an important anniversary. When he called them to see they were getting on, his mother replied that they were miserable, and coming home early: "There's no view here; all these mountains get in the way."

Once we passed Antwerp, the train began to thin out; still sweating profusely, I was then able to sit and take in the passing land: perfect rows of lurid tulips broke it up. At one point, a couple on bicycles led a horse. [At the time, I struggled to think of something more Dutch, but, then, I hadn't been to Zaanse Schans yet.]

Bikes near the ferries

The lady we were renting from said the houseboat was very close to Amsterdam Central Station, so we headed for the docks, where hoards of bicycles, scooters, motorcycles and pedestrians were making their way on and off ferries in a deliberate, measured chaos. [I did not witness a single accident of any kind during the visit. I still don't understand how.]

I am sat at the raised table in the kitchen of our houseboat as I write this. A cool cross-breeze brings the lapping water to my ears. There is a slight rocking, no more. Our neighbours are close -- we share a dock on one side -- but everyone is quiet, calm... gezelligheid, as my guide tells me. Each set of keys is on its own little pink buoy. I could get used to this.

My first afternoon is overwhelming, as I try to wrap my head around the Dutch way of life, while avoiding the cycles, scooters, motorcycles, small cars -- which share the lane reserved for those first three -- larger cars and trams. As in Rotterdam, there are many places where you must cross five different lanes of traffic moving at different speeds.

Some early observations:

No one wears helmets; no one; not scooter-riders, not young children, not babies (in infant seats on the crossbar, right in front of mom), not girls riding side-saddle behind their boyfriends. (On the latter, my guide tells me that early courtship can be a painful time for these girls, as their boys slowly discover how far their knees stick out. Also, they hop off and stand by them at the lights.)
Coffeeshops are to be avoided. We couldn't remember whether it was coffeehouses that sold recreational drugs, but quickly found out as, sitting at a table outside a coffeeshop, we overheard "Hello, do you smoke weed? I'm doing a survey..." from the next table. We immediately stood up, offering an apologetic shrug to the waitress who was already making her way toward us, menus in hand.
So much is geared to relaxing: yes, as exemplified by the coffeeshop menus, but also in the decor, with fully reclining chairs for two -- beds, really -- under awnings outside them, and the regular coffeehouses. And in the pace of traffic as well: no one is honking or even pedaling strenuously. Even the tourists seem to grasp this respect for others that is at the heart of gezelligheid (which is so much more than easygoing, or any other English word that comes to mind).
The power of human potential is on display. I don't know how else to phrase it. The energy -- like Brussels in some respects, but channeled so differently -- brings me up regularly, wondering why it can't be like this at home. (Is it simply the hills and distances back home, or is it something more fundamental?) So modern and clean. Like a utopian movie set.
It's common to see boats that I would say seat six carrying well over a dozen folks, standing, havin' a drink 'n' a chat. (And not a life-jacket in sight, I'm sure you're surprised to learn.)
Shirts with banal English sayings seem to be very popular.

"Come to Mama!"

We're tired when we make it back to the houseboat, burdened with groceries that include a wheel of cheese the size of my head. Well into our antipasti-style meal, I notice Kae's brow furrow as she reads an ingredients label I've peeked at earlier. As she's about to voice the question, I say, "Tomatosaurus! ROWRrrr!" She can only nod, collapsing in the laughter of the exhausted, and we soon join her. (I have no idea what the ingredient actually was, but, honestly, Dutch looks that foreign a lot of the time.)

The 'floating playground'

Luckily, the houseboat is a fantastic place to kick back. After a kip, we hang out for a bit, planning our evening. On the agenda: De Bekeerde Suster, where they brew their own beer -- a rarity in Amsterdam, as the Dutch national drink is undoubtedly coffee; very strong coffee -- and the Red Light District. The former turns out to be an excellent choice -- the Blonde Ros and Witte Ros are both very good, as is the food -- which surprises me, as I hadn't had a chance to do much research. (Truth be told, I've been spoiled these last three trips, with Good Beer Guides for each.)

Partway through our meal, a safely-dressed gentleman approaches our table, asking, in perfect English, whether the ladies can help him finish his shirt. Turns out that "Bob the Builder" is a local -- more shocking for us than his outfit -- on his stag do, and needs to get 26 ladies, each with a name beginning with a different letter of the alphabet, to sign the back of his shirt. He was very excited when "Princess Zara" (a.k.a. Kae) told him he only needed a 'Z' to finish. Much congratulations all 'round ensued.

Then it was off to the Red Light District. Some observations:

There seemed to be a good variety of all that nature has to offer on display. Ahem.
Some seemed keen; others bored.
Some men were negotiating just inside some doorways, either for themselves or their stag dos. It's odd, to see such a public transaction, in the sense that it's keenly watched by so many.
There were more cameras around than I expected, given the warnings in our guide books. And it was much smaller, and therefore, crowded, than I expected as well.
Like many other aspects of Amsterdam, and Dutch life generally, it is very... contained. If you seek it out, it's there; if you don't, you might easily miss it, and certainly won't be bothered by it. (Unlike, for example, the constant flippity-flip of call-girl and escort cards and brochures being handed out on the strip in Las Vegas.)

