Walks: Beware of bull

Our car, in NorthleachWell, the big news is that we bought a car! It's an older, lightly-used Yaris with an automatic transmission -- key, since neither of us drive stick. It's small, which is great for parking and the narrow roads, but it's also a four-door, and roomier than you might expect. We're really excited about the weekend travel possibilities now, as you can imagine, particularly with our seat-of-the-pants (u'm, that'd be trousers for you local readers) lifestyle.

It was raining Saturday with no signs of letting up, but we decided to head to Bourton-on-the-Water anyway, eager to take the car out of town. The name suggests quaint to me, and it really was quite cosy and picturesque -- our good, waterproof shoes and raincoats made sure the weather didn't detract from that feeling. The River Windrush dominates the centre of town, and there was already a big Christmas tree on one of its little islands, which Tea particularly enjoyed. I love how all these towns have big war memorials to those they lost in the wars, still covered in poppies at this time of year, of course.

After browsing a local book sale, it was off for a walk on the local paths that surround the town. A couple was just coming off the public footpath as we approached, both of them covered in thick, wet mud to their knees. Tea gasped and exclaimed, by way of introduction, "Please tell me we won't get that mucky!" They laughed and assured us that we wouldn't. (To this day, I have no idea how they got so dirty; and we've been on some muddy paths, trust me!) We had a great time, and made it home before dark (always nice for novice drivers). Check out the latter half of our November album for some pictures from the walk.


"U'm, what's that
sign say?"We slept in a bit late on Sunday, but still managed to make it to Northleach in the morning. (Unfortunately, I forgot to charge the camera, so we didn't get many pictures of this great day; the funniest part is that the clouds rolled in as my camera died, so the beautiful sun I did catch isn't really representative of the day.) We'd barely started the walk from our book when we both did a double-take by the "Beware of bull" sign. Tea, always sharp, was immediately out with, "Thank goodness I'm not wearing red!" You can't make this stuff up! Still, that's where the book directed us, so we pressed on.

Saturday's rain made for an extremely muddy walk; particularly in one bit that was like walking through a field of cabbage -- we were in danger of losing our shoes at times! (Wellies are on our shopping list now, incidentally.) So many wonderful sights, though: we saw this huge field of sheep -- marked with dye in what looked like that means of determining which ewes the ram has been with -- and just one black one; that's right, I met the black sheep of the family, and have no picture to show for it!

There was much high-fiving as the beautiful Northleach Parish Church of St. Peter and St. Paul appeared in the distance: this marked the first time we'd followed a walk from our book without getting lost once. Unfortunately we missed the carvery at the Wheatsheaf Inn, but we still enjoyed a pint in front of fire while playing with the three puppies that were scampering around. We stopped in a local bakery for some pasties before heading home, and any chill we still had didn't last long against the hot drinks we whipped up: rum hot toddy for me, and a Caramel Baileys hot chocolate for Tea.

Wales: "We're Motörhead! We play rock 'n' roll!"

In one of those coincidences that you just love to talk about we found ourselves with tickets to Ballet Ireland's rendition of Cinderella one night, and Motörhead the next. Beyond that, and maybe our sitting on something like the bleachers you remember from school, the two events shared little in common, I'm sure you're surprised to learn.

The ballet was great, making very entertaining use of artistic license: it opened with the clock striking midnight, and the ringing was still in the air as the prince displayed a side a far sight short of charming. Probably the most consistent entertainment (i.e., laughs, which is always important in any stage production) came from the two ballerinos -- yes, I had to look that up, and I'm trustin' Wikipedia on it -- who played Cinderella's step-sisters. As a guy who always thinks of Disney's interpretations of many of these tales, I was happy to see that Ballet Ireland took the ugly bit very seriously. ;-) But, in all honesty, they didn't just ham it up: these guys did an outstanding job, looking at every moment as if the prince's heart (or maybe the glass slippers) was all they wanted in the world.

And then, the next night, it was off to Newport by train; this was complicated a bit by the landslip -- no, I didn't look that one up; they're common over here, in fact -- that took out the direct line through Gloucester, but we made it to the Kings Hotel with plenty of time to spare. With three opening acts, the Newport Centre was hoppin' by 7 p.m. (That, and they just start these things earlier over here: I think everything was all said 'n' done not much after midnight.) In line in front of us was a guy with a mohawk, a leather jacket under a denim vest, all marked-up and torn to c**p, and... a boy of ten, maybe, in identical attire (right down to the mohawk!). As they got up to the ticket-taker, we learned it was his first gig. :-) Hope Dad brought earplugs!

