Homecoming

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.

Copenhagen: the long-awaited return to Tivoli!

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.)

Day 2: Munich!

Up very early this morning. Don't expect the houseboat residents appreciated our luggage clattering along the cobblestones at 5 a.m. Took the Heathrow Express from Paddington, then the quick flight to Munich.

Navigating the ring road in our hire car was fun, particularly when we started hitting cul-de-sacs courtesy of metal barriers that our sat-nav knew nothing of. [Aside: we later learned that one of the 'avoidances' we always leave on -- toll roads -- was unnecessarily complicating our routes; apparently most of the autobahns are marked as toll roads on our 2009 maps.] Eventually we made it to the hotel, though, and then took the U-Bahn to Marienplatz.

As we emerged from the subway, raised voices and music could be heard. Initially, we laughed off Tea's guess of protests, only to have it confirmed by a local shortly thereafter. Hundreds, if not thousands, of folks carrying and wearing "Atomkraft? Nein danke!" lined streets and pathways. [Now that I'm connected again, I'll let this Deutsche Welle story tell the tale:

A focus of the protest was the formation of a human chain, about 10 kilometers long, through the center of the city... Organizers said that some 50,000 people in all took part in the day's events, while police put the number at around 25,000.

...

Social Democratic Party (SPD) leader Sigmar Gabriel said that the turnout revealed the level of opposition to a planned extension to the operating lifespans of Germany's nuclear power plants...]

Tea successfully navigated around that excitement, bringing us to the decidedly more jovial bustle of the Hofbräuhaus am Platzl.

Well, I have to say, the Hofbräuhaus franchise in Las Vegas is excellent. Much as there, music, laughter and the general buzz of good cheer washed over us as we explored the many rooms of the former royal brewery.

A friendly British couple who are living in Munich invited us to sit at a Stammtisch or local table, where we enjoyed pork knuckle, cabbage rolls and schnitzel, as well as the house original and dunkel (or dark beer) and radlers (or shandies). [Funnily enough, the direct translation of radler is cyclist; h'm...]

The whole atmosphere of the Hofbräuhaus is fantastic. That such a tourist attraction still reserves over a hundred tables for locals, and lets them lock up their steins in the entryway between visits, just strikes me as so... right.

From there, we made our way to the beautiful Neues Rathaus, or New Town Hall, where they seemed to be setting up for a concert of sorts. We stayed in the plaza for the hourly Rathaus-Glockenspiel show, and then made our way to a local grocery store. An hour or so later, ladened with many tasty biscuits, peanut-butter 'cheezies', and a jug of Neuschwansteiner beer -- literally, and a beautiful vessel it is -- we headed back to our rooms at the K+K hotel on the crowded subway.

Up next: Schloss Nymphenburg and Dachau

[Also, don't forget that all these pictures and more are available in my Picasa album.]

München trip: Day 1: London

I forgot how mad London is.

As we left home this morning, a light breeze tugged leaves from the trees across our lane. It was peaceful, watching them spiral down toward us as we walked to the train station, mingling with the Friday morning commuters. That seemed continents away as we crammed on the Piccadilly Line this evening.

Apparently the crowds were worse than usual because they'd decided to shut down the line upon discovering an unclaimed bag. That said, as Tea quickly pointed out, colliding with any London evening commute is more excitement than any of us are used to. (I wonder if they are more alert after the recent American announcements, that, happily, warn about travel both to here and our destination of Germany.)

Aside: it's hard to believe that the newspaper is dead after taking a trip like that: well over half the commuters had their noses buried in the printed word. And, when you think about it, it makes sense: with all the jostling that goes on, I'd surely drop a hand-held device. Plus, you can fold it in all sorts of ways to improve your grip. And when you're done, in the bin with it. But maybe that's just me, only truly comfortable with my devices when I'm on the couch or at the kitchen table.

Just outside Paddington Station

Staying at the Novotel near Paddington is neat: the houseboats lining the canal right outside the station seem so European; in a way much of the rest of the city doesn't strike me. That said, however, I wouldn't cover our next stop, Covent Garden, with that broad brush: it's so vibrant; a melting pot of language and cuisine. Speaking of which, the Jamie's Italian close by didn't disappoint.