And with that, we headed home. An exciting hunt for the light switches later -- that boat gets dark -- and we were off to bed.

Up next: Zaanse Schans

Check out our Amsterdam album for more pictures from the day.

Belgium: dichotomous Brussels and divine Ghent

2011-05-02T13:08:00.509+01:00

As on previous occasions, I've decided to post these notes in the present tense, under the dates when their bulk was penned.

April 19, 2011: Brussels

[I never warmed to Brussels; however, I came to truly appreciate the balance it represents, in Belgium and the rest of Europe.]

Leisure class on the Eurostar from London was very nice; with a full meal, unlimited wine, and only one other group in our whole cabin, it's truly an affordable luxury.

The view for our apt.

While the walk to pick up the keys was a bit far to drag luggage, we found the office, and then our apartment, with little difficulty. Our apartment is amazing: so spacious, and a block from the Grand Place. At night, I simply stare out our corner window on the scene below, sipping gueuze; television can't compete.

There's a nice, big grocery store on the next corner; the only hiccup was milk. They only carry various flavours of UHT. I wonder if this is normal. We picked up some breakfast stuff, meats and cheeses, and some local beer:

Cuvée René Grand Cru Oude Gueuze: the Good Beer Guide Belgium gives it four stars. My virgin palette -- yes, this is my first lambic -- found it to be like a witbier, with a tang. Like, oh, the best of the limited champagne I've tried.
Mort Subite Gueuze, which I don't believe is made in the traditional way. (The style isn't protected, unlike the German styles, for example, so corners are often cut to save money.) Either way, I enjoyed it; a bit darker than the Cuvee Rene, with ginger notes.

This city has such life. Like Dublin. Maybe more so. The clusters of kids on the cobblestones of Grand Place; so many different conversations and styles of music drift out on the street and up to our windows.

In the Grand Place, with chocolate shops all around, it's Bruges, through and through. At times, staring down a narrow cobblestone alley, it's like Venice. Seafood on the tables enhances this. Near our apartment, with the Asian grocers, Japanese restaurants, and, at night, the lurid neon, one could be forgiven for replaying Blade Runner. The trash helps with this. As do the homeless, laying out on mattresses under scattered canopies.

I thought we arrived on garbage day, but this veritable army of trucks operates continually, including in the wee hours. This dichotomy, the trash and dirt beside the Grand Place and European politics, reminds me of Athens; extremes of excess and beauty, and then whole blocks forgotten, no doubt populated by those same elements each night. I'm of mixed feelings, it must be said. We've met some fantastic folks, but there are certainly areas where you should keep your map out of sight and your head down.

The restaurant area facing St. Catherine's Church reminded me of La Rambla, particularly when Spanish guitar could be heard from a big top tent further down, earlier on. Barcamoule was where we had supper, and my mussels were excellent. Very friendly staff. So many languages around us. A group that seemed to be winding down from a conference included a woman from Lisbon (now living in Sao Paolo), an Irishman and an Englishman. The city is crawling with suits and purpose.

Who needs sleep? This city surely feasts on them. It's Tuesday night!

My strangest observation, however, and another dichotomy, has to be the amount of pollen you see in the air, against all the concrete. Where does it come from? And yet, strangely, I'm fine; clearly it isn't ragweed. If this turns, I will be miserable.

* * *

April 20, 2011

It's so warm. Unseasonably so -- by ten to fifteen degrees Celsius, according to a gentleman at the train station. We haven't packed for it, but we'll happily make do with the shorts we have.

First, to the Grand Place to witness its transformation to a garden centre; oh, to be here for the flower carpet. Then, to the boot sale/flea market in Vossenplein Square. So many old board games, Tintin books, paintings and records. After a snack on the patio of a bordering cafe, we're off to the Cantillon brewery and museum.

We almost missed the place, it's large, wooden warehouse doors are so unassuming. The front area, for there's no room to speak of, opens to the basement where they clean the barrels, so our first smells are heavily laced with a dampness, and mustiness, just under the expected yeasts. I was immediately a boy, back in the Bussey's basement before they'd finished it. I have good memories of summer explorations there, the coolness welcome after the midday heat. (Little wonder I lose days in secondhand bookshops.)

All are free to wander; the only tour is the pamphlet they provide. Once you've finished exploring, it's back to the 'bar' at the front for samples of their gueuze and kriek (flavoured with cherries or raspberries). The spontaneous fermentation that is at the heart of these lambic beers is a hefty subject, but all can appreciate the "holy" cooling tun, where wild yeasts and bacteria living in the Senne river valley are allowed to blow over its open top; pictures of the resulting foaming barrels really do appear miraculous.

I bought a bottle of their Grand Cru, and a bottle of Gueuze Boon at de Bier Tempel shortly thereafter [before I realized that Favourite Beers, in town, stocks the latter; Leigh has a fantastic selection of Belgian beers].

We walked back such that we'd pass the Manneken Pis, to see the little guy, yes, but also because the GBG Belgium recommends the pub next door: Poechenellekelder. We enjoyed a few lambics -- Girardin Gueuze 1882 for me, and some faros for the ladies (sweetened with sugar and caramel vice fruit, normally) -- as the ebb and flow of Pis lovers washed over the patio area. Make sure you go inside, should you have the chance: the puppetry displays are amazing (and a little unsettling, if I'm honest).

