Liverpool: Rebecca Ferguson at the Philharmonic Hall

I've seen a lot in my time here. But I hadn't seen anything like Liverpool. Home snug 'n' sound, an hour off the train now, it's that it's just three hours north of here that keeps bringing me up. You'd swear this island would have to be twice the size it is (or more) to hold as many distinct pockets. And in Liverpool, that distinction is so pronounced; it's almost a performance. From the gentleman in tweeds at the Dispensary on Friday night, young doll at his elbow 30 years his junior and still many-summers wise, twirling his full-on handlebar moustache while exclaiming to a table of friends he hasn't met yet, "Lads, shall we retire to the pavement and smoke a few fags?" -- his emphasis, I swear on all that's holy -- to the lass at the train station this afternoon, by all accounts dressed for the public eye -- well, note I'm letting the softball of 'leggings are not trousers' sail right by -- save for a full head of curlers like only your nan has sported in the last half century, in Liverpool, the show does go on.

And I loved it.

Liverpool Cathedral

The analogy doesn't end there, either: the town itself is like different sets on a movie lot. A Chinatown -- Europe's oldest, incidentally -- like I've only seen in San Francisco is just down the hill from this monster of an Anglican cathedral, itself a short walk from the rival for Temple Bar that is the intersection of Hanover and Wood. And the illusion is complete when you find yourself on one of the many unpopulated streets -- and I'm talkin' entirely, be it high noon or midnight, you can find these places easily. It's downright creepy, and, surrounded by the tall brick faces, very back lot. (But rarely in a scary way, I hasten to add; we were worried about the city's rough reputation, shall we say, but found it as warm and friendly as you'd like, for the most part. And even that one time, walking home in the wee hours of Sunday, I'm sure it was just that our imaginations were workin' overtime.)

We'd been talking about going to Liverpool for a long time; at least since this time last year, when Liverpudlians we met at the York Brewery put it on par with that wonderful city as a good-times destination. The excuse that finally got us there was a Rebecca Ferguson concert. And what a show it was. As the runner-up on the X Factor in 2010, I guess I'm probably one of the few folks that hadn't heard her amazing voice. It filled the Philharmonic Hall to bursting, and, coupled with intros to the songs she wrote, conveyed rare emotion and infectious humility. As it happened, her family was right behind us (with one empty row between) and as Rebecca made many references to the importance of the love and support they'd given her over the years, you could hear them trying to stifle their reactions. Add to that a top quality opener in Jay James Picton -- honestly, he was one of the best opening acts I've seen; powerful and confident from the outset -- and you've got one heck of a night.

Food

The best meal of the trip had to be the burgers at the Shipping Forecast. We both had the goat's cheese and caramelized onion burger, and, oh man, you wanna talk about finger-lickin' good -- don't even think the Brits would've been able to resist throwin' down that fork and knife in the face of these beauties. And then what Tea awarded Best Chips in Britain, as a side? Heaven. Plus, they had a wicked selection of condiments -- including three types of Tabasco (in the UK, mind!) -- which is easy, but trips up many of the otherwise pros. Second place goes to North Garden: one of the many inviting options in Chinatown that we picked at random. Fantastic duck, wonton soup, spicy shrimp with garlic... Just a meal of starters, really, which is how Tea rolls, or would, if the rest of the world would just get on board and offer proper meals. Barburrito gets bronze: as good as any Mexican you can get in Canada, in my opinion. Which just seems wrong, as they get it together in less than five minutes. But so flavourful, from their guacamole to their various salsas, etc.

Pubs

At The Philharmonic Dining Rooms

I've already talked about the Shipping Forecast; fantastic place. Don't let the hipster digs turn you off: the staff are really friendly, they've got a good beer selection -- including a lot of American craft brew (e.g., Sierra Nevada Pale Ale -- on tap and more apricot-y than any time I've had it in the bottle -- Flying Dog's Snake Bit IPA, Goose Island's Honkers Ale) and English cask ales like Top of the Hops Golden Ale -- and, well, you've heard about the grub. But if it's a few pints you're looking for, the Dispensary is my top recommendation. It's easy to see why it's been the Liverpool and Districts CAMRA Pub of the Year for the past two. Clearly a local favourite, it's a place for beer lovers. I suspected this when I saw Stringers Mutiny nestled in the middle of five hand pumps (with two at the other end of the bar, for those who're counting). At 9.3%, it's way more than I've seen any landlord willing to put on -- remember, they have to sell this stuff in a matter of weeks, to a crowd who, by 'n' large, look for 'session' beers around the 4% mark, tops -- and a treat: so smooth, with the perfect amount of currants in the finish. Tea and I agreed, though: the highlight of the evening was the George Wright Brewery's Mild. And that was with two other stars on in Marble's Bitter -- one of my Top 3 favourite brewers, and only available up north (from what I can tell), unfortunately -- and Outstanding's Standing Out.