Nancy and Stephen had met us at Paddington fresh from their overnight Atlantic crossing -- which is to say, excited, but far from rested -- but thoughts of napping were quickly dispelled by those of lunch at Jamie's; they're loyal readers of this blog, and were eager to experience the subject of such fuss.

The service at this location, always an unknown variable with any chain, was excellent: our waitress answered all of Stephen's (many) questions, and even brought us samples of a few dishes -- something he probably loves even more than quizzing folks. Our old standbys made yet another appearance, but I had a special of braised lamb this time; exquisite! We ended the meal with the lemon polenta cake -- again, possibly the best dessert on the planet.

Up next: Munich! "Hoi! Hoi! Hoi!"

Venice

We decided to book a last-minute trip to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary, since we plan to be setting sail on a Mediterranean cruise with Nancy and Stephen on the actual day. As you'd expect, lastminute.com had a number of suggestions, including Venice, and so it was.

We flew out of the East Midlands airport, outside Leicester, on an afternoon flight, arriving at Marco Polo Airport (just north of Venice) that evening. One really posh boat ride later – their version of public transportation, although it felt like I was on some cheesy night-time soap about the lives of the rich and famous as I sat on comfy seats below deck, surrounded by wood paneling – up the Grand Canal and we were in San Marco/Saint Mark's Square.

Saint Mark's Basilica

Picture this: just shy of midnight; the surrounding buildings beautifully lit; a string quartet, immaculately dressed, playing to our left; couples dancing, or simply walking hand-in-hand; the water of the canal lapping in the distance behind us. It was unreal, in its most striking sense. (And then there's me, ruining the moment: “Ha, it's just like Vegas!” Curse you, Venetian hotel, for making such a lasting impression on me!)

It wasn't difficult to find our hotel from there, thanks to Tea's knack for orienting herself. We did have to rouse the night man, which was an early test of our Italian (that I failed miserably – thank goodness they get so many English tourists).

The next morning, after quickly breaking fast at the hotel, it was off to the famous Rialto market. Tea's Italian was in fine form as she bought us some cherries, grapes – such grapes! Black, and the size of plum tomatoes! Now I understand the origins of red wine – and 'acqua': it was already heating up; happily, this trend continued for most of the four days, despite the initial forecast for rain throughout.

The view off the Rialto Bridge

At that point we heeded all of our guide books and got lost for a bit. This is exceedingly easy in Venice, incidentally. Simply take a few steps in any direction, and you're unlikely to find your way back. There are many, many signs on the buildings – be they fancy plates, graffiti, or simply print-outs taped to doors – for San Marco Square and the Rialto Bridge. I have no idea how we would've made it back to our hotel each night otherwise; and I honestly don't know how tourists who aren't fortunate enough to be staying near either of those landmarks manage it.

So, yes, we got lost, taking in the wonderful architecture, our fingers sticky with juice of luscious grapes and cherries. Eventually we came upon a little shop; it looked like it was run by a father and his son. The father was in the back, making small sandwiches that the Italians call cicchetti (tapas), and he couldn't keep them in the display, the locals were snapping them up so quickly. Tea bravely waded in, ordering us two, and two glasses of Prosecco, which Venice is famous for. The son poured the latter from a carafe! I wonder whether it'd ever seen a bottle, or if it was some overflow or contraband. Delicious, in either case (and I'm not a big fan of the bubbly as a rule).

We headed back to the hotel for a nap at some point – it was the heat, not my age, I kept telling myself – and ate in a little pizzeria that evening. (You really need to make reservations in Venice. Even places you might consider middle of the road book up quickly.) It was fun, with a large family enjoying all sorts of local appetizers beside us. (I had the Quattro Stagioni, of course; very good.) Then we were off in search of a nightcap.

We aimed a little high, it seemed: before we realized it, our simple finish to the evening turned fancy. You know, when you've asked for some still water – I don't think they have tap water in Venice, by the way – the bread and olives have arrived, and then you open the menu... I mean, don't get me wrong, the cheese plate was the best I've had: a few pecorinos, a few asiagos, and other strange (but tasty) ones that I don't remember the names of and were served on spoons. This was paired with a local fortified wine. For dessert, I had fresh berries in port (hold the ice cream) and Tea had a fabulous chocolate cake of sorts. This was served with a local dessert wine called fragolino (as it's made with strawberries).