As we walked in the door, I could've sworn I was in the Walter Baker Centre or the Nepean Sportsplex: people could've been walkin' by in trunks on their way to the pool. (All the better, 'cause it never quieted down in the lobby, I'm sure, with the bar in the opposite direction to the show and up a floor.) And the show was in what looked like a big high-school gymnasium, right down to the multi-coloured lines they use for the basketball court. (Can't imagine how many marks everyone left on that surface, though. :-) )

We wandered over to the many levels of bleachers that lined the walls, and hadn't been sat for more than a minute or two before a guy directed an obviously-drunk companion to a seat in front of us. Before I continue, a word on my attire: I chose to wear a tie to the show; just to be a bit cheeky, and since I figured my black Mullet Rock shirts wouldn't stand out in that sea of black, white and denim. (Incidentally, I've never seen so many of the main act's shirts at a show in my life; one more of the many ways Motörhead just chews up the rules 'n' spits 'em out.) So the guy sits heavily in front of us, and his brother (as it turns out) turns to me and says, "Bit formal, innit?" He returns my grin, and, my tie in his hand, quickly follows that up with, "That's quality, that."

I wish I could've understand their accents a bit better, 'cause what we did catch of Rob and Steve's (I hope those were their names, although they don't sound very Welsh to me) stream of consciousness was fantastic. They were from a little village to the north (of Newport) called 'Glencairn', although I can't find it on a map for the life of me. (Rob did say that I pronounced it better than people who lived 10 miles down the road from him, though, so it may be my inability to spell Welsh names that's the problem.) But from Rob's talkin' about how his wee... u'm, wee wee that can only make girls, to his askin' our advice on men-less places in Canada he could move to with said girls, to the much shaking of hands and kissing of heads, these brothers were a show in their own right. Steve was even back out on the floor, half-naked, swingin' his shirt over his head -- and there's no band up yet, mind -- before we made our goodbyes and went for a drink.

And this 'bar' was somethin' else too; more of a place for a wedding reception you'd figure, were it not for incredible amount of leather and facial hair on display. The best part, though, was that they were all just gentle giants, from what I could tell: it's so hard to keep from laughing when a crowd clears from around the bar to make room for a tattooed, ZZ Top beard-sporting Goliath carrying this little dainty tray full of glasses of beer, like he was off to some totally freaky tea party.

After we finished our drinks -- I had a Guinness and Tea, seeing the lady in front of her order it, had some blackcurrant cordial in a cider, which I've now learned is a popular drink called Cider & Black -- we headed back to the packed gymnasium, now well into The Damned's set. (Incidentally -- yes, I know I say that a lot, :-) it really seemed like lead singer, Dave Vanian, was going for a Bono thing, and it wasn't just his shades: he had a monologue in the middle of a song that you could've played right along side Silver and Gold off Rattle and Hum.)

And then it was time for the main act. Five years ago, my friend, W., saw Motörhead (in the exact same spot, I believe), and I always remembered how he said Lemmy came out and, really quickly, said, "Y'o'right? We'll soon fix that," and just started givin' 'er. Well, no word of a lie, he said those very words this time too, followed by the title of this post. It was a fantastic moment.

For me, they played a perfect set: a mix of the oldies like Bomber, Ace of Spades, and Overkill, along with stuff for the new album -- can't believe they're still making albums! -- with just enough chatting in between. I particularly liked the opening to Just Cos You Got The Power: "This one's about politicians..." [much booing] "Wha? You don't like politicians?" [much yelling] "Me either, thievin' bastards!" :-) Oh, and the acoustic Whorehouse Blues in the encore was great. They ended the show sayin' we were the best crowd they'd had in Wales in ten years! (Sorry, W. ;-) )


On the train to CardiffThe next day we puttered around Newport for a bit, and then decided, spur of the moment, to take the train to Cardiff. Little did we know that it was the day of an International Friendly football match between Wales and Scotland in that city's very stadium! The dozens of lads in kilts at the Gatekeeper pub just down the road from the Millennium Stadium sort of gave it away, though. :-)

It was a bit of a rainy day, but we made the most of it, takin' in the Christmas market, which included plenty of mulled wine and bratwurst, of course.

Sapperton: "Are there bears in England?"

