After a quick trip home for a wedding, it was time to get back to our local excursions. We needed a bit of down time -- Saturday was a lazy day browsing Moss Books, followed by the awesomeness of Scott Pilgrim vs. The World -- but struck out for Oxford nice 'n' early on Sunday. We'd booked a night at the Cotswold Lodge, which, while nice, caught our eye because it had a private parking lot. Parking in Oxford is both difficult and expensive, so this was key to us enjoying the day, and, more importantly, the evening we'd planned at Jamie's Italian.
We had time to wander around the Bodleian Library and one of the many covered markets before a light rain started to fall. That gave us the perfect excuse for an early lunch at the White Horse pub, nestled between the enormous Blackwell bookshop. (More on that playground shortly.) Two delicious Sunday roasts, some homemade apple and strawberry pie, and a few pints later, we were ready to face the elements again. Only the strong winds had carried the rain off for the moment; a trend that, as luck would have it, continued throughout much of the afternoon.
At the White Horse
We then made our way toward the Cherwell River, where the punting is like a little slice of Venice. After laughing at the silly Brits struggling with their poles, we wandered past the colleges of Merton and Christ Church before heading back to the covered markets for more shopping -- and some refreshments at Ben's Cookies; not to be missed! The rain started to pick up again at that point, so we headed to Blackwell for some sheltered exploration.
Christ Church College
Well, what to say about that place... The basement floor has a horizon, it extends so far. Nooks, crannies and staircases abound, lending it a fabulous air of adventure. But the best part has to be the second-hand room. It's tucked away in the sweltering attic; not that I noticed, grinning from ear to ear as the sweat rolled down my temples. I wish more shops set aside such a section.
The sun was out to stay as Blackwell closed, so we decided to pass some time in one of the recommended pubs we'd passed, the Lamb and the Flag, before seeking out what we knew would be a highlight of the trip, Jamie's Italian. And it didn't disappoint. We had many of the same things we've come to love there -- the antipasti board and selection of breads chief amongst them -- as well as a new favourite: lemon polenta cake. It's probably one of the best desserts I've ever had; just the right sweetness, wonderful texture... M'm...
Then it was back to the hotel. We had a nice lie-in the next day before heading to Woodstock, with a plan to spend the afternoon walking the grounds of Blenheim Palace. After a full English breakfast at Vickers, we were so taken with Woodstock that we just wandered for a bit. The Oxfordshire Museum had a superheroes exhibit on, which I had to check out, before we moved the car to the Palace grounds proper.
"You won't like me when I'm angry!"
The tickets were a bit pricey, but certainly worth it. It seemed to be a really popular destination -- whether because of the car show on the grounds that day or simply the bank holiday weekend, we couldn't tell -- but we still had great swathes of the walk around the lake to ourselves. After exploring the Churchill exhibit -- he was born at Blenheim Palace -- and the state rooms, it was time for some cream tea. (Well, I had coffee.) Sitting out amongst the gardens was lovely... except for the hornets. They took great delight in swarming over Tea's little pot of jam. It was only as we finished up our hastily-consumed snack that I noticed another of those pots nearby, clean as a whistle. I don't imagine it took them long to leave ours in the same state.
After so many weekends away, or preparing to leave, it was nice to stay local for a change. We had plans to attend the first evening of the annual Cotswold Beer Festival in Postlip, and then decided that getting back to those countryside walks on Saturday or Sunday wouldn't go amiss either.
We bought tickets for a bus to and from the festival, which worked seamlessly. We're fairly organised about these festivals now -- mind you, this was definitely the biggest one we'd been to by far -- bringing snacks, water, jumpers (i.e., sweaters), and a large camping blanket that's waterproof on one side; it beats standing the whole time, and packs up nicer than those camping chairs. The selection of ales was so impressive; all the more so because you're in this enormous converted barn, listening to great live music. I had ales that had hints of fruit cake, others called Pig's Ear and Dr Hexter's Healer, porters called Old Slug, and the list goes on.
Oddly enough, we had an epic lie-in on Saturday. Then it was down to High Street for some errands, and lunch at Nando's; that fixed us right up. (So glad to hear they have one in Ottawa.) Rejuvenated, we decided that today would be the day that we'd make our much-talked-about run to Ikea in Bristol. And it worked out really well: much like home, it seems folks forget that the place is open late on the weekends.
The Church of St. John the Baptist
We got up a bit late on Sunday as well -- I made some of the Turkish tea we'd brought back from Kuşadası, which really hit the spot -- so we decided to stay close for our walk. In the end, Cirencester, with its beautiful Church of St. John the Baptist, won out. We had a great time wandering the church grounds, and through Bathurst Estate and Cirencester Park, before stopping for a pick-me-up at the Crown.