We toured Saint Mark's Basilica the following morning. It was overwhelming, really. At one point we passed a young girl sitting on the floor with a sketchbook and coloured pencils in front of her. Every surface of that basilica was a wonder, and the mosaic tiles on the floor were no exception; this girl was drawing pattern of a particular tiled area, with her mother or aunt crouched down beside her, offering colour suggestions.

Having explored a lot of the sestieri (areas) San Marco and San Polo the previous day, we then made our way to Sestiere Dorsoduro. We'd planned to spend some time in the Accademia, but it was so nice out that we decided to continue walking. Tea bought some gelato, and then we found this shaded dock that a restaurant had built out into the lagoon, facing the island of Giudecca.

We picked a corner table near the water, and spent the whole afternoon eating, drinking and enjoying the view. I had this incredible appetizer of six types of raw fish; Tea had an amazing pasta dish. For the main course, we shared a beautiful sea bass that had been caught within the hour, according to our waiter. They cooked it in salt, brought it to the table again to show us, then took it away to break that crust (with a spoon – really neat), clean it and plate it with seasonal veg. Delish! Dessert followed; then tea and espresso; and, finally, limoncello (a digestif – I liked it so much that I bought some in the airport on the way home). A great meal. We just took our time, watching the boats and ships go by – including two cruise ships, tugs in tow. It was picturesque, really.

We spent our last full day exploring Sestiere Cannaregio. Here, again, the highlight was a restaurant (surprise!). We sat outside again, by a canal that led out into the lagoon after a few hundred metres. This made for some interesting boat traffic as we ate: at one point, a boat pulled up beside two others that were parked abreast. The driver – it feels strange, using these road vehicle metaphors, but that's really the way it seems there – stepped lightly over this makeshift bridge and went into the restaurant; a few moments later he came out and retrieved two crates of vegetables from his boat, and then he was off again.

When we'd arrived, two guys had been chatting just outside the entrance to the restaurant. Partway through our meal, they stepped out on a boat that was parked directly behind us, and proceeded to pull Styrofoam trays out of chest freezer just in front of the cabin. It wasn't until black ink began to soak the plastic bags they were transferring the fish to – to say nothing of the trays themselves, or, in short order, the front of the chest freezer – that we realized we were witnessing a cuttlefish sale. We even noticed one of the patrons eating what looked like spaghetti al nero di seppia before we left.

While we weren't brave enough to order that, we did try another seafood antipasti tray. This one also included a few varieties of raw fish, and sea snails in olive oil, garlic and parsley. I believe they call it bovoletti; they give you toothpicks to work in the shells, and it really is very tasty (once you get past the texture). The highlight of the meal was definitely the primi: risotto with scampi and courgettes (zucchini); the best risotto I've ever tasted, hands down. We shared an amazing mixed grill for secondi, and finished with a limoncello (as you do).

And so, an incredible trip to Venice came to a close; my first trip, and Tea's second. It won't be our last, but we'll take in other parts of Italy before then: in a few short weeks, in fact, as our Mediterranean cruise stops in Florence, Rome and Naples!

The green, green grass of home

Since getting back from Bruges -- I'm still editing the many photos from that trip -- Tea 'n' I have been takin' it easy. Last weekend we went to Tewkesbury for a beer festival, and had a great time. Their abbey really is worth all the chatter we hear on BBC Radio Gloucestershire, and the town exemplifies the best of what we mean when we say 'small'. We met a woman in the tourist information centre who'd been to Ottawa a number of times with a touring company she worked for. (She loved it, of course.) The coincidences continued as we met a few Americans at the beer festival, and had a great chat over a few pints.

This weekend has been all about the Olympics, of course. One more point on the local radio: Eddie 'The Eagle' is from here, and some guest they had on the other day had Tea 'n' I in stitches as he was just cuttin' into Eddie, in the sharp, yet self-deprecating, way the British seem to excel at. "Oh, God, yes, we wheel him out every four years. Only in Britain would we make a national hero of someone who's rubbish. [scathing emphasis] God love us."