A bit tuckered out from the walking, we elected to have a kip before supper and further exploring. Sushi delivered by train was the consensus later that night, followed by another recommendation: Delirium. I don't know how many different bars they have in that place, but be warned: the menus -- books, really -- are different for each. While the ladies sampled various fruity Floris options, I went for a Rulles Estivale, followed by a Grande. The place was hoppin', and we enjoyed checkin' in periodically with the marine, Paul, and his friends as they attempted to meet every person and beer on offer.

* * *

April 21, 2011: Ghent

Leaving Brussels for Flanders, you quickly realize that the guides aren't exaggerating: it's a different country. I'd never considered that I should've felt many reminders of our trip to Bruges by this time. I hadn't -- other than the Grand Place, as stated -- until we went to Ghent. The French of Brussels gives it a familiar feel to anyone who's spent time in the Outaouais region. Both Bruges and Ghent, however, while very welcoming, are clearly foreign when it comes to communicating. And, much like Czech, I found that the limited Dutch in our guides was useless without pronunciation details.

Our pace to date is beginning to show: in between nodding off on the train, I looked over at Tea and noticed a red fleck on her eyelid. Confused, I made many pawing attempts for it before concluding, "It looks like you have cheese wax on your eyelid." This kicked off many waves of overtired hysterics before we reached our destination.

The entrance of Sint-Pieters station is truly beautiful. After a few minutes of gaping and snapping pictures, we eventually found a working vending machine and bought tram tickets to town. Not even half a dozen stops later, we were in the heart of gob-smacking Ghent: the Graslei. Based on yet another recommendation from the GBG Belgium, we made our way straight to the Belga Queen, securing a table on the patio while lunch was still on.

We saw many disappointed groups turned away as we supped on delicious steak and lamb, and, in my case, many glasses of unfiltered Palm. Belga Queen was a footnote in my guide -- with a joke about the communal toilets with translucent doors (prior to locking) -- but I cannot recommend it highly enough: the staff were so friendly and helpful, and the food was the best to date [and of the whole trip, looking back].

Next, we stopped at the tourist information centre in Sint-Baafs, and picked up a recommended walk. Happily, it intersected with another recommendation, Dulle Griet or 'Mad Meg', named after the cannon of the same name in the square known as Friday Market. I witnessed the famous basket being raised to the roof, only later learning that they ransom shoes to ensure tabs are settled. [Correction: Tea has informed me that the shoes are actually collateral for a particular beer that's served in a very expensive glass. Ah, Belgians and their custom glasses.]

A few more stops, for ice cream, and the famous Tierenteyn-Verlent mustard --

"What types of mustard do you have?"
"We have our mustard."
"Ah... I'll take two jars then."

And we were back for sunset on the Graslei, a sight I'll never forget. On the way back to Sint-Pieters, we walked through the beautiful Citadel Park, and the immense Sint-Pietersplein (St. Peter's Square). As it was on the way, and uniquely situated on a moored houseboat, we took in one final recommendation -- De Planck -- and some of their own 'huisbier'.

* * *

April 22, 2011: Brussels again

With the ladies shopping, I find myself with some time at À la Mort Subite, intriguingly referred to as possibly "the best surviving fin de siècle long bar on the planet" by the handy GBG. It means "in sudden death" and is named after a card game, I gather. While reading about all sorts of Belgian beers and breweries -- the outrage at Flemish institution, Hoegaarden, temporarily becoming "a Wallonian lager" is a favourite -- I sampled Lefebvre's Hopus, a beer of the month that was pleasant, with currant notes; the bar's gueuze "sur lie", which was tastier than the stuff I bought in the grocery; and Alken-Maes' Hapkin. (Incidentally, Alken-Maes owns the Mort Subite line, and have been bought out by Heineken.)

After lunch on "kebab street" -- as it's called in Use-It Europe, Tourist Info for Young People, a neat map with commentary that Tea found -- near Grand Place, we spent some time in the comic strip museum before hitting up one last recommendation: Bier Circus. I have another book on beers of the world that includes three tours of beer meccas, one of which happens to be for Brussels; it chooses to end at Bier Circus. I take that to be a (well deserved) compliment. (Although I guess some could say that few would remember it then.)

Oddly enough, it's where my evening ended as well. But before that, with rain threatening, I finally sampled Geuze Boon Mariage Parfait -- and it really was -- with the ladies, wondering whether the nearby film crew would get their shot before the skies opened. When they did, I enjoyed a Rochefort 10 inside.

All was fine 'til, standing, we noted that the rain still had an edge. U2's Rattle and Hum is playing on the television too at this point, and I'm shocked to realize that while I've listened to the album hundreds of times, I've never seen the footage that accompanies the candid interviews between the tracks. It was so obvious that the barman came up behind me, saying, "You don't have to leave."

