Dubrovnik: up amongst the swifts

We woke to rain in the wee hours this morning. It had cleared by the time we'd stirred, and there was barely a cloud in the sky until mid afternoon. We're about to head to supper now, and it's still lovely, if a little cool.

We booked a tour to Montenegro tomorrow; we'll be up early for that two-hour bus ride. Hopefully the good weather will continue. The other significant event of the day was walking the walls of Old Town. Unsurprisingly, it's a popular attraction, but they've done a great job, keeping the foot traffic one-way. I'd also recommend going later in the afternoon; they're closed at 6 p.m., but they don't chase you off once you're up and, today at least, the lighting was superb as it got on for 7 p.m.

Cafe Buza: just outside the walls

As the title suggests, the highlight for me was the swifts: for sheer numbers, as well as their proximity. They're such agile creatures, dipping and diving in and out of the narrowest of alleys, and then coming mere feet from you. When we were staying in Varenna, I had trouble distinguishing them from bats once dusk came on; here, the shape of their beaks, colouration, etc. were all immediately obvious. What I wasn't able to determine is where they were nesting; I kept trying to follow their 'flicking', wondering whether they'd ever get tired. (Having very short legs, swifts won't voluntary land on the ground or perch.)

I'll included a few shots below, but don't forget to check out our album as well.

Update 10:50 p.m.: We'd spied and smelled the smoke from Lady Pi Pi's grill earlier, settling on that for supper. It did not disappoint. I'm stuffed to the gills still. I started with anchovies, and then went for grilled squid; such good choices -- the best squid of my life, hands down -- but I didn't stop there: when I saw Lady Pi Pi goulash, I had to try it. The waiter raised an eyebrow, but dutifully brought it. They'd listed it as a side dish, but it was a meal in itself. And, oh, so good. I put a good dent in the lot, anyway. Tea's steak, with sardines to start, was also excellent. I can see us back there for at least one more meal.

Dubrovnik, at war

After picking up a few groceries -- just before closing, luckily -- we stopped at Konoba Moskar for a spot of lunch. Tea had sea bass again -- deboning it like a champ -- and I had stewed beef in a traditional Dalmatian sauce, with gnocchi; both were fantastic. I also tried the other Croatian lager, Karlovacko, which was very good; I wasn't as impressed with my bottle of Ozujsko the other night. I'm still on the hunt for what I suspect will be my favourite: the strong, dark lager called Tomislav.

Sated, we then set out for the cable car to the Imperial Fortress, on Mount Srđ. We actually passed through some cloud near the top, so after spending some time in the Croatian Independence War Museum -- Dubrovnik wasn't spared, as you can see in the picture below -- we headed down the switchbacks to get a better view of Dubrovnik old and new.

Damage sustained during the Siege of Dubrovnik; the building housing our apartment is yellow -- i.e., the roof or walls damaged -- and circled

Now we're off on another adventure outside the walls, to a Mexican restaurant Tea wants to try.

Update 12:35 a.m.: That Mexican restaurant is closed on Sundays. Nevertheless, we found a nearby restaurant, Komarda, and enjoyed yet another beautifully cooked sea bass between us. (In addition to deboning it, Tea valiantly defended it against one particularly enterprising cat. In case you weren't aware, there are a lot of cats wandering around Dubrovnik.) Plus, the wine, a Kozlovic white... Oh, it was excellent. And then, drawn by the live acoustic music, we enjoyed another lovely, fruity bottle of white on the 'Stradun': Malvasija Dubrovacka.

Yet another (beautiful) sea bass, at Komarda

The Stradun

Us, at Cele

As noted earlier, I'll continue to update our Picasa album throughout the trip.

Wales in black: of mountains and the night sky

Our lovely cabin at Pen-y-Dre, the next morning

[We start with a bit I wrote mid week's end.]

February 18, 2012

I'm writing from that pleasant valley, on the cusp of a second wind. The endorphins from our hike up Sugar Loaf this afternoon have faded to satisfied sleepiness, slowly perking up now as I drain my cup of joe. I sit at the kitchen table in one of the Pen-y-Dre Farm's cottages in Llanvihangel Crucorney ("Sacred Enclosure of Michael at the Corner of the Rock"); the beams surrounding me are like none I've seen -- almost ostentatious in their rusticity.

We stopped at Raglan Castle the day before

Neither one of us can believe how well this day has come together. We spent last night at the manor house Llansantffraed Court -- more on that in a moment -- and contemplated the grim forecast over their fantastic full Welsh breakfast this morning. As we left for the market hall in Abergavenny, it seemed that heavy rain would indeed dominate the day. Thankfully, Tea was absolutely determined to hike, and so, after a pick-me-up, post-browsing cuppa, we made our way to the tourist information centre for advice on accommodation and hiking in the vicinity.