The opening ceremony was fantastic; Tea's favourite part was k.d.'s rendition of Hallelujah -- I enjoyed it too, but I'm still partial to Jeff Buckley's cover -- and mine was the fiddlers, closely followed by that amazing "Powering the city" sequence against the representation of the Rockies. The BBC seems to be the only channel that carried it over here. (And the only one that's carrying the Games in general, if only partially, unfortunately.) Still, it's neat getting a foreign perspective on Canada, as they complain about how foreigners only got the minimum amount of time on the hills -- a complaint against the host nation every year, their athlete-turned-commentator was quick to point out -- and marvel at the beauty of Vancouver and the Rockies, and the diversity of our heritage. (They had all sorts of trivia about the Governor General, the RCMP, our flag and anthem -- it was great!) I've only ever flown over the Rockies -- and once at that -- and now, more than ever, I want to see them when I get back. I've got a list, actually, that includes some stuff I really should've done before now, like the Cabot Trail (I've done every other part of that coast, oddly), Gros Morne, Banff and St. Anthony, to name a few.

On that note, a new British friend, Pete, is in Ottawa right now, taking in the ice sculptures and skating, gorging himself on Beavertails. He's even made it out to Edelweiss snowboarding. I'm seeing my home through new eyes -- thanks to mobile uploads to Facebook -- and falling in love with it all over again. There's some truth to that statement about the green grass, I tell ya.

* * *

I've been writing this over a few days. We just got back from a stroll to town for a spot of lunch at one of our favourite spots, Gusto, and a bit of shopping. I actually made Tea breakfast in bed this morning! Probably shouldn't be such a rarity, but I had to mention it, as it turned out so well. I made pancakes -- from a mix of imported Aunt Jemima (thanks, Michelle!), it's true, but that's still a challenge for me -- and they were so fluffy! Tea's now promised to call on my limited skills more often, which is of course the rub with these sorts of successes. (Just kidding!)

The Forest of Dean: the Sculpture Trail

We started Sunday in style with chocolates from Black Peter – yup, he managed to find Tea's shoes all the way across the pond – and pancakes made with Aunt Jemima's mix – Thanks, Michelle! Unfortunately we discovered that the washer wasn't working, but when I suggested that we might hit a laundromat, Tea snorted and began bandying about day-trip ideas. Given the nice day over our heads – have I mentioned how much I love our windowed 'conservatory' lately? ;-) – we quickly settled on the Sculpture Trail in the Forest of Dean.

The Forest of Dean is just a short half-hour drive from us, through some truly picturesque countryside. The small town of Cinderford, in particular, just calls you to pull over and explore (which we did on the way back – but I'm getting ahead of myself, as usual). The information centre sells a nice map of the Sculpture Trail with pictures and descriptions for £1, so we picked up one – as three excited dogs competed for our attention (we love this dog culture) – and hit the trail!

The first sculpture is tough to miss – I think they want to get your confidence up: the chair is enormous, with a fantastic view of the surrounding forest. Any worries that I had about the trail being hokey were quickly dispelled by the second sculpture: Dead Wood really spoke to me; while it wasn't cold, the stark stumps and blanket of pale needles reminded me of those horrific scenes from the Battle of the Bulge in Band of Brothers.

It started to rain partway through, but seasoned as we are now to English weather, we simply pulled our raincoats out of the backpack and continued on; with proper gear, you don't even notice it. Some of our favourite sculptures were the House, Raw – this block looked like something out of a horror flick; I was happy that the sunset was still many hours off, even though I had a flashlight – Echo, and Hanging Fire (see my Best of December 2009 album for pictures of them); but we both agreed that the Cathedral was the most impressive by a good margin; particularly the way the light hit it at that hour of the afternoon. It was truly breath-taking!

On the way home, we decided to stop at the White Hart Inn in Cinderford for a pick-me-up. This was a whim – yes, I do leave the house without the Good Beer Guide on occasion! – but as soon as we stepped inside the cozy front room, we knew we had a winner. The bartender got up from the table of folks she'd been chatting with and served me a pint of Butcombe Bitter and Tea... well, some tea. :-) We sat back by the fireplace beside the other full table, and at one point Tea and I shared a look and laughed out loud: I don't know where they were from, but we both felt we could've been in any Mom 'n' Pop shop in Newfoundland. It was great!