Another then. And what do I choose? De Dochter van de Korenaar's Embrasse is on special. Oh, so beautiful, but at 9% and 66 cl, not a nightcap. I was fine -- Tea and Kae support... u'm, no, back me up on this -- 'til we hit the stairs of our apartment -- the many, many stairs -- at which point, with the blood a-pumpin' through my veins, I had myself a little sit down. The ladies then went shopping for one of those five-minute hours, returning with pizzas for themselves and a kebab for me. One bite of that wrapped napalm later, I packed it in.

Up next: Amsterdam

If you're interested in more pictures, there are 90 between our Picasa albums of Brussels and Ghent.

Puttin' the Kae in UK

2011-04-18T19:01:00.001+01:00

Kae's visiting again! Woo hoo!

Trooper that she is, after much excitement and a big breakfast, the three of us then went shopping in Gloucester. Well, Tea and Kae shopped, for our imminent tour of Belgium and the Netherlands, while I'll kicked back in the New Inn with a book and a pint. I got chatting with a local, Don -- thanks, again, to the Roots swag I picked up in January; that stuff is aces for starting conversations about Canada -- who'd visited a fair bit of our beautiful country.

Many of the old travel guides I've been reading lately reference rail lines that no longer exist, including the old Honeybourne Line, which Don remembered from his college days, travelling from his home, then, in South Wales, to Cheltenham. I said that our rail network pales in comparison to theirs, and while he agreed, he said it's as the modern system does to that of his youth, when, for example, Cheltenham had three stations, and there were twice as many stations along his route to the college.

He and his family visited Canada in 2008, and had planned that part of the journey would be by rail. When they got to the station in Toronto, they learned that some signalling error had caused a derailment, and that Via was now putting buses on. (Their destination was Montreal.) Coincidentally, this was in late July, and they'd just learned about the terrible fate of Tim McLean. None of them slept a wink on that leg.

Overall, they really enjoyed Canada, though. They got to see Niagara, Toronto, Ottawa, Quebec City and Montreal during their time there. I was surprised by what impressed him the most about our country, however: how apologetic the French Canadians they met were about their poor English. He said it was just so unexpected and genuine.

As I packed up to move on, he said I could come back and visit him at his 'office' any time. I love the New Inn!

From there, with the girls still occupied, I moved to another pub I'd been meaning to try: Dick Whittington's. Like the New Inn, it is also a historic building. I was surprised to find, in Darrel's book, The Story of Gloucester's Pubs, that the pub had suffered from poor management recently. I strongly suspect that's no longer the case, as the publican who served me was very friendly and generous with bar snacks. He also had an excellent spread of real ales on, including two from the Great Western Brewing Company, which I'd never tried before. Excellent stuff.

* * *

The next day -- a very special one for Tea -- we decided to go to Birmingham, for a day out and supper at Jamie's Italian. While standing around at our train station wondering why there were only buses on, who should appear before us but Matt, picking up his tickets for Edinburgh in a week's time. Having nothing better to do, he agreed to join us, on what would now be our drive to B'ham (for the first time).

The trip was seamless -- surprising, considering we were driving in the second biggest city in the UK -- and, as happened the day before, the girls soon left me -- with company this time! -- agreeing to meet at Jamie's later.

Aside: prior to splitting up, we'd all been shocked to discover a wide range of 'American' foodstuffs at the Food Hall of beautifully-designed Selfridges store in the Bull Ring: we're talkin' Jif and Skippy peanut butter (from Ohio!), Aunt Jemima pancake mix, Lucky Charms, a whole 'American baking' section... The list goes on. How the heck we've been ignorant of this mecca for so long is beyond me.

You'll no doubt be shocked to learn that we found ourselves at a pub shortly thereafter. First, the Wellington, which was much calmer than the last time I'd been there, and then the Anchor again. The highlight of the afternoon was definitely Beowulf's Killer Stout, which we wisely consumed as half-pints (7.9% ABV).

Eventually we found our way to Jamie's -- much later than the girls, we learned, sitting in the Anchor. Having had to walk by the patio at Jamie's to get from the Wellington to the Anchor, both Matt and I somehow failed to notice them waving at us. Ahem! A few missed calls and texts later, we sheepishly finished up our pints. Thankfully Jamie's wasn't busy, so we were quickly sat, once we'd made our way back -- and only ten times off our agreed time, I must add!

You must (must) be tired of hearing this by now, but, yet again, Jamie's failed to disappoint. In fact, my special of pork loin with beetroot and basil that had been honey-glazed and roasted, was one of the best dishes I've had to date. We got the antipasti plank again, and the bread selection; just a fantastic spread. This was Matt's first time at a Jamie's, and I'm sure he'll be bringing the family to one when they're over for a visit.

All in all, a great weekend. Now, off to pack!

Up next: Brussels

Tropical Britain: Naunton and Bristol

2011-04-11T22:30:00.000+01:00

The unseasonable temperatures, the likes of which haven't been seen in 50 years*, had Britons out in droves this weekend. We were amongst them, of course, shaking out the cobwebs of a Friday night sending-off party and heading to the Cotswold Farm Park. Lambing season is being heavily promoted across the county right now, and Tea was determined to cuddle a good percentage of the latest to the flocks.

