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.

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

[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.

Wandering Wales

Thursday, November 18

After a nice lie-in and a few errands, we crossed the border to Wales, heading to Abergavenny. With sunset before half four these days, we didn't have much time to explore. A quick pint in the Hen and Chickens -- a cinnamon real ale of sorts that was good (in small quantities, I would suggest) -- and a stroll through the market area, alight for Christmas, and it was back on the road west for the short drive to Crickhowell and our lodgings for the evening: The Bear Inn.

What a fabulous spot! So warm and welcoming. We'd booked the half seven supper time, and so we went down to the bar to enjoy a few pints by the roaring hearth, planning the next day.

Their food matches their hospitality: Tea loved her Black Mountain steak filet, and my rump of lamb was excellent. I had pigeon for a starter, which was also very tasty -- it would seem, happily, that my earlier run-ins with their brethren on the balcony of our first apartment haven't scarred me. That, and I'd enjoyed partridge a number of times as a kid in Newfoundland, and it's similar to pigeon.

For dessert, Tea had her first pavlova, and loved it. I helped her with a bit of the meringue, and, man, it was good.

Friday, November 19

The trend continued with breakfast; in fact, my full English came with some of the best black pudding I've ever had. We both agreed that the ham and bacon was exceptional too -- local, according to the menu.

The forecast for later in the week and week's end had been poor, so no one was more surprised than us when we were greeted by the sun on Friday. Crickhowell was irresistible, blanketed in a morning mist, so we took some time to explore the local castle and side streets. The plan had then been to go straight to St. David's and hike, before coming back to Slebech for the night.

Well, we started to have doubts about that plan after the sixth time we pulled over to take pictures -- and all this before Brecon, which isn't a half hour west of Crickhowell! The countryside in the morning sun was that spectacular. And then our modified plan of a tea in Brecon turned into four lovely hours, including a walk around the Cathedral Church of St. John the Evangelist, some shopping, a few pints at the Boars Head -- "the flagship of the Breconshire Brewery" -- and delicious döner kebabs for the road from this hole in the wall. (We've decided we have to find one of these shops closer to home after that awesome street vendor in Oxford the other weekend, and now this.)

We should've made it to the hotel with plenty of daylight to spare, but let's just say that Slebech Park is well tucked away.

After calling them, then stopping and asking for directions at a car dealership -- insert much more to'ing and fro'ing -- and finally following a random car down a narrow -- and, by this time, very dark -- road we hoped might lead in the right direction, we made it!

As we entered the reception area, the girl behind the counter said, "Oh, was I speaking with you?" When we hinted at our exasperation, she immediately indicated to her right and said, "Oh, would you like to sign our petition for a sign?" Honestly, I thought she was joking, and actually laughed, her deadpan delivery was so spot-on.

But, no, as Ellie went on to explain, the local council is dead-set against what they call "sign pollution," even though the hotel merely wants to use a portion of the existing road sign for Picton Castle. I don't know how anyone finds this place without it; the petition was certainly chock-a-block by the time we got our hands on it.

Things started looking up once we'd booked a supper time and opened a few selections of Brains' fine brews. The estate is really very impressive, and the restaurant is in what used to be part of the stables; a cart shed, specifically, I believe, which doesn't do the scale of the structure justice. We decided to dine on the upper balcony, and at times we felt like royalty above our subjects, themselves dining before a crackling fire.

Saturday, November 20

But it's the land surrounding the estate -- including its view on the Daugleddau Estuary -- that set Slebech Park apart. The following morning, we had a fantastic time walking but a portion of the grounds, with not another soul in sight. At one point, which, with hindsight, was probably the highlight of the trip for me, we were looking out over a field grown so high that the sheep were partially hidden, when suddenly this enormous FROOMPF! erupted all around us, as literally hundreds of small birds took flight simultaneously. The sky was black with them for a second or two, and we must've spent another twenty minutes watching their elaborate dance amongst trees near and far.