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





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

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

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

Edinburgh

The relative calm of our early start Friday morning was shattered by the discovery of water running around and dripping from the light over the kitchen sink. After confirming that I had in fact shut off the shower upstairs – the dark patches on the ceiling corresponded to the main bathroom on that floor – we left a message with the landlord and were off. (What else could we do, really? The dripping was slowing as we stood there, so clearly the immediate danger was passing. Thank goodness the water was running directly to the sink.) The beauty of living close to the train station was vividly brought home to us again, as we made our train with time to spare, despite that sizable wrinkle.

After an easy switch at Birmingham New Street station – including a delicious croissant, according to Tea, at one of its cafes – our five-hour trip to Edinburgh began. Time after time the beautiful landscape would pull my nose out of my book; it really is a great way to travel. Our views of Newcastle were very impressive, but it was the miles of shoreline near Durham that really made me sit up; we'll have to make our way back there someday.

I was once again gobsmacked as I stepped out on the Waverley Bridge outside the train station of the same name. Edinburgh has to be one of the most beautiful cities I've ever seen. I found myself actually peeking around each corner, unable to wait that extra step to see what lay ahead. We quickly checked in at our hotel and then set off the short distance – almost straight up! – to Edinburgh Castle. Unfortunately, they were just closing up for the day, but we were lucky enough to squeeze on the last tour of the nearby Scotch Whiskey Experience, just a short way down the Royal Mile.

The tour began with an entertaining explanation of how scotch whiskey is made, followed by a tasting. They did it really well, explaining some of the differences between the regions, and offering us a hint of what the Lowland, Highland, Speyside and Islay selections would taste like through smelling jars in front of us. Tea had a fantastic Highland called Glenfarclas and I tried a new (to me) Islay, Bowmore. They also explained a bit about the blending process, and then it was off to the highlight of the tour.

Diageo Claive Vidiz's collection of whiskey is the biggest in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records, and it truly took our breath away. Our guide pointed out some of the stars of the collection, and then left us to enjoy the view, and the attached bar boasting some 300 single malts; there I ordered my first cask-strength Edradour (the port finish, specifically), a real treat.

We finished the night at an Italian restaurant across from our hotel called Gennaro. To our surprise, there must've been eight or nine Italian waiters and waitresses relaxing behind and around the bar as we entered. A young man who spoke decent English sat us before heading back to the gathering. Any doubts we had about our choice of restaurant melted away as we were served fantastic minestrone soup and perfectly-cooked pasta, and watched the rooms fill to capacity. (They actually turned many, many people away without any indication of when there might be room for them; we later discovered that you really need to book a table no matter where you're eating, unless you show up really early – for them, which is between 6 and 6:30 p.m.) This theme of foreign nationals working in restaurants and pubs serving their native dishes has been repeated again and again throughout Europe (e.g., Irish lasses in the Irish pub near our hotel in Rotterdam) and I found myself wondering whether the EU and broader agreements might be behind it.


Edinburgh Castle, with its spectacular views of the city and staggering war memorial, was our first stop the next day. After a snack in their excellent cafe, we headed down the Royal Mile to take a bus tour. Sitting in the comfort of the double-decker, we got to see the more adventurous tourists climbing Arthur's Seat. I must admit that I was envious of the views that must've awaited them. Tea had decided that Thai sounded good for supper, so I quickly popped into the Scotch Whiskey Experience's store for a few samplers of the Islays I'd been dreaming about, ;-) and then it was off to a pub as we awaited the supper hour.

We'd photocopied a few pages out of the Campaign for Real Ale's (CAMRA) Good Beer Guide prior to leaving, and picked the Standing Order off its list of recommendations. The facade of this pub is difficult to relay: it looked like it should've housed a legislature of some sort, or at the very least, an exclusive club. (I actually asked Tea if she thought we were dressed well enough.) Well, nothing could be further from the truth: what awaited us was an amazingly warm and inviting atmosphere, especially considering the vaulted ceilings. As we enjoyed a pint – a Deuchars IPA, followed by an Abbot for me, and two Westons ciders for Tea – over a game of cribbage, I caught some grand gestures in my periphery.

A French student, only in town a month then, was practicing what turned out to be an impressive repertoire of magic tricks for anyone who cared to watch: he had coin tricks, rope tricks, sponge ball tricks and many, many card tricks, and we were still shaking our heads in wonder as we made our way out to the Thai restaurant Tea'd decided on.


