Dubrovnik: kayaking and Mexican

We took it easy this morning, packing down plenty of carbs for our kayaking excursion with Adventure Dubrovnik early in the afternoon. Tea and I had a two-person boat, and, happily, got on much better than on that unmentionable canoe trip of yore. Over three hours or so, our guides, Dario and Marko, took us out near Lokrum, to a secluded beach for lunch and snorkeling, and then back to the Old Town. We enjoyed it so much that we booked a cycling and wine tasting tour with them tomorrow.

Once refreshed, we made our way to a Steve McCurry -- of "Afghan Girl" fame -- exhibit at the Dubrovnik Art Gallery; they'd devoted the whole building to it; some really moving pieces, covering his work from the early '80s to the present. Tea particularly liked his Tibet stuff, and I was impressed with what he's done in Afghanistan over thirty years.

Chihuahua Cantina Mexicana

Since we were already outside the wall, we decided to take another stab at that Mexican restaurant. Luckily, Chihuahua Cantina Mexicana was open, and only moderately busy. This place had soul; clearly a labour of love. I'm talkin' the works: funky tunes at just the right volume; walls covered with intriguing art and collages of previous customers havin' a barrel of laughs; and competent, no-nonsense staff. The food, you ask? PHENOM. Seriously, regular readers will know that we've been spoiled on this trip, and, no word of a lie, this meal ranks top shelf; maybe even tops. I'd put the salsa and margaritas against the best back home any day of the week. Bizarre, I know, but there it is.

Check out our album for more pictures from the trip. The dubrovnik label should bring up all the posts, in case you haven't been following along.

Mom in London

[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:

• Rembrandt | Portrait of Aechje Claesdr | NG775
• Willem Kalf | Still Life with Drinking-Horn | NG6444
• Joseph Wright 'of Derby' | An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump | NG725

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:

1. Rooster's Hot Shot
2. Dark Star's Hophead: nice 'n' hoppy; not much to choose between these first two excellent beers
3. Mikkeller's Beer Geek Breakfast: lovely full body, coffee roast throughout
4. 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.

St. Petersburg: Day 1

[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

[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.

The Netherlands: Amsterdam and the Keukenhof

[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.

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

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.