Llansantffraed Court -- great spot!

It wasn't until we left, with the aforementioned B & B and hill hike recommendations, that we realised the centre had closed minutes after our arrival -- our first bit of luck. And while initially it seemed that Pen-y-Dre Farms was booked up, as Tea chatted with the manager about alternatives he might suggest, his wife piped up to say that they just might have a room, if we could give them a few hours -- Bit of Luck #2. Add that we finished the 5 km hike without so much as a drop of rain, only to have the sky open up as we settled in our cottage -- to say nothing of the beautiful cottage itself, and tea and cake (man-sized wedges at that) that awaited us -- and you're looking at more luck than I can count on a hand. Awww yeah!

My mood of the morning's been turned on its head!

On the way to Sugar Loaf

The summit!

The highlight of the day was probably sitting on a windswept rock two-thirds of the way up Sugar Loaf, feet dangling like I'm a kid in dad's chair, passing a tasty pasty from the market hall back 'n' forth with Tea, watching the shadows of the clouds march across this wide open space like herds of buffalo.

* * *

The Gavenny Valley -- Sunday's hike

Llansantffraed Court was darn near perfect. We'd learned of it through Groupon, and following on from Buttonberg's rave reviews of it last weekend, had us a humdinger of a time. (Until this moment, we've basically retraced Buttonberg's steps, come to think of it, from Raglan Castle -- surely one of the most visually titilating I've seen -- to the manor, to Sugar Loaf.) Llansantffraed Court customised their fixed menu for my lactose intolerance, were consummate hosts through the six courses -- including cured salmon and caviar, confit duck, and loin and pressed shoulder of pork, to name a few -- and stoked an eyebrow-searing fire for us well into the whiskey-filled night.

Oh, and I can't forget the wine pairing: from the riesling (an Australian, from the Pewsey Vale, and Tea's favourite) to the bordeaux on down, each worked beautifully. My favourite was a local red, from the nearby Ancre Hill vineyard: so earthy and yeasty, beetroot in the nose; unlike any wine I've ever tasted. Buttonberg said they never like the same wine and both loved this one. I completely understand; it breaks the mold, and clearly meets in the middle of their tastes.

The end of that story embodies Wales: upon learning of the Buttonberg's gushing love for this local beauty the following morning, the manor called ahead to the vineyard, a few miles down the road, who opened their shop especially for them. They ended up with a case of the stuff.

* * *

On Saturday evening we decided to eat at the Skirrit Mountain Inn, just down the road from our cottage. We turned around almost immediately to grab a torch: there wasn't a street light to be seen in Llanvihangel Crucorney. It reminded me of my last trip to Hare Bay, Newfoundland; I was there for my grandfather's (Dadda's) funeral, and had to make my way back to my Aunt Queen's house each evening by the light of the moon. Now, as then, the constellations popped, as if we were in a planetarium; indeed we had a mobile one seconds later, when Tea fired up her app that labelled the stars (and planets) as you swung the phone around the night sky.

The Skirrid Mountain Inn claims to be Wales' oldest pub, having stood for nine centuries. However, Real Heritage Pubs of Wales puts it at "wholly mid- to late-17th century with major alterations in the 19th century." That said, its crackling hearth, tasty grub -- Tea's baby back ribs were a treat! -- and friendly staff were most welcomed, and we got a good dose of authentic history the following evening when we enjoyed a pint at the Llanthony Priory Hotel: "part of a medieval structure making it the oldest building in [the Real Heritage Pubs of Wales guide] that is now a pub."

* * *

February 19, 2012

The Skirrid, with its chasm of legend

After a nice lie-in, we made our way to the main farmhouse for a big fry-up. It was a fantastic start to the day: blue sky, donkeys and roosters putting their stamp on the morn, sunbeam-sleepy cats lounging in a kitchen so full of life lived.

Tea decided on a nearby hike that would take us through the Gavenny Valley and Cwmyoy -- and the famous crooked church of St. Martin's -- up and around the surrounding hills, along part of the Beacons Way, before circling back to the start. The Gavenny Valley stretched on for miles; such a sight in that crisp morning air. Once we were in it, however, looking up at Cwmyoy, the namesake of the previous evening's inn had our undivided attention:

The Skirrid is the most eye-catching mountain in the area. Shooting up from the Gavenny Valley... gentle green fields climb about halfway up its flanks, giving way suddenly to purple scrub and bracken... [It] has long been held to be a holy mountain; the almighty chasm that splits the peak is said to have been caused by the force of God's will on the death of Christ, a theory that drew St. Michael and legions of other pilgrims... Another theory claims that Noah's Ark clipped it as it passed by.