* According to BBC Radio Gloucestershire

A dovecote in Naunton

Despite the crowds, we had no trouble getting our hands on the lambs and kids -- U'm, that's baby goats, folks! Let's keep it clean, now. Even the lambing demonstration -- twenty minutes on all that's involved in bringing healthy lambs into the world -- was scheduled regularly to keep the audience to a reasonable size. The layout of the whole park worked very well, in fact: the fenced areas were such that you could feed the animals that were hungry -- from bags for sale -- while others rested away from the excitement.

After that, it was home for a kip before our table reservation at the Hollow Bottom -- one of the Cotswolds' most acclaimed pubs (and deservedly so).

* * * * *

We were up fairly early on Sunday, planning to hit the boot sale and antiques show at the racecourse before my noon train to Bristol. While the boot sale was packed, the £4 door charge at the antiques show kept the numbers down. The Antiques Roadshow happened to be filming as we wandered the floor; a suspicion we only confirmed later that evening. (Sorry, Mom; should've got an autograph.)

The find of the morning -- thanks to Tea! -- and a recent fascination for me, was a copy of a Ward Lock 'red' guide book of Bath from the 1930s, in beautiful condition. The guy who sold it to us was the spitting image of Tom Baker (in his heyday) -- the best of the Doctors, I'm sure you'll agree. I strung-out the conversation much longer than necessary to revel in it; luckily, he was very friendly.

From there, I hopped a train to Bristol with some friends to see Bristol Rugby host Nottingham at Memorial Stadium. With some time before the 3 p.m. kick-off, and at the suggestion of the Bristol native amongst us, we headed to the Wellington, just down the street from the stadium. A Bath Ales owned pub, the Wellie offered every one of their regular brews on hand-pump, and had plenty of outdoor seating.

Full of Sunday roast, we made our way to the 'cheap' section, which turned out to be the well-shaded area behind Bristol's end (for the first half); we had front-row seats for much of that half's action, and some great moments in the second to boot. Mike, our host, couldn't get over the number of tries: 29-19 for the home team, once it was all said and done.

One of our group was visiting from the States, so Clifton and the famous suspension bridge were next on the agenda. The whole area was something to see, especially on the day -- more like a slice of London than what I think of as the South West -- and folks were out on blankets, soaking up every last bit of it.

Mike had been talking up Exhibition cider, so the wind left our sails a bit when we saw that the Coronation Tap was closed. (Probably for the best, what with work the next day -- the stuff is legendary.) The Mall stood in admirably, though -- I certainly enjoyed my pints of "cellar cool" Tribute -- serving very good food well after 7 p.m. (Unheard of on a Sunday in Chelty, for example.)

Check out our Picasa album of the weekend for lots more pictures of lambs, flora and blue skies.

Close to home: Gloucester, Cleeve Common and Chedworth

2011-03-13T21:13:00.000Z

We've spent the last two weekends much like the two before: close to home.

Last Sunday, we spent a great day in Gloucester. We'd seen the cathedral from a distance many times, but this was our first opportunity to stand in the shadow of its spire. It's such an impressive edifice. We have tickets to see the Choral Society perform Rachmaninov's Vespers there next week; absolutely can't wait.

From there, we spent some time on the Docks, the Candle an impressive spire in its own right. Plus, there's such an eclectic range of houseboats tied up there. We saw what looked to be a television crew shooting some footage, and it wasn't hard to see why; just a perfect day for it.

The same could be said for the Monday, which we'd booked off much earlier, so we decided to head up to Cleeve Common; another spot close to home that we'd heard good things about. Well, what views! The rolling hills go on and on -- there's a golf course up there -- and from one side of the highest point, Cleeve Hill, you can look down on Prestbury, while from the other, Winchcombe and Sudeley Castle can be seen (on the clear day we had, anyway).

At times you'd look out across those hills, right to the horizon, and pick out a lone tree; just like that test at the optometrist's office. I didn't know scenes like that existed in nature.

* * * * *

While this Saturday was pleasant, today was the best day of the weekend, particularly once the rain stopped around mid-morning. When that turn for the better became apparent, we pulled out our trusty walking guides, quickly settling on one from our Short Walks book around Chedworth and the nearby Roman villa.

The old stone cottages around there, and Withington, are lovely. Combined with hills reminiscent of last weekend on the Common, it's a perfect example of why the Cotswolds are cherished. Another highlight of the walk was the livestock: sheep, of course, and a few horses we got right up next to, but also a dozen or so llamas of various colours in a field on the way back; they didn't seem too bothered by us, rolling about in the grass to scratch one itch or another.

Am I forgetting anything? H'm... ... Oh, yes, the pub! Take note: the Seven Tuns Inn in Chedworth is worth the drive from just about anywhere in Gloucestershire. The staff were really friendly and competent, there's a great atmosphere, with plenty of seating indoors and out, the real ale was excellent -- the best Tribute I've had in a while -- and the food... Oh, the food topped it all.

Tea loved her ploughman's and soup, and my beef and Yorkshire pudding were excellent. (The latter's probably the best I've had; so fluffy!) The roasted veg that came with mine deserves special note: the parsnip was a perfect mix of sharp and sweet, and the carrots and courgettes were clearly locally grown. Finally, the sticky toffee pudding had caught Tea's eye earlier in the meal, and let's just say it was even better than it looked; a superb finish.