On the drive home, we stopped at the Golden Heart Inn, something I've been wanting to do for a long time. It won Pub of the Year in 2009, and it isn't hard to see why. There's such a great atmosphere, delicious food -- Tea and I ordered one roast beef and one turkey carvery, and shared them -- and a surprisingly-big patio area out back.
Carvery at the Golden Heart Inn
As luck would have it, we happened to be driving back as MacKay and Reid -- two friends from home -- were making their way to their hotel. I got out and led the guys to one of our favourite pubs, The Royal Union, while Tea dropped the car home and then joined us. We had a blast, catchin' up and chatting with the owner -- and giving his two dogs, Kelly and Lucy, lots of love; have I talked about how much I love that part of their culture lately? It's so natural, and... good for the heart, I guess you could say.
Another lie-in wouldn't've hurt either, after all that, but alas, that was the weekend.
When friends of ours said they were going to be in Dublin for a long weekend in July, we jumped at the excuse to visit one of our favourite cities. One quick train ride to Birmingham International and forty-minute Ryanair flight later, and there was much hugging and back-slapping all round -- shortly followed by "Good night!" Hey, none of us is gettin' any younger; it's all about pacin' yourself.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
In Kilmainham Jail
Since Cee hadn't been to Dublin before, we decided that a hop-on-and-off bus tour would be the first order of business the following morn. After a hearty breakfast at the hotel -- including soda bread and black pudding -- it was off to buy our tickets for the bus, and for the hurling and football matches on Saturday, something the original Jae had been assured was a must-see.
In the Victorian wing
Our first hop off was the 'Gaol'. Tea and I enjoyed some great tours on our first trip to Dublin, but I have to say, if you have time for just one while you're there, the Kilmainham Gaol tour can't be beat. The history presses down on you before the informative guide even gets started. In particular, as we walked out to the yard that includes the Invincibles' unmarked grave, we all agreed that its significance was made known to us -- be it through chills or a weight in the air -- before the guide even pointed out the plaque. That, and seeing Joseph Plunkett's cell (amongst those of the other planners of the Easter Rising), where he and Grace had that short span 'alone' as a married couple, and then seeing her cell in the much-filmed Victorian wing later on; it wasn't hard to imagine why she decided to devote herself to the cause.
After that, we stopped at the Patriots Inn for lunch before walking to the Storehouse for some Guinness swag -- no, you can never have too much. We hopped back on the bus at that point, getting off again near Grafton Street for more shopping. Well, the girls shopped. Cee bought a cigar, and then we went wandering, stumbling upon the James Toner Pub for a pint before meeting the girls back at the Porterhouse for, you guessed it, another pint (of their own porter in my case -- delish!).
Within minutes of greeting Jae the previous evening, she'd mentioned Montys, a Nepalese restaurant she'd heard about; that was on the docket for supper. Well, what a treat! From the opening recommendation -- dumplings! -- we were hooked. My lamb ledo bedo (traditional Nepali curry) was amazing, and the peshwari nan was ridiculous -- seriously, probably the best I've had to date, and I'd like to think that means something now, after a year of trying great curries.
We finished the night off with a few more pints and live music at O'Neill's.
Friday, July 16, 2010
We started with another good breakfast at the hotel before heading to the train station to take the DART to Howth. The Victorian row houses gave way to greenery and, finally, the beautiful Irish Sea and Ireland's Eye. The air was heavy with salt as we left the train, and while the sun was shining through the clouds, we'd packed for showers. We noted Beshoff Bros fish and chips shop immediately, knowing how good that would taste after our cliff walk.
The harbour, Dún Laoghaire in the distance
Walking up the trail, the cliffs falling off to our left, reminded me of childhood walks around Cape Spear, and our recent trip to Cornwall. The cries of the seagulls and the crash of the surf accompanied us as the showers began. They were more cooling than anything; we really couldn't have asked for a better day. As we neared the top, a spectacular view of the town of Dún Laoghaire (which sounds like 'Dun Leery', I believe), across the harbour, greeted us. It was then that we noticed the houses, and the pub. It was a bit disheartening, thinking we'd conquered some significant mount, only to discover a thriving community in our midst. We attempted to cover our embarrassment by busily talking amongst ourselves, but a local quickly picked us out, stopping his car and leaning out the driver-side window with a friendly smile, "Do you know where you are?"
