Biking around Konavle

We woke to another absolute scorcher. Marko, one of our guides from yesterday's kayaking, met us outside the Pile Gate for our biking and wine tasting tour. Once the other Scottish couple arrived, we hopped in the Adventure Dubrovnik van, for Gruda, the muncipal capital of the Konavle region.

The equipment -- really nice stuff, too -- was stored in a shipping container on the grounds of the nearby Dubrovački Podrumi winery. The 8 km circuit would bring us back there for the tasting. We enjoyed their award-winning Ragusa white so much, we decided to buy a bottle; only then did we find out that you can buy it there for 30 kn! (That's about £3!)

Beside a war-damaged house -- why are we smiling again?

Our route took us through Ljuta and Lovorno, to a Franciscan monastery near Pridvorje -- where we stopped for a quick lunch under an ancient oak. Once rested, it was time for a bit of off-roading: at one point a lady in a vineyard beside the knee-high grass we were plowing through gestured and shouted something. Tea, who was farther back than me, said she seemed angry, but Marko assured us she simply thought we were lost. (U'm, I know I don't understand Croatian, but... O.K.) On the way back, we stopped near Ljuta to see an old watermill, and replenish our water in the river of the same name. We also picked up a bottle of orahovac, a home-made walnut brandy that the region is famous for, from a small stand outside a restaurant.

Didn't quite make it across -- clearly the bike's fault.

Marko was a fantastic guide: really down-to-earth, with a great sense of humour. You can tell he loves his job, and who wouldn't, out amongst such beautiful landscapes every day. He also dropped tidbits throughout the day; one that stuck with me was passed on from a woman who'd spent time with Australian Aborigines, according to him: when water is in short supply, place a small stone under your tongue; the salivation will keep your mouth moist, easing discomfort and slowing your heart rate. Thankfully, we didn't have need of this today.

And now, for a kip.

Update 9:51 p.m.: We decided to have supper at Lady Pi Pi again. Excellent choice!

Octopus salad appetizer

Seafood platter for two

For more on this trip, check out our album and the dubrovnik label.

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.

Edinburgh: can you say Hogmanay?

December 29, 2011

The bar at the Dome

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

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

Did someone say toasties? NOM.

Outside BrewDog Edinburgh

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

In front of Edinburgh Castle

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

M'm, dumplings

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

* * *

December 30, 2011

Arthur's Seat (to the left) at dawn

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

Dunkeld Cathedral

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

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

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

Snow's arrived!

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

At the Moulin Inn and Brewery

That roast pork was even tastier than it looks

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

December 31, 2011

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

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

* * *

January 1, 2012

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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

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

Good times!

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

St. Petersburg: Day 2

Outside the Hermitage on our first day in the city

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

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

The statue of Pushkin in the Pushkinskaya metro station

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

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

Catherine's Palace

The Great Hall

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

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

Peterhof Palace

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

Part of the Grand Cascade

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

Up next: Tallinn, Estonia

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

St. Petersburg: Day 1

[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.