Tea's winning streakHowever, having failed to book a table, we found ourselves in the unfortunate position of being turned away – much as we'd watched others from Gennaro the night before – from three Thai restaurants before settling on the Castle Arms pub. (Never fear, though; we had a fantastic meal at Thai Orchid the next evening -- picture right.) Thankfully, they were still serving delicious, hot food – Tea had steak 'n' ale pie and I had haggis, neeps and tatties – and we ended up spending the rest of our evening there over pints and crib. (Incidentally, Tea won all seven or eight games over the course of that evening; three or four by a single point, much to my frustration. :-) )

For our last full day in Edinburgh we decided to do a bit of shopping; well, Tea shopped and I took pictures of churches. Then we met up again and went for a pint at Barony Bar; well, I had a pint – Old Peculier, which has a fruity start that doesn't survive to the bottles I've had – and Tea had... a pot of tea. :-) With cookies, that upon discovering, Tea exclaimed, “I love it when I get bickies I didn't order!” The bar itself was another find from the Good Beer Guide, and what a find it was! One of my favourites to date, certainly, with its warm atmosphere and excellent selection of ales.


Looking down the Royal MileAt that point we contemplated heading down to the port of Leith, but, with 5 p.m.-ish tickets to the Real Mary King's Close tour and the shops closing early on Sunday, we decided to head back to the Royal Mile for a last round of scotch shopping. I picked up a bottle of Edradour's Straight From The Cask Bordeaux Finish, a small bottle of Caol Ila (another Islay), and, finally, a bottle of Big Peat, which is an Islay whiskey blend that includes the rare Port Ellen single malt, amongst others.

After dropping that lot back at the hotel it was time to descend well below the street level of the Royal Mile to the closes (including Mary King's) that now form its foundation. A fantastic tour guide, understated props, and plenty of mood lighting (i.e., next to none) made for a truly entertaining time; don't miss this gem if you're ever in the city for even an afternoon!


Outside Auld Jock'sTraveling home on Monday was a piece of cake; it actually seemed to take less time, for some reason. Maybe it was the hearty breakfast we had at Auld Jock's Pie Shoppe; the haggis was excellent! Oh, and as a final note, that reminds me: I had blood sausage for the first time the morning previous; it was O.K., but the texture was a bit hard to take at times.

As usual, there are lots more pictures on my Picasa account, in the Best of Edinburgh album in this case.

Rotterdam: ♪ This could be... ♫

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



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

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



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

Close to home: walks and drives

Tea with MerlinWe've been enjoying things a little closer to home since our vacation. The Sunday after we got back was the first annual Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer Festival. We biked over, enjoyed a few pints -- I had a pint of Centurion's Ghost and a pint of Bristol Stout, and this was Tea's introduction to all that is the Old Rosie 'scrumpy' cider -- and burgers, and the beautiful view of the surrounding hills; Cleeve Hill, the highest point in the Cotswolds, is visible from there. (Unfortunately, I forgot my camera!) Then we got to sample many of those ales and ciders again at the Jolly Brewmaster pub a few weeks later; I've heard they have the best selection of real ale in the town.



The weekend past, we rented our first car! Before I go on, a few general points about driving:

1. It's much tougher than it looks! We decided to split the driving over the weekend, with Saturday being Tea's day. Well, I was completely laid back in the passenger seat, thinkin' all was well, and then Sunday came. Driving on the other side isn't so bad, roundabouts are O.K., but the narrow roads and quasi-intersections are really very nerve-racking.
2. You know those folks that drive down the highway for 10 km with their signal light on? I'm bettin' they're Brits. The signal indicator clicks back to neutral immediately here, with the light going out after the turn as you'd expect.
3. Our Garmin Nuvi GPS (or sat-nav as they say here) can be configured to stick to paved roads, but that really doesn't save you over here: I swear some of the roads it sent us down were only suitable for horses.

We became English Heritage members soon after arriving, and decided that we'd start the weekend by visiting one of the sites close to home: the Belas Knap neolithic long barrow. I don't know if it's typical of the heritage sites, but it was so understated: the number of times we looked at each other, after walking for 10 or 15 minutes, wondering whether we were going the right way was really funny; small signs offered only the slightest of encouragement. When we finally found it, Tea's arms flew up in the air in a victory 'V'. :-) As we were making our way back down the steep slope towards the car, wishing we'd brought some water, we spotted a town in the distance, and that's how we ended up in Winchcombe.