When we pointed at what we thought was the way down, he replied, "No, that's the boring way. What you want is there," pointing to a gap in a low wall that was in a similar, yet entirely different, direction. He said the way was intuitive: that so long as we were heading down, we were heading true. He emphasized that, while it was simple, we wouldn't see "any big German signs pointing the way," which had us in stitches for most of the way down -- Cee in particular, given his heritage.
Down we went, past row houses painted such bright colours you'd swear we were in St. John's. At one point we passed some guys unloading kegs from a flat-bed truck; they had this great system where one guy'd get a keg to the edge of the flat-bed before letting its weight carry it to the pavement below, and this little pillow they'd set for that purpose. The keg would bounce off that, turning on its side in the process, where the next guy would ensure that its momentum carried it right through the pub's side doorway. It was like something out of Donkey Kong!
The fish and chips from Beshoff Bros hit the spot, just as we'd imagined. Sated, we decided to pop into the tourist information centre quickly before heading back to Dublin. On the way, we noticed a crowd by the dock and were surprised to find a group of sea lions frolicking for the masses. A few people bought some bags of fish heads at the nearby shops, and the sea lions just went wild for them. Perfect timing!
Once back in Dublin, we decided to take the Laus (pronounced 'louis') -- or really neat, futuristic tram, as we liked to think of it -- to Abbey Street for more shopping. We were a bit confused about where to catch it, and ended up waiting longer than it would've taken to walk the distance, but it was worth it: we couldn't very well leave the city without riding it, after raving about it for days. While Cee went with Jae to buy his sweetie a ring, Tea and I crashed for a bit in St. Stephen's Green.
At Salamanca
We planned to meet another friend, Aye, who was returning from Prague, at the Spire around 6 p.m., so we headed back to the hotel to freshen up beforehand. That done, Cee and I were just finishing up a pint in the lobby when Tea came running back in, telling the staff to call an ambulance. She'd just gone out with Jae a moment before, so both Cee and I thought something had happened to her. As it turned out, they'd been standing on the sidewalk for but a moment when a cyclist flipped over his handlebars and landed horribly on his unprotected head, out in the street right in front of them. Some others trained in first aid took over from Jae, telling the man not to move (once he regained consciousness), as the rest of us directed traffic around him and tried to avoid looking at the pool of blood spreading around his skull. The ambulance arrived very quickly -- within five to seven minutes -- allowing us to gratefully take our leave. He seemed to be O.K. by then; undoubtedly concussed, but moving under his own steam. Always wear a helmet, kids!
We met Aye shortly thereafter and made our way to the tapas restaurant we'd spied earlier, Salamanca. The place was packed, so we put our name on the list and went to a different Porterhouse close by. Aye was shocked when they told him they didn't have Guinness on tap -- 'til we explained it was a microbrewery. The hilarity continued when we were seated in Salamanca, however, because they didn't serve it either. As he said, we probably found the two places in Dublin that don't serve it (and it was all he'd dreamed about having since his flight had touched down). We got the story out of the waitress eventually -- apparently you have to buy Guinness in such large quantities, that it doesn't make sense if it won't appeal to most of your clientele -- and consoled ourselves with a few Murphy's (and sangria for the girls, a Paulaner for Cee).
At the Mercantile
With a few dishes a piece, it wasn't long before our large table was full of delicious morsels. Tapas has to be some of the most fun you can have at a meal, picking and choosing, and all on those small plates that slows you down before you're ridiculously full. Sated again, we set out to get Aye his pint of Guinness. The Mercantile, while not much to look at (under construction as the façade is), caught our ear, so to speak. More pints, laughs, and a bit of air guitar for good measure, followed, into the wee hours -- and Aye didn't miss his flight home the next day!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Match day!
It rained heavily all morning, which was just as well, 'cause Tea and I slept late. (Cee got soaked on his morning walk, though.) It started to clear up in the early afternoon, so we went to a pub for a late brunch before heading to Croke Park for the 3 p.m. hurling match. As we got closer, you could see the crowds converging, with plenty of supporters of the boys in blue: Dublin.
Hurling match at Croke Park
I had this big ole grin plastered across my face five minutes after finding our seats: there was this fantastic cacophony and barely concealed tension in the air. Both these matches, back-to-back, were play-offs: this was the GAA Hurling All-Ireland Senior Championship Quarterfinal was between Dublin and Antrim, to be immediately followed by the GAA Football All-Ireland Senior Championship Quarterfinal between Dublin and Armagh; as we found out later, the latter was a real grudge match: the last time Dublin and Armagh met in the play-offs was five years earlier, with Armagh clinching the victory.
Fans pile in for the football match
We still found so many opportunities to laugh, though, like when the five-year-old behind us squeaked, "Take their heads off!" Another time, as I was just about in the lou, this giant of a man grabbed me by both shoulders, and, staring down most earnestly, said, "Is there anything blue on my face?"