Check out our albums for more pictures from the past two weekends: Gloucester Docks, Cleeve Common and Chedworth.

Birmingham: Back to Jamie's

2011-02-27T16:07:00.000Z

With a rainy Saturday developing, we decided, on a whim, to take the train to Birmingham, for a bit of shopping and a meal at Jamie's Italian. Happily, we were under blue skies before long, enjoying the bustle of the Bull Ring. There's such an energy in that city, and in the open market especially; the air's a-buzz with it, the shouts of the vendors hawking their produce or auctioning off their cuts of meat coming over the top.

We put our name in at Jamie's Italian, and with an estimated wait of forty minutes, took their pager for a stroll. We came upon a fantastic find then: a bin, outside a lingerie shop of all things, filled with old water jugs advertising various breweries, £2 a pop. We picked up five, for less than we've paid for one in the past.

Shortly thereafter the pager went off. I'm happy to say that the Birmingham location is yet another example of the stellar standards we've come to expect from Jamie's. I went with their specials exclusively this time: a golden beetroot soup to start, followed by crab and risotto cakes with a fennel salad. Both were superb; simply superb. The only way the crab cakes could've been any better was if they'd included a few more tangerine segments -- maybe one per cake -- vice the one. Such an amazing blend of flavours. Tea's mushroom panzerotti was the same; probably more so, in fact.

Finally, while we were initially disappointed to learn that our beloved lemon polenta cake is a seasonal offering, the waiter was absolutely correct: the chocolate, raspberry and amaretto brownie with bourbon vanilla ice cream was truly to die for. And I don't normally make a fuss about the bill, but I think it's important that I highlight how affordable Jamie's is: all that, plus their fabulous selection of breads, a bruschetta starter, 1.5 litres of their lovely house red, and tea and coffee only cost £64. At the risk of officially joining their marketing team, I'll reiterate a sentiment I've blogged before: this is some of the best food I've eaten out; ever. And I've paid a lot more than that for meals of similar composition.

Pleasantly full, it was time for a bit of shopping. The last train home was around half nine, so we stopped up with enough time for a pint. Tea's CAMRA app. pulled through again, pointing out the wonderful Anchor Inn, just down the road from the Bull Ring. I'd recommend it for the atmosphere and friendly staff alone, but the list of real ales they had on pushes it to legendary status in my books. And it seemed to be a local favourite too, with lots of folks -- a range of ages at that -- havin' a good time.

The same could be said of the Royal Union, where we finished the night, back in town. It was good to see. We've decided Robin needs to let the dogs come down and mingle more, though.

As always, we've created a Picasa album with more pictures from the afternoon and evening.

A party at Wotton Hall

2011-02-26T13:36:00.000Z

Walking to the bus stop last night, one could hardly be blamed for worrying whether the evening was going awry. We had a destination (Wotton Hall, Gloucester) and a route (no. 10), but beyond that, it was all a bit fuzzy. We knew there was a small beer festival at that hall this weekend, but their Web site allocated far more real estate to a 60s and 70s dance, going on we knew not when.

As we sat on the bus, halfway to Gloucester, two nicely dressed ladies and a spiffy chap got on. We privately joked about them getting off at our stop, only to suffer that sinking feeling as they pushed the bell while we gathered our stuff. In a scene right out of one of those 80s teen movies, we just stood there on the pavement, the bus pulling away, staring at the dozen lads 'n' lasses in waistcoats and gowns on the hall's steps, smokin' and lookin' right back. After what seemed like a heck of a long time, but was probably just half a dozen seconds, the tension broke and they went back to gabbin' 'n' puffin'. Pluckin' up our courage, we squeezed through the crowd, assuming we'd made some horrible mistake.

Enjoying pints of Codrington Winter Royal

Upon entering, the "Private Party" sign immediately to our left perked us up, as did the doorman's, "Back to the skittles alley," in response to our beery query. Wotton Hall was a-hoppin'! In addition to that reception, there was a skittles match in full swing, a wine tasting, an open mic night, and, thankfully, a beer festival! That place is clearly the heart of their community. Such a great atmosphere; warm and welcoming.

We met up with American Joe and had a great chat over a few pints, then caught the last bus back home, where Matt 'n' I broke out Guitar Hero III, rockin' it double-axe style 'til the wee hours. Good times!

Hay-on-Wye: Book town of Wales (and my heart)

2011-02-21T22:08:00.000Z

Walking in on Friday, we decided it was time for another mini-break. That evening we booked The Swan in Hay-on-Wye for following night. While the weather the next morning wasn't as good as the forecast, it steadily improved as we made our way west. Only fog awaited us as we checked in early and set about exploring Hay.

With rain threatening, we kept the walk short, down by the lively Wye river. Benches dedicated to fellow lovers of the British countryside could be seen all along the trail, and we took advantage of one part-way, enjoying the view and those smells you only get near fast-moving water.

The reviews Tea had read said the Swan's food was a bit poncey, and the fab Blue Boar was just across the road to boot, so guess where we ended up for lunch. Their food was excellent -- a beef burger for Tea and cottage pie (think shepherd's pie) for me -- and while their namesake IPA was a bit bland, the Landlord more than made up for it.