We found ourselves outside the Plaisterers Arms pub, and I'm so glad Tea suggested we stop -- I'd been leaning toward the White Hart Inn that I'd read about in our book of Cotswold walks and cycle rides (more on that in a bit). I think it's my favourite pub so far; even above St. Georges Vault and the Jolly Brewmaster. It has so much character, a fantastic selection of real ale, great food -- the steak and ale pie was amazing -- and an award-winning garden out back.






Our new pig friendsWith our whistles wet and bellies sated, we set off on one of the Level 1 walks in our guide book that would take us past Sudeley Castle. Navigating the first part was a breeze, but as we were trekking across a field, avoiding the sheep and their droppings, we came across this description of the next leg:

Maintain your diagonal course through a break in the middle of the right-hand hedge until you reach a protruding corner and then turn with the fence up the hill to a stile in the overgrown corner.

What the heck is a stile? I know now, but we were pretty far from Wikipedia at the time. Still we made due, cutting across a farm and being chased by some really big pigs! It was one of those train-wrecks where the pigs started walking faster, then we did, 'til we were practically running and scrambling over the gate just as they caught us. Good times!


Sudeley CastleAt that point I was able to sync up with our guide book again, and just as we were running out of steam, Sudeley Castle appeared on the horizon. They gave us a discount on admission since it was close to closing time, and we still had time for some refreshments in the cafe, got to see a few exhibits, and took in the beautiful gardens and church as well. Then it was back to the White Hart Inn for a pint and a Ploughman's platter; strange music, but the Jouster went down well. (It's so much better on draught than in the bottle, incidentally.)


The boot sale meat auction!After all that walking, a slower day was on the bill for Sunday. We started with the boot sale -- car boots, that is -- at the Cheltenham Raceway, which was basically a big garage sale, and then went to Staples to buy the printer that we never could've gotten home without a car. While Tea was setting that up, I kicked back to watch the Sunderland vs. Wolverhampton Wanderers Premier League match on our new Sky TV set-up; even paused it while I mowed the lawn. Ah, the comforts of home. :-)

Vigo: "Man, I'm gonna mow through some oysters"

The Swimmer abstract art

My first steps on mainland Europe came in Vigo, Spain beside Francisco Leiro's The Swimmer. As we made our way into the city, I felt a familiar awe coming over me, different, but reminiscent of my first steps out of Knightsbridge Underground station in London. You can't help but compare the narrow, winding cobblestone ways to scenes you've read about or seen in movies; it just doesn't seem real. Stephen actually said that it was like we were in Epcot's (planned, but never completed) Spanish pavilion. (And it seems to be a fairly common reaction, as I just remember a Brit uttering the same thing -- i.e., Disney-like -- as we toured Bletchley Park a few weeks ago.) We walked by a quiet alley called Oyster Street with one man just setting up a stand with an enormous wooden crate of said shellfish on it, and while I was impressed, I really didn't anticipate what the area would be like in full swing.




Almost at O Castro nowThe streets started widening as we moved away from the port, widening and rising, as we worked our way up the hill topped by O Castro Park. It was actually a good hike, and we all were winded by the time we made it to the monument to the Rande Galleons -- which were sunk at the battle of Vigo Bay in 1702 -- still a bit of a climb from the park proper. While the view from the park was very impressive, I was puzzled by the proliferation of antennae and power lines that took away from the beautiful statues and buildings, to say nothing of the fortress's state of disrepair. (I really had to work to keep my pictures free of this stuff; guess I won't be winning any journalism awards. ;-) )





Since the ship was set to sail at 3 p.m., we decided that we'd have a later lunch on the water and try to see as much as we could in the meantime. Well, I don't think we'd made it halfway down to the port before I muttered, out of the blue, "Man, I'm gonna mow through some oysters." There was some laughing, and Tea's sarcastic "Nice, Jae," but no one seemed to mind my change of plans. :-) And change they did as we came upon a transformed Oyster Street, with stalls and people everywhere. There were ladies shucking oysters with an ease that comes with uncounted years of experience, their lined faces full of stories. I think we had two big plates of oysters, one of sardines (that reminded me of the caplin runs we used to do as kids in days gone by, fish cooked right there on camp fires), and one of calamari. What a feast! I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. (Tea wasn't a big fan of oysters -- neither was Stephen, come to think of it, although I won't tell you what he said they taste like :-) -- but I was proud of her for trying 'em.) It was the highlight of the cruise for me -- in fact, I'm sure I said to Stephen, "Best day ever!" -- which is really saying something when I think of how great Madeira and Tenerife were (in very different ways).

Up next: back to our home away from home.