As if the question weren't strange enough, his heavy accent really threw me. "Anything blue?" I said.
"Yeah!"
"U'm, no." (I decided to ignore all the little bits of paper towel all over his face; the guy had obviously been scrubbin' somethin' fierce in there.)
"Ah, bless you!" he said, taking off for the stands.
I saw him again later as the last match was letting out, and noted that he was sporting no colours while being harassed by a crowd of his friends, all dressed in blue. Cee had speculated earlier that supporters of the boys in blue had painted a rival fan -- against his will, shall we say -- and this gave weight to the argument.
I'll close out this section with a video clip from the football match. Just after it ends -- with Dublin winning, as should be obvious -- the guy in the middle of the frame turned to us and said, "We've waited five years for that!" Awesome!
At Chameleon
For our last supper in Dublin, we decided to try an Indonesian restaurant called Chameleon. Our good fortune continued as the host said that we'd have to sit on cushions and be on our way by 9 p.m. (still two hours away). We heartily agreed and were soon reclining in our cushions like so many sultans. Another fantastic meal followed, and we were asking for the bill with mere moments to spare. (And then had to walk through a significant line of waiting diners!)
The raucous Temple Bar then greeted us, in full swing by this time, and we set a meandering course. A few streets later our way was blocked by a crowd. Peering over heads, standing on tiptoe, we picked out the band and stopped to listen. Folks of inner circle were dancing as that song finished, and then a haunting tune was struck up. We were mesmerised by the crescendo, swaying, and then clapping, faster and faster, when suddenly this "Wop! Wop!" of a police siren pierced the bubble. Against the odds, they'd decided that this was their best bet of getting through Temple Bar to whatever crime was in progress. I took a hasty video of it, and, as you'll see, they did make it.
And that, other than momentarily losing the girls as we walked along the Liffey, thanks to a series of well-built gentlemen deciding that ironing in the buff in their well-lit apartments was the best way to spend a Saturday evening, was our trip to Dublin, done and dusted.
I know the title's a stretch for these lyrics, but my sixth grader's mind was stuck there thanks to the smelts.
6:20 a.m.
We're trying to decide what to do in Naples. Capri is supposed to be beautiful, but we're a bit gun shy about going far from the ship after learning that we just missed the train problems in Rome that saw a group of fellow cruisers stranded and forced to catch a flight to Santorini to meet us. That, and, after watching the news, Stephen said that the Greek protests that closed the port in Athens yesterday looked a lot like the places we went; maybe they started late in the day before. Surreal, to say the least!
6:11 p.m.
On the train to Sorrento
In the end, we decided to throw caution to the wind and take the train to Sorrento. What a wonderful voyage to what must be the lemon capital of the world. We sampled limoncello -- picking up a little bottle for Stephen's dad -- munched on lovely grapes and peaches, and finally sat down for a bit of Napoli's famous dish: pizza.
Emboldened by our early success, we then made our way down to Sorrento's breathtaking coastline and bought tickets for a ferry to Capri. We stopped for a bite at an outdoor restaurant by the wharf, while we waited for our 1 p.m. berth. Seafood dominated the recommendations, so Tea had bream, Nancy had smelts, and I had mussels in olive oil with parmesan and garlic. Stephen had lasagna, staying with the Italian theme of the morning.
Capri
Half an hour later, we were in the land of the rich and famous -- at least, as I imagine it, after ogling the yachts in Capri's harbour, and all the zeroes on the price tags in the shop windows. We took the funicular to the top, where, defying nature, it seemed even hotter than the frying pan of the streets below. After a bit of sightseeing -- and a stop in the posh pay washrooms to splash cold water around our heads -- we started back down, by the pedestrian way this time. Despite the 700 odd steps, it only took us about 15 minutes -- thankfully, there wasn't a donkey in sight -- where we caught the 4 p.m. ferry back to the port of Naples.
It's amazing what a difference a few hours make: we were off the ship and on the metro early enough to have pictures of the Parthenon with no one else in them. A few hours later -- after 10 a.m., say -- the wait was hours, and the place, a madhouse. By then, however, we'd enjoyed a snack -- more baklava and another pastry, called kadaifi on the menu -- and taking in the Temple of Zeus.
There was some sort of protest going on outside the President's residence, which, unfortunately, closed the nearby national gardens, so we skipped ahead on our itinerary and, as luck would have it, happened upon the changing of the guard outside the palace. Our luck continued as we found a covered patio moments before the skies opened, raining down buckets. And just as we were finishing up our fantastic Greek salads, the sun broke through again. (Oh, I tried ouzo for the first time as well -- very similar to sambuca, which I love.)