Bellies full, it was time to see what Hay is famous for: books, books and more books. I've never seen so many shops in such a small town. And some of them are so specialized -- on botany and ornithology, children's books, nineteenth century British authors... Honestly, that's three different bookshops -- you wonder how they can survive. In a word, or phrase, Hay Festival: tens of thousands of visitors flood the town with one thought on their mind: reading.

I won't bore you with my amazing finds -- including the ones I left on the shelves; it's easy to spend well in excess of a thousand pounds on one book, in case you're wondering why I wouldn't satisfy my every whim -- but the highlight of the day was certainly the illustrated edition of Voltaire's Candide by Peter Pauper Press, hardcover in a slipcase. Beautiful!

We decided to rest up a bit before supper. Back in the hotel room, I took in some of the FA Cup fifth round play, very impressed with how non-league Crawley Town fared against Man U. -- that's right: a team effectively four leagues below the team at the top of the Premier League, and, in the end, they were beaten by but one goal. Incredible.

We'd heard the Old Black Lion was the best restaurant in town, and we were lucky enough to get a table without a reservation... Just. The locals were so friendly, first offering us their seats while we waited for a table, and then one gentleman finished early, taking his digestif to the pub area, so that we might have his table sooner. Such a great atmosphere, before I even touch on the fabulous food: a T-bone steak for Tea, and a starter of duck, followed by braised lamb shank for me; superb! Plus, they had the Wye Valley's own Butty Bach on hand-pump! Love that stuff.

The next morning, after a big, tasty full English at the Swan, it was out for a proper hike, south toward the Hay Bluff. The weather was great again, but it had rained overnight, making it easily our muddiest walk to date. Thank goodness for wellies, is all I have to say; well, thank that and balance I summoned from the depths, hauling one boot out while another sank up to my shin, over and over again for a stretch. And I was grinnin' like an idiot, brought back thirty years in one afternoon.

The pig farm was another highlight: these big sows snuffling over to the fence (thinking we had food, no doubt) and scratching themselves on saplings the size of my forearm. Oh, and I can't forget the wee lambs, still trying to master the trick of standing up for seconds at a time. And if walking through all these farms doesn't give you a flavour for life here, every farmhouse we passed had a stool out front with cartons of their eggs and a tin for the money. Stepping back in time would approximate the feeling for some, I guess, but I've never known life like this. Period. It's heaven to me; plain and simple.

After a light lunch at the Blue Boar -- why mess with a good thing? -- it was time for more shopping. I had visions of popping 'round to many different shops, but that was before we entered the phenomenon of Hay Cinema Bookshop. It's pretty much a TARDIS. An old converted theatre, it just keeps going on and on, gobbling up afternoons like kids' sweets. Again, I won't bore you with all that made up our two shopping bags' full. For me, the highlights were N. C. Wyeth's Pilgrims, and a beautiful edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, illustrated by Peter Weevers (although Tea also got some great photography manuals).

The day quickly getting away from us, we decided to hit the road. We still wanted to stop in Ross-on-Wye on the way back, and by the smaller roads that really shouldn't be travelled after sunset. 'Cause it was on the map, we did take one detour: to Arthur's Stone, dented by the elbow of a giant slain by Arthur, according to legend. The kids who were biking away as we arrived didn't seem so impressed, jumping up 'n' down on the neolithic burial chamber moments before. (I leave the mutters and grumblings of "no respect..." and "tanned hides..." as an exercise for the reader.)

We caught the last of the light as we pulled off at Ross-on-Wye. We'll definitely be back, as some of the walks beside the river looked absolutely idyllic. As it was, we stopped in The Mail Rooms for a few pints -- New Moon is an excellent dark, incidentally -- and tea for Tea. When we learned they'd run out of Sunday roast -- of any sort! -- it was down to the Seven Seas for kebabs; super messy, but delish!

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

Stroud: Leonard in England

2011-02-13T10:24:00.153Z

Since Saturday was supposed to be the nice day of the weekend, we made sure we were up somewhat early, and after picking up Matt, made our way to Stroud for their famous farmers' market: supposedly one of the best (the best?) in England. Once parked, we made our way to the nearby high street -- through the train station, I might add; guess how we'll be getting there next time -- Celtic notes filling the air. The Bucket Band was almost through a set, two little girls skipping 'round a little boy just in front of them, like something out of a Newfoundland tourism ad.

After picking up a CD, we wandered the market, taking in all the fabulous sights and smells. Even in the middle of winter, it was substantial. Can't wait to go back when more's in season. We bought olives and focaccia, and after sampling some sausages straight off the grill, a few packages for home -- cookin' them up as I type this, actually; they smell so good! (And I'm cookin' 'em up, too; look at me! *wink*) Plus, we got chatting to the chap from Warcop Brewery in South Wales, and Matt and I grabbed half a dozen of their stouts and porters between us; sounds like he's there year-round, so I know where to go if I like it.