At Thomas Rigby's

Other stops included:

• Thomas Rigby's: great spot with a lot of character. Ilkley's Fireside Porter had a nice bite to it. Tea had Newmans Creative Cat, a tasty pale, from a Welsh brewer, apparently (with no 'net presence I can find).
• The Globe: clearly, another local favourite, and an oasis in the shopping district. They were jokin' and carryin' on with the landlady when I was in there; really infectious. I'd probably put this in second place, come to think of it. The Coach House Brewing Co.'s Squires Gold Spring Ale was excellent: refreshing and understated.
• The Munro: gotta love it when a restaurant that bills itself as fine dining has four real ales on, and a warm, relaxing area to enjoy them.
• The Philharmonic Dining Rooms: last, but not least, we popped in after the show on a recommendation. Opulent and cosy, if you can believe it, with a truly amazing selection of ales. I think the tasty red I had had Smithy in the name, which leads me to White Horse Brewery's Wayland Smithy. Tea's True Grit Pale Ale, by Millstone Brewery, was also excellent.

Just a great weekend. We took the train up, and never once considered a cab. The Albert Docks, where we stayed (at the excellent Staybridge Suites), were a leisurely half-hour walk from there, and everything we did was in between the two. One of the better walking cities we've visited, in fact.

Nottingham: The Black Keys!

Tea, in front of the caves in Castle Rock

Well, we almost beat the snow home. With "severe weather" forecast for the day, we thought it best to cut our weekend plans short: we saw the Black Keys at the Capital FM Arena in Nottingham last night -- awesome! -- and had planned to spend the day walking in and around Lincoln; oh well, another time. Ten centimetres is what they're calling for, and while that might not seem like much to my Canadian readership, it's 9.5 cm more than they can handle here; they simply don't have the equipment -- and, frankly, would probably be wasting public funds if they bought it. (If the winters we've seen since moving here are any indication of a colder trend, however, that may not hold true for much longer.)

Tea, at 'the Trip'

We took Friday off and had a leisurely drive to Nottingham, checking in at the Premier Inn around mid afternoon. (It was a really nice room, by the way, although, generally, I'd give it to Ibis by a nose in this category, as I prefer their bathroom layout. Incidentally, discount hotels in the UK are miles ahead of the North American standard.) With a few hours 'til the show, we decided to see what constituted a good cask ale pub in Nottingham.

I hadn't realized that the city is a hotbed of competition for the title of the oldest drinking establishment in England. We visited two claimants: Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem Inn (or 'the Trip') and Ye Olde Salutation Inn (or 'the Sal'). We had a tasty starter in the former to accompany our pints -- the fish cakes were particularly good -- taking in the unique atmosphere offered by the sandstone caves they use as the front drinking rooms. The latter dubs itself a "Rock 'n' Ale" pub, and certainly delivered on both counts: the tunes were nice 'n' heavy the whole time we were there -- thanks to an oversized iPod of a jukebox that was always busy -- and they had eight real ales on handpump! For the curious, here's what we sampled from both pubs:

• Nottingham Brewery's Rock Mild
• Nottingham Brewery's Extra Pale Ale (EPA): light hoppiness; very well balanced -- my favourite at 'the Trip'
• Nottingham Brewery's Legend
• Flipside Brewery's Sterling Pale: full-on hops; a palette-smasher to be sure, but I really enjoyed it
• Burton Bridge Brewery's Damson Porter
• Derventio Brewery's Cleopatra: a seasonal, big ol' smack of apricot; another favourite of the evening, although one pint's probably enough
• Guaranteed Sunshine: nicely balanced golden ale; really wish I had more on who brews it: I thought the label said Dregs, but that's tough to google -- comment if you know more!

The impressive array of handpumps at 'the Sal'

Band of Skulls was already on as we took our seats; we hadn't heard them before, but thought they played a decent set. With a capacity of 10000, the arena was downright intimate by the standards of home, while still presenting an impressive sea of undulating heads and arms at the peaks of the light show. The Keys were fantastic. I've never seen them before, but can confidently state that. With the heavy production on their latest album, El Camino, I was a bit worried that the stage would be crammed; happily, it was just Dan and Patrick, and two guys on bass and keyboards -- really simple, with some improv in the bridges. Perfect! They even played Your Touch, kickin' it up to at least double time. (Can't imagine how bored they must be with playing that now.)