Once home, we decided to clean up and walk over to Zizzi's for a bit of a treat; an Italian restaurant inside a converted church, the atmosphere can't be beat – well, maybe by their delicious breads and pastas. A tasty end to the weekend!

Sapperton: "Are there bears in England?"

The day couldn't really decide what it wanted to be this morning, but that didn't stop us from tagging along on "one of Chad's little adventures," as his wife, Heidi, says; this one to the Sapperton Canal Tunnel, along the abandoned Thames and Severn Canal, just outside of Cirencester.





While that section of the canal was abandoned in the 20s, the area around the tunnel portal at Coates looks to be in great condition; as Chad said, "Give it a coat of paint 'n' it's good to go." The Daneway portal at the other end is a different story, however: you're hard-pressed to find the canal walls before you're even out of sight of it. It was a lot of fun to explore, though. The Daneway portal in particular didn't have as much standing water around it, and as you stood on the threshold, peering into the depths, you'd swear there was a crowd of explorers in there splashing about in the wellies, but for the absence of flashlight beams. There was no reply to Chad's shouts, however, and we busied ourselves with less spooky explanations for the voices we were sure we'd heard earlier as we made our way up the steep grade, toward what we learned was the steeple of St. Kenelm's Church. Any remaining tension was dispelled in the laughter that followed Chad's clear-blue-sky question, in what must've looked to him like a particularly wild part of the area around Sapperton: "Are there bears in England?"

I forgot to mention that all this hiking was possible thanks to bellies full of fantastic roast pork and beef from the Daneway Inn; it was a great little spot we found near the portal of the same name, after failing to find room at the picturesque Tunnel House pub near the Coates portal. Walking up to the Daneway, I felt like I was approaching the back porch of a familiar house -- like coming home or visiting old friends. The hodge-podge of furniture and knick-knacks only added to the sentiment. And as if that wasn't enough, they had four real ales on tap too. (Just realizing now that I forgot to take pictures there, darn it.)

We'd talked about going shopping in Gloucester or Bristol at some point, and as the sun was setting we did make it to the Costco in the latter -- just like home, strangely enough -- where I picked up a good fleece jacket for the cooler weather. Just a great day all-round.

Rotterdam: ♪ This could be... ♫

As I exited the train station at Rotterdam, I was struck by two things: first, by the rain – it continued to rain heavily over the three days I was there, in sharp contrast to the beautiful weather I'd had in England over the past two months – and, second, by the sheer scale of construction going on. As my guide was explaining on a walking tour the following evening, Rotterdam has had to start building a second time: first, after the bombings of the Second World War that left all but three structures in rubble, and, second, as the hastily-constructed buildings from that period and up to the 70s started to fall apart (somewhat en masse, if I've understood her correctly).



Particularly in those first hours, and in the hustle between the hotel and the conference, I thought of the term concrete jungle often. I'd often hummed the Beautiful South's light tune Rotterdam (Or Anywhere) to myself upon learning about the trip, and the title took on a more derogatory tone when my companion unconsciously quoted it at one point during our walks. Happily, however, the rain let up for that guided walk one evening, and for an impromptu midday walk the following day, when I was able to see more of what is really a beautiful city, particularly around the canals of the old port – a new one was built some 12 kilometres away to accommodate the bigger ships – that now host a variety of living museums, I guess you could say.

Everyone was really so friendly and accommodating; honestly, it must be stressed. At times, I thought I was in England, their English was so good; but their dress was much different: smarter (as my companions would say), with more wraps, diagonal cuts, and wool, as well as the truly pervasive orange. And I can't forget the bicycles, of course.



So many, many bicycles. And, sturdy, heavy specimens at that, with large metal racks on front and back, and big curving handlebars. There's whole lanes for them, separated by other sidewalks, and woe betide the pedestrian who wanders into them. There is no cycling attire, either. Ladies in elaborate skirts – carrying umbrellas, no less! – ride beside gentlemen in full suits and kids in uniform; clustered together too. It isn't uncommon to see a tight grouping of half a dozen, that will then easily split to allow a motorized bike or scooter to fly up between them; it's organized chaos, really, when you add in the trams that run through the middle of the roads, presenting the befuddled newcomer with no less than five lanes of traffic running at different speeds. (Truly the best representation of Frogger I've ever seen.)