We took our time driving -- ever west! -- to St. David's, stopping on a whim in Solva. The tide was out, which caught our eye, quickly followed by the Harbour Inn. It was probably the pub of the trip, with excellent food and ales on tap, and a hearth that Tea hardly took her eyes off.

We did make it to St. David's eventually, and had a great time exploring the town, as well as the cathedral and nearby Bishop's Palace. The whole area is something to see, the way it's unveiled as you walk down into the town. We could've spent a lot longer there, but we knew that our hotel was just outside of Aberystwyth, well over an hour up the west coast.

We drove through Fishguard as the light began to fade, and swore we'd come back to Cardigan one day. Thankful, the sign for the Conrah stands out well on the roadside as you come to Chancery, just before Aberystwyth. Our room was really a separate cabin of sorts -- with an amazing view, we discovered in the morning -- and perfectly laid out.

Sunday, November 21

For our last day, we decided to explore Aberystwyth, and then take in the Devil's Bridge on the drive home. We were clearly getting the hang of planning by this point, because once we'd explored the beachfront, including the nearby castle and climbing to the top of Constitution Hill, it was well into the afternoon.

The rain was holding off as we pulled into Devil's Bridge to take in the town's namesake. We descended the slick stone steps to that thunderous culmination of the Mynach Falls called "The Punch Bowl" and gazed up at those three famous bridges. It's really quite a sight; particularly when you learn that the original bridge dates from the 11th century.

Then there was time for some refreshments at the nearby Hafod Arms Hotel -- Welsh cakes! Yum! -- before we hit the road for home.

As always, there are many more pictures (over 100!) in my Picasa web album from the trip.

Western Superman... Or Weston-Super-Mare

The title is a reference to the first time Weston was mentioned around Tea: "They always say it so fast!"

Saturday started out beautifully, so we decided to get in an early run -- only our third at that point, but we're making good progress. Then we hopped in the car for the short drive to the coastal town of Weston-Super-Mare.

I have to say that I found the approach a bit rough. Tea was in love with the place from the moment we drove out on the widest, flattest beach that I'd ever seen -- our parking lot for the day -- but I still dwelling on the widely-spaced houses set back from the road that left me... cold. Well, let's just say I certainly warmed to the place over the course of the day; it really is beautiful.

The town hosted a sand sculpture festival over the summer that had just finished up a few weeks prior, but we were happy to learn that they were still charging an admission and maintaining the sculptures for the time being. Some really detailed work was on display, of many British favourites, including Monty Python, Doctor Who, and Wallace and Gromit. Shakespeare, Hitchcock, Churchill and the Beatles were all represented, as was a typical day by the sea -- right down to the Flake bar in the ice cream, which Tea was tickled to see.

There were plenty of fish 'n' chip take-aways along the waterfront, but we opted to stop at the Old Thatched Cottage restaurant -- the gusts would cool our food in jig time otherwise, Mom was quick to point out. (And won't thank me for highlighting here.) It turned out to be a great decision: the staff were so friendly, and the food -- fish 'n' chips for Mom and me, roast beef for Tea -- was delicious. Even the coffee was excellent.

The Grand Pier is supposed to be re-opening this month, but it was still closed when we were there. There's plenty to see, nonetheless. Bellies full, we walked out to the Knightstone Causeway, past a park with big sprinklers and kids running through them in swimsuits, no less -- it wasn't that nice out, we agreed, adding that the locals must be made of tougher stuff.

We then walked back to the car and continued on down the beach to the golf course and camp ground. Near there, a large section had been cordoned off for kite buggies and kite skating. We'd never seen anything like that before, but agreed that it looked like lots of fun. Below is what Tea declared would be the picture of the day -- a claim I find difficult to dispute.

Santorini: oh, my poor a••!

After two days at sea, we tendered to Firá, on the Greek island of Santorini in the southern Aegean Sea.

I thought we would walk the 600 steps to Firá proper, but we quickly reassessed that once we realized that we'd have to share those steps with many, many laden donkeys (to say nothing of their s••t). The smell was so bad at one point that both Tea and Stephen were near retching.

