Montenegro, and the back of the Walloon bus

The Bay of Kotor

We were up nice 'n' early for our tour; it was neat to walk against the stream of commuters to Dubrovnik's Old Town at that hour. There was a bit of a mix-up with the tour, such that we ended up on a bus with thirty or so French-speaking Belgians. Luckily there were two guides, so the half dozen English speakers were segregated to the back of the bus for translations in the silences. As both Tea and I understand French reasonably well -- particularly the guide's perfectly enunciated Montenegrin-school French -- we got the best of both worlds, with quick questions to our guide where we faltered. (Incidentally, we both agreed that what I'm assuming was Walloon French is very difficult to understand. Before I discovered they were Belgians, I seriously suspected that their native language wasn't French, and that they'd simply booked said tour for its accessibility, etc.)

The Cathedral of Saint Tryphon, in Kotor

Let there be no doubt: the Belgians know how to vacation. After clearing the two border crossings -- Croatia's and Montenegro's -- the agenda called for a quick stop at a petrol station to pick up our local guide; 15 minutes for the toilet, a stretch, etc. I blink, and the station patio bar is full of Belgian couples raising glasses of the local Nik Gold. (Obligatory review: I tried Nikšićko pivo in Budva later that day; unpleasantly metallic at the outset, with no finish -- the latter being a selling point, according to the warped reality of beer advertisers.) And this continued at each of the stops! Živjeli!

Montenegro is, simply, beautiful. Driving around the Bay of Kotor was incredible. Cypress trees darken the awesome Dinarides -- hence the country's name, "black mountains" -- leading down to the mirror-like, deep blue bay; it actually resembles a fjord, blocking all wind from the Adriatic. With towns and villages at the water's edge -- the best defence against the main threat of the time: invading Ottomans from the mountains -- it really reminded me of a lush Lake Como; indeed, the Dinarides (is it just me, or does that word conjure up this epic mix of Easy Rider and dinosaurs?) are properly called the Dinaric Alps.

You can just make out the city wall above

The city of Kotor was our first significant stop. Words fail me. That wall 'round the old port, rising up the mountains in the most imposing fashion, was the highlight of the tour. Unfortunately, given the lushness of the terrain, I feel my pictures too have failed to capture it. (This will probably sound simple and odd, but, staring up at that wall, I felt like the greatest of cities from the Romance of the Three Kingdoms video game were alive before me; ah, a childhood bowed before Nintendo.)

This trip has really illuminated how paths diverged following the dissolution of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, and on a spectrum of Croatia to Bosnia, a good example of mixed blessings is Montenegro generally, and the route to our other stop, Budva, specifically.

Relaxing in Budva

The division of the South Slavic language known as Serbo-Croatian was largely a political construct, and while Montenegrins understand Croatian, officially they use a Cyrillic alphabet, whereas the latter use a Latin one. (Incidentally, our guide admitted that she struggles with official, largely government-related, correspondence, as the reality of Montenegro's reliance on tourism means that a Latin alphabet carries the day.) I raise this because our guide pointed out that, on said road to Budva, and throughout the town itself, it's the Russian alphabet, not the Serbian one, on the road signs and shop fronts. This, the large mansions (outside UNESCO protected areas, at least), and (abandoned, in many cases) factories blighting the greenery, reflect Russian exploitation of a newly-independent (since 2006), but poor, country. (For example, unable to afford a currency of their own, Montenegro requested, and received, permission to use the euro, even though they aren't part of the Union.)

I've always had difficulty putting news from this region (e.g., Kosovo's declaration of years past) in context, so it was particularly fascinating and rewarding for me to learn about its history in such beautiful surroundings. Tour guides are no different from any of us, of course, burdened with a set of biases; still, for me, it's tough to beat a few hours with a good storyteller.

The small islet and hotel resort of Sveti Stefan (Saint Stephen)

Check out our album for more pictures from the tour.

La Plagne: those dreaded diamonds

[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.

Berlin: "Even monkeys know this!"

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:

1. 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.
2. 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.

La bella Varenna

[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.]