Speaking of ale, we thought it'd be the perfect way to wash down our sausages and rest our feet. Tea's CAMRA app. told her the Queen Victoria was good choice nearby, so off we went. As we sat outside, enjoying our pints -- the excellent Cornish Mutiny for me, and Anastasia's Exile Stout for Matt; the latter's by Ascot Ales, which deserves special mention, as their Alligator Ale came in my most recent CAMRA Beer Club box, and it's excellent) -- a guy approached, asking whether we had any papers to spare, mistaking us for smokers.

He had more success inside, and came out to share a pint with us. As we chatted, he showed us a newsletter he'd just finished for an upcoming series called Lorca In England, celebrating the work of the Spanish poet, Federico García Lorca. The town has a rich history of supporting the arts, we soon discovered. He'd moved out from London 22 years ago, and fallen in love. He said that now, many of those artists make up the local business community, running coffee shops, pubs, etc. When he found out we were Canadians, he immediately gushed praise for Leonard Cohen, talking about how he's still writing verses for Hallelujah, his ordination as a Buddhist monk, and his bankruptcy. (Much of which was news to me, I have to be honest. Matt easily kept pace, though.) Before leaving, he recommended we check out the Golden Fleece, and hoped to see us there later.

Next on our list was the snowdrops in Colesbourne Park, but we'd passed through Painswick on the way to Stroud, and decided it was worth a stop coming back. After wandering the beautiful grounds of the Church of England parish church of Saint Mary -- with its literally fantastic yew trees -- we stopped for a bite to eat at the Royal Oak, enjoying the fruits of Stroud Brewery -- Budding and Tom Long, specifically -- two bowls of butternut squash soup and a burger between the three of us.

It isn't hard to see why Colesbourne Park is getting so much attention on local radio and television: the snowdrops were more than plentiful. Because of that, I think our later arrival, with an hour 'til closing, worked out really well: the crowds were dying down, and we still had plenty of light to take some great photographs. A great way to end the day.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

"Are you a real Canadian?"

2011-02-06T17:10:00.003Z

We had a better plan this year, buying a return bus fare that got the six of us to the Tewkesbury Winter Ale Festival a bit before noon -- we'd heard they were limiting the attendance to 300 this year, and didn't want to miss out. I don't know if they got that many, but it was certainly well attended, and better stocked this year, with plenty of choices left on this, the last day. (Last year they had little left but cider less than halfway through the final day.)

A great selection too, that I was largely unfamiliar with: I knew maybe half a dozen of the 70 ales available! Favourites included Orkney's Raven -- lovely nose, almost like pine needles -- Black Ops (can't remember the brewer) and a whopper, at 10%, called... Old Thakey? Thakes? Something like that; more like a port than an ale, but really smooth and tasty. [Correction: I didn't do too bad, actually: the Raven was by Thornbridge, Black Ops was by Salopian (the same folks that do the Lemon Dream that Tea and her friend, Liv, love), and, finally, the whopper was Thomas Sykes Ale by Burton Bridge. Thanks to Matt for digging out the pamphlet.] The entertainment was also excellent: the Tewkesbury town band, followed by Six Nations rugby on the big screen.

On one trip to the cask room, Tea was stopped by two gentlemen serving food, "Are you a real Canadian?" pointing at her recently acquired Roots swag.

"Yeeesss."

"We have a question for you: how do Eskimos bury their dead?"

Tea, Matt (a fellow Canadian) and I exchanged looks and shrugs. I don't think they believed any of our suggestions, which included cremation and boat graves. (We had no clue. Turns out the answer is just like us, and, historically, under cairns.)

Awesome mustard we'd had earlier

Good times. We hit the Bank House for some grub once back in town, followed by a nightcap at a friend's place. Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the festival.

Tea and Jae in the UK

Wales in black: of mountains and the night sky

Nottingham: The Black Keys!

La Plagne: those dreaded diamonds

Edinburgh: can you say Hogmanay?

Manchester: "POUR - SOME - SUGAR on me!"

Berlin: "Even monkeys know this!"

Paris: The Gold Ring

Disneyland Paris: "I need a Captain EO."

London: "Don't cross Euston Road at night!"

Bright Lights and Beacons

Homecoming

The Great British Cheese Festival

Cardiff: day out

The Third Annual Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer Festival

The Magical Forest (of Dean)

Mom in London

Tewkesbury: "Is that mint?"

Snowshill: "I've never been so uninteresting to bees"

Copenhagen: the long-awaited return to Tivoli!

Tallinn: Canada rocks the archery contest

St. Petersburg: Day 2

St. Petersburg: Day 1

Baltic cruise: Helsinki: sauna nation

Baltic cruise: Stockholm: hottubbing next to greatness

Baltic cruise: the North Sea and Warnemünde, Germany: "Who's the celebrity?"

Baltic cruise: Amsterdam

La bella Varenna

The Netherlands: Amsterdam and the Keukenhof

The Netherlands: Amsterdam and Zaanse Schans

The Netherlands: Day 1: Amsterdam

Belgium: dichotomous Brussels and divine Ghent

Puttin' the Kae in UK

Tropical Britain: Naunton and Bristol

Close to home: Gloucester, Cleeve Common and Chedworth

Birmingham: Back to Jamie's

A party at Wotton Hall

Hay-on-Wye: Book town of Wales (and my heart)

Stroud: Leonard in England

"Are you a *real* Canadian?"

"Are you a real Canadian?"