--The Lonely Planet's Guide to Wales

Inside 'crooked' St. Martin's

The toughest part of the day was still ahead of us: each time we crested a rise, expecting to see the Beacons Way that circled the valley, another hill would present itself. Boy, what a view awaited us at the peak, though. When we made it back to the car, well over four hours later, we were ready for a rest; particularly as we were very aware of the previous day's hike as well.

The last stop of the day was Llanthony Priory, and we made it with minutes to spare. We snapped a few shots as a mist began to fall, briefly taking shelter in the aforementioned hotel of the same name, before heading for home, the sun at our backs and setting the world afire. We soon outran the rain. You could see it in the distance, though; great sheets out near the horizon, tapering to funnels as they touched the earth.

Llanthony Priory

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

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.

Paris: The Gold Ring

That's a tip of the hat to a great scene in one of my favourite movies, Pulp Fiction, where the one and only Christopher Walken, as Captain Koons, returns a family heirloom -- The Gold Watch -- to five-year-old Butch.

Read on for the story of the ring.

As we knew we only had one day in Paris, we got up early again and caught the commuter train from Disneyland in, our must-see lists in hand. Since Tea and I had been before, we started on Stephen and Nancy's list, after dropping our packs at the hotel. First up was the Catacombs, a block from where we were staying; unfortunately, they're closed on Monday (boo!), so we caught the metro to Île aux Cygnes to see the replica of the Statue of Liberty (a little over a quarter the size of the one on Ellis Island).

The Isle of the Swans was an oasis in the bustling city; a view that seems to be shared by the locals, given all the joggers we saw. From there, we grabbed some delicious baguette sandwiches to go, making our way to the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

The line-up for the first level wasn't bad at all, so we bought tickets and up we climbed. 328 steps. We were rewarded with an amazing view (once we'd caught our breath). Plus, unlike some, I find the structure itself to be beautiful, and much more so when you're amongst it, even. (Tea, Kae and I didn't spend much time there on our previous trip, and didn't go up.)

The Gold Ring

Once we'd walked along the Seine to the Flame of Liberty, that marked a good dent in Stephen and Nancy's list, so it was off to Montmartre. Along the way, as we admired the Alexander III bridge and l'Hôtel national des Invalides in the distance, a woman approached Stephen. In her hand was a gold ring the likes of which I've never seen; truly, it was like a Ring of Power, and all the more so when she began pointing at what I thought was an inscription, asking if it was Stephen's. (Well, it was an inscription -- no, nothing to do with ruling or binding -- but one supposedly indicating its purity; not a name or dedication, as I'd assumed. I only found that out later, after talking with Stephen.)

As Stephen faded back she turned to me, saying she'd just found it, and asking whether it was mine. She was sort of musing, though, it seemed to me, and with what I took to be wonderment, muttered something about bonne chance. Seizing on the chance to use my limited French, I jumped in with, "Ah, oui, c'est la bonne chance!" and made to move on. Well, at that point she started saying that she couldn't keep it, and that I should take it. I was shaking my head, no, no, with my hand up, and she kept pressing, both verbally, and with the ring, on my vertical palm.

I did manage to get away in the end, but it left me feeling a bit down. To this day, I'm so naive, and normally don't fare so well in those situations. Turns out this is very common in Paris (also called The Drop), although this woman never got to the asking for money bit.

* * *

At the Place de la Concorde we took another detour... for our first Christmas market of the trip! A complete surprise, it was a great way to get us all excited about what awaited us in Berlin. Our tummies full of mulled wine, pastries and smoked fish -- not all at once; trust me, it was awesome -- we hopped the metro to Montmartre and the Sacré-Cœur Basilica.

Om nom nom!

Sacré-Cœur Basilica

Avoiding the bracelet scam, we took a few minutes to enjoy the view and great people watching. The latter continued in spades as we sat outside a café in Place du Tertre, at first for wine, and then, tempted by the smells from the kitchen, for a full meal that included onion soup, beef bourguignon and escargot. Thanks to the heat lamps, we were there well past dark.

Place du Tertre

We then caught the metro back to our hotel, stopping off for a nightcap at the nearby l’Académie de la Bière, specializing in Belgian beer. With friendly staff, a cozy atmosphere and an impressive beer menu, it was the perfect way to close out the day.

l’Académie de la Bière

Up next: Berlin, Germany

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