We spilled out on the streets around 11:00 p.m., ready for a proper meal. Luckily, most of the kids were looking for a drink, passing the tempting Greek restaurant, Eviva Taverna, by. It didn't disappoint, either: we shared an immense salad with our two skewers of souvlaki each; we were totally stuffed and sated long before we could clean our plates. (I do wish that I'd tackled the raw onions in that salad with a little less fervour, however: when I woke up this morning, my mouth tasted like I'd been using it for things better left unsaid on this blog.)

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

Manchester: "POUR - SOME - SUGAR on me!"

Tea got me CAMRA's Manchester Pub Guide a few months ago, and, as I'm sure you can imagine, it got some use this past weekend. Skip down to the Pubs section if that's your pleasure.

We got the 6 p.m. train to Manchester after work on Friday and arrived at Manchester Piccadilly station a few hours later, in the heart of the action. While The Mercure (formerly Piccadilly Hotel) wasn't anything to write home about, its location -- overlooking Piccadilly Gardens, all lit up for Christmas -- couldn't be beat, and the breakfast was very good.

Tea scored some tickets to the Wolves at Man U match on Saturday afternoon -- don't worry, Robbie, I didn't come back with any swag, and only cheered so the surrounding fans wouldn't hurt me -- so we spent the morning around Piccadilly Gardens and the European Christmas Market in the lee of the imposing Town Hall. (The following day we went inside, which has its own market, and enjoyed tea with a friend of Tea's from the area; really nice spot to warm up!)

Aside: there were nine Christmas markets in total, and of the highest calibre we've seen in the country to date. There were some really stand-out stalls -- a puppet maker and another with ornate metalwork lanterns come to mind -- and the themed markets were distinct: the ankerbrau on tap at the German market was a nice touch, and the seating in a stall at the French market gave it a cafe atmosphere of sorts; cognac is really nice in mulled wine, by the way.

Getting out to Old Trafford was a cinch: a few stops from Manchester Piccadilly. (Unfortunately, getting home after the match was another matter; we probably would've walked back to the town centre if we had our time back.) That first view of the pitch was amazing. With a capacity of nearly 80000, I have to say, the two Premier League matches I've been to have been a spectacle of staggering proportions. The steady thrum of noise, strikingly different from the typical Sens game, makes you feel so alive. Seated well up behind and to the side of one of the goal lines, we had a great view of three of the five goals in the 4-1 victory for Man U. (The Wolves played well, but were simply outclassed.)

Sunday was concert day! Steel Panther, Motley Crue and Def Leppard at the Arena! The venue was fantastic: right in the centre of town, just off the Shambles -- where we enjoyed supper at Cafe Rouge beforehand -- and again, like Old Trafford, was this big bowl of energy as we arrived. The Crue were great: pumping the crowd up and cooking 'em with crazy pyrotechnics -- we could feel the heat, in the seating way at the back! Tommy Lee's coaster-esque kit and set was like nothing I've ever seen. I laughed out loud, when, as part of the stills montage on the big screens during Girls, Girls, Girls, they flashed a picture of Justin Bieber.

Def Leppard's backdrop was toned down by comparison -- I could imagine it would've looked much the same twenty years ago -- but all the better for it: the shuttle footage on the floor-to-ceiling screens during Rocket, with their silhouettes out front, as they played on the three different levels, was fantastic. The whole show was great; everything I thought it would be -- Phil was still shirtless! -- and more. They seemed genuinely appreciative of the reception: Joe reminisced about driving back to Sheffield in a beat-up van in '79, having just opened for a band in Manchester: “You know, Manchester is really f*****' great.” And they ended saying, “Don't forget us; we won't forget you.” Good times!

Pubs

It's tough to choose between my two favourite pubs of the weekend. I think the Port St. Beer House has it by a nose: two levels, and not silly busy on the Saturday night we popped in, it hit a cosy rec room note we both took to immediately. The staff were knowledgeable and friendly: as usual Tea asked for a recommendation, and the barman's "Stunning!" for Thornbridge's Colorado Red was bang-on. Similarly, he raved about a recently-acquired saison that was a collaboration between local Marble Beers and Dark Star brewer, Mark Tranter; and with good reason: honestly, this may be the best beer I've ever tasted. So rich and smooth for a 9%, and much more than I'd dreamed a saison could be -- and I'm a big fan of Saison Dupont, understand.