I was surprisingly terse on this point in my journal, so let me elaborate: seeing Stephen in such a state had Tea bent double with laughter, which is never a good thing when you're nauseous. In Stephen's defence, as he stood about, contemplating the finer points of the awful smell I guess, a donkey started backing up toward him, relieving itself as it went. I don't know how he didn't end up covered in it, but that was definitely his lowest moment, shall we say.

They don't smell much better once you're riding them, incidentally, and you're trading the possibility of getting bumped off the steep steps or crushed against the rock wall for being thrown off said steps by mounting them, but, hey, every adventure needs the fear of bodily harm, right?

One final point in this aside: that donkey is a lot bigger than it looks. Honestly! I'm at least a foot off the ground in that picture!

Firá, from the other side of town

Firá, from the ship

The whitewash of Firá reminded me of our trip to southern Spain. We took a cab to a nearby black beach, played in the sun, and laid out on a proper bed -- four poster, with shade and room for us all, for only €10 -- fantastic! And the Greek salad they brought out to us on said bed was so good: covered in peppery olive oil that I was sopping up with the fresh bread, tomatoes like I've never tasted... A few hours later, we took the local bus back to Firá, and a cable car down to the tender. (We'd had enough fear for one day by then.)

I'm glad we bought pictures of the donkey ride, 'cause I don't think Tea or I would believe we did it in even a few months' time otherwise.

Nancy and Stephen enjoying the shade

Up next: Kuşadası, Turkey

The Canary Islands: above the clouds and to the moon

Tenerife

Above clouds at the first stopOur first stop in the Canary Islands was Tenerife, famous for Teide, the third-largest volcano in the world, in the middle of the nicely-named Las Cañadas National Park. The park was well inland, so we set about finding transportation there immediately, and while the cabbie we settled on didn't speak much English, his price was right.


Mt. Teide; still 50 km awayI pointed out the volcano when we were still some 50 km away, and no one would believe me! We were so far up at that point, and the peak really did look like it could be three hours away, or three days away; the scale was hard to grasp.

As we drove, a forest that would remind you of any Canadian national park became steppe, and finally a blackened tundra. In this silent, empty landscape sat a cable-car to the summit. Well, 500 metres shy of the summit; you need a permit -- a free permit, apparently -- to hike right to the top. So there we were, some 3200 metres up; it's tough to describe... I mean, we were in short-sleeves, but all you had to do was run a few steps and you knew where you were; winded in a second. They limit your time up there to one hour.

Gran Canaria

After the excitement of the previous day, a beach day at our next stop, Gran Canaria, was in order. The waves were a bit rough -- the yellow flag was out -- but, really, we couldn't've asked for a better day. It's funny: frolicking in the surf, you could be forgiven for thinking you were in the Caribbean, but one glance at the skyline dispels that: Las Palmas is a bustling, developed city. This, in stark contrast with our last stop in the Canaries.



But before I get to that, a few points about that evening on the ship:

• Stephen and I finally got around to trying the Flow Rider, which is a simulated surfing pool at the back of the ship. Stephen kicked my butt all over the place with a fantastic first run that didn't even turn out to be beginner's luck. I, on the other hand, left with a sore neck (to say nothing of my pride).
• Later that evening we took in a show with the hypnotist, Christoper Caress. He started off with an exercise for everyone, at the end of which you were supposed to feel like your hands were drawn together; well, he'd barely gotten the words out before mine were clasped. At that point, at his direction, I, and bunch of other folks with 'magnetized' hands, volunteered to be part of the show. Tea, Nancy and Stephen said I did a pretty good job of milking an ephemeral cow and dancing the Riverdance, but I don't remember much.

Lanzarote

Finally, we stopped in Lanzarote, not far from the capital, Arrecife. Well, we thought Mount Teide was desolate; the landscape in Lanzarote is often described as lunar or Martian, and it isn't hard to see why. That said, the beach that the cabbie dropped us at was really nice, and we had another good stretch of Frisbee and lounging.

Up next: Oyster Street!