We decided to catch the metro back to the ship at that point, and it's a good thing we did: the combination of the port authority jamming all the cruise passengers into a single line -- one of the cruise lines was registering hundreds of passengers who were about to begin their cruise, no less -- and a massive failure of the body scanners had us waiting for an hour to board the ship. And the worst part was that no one could tell us anything: Royal Caribbean personnel didn't even appear until half an hour had passed. With everyone pushing and squeezing closer and closer together, no air conditioning, no water, many languages, military dogs barking savagely... Well, honestly, you felt the anxiety approaching riot levels.
However, the worst moment for me was when a Greek soldier near the defunct body scanners pointed at me from behind their barricade, shouting, "Hey! You! Stop!"
The Temple of Zeus
I'd been filming (and photographing) all this, since no one from Royal Caribbean was around (at least, initially), and I figured they wouldn't believe me without some sort of evidence. (Some of the staff don't speak English very well, so it can really help things along if you have something to point at.) As the soldier hopped the barricade and approached me, I had visions of him taking my camera and smashing it, or simply confiscating it. Instead, he stopped beside me, pointed at the camera, and said, "Delete it!", watching and repeating the instruction as I deleted each video and photo in succession, back to a picture of Nancy and Stephen that I'd clearly taken on the docks. Then he simply nodded and walked back to their line. The adrenaline didn't hit me for a few minutes, but when it did, I was shaking for some time.
Tuesday, June 29, 2:30 p.m.: Epilogue
Stephen has an interesting theory about yesterday -- courtesy of his dad's speculations prior to our sailing. The chances of all three scanners failing simultaneously are astronomically small -- Stephen managed to find someone in the industry who claimed they're never interconnected -- so it's likely that at least one of the machines was working correctly, and they simply claimed that all of them were broken.
Why? Well, Greek government employees have been protesting government cuts to their wages (and benefits, possibly -- I'm not up on the details) for some time now, and the fact that the cruise line that was registering people seemed to cater to locals means that we could have been caught up in an attempt by the government employees -- both port authority workers and the army -- to gum up the works just enough to garner public support for negotiations regarding those cuts (even if only to get Greece back to normal from the layman's point of view).
I like the theory. Especially when you consider that all the scanners started working again simultaneously. Oh well, time to catch a few rays. Tomorrow we're in Naples (and possibly Pompeii).
Have a look at my Athens album for more pictures of the Parthenon and the Temple of Zeus:
In the morning, we took a cab to Ephesus in time to see it open. As the first bus arrived, the tempo began to pick up. One tour leader was even yelling at his party like a football coach with his team a few yards from the goal on the third down: "Come on, Joanne! HUSTLE!" [And, poor Joanne was in, or just coming out of, the washroom for that beauty -- I kid you not.] Turns out that he was the preacher of a prayer group that wanted to have a sermon or lesson in the theatre before the crowds started going through. [And they did make it, for the most part: I think they were winding it up as we went through.]
The library
The theatre
After that, we did a bit of shopping. We learned how Turkish carpets are made, and even bought one. We're hoping it won't cost too much to carry it back on our flight. [It didn't cost us anything, in the end: I took it on our BA flight as a second piece of hand luggage -- Thank goodness we weren't flying a discount airline.]
We spent the afternoon in Kuşadası. [While many of the shop owners were overly aggressive, this tailed off the farther we got from the port. One of these owners was a bit philosophical about it, saying that most of them don't understand that they'll get a lot more business if they just lay back, like him. We chatted for some time, enjoyed some Turkish tea with him, and, importantly, spent more money in that shop than in the rest of the afternoon's shopping combined.] Afterwards, Stephen and I enjoyed a replay of the American loss to Ghana at the World Cup over pints -- Efes Pilsener is excellent, incidentally -- on a great misted patio, while the girls continued to shop.
One of the waiters was an absolute riot: he had this big belly, always smiling and jovial. He'd take my hat and wear it in goofy positions, and yell into our walkie-talkies like the other handset was on the moon. The funniest part was how he kept patting Stephen's not inconsiderable belly: he didn't speak much English, so it's difficult to say for certain, but I suspect that this had as much to do with his personality as any cultural differences. Stephen took it all in stride, laughing and shrugging.
As we were heading back to the ship, a pastry shop caught our eye. Later, our fingers sticky with the sugary goodness of baklava, we reflected on what a surprise the stop had been: I don't think any of us knew what to expect, but to enjoy ourselves that much, particularly after all we'd seen to that point, really says something about Turkey and its people, I think.