Other hits of the evening included:

1. Utility IPA from Marble: excellent, even after the Colorado Red, which is saying something
2. Great Divide's Rumble: an oak aged IPA; so smooth, with caramel notes
3. Redwillow's Ageless, a beautiful Imperial IPA
4. BrewDog's Winter Porter
5. Otley's O-Ho-Ho: while good, it obviously paled in comparison to the heavy hitters

Enjoying a pint at the Old Wellington

Coming in a very close second was our second-to-last pub of the trip: the Knott Bar in Deansgate, Greater Manchester CAMRA Regional Pub of the Year 2010. The exterior wasn't much to look at from the side we approached, but a big grin broke out when I first stepped inside: really interesting, but understated decor, comfortable furniture, and, again, very friendly staff with a clear appreciation for real ale. They recommended Moor Beer Company's Southern Star, which was a great, hoppy pale. Marble's Bitter was the winner of the stop, although Redwillow's Heartless was an excellent stout. And as if that wasn't enough, the Irish (lamb) stew on special came bone-in; absolutely delicious. The bar is set in a former railway arch, and the periodic rumbling of the trains overhead was the icing on the cake.

Other stops included:

• The Old Wellington can't be missed. The surrounding Shambles -– and it really was in '96 -– is a must-see, and whilst you're there, you could do far worse than this twice-moved landmark. Over two visits, Acorn's Barnsley Bitter, Itchen Valley's Treacle Stout, Rudgate's Auld Saint Nic and Venus Black IPA were all excellent.
• Kro Piccadilly was right outside our hotel, and a great place to watch the wet-at-the-time world go by. The pump clip with Elbow's Build a Rocket Boys! called to me: slightly sweet with caramel notes, it went down very well; a good session beer.
• Microbar, in Arndale Market: the location is small and odd, but it really works. Strands Brewery's Brown Bitter and Ellands Brewery's Tinsel Ticklers were both great (the latter being hoppy and bright, with a hint of orange rind).
• Bulls Head: the guide hits the right note on this pub: smacks of professionalism and intimacy; quite the feat for a pub so close to the train station. Had Boondoggle and the Ugly Sisters, and was impressed by the latter.

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

The Third Annual Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer Festival

Tea and I have made an appearance at the Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer and Wine Festival each of the three years it's been running. It's improving every year, and always seems to be well attended. We normally go on the Sunday, but yesterday was a nice change: the evening band in particular really dialled things up from the typically relaxed atmosphere, getting folks on their feet.

They planned for all weather as well; handy, given how the sky simply opened late in the afternoon; just bucketed for a good half hour, with uncommon thunder and lightning. The marquee held up well, though, and soon the festivities were spread out over the cricket grounds again.

The beers were excellent as well. My favourite had to be the Lakeland Lager, by Hawkshead Brewery, up in the Lake District. An odd choice, you might think, but, as they (and many others) say on their site, it's an excellent style that's got a bad name in the last few decades. I simply couldn't pass up the chance to try a cask-conditioned lager, and I'm so glad I did: what the tasting notes refer to as a dry character almost approached a sourness, for me, and put me in mind of some of the lambics I've enjoyed; really exciting and refreshing. And now, reading Hawkshead's own notes, it's mostly brewed for the bottle, not the cask, so I count myself doubly fortunate.

Mom, at last year's festival

Other favourites included:

• Boggart Hole Clough Brewery's Dark Mild
• Kelham Island Brewery's Pale Rider
• Burton Bridge Brewery's Damson Porter and Bramble Stout
• Stroud Brewery's Tom Long
• Prescott Brewery's Hill Climb: old, local, wonderful standby

Tallinn: Canada rocks the archery contest

Entering Old Town

[These last few posts of the cruise were written as we sailed back to Amsterdam. We now continue on Tuesday, July 5, returning from our two days in Russia...]

Our next stop was Tallinn, Estonia. Unlike many of the earlier stops, the Old Town -- one of the most beautifully preserved in Europe, we're told -- was but a short walk from the port. While we'd arrived very early, we did manage to find some coffee in the sleepy Town Hall Square, right in the impressive hall itself. (Which was a good thing, as it was a bit chilly.)

Town Hall, in the square of the same name

The highlight of the day was an archery contest we stumbled upon: Tea did well initially, as did I -- so long as you count perfectly lining the arrows up along the left-hand edge of the target as "well" -- but the star of the show was Stephen, who nearly doubled the top scores on the leader board with back-to-back 43s. We left with a nice bottle of Estonian wine, Canada dominating the standings.

Apparently I need rebalancing

Take that, Pepe!

Old Hansa

Archery works up a good appetite, so it was lucky that Alla had recommended a traditional restaurant, in the medieval style, right off Town Hall Square: Old Hansa was even better than we'd hoped, serving all sorts of interesting meats like bear, elk and wild boar, as well as their own beer, flavoured with honey or strong herbs.

Ketikoerad

We finished the afternoon with a spontaneous rock 'n' roll show near the pier -- the band was Ketikoerad, and they played a mean Born To Be Wild -- a bottle of the local porter from Saku in hand.

Up next: Copenhagen, Denmark

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

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.

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.]