Day Two – Up the Bloody Hill, and Up Again (December 28, 2010)
Today, we managed a bit of a lie-in, although not as late as expected. We both managed to have our showers and more or less get ready to go before our appointed breakfast delivery time of 9:30am, a time we’d chosen the previous night.
Breakfast was tasty, although a little healthy for a Christmas vacation, consisting of excellent muesli, yogurt, and various bits of fresh fruit. I firmly believe that festive holiday breakfast should include large portions of bacon, possibly eggs, and other unhealthy additives – more on this later...
After filling up on tasty treats, we headed up the rather steep and extremely long hill (it felt steeper and longer this morning, somewhat dehydrated as we were) into the central part of town to catch the bus up to the Moorish and regular castle (there are two).
When the bus finally arrive, we crammed in, having paid our nine euro twenty in small change that we’ve collected over the years of European travel, much to the delight of the bus driver who had to count all of it. The bus was incredibly full, although not nearly as full as it gets in the summer according to Jamie, who’s lived through it before.
I can’t believe the skill and determination of the bus driver – some of those corners would have worried me in a small car, let alone in a giant city bus full of tourists, most of whom were standing. Despite my expectations, we made it up the hill to the Moorish castle, where we had a choice: get off the bus and explore the ruins, or continue on up the hill to the Pena Palace.
Discretion being the better part of valour, and the heavy fog (although at that height cloud may be a better word for it) making the view a bit sub-par, we decided to continue on the bus up to the Pena Palace for some indoor sight-seeing.
We piled off the bus at the top with the rest of the sensible people and were immediately engulfed in a massive and dense cloud. Typically for us, we arrived at a scenic outlook in the middle of the fog (our Lands End adventure earlier in the summer when we couldn’t actually see the end of the land springs to mind). The cloud was so bad that from the bus drop off area we couldn’t actually see the castle itself, and had to rely on signs to lead us up the hill (why is it always up the damn hill?!?).
The view from the top would have been spectacular, had we been able to see it - over the town of Sintra and all the way to the sea evidently. Even from the base of the castle we could barely see the top of the battlements. We stopped for a leisurely espresso and water, in the vain hope that the cloud would lift and we’d be able to see anything at all.
Our plan was thwarted and we gave up – we packed up, took out our cameras, and made the best of it, taking any number of eerie atmospheric photos of the palace as we went. Somewhat bizarrely, the castle was built in the 1800’s by the somewhat romantic kings of Portugal who wanted somewhere to indulge their painting and other pursuits. As it was built as a residence and not an actual defendable castle, it has some rather odd features. As far as we could tell, they just sort of picked and chose features that they thought were suitable for a castle – a bit of Arabic turret here, a bit of crenulation there, maybe a cloister in the corner. Very beautiful, but odd nevertheless.
Many photos taken, many rooms wandered through, we made our way back down to the bus stop and joined an already long queue, despite having missed the previous bus by mere minutes. Thirty minutes later the next bus arrived, and as we had already bought tickets for the return journey, as soon as it cleared out we jumped into the rear doors and sat down, as would be expected in London. Evidently, based on the glares we received from other passengers, this is not the accepted form in Portugal. Oh well...
Back in Sintra, we decided that it was about time for lunch. We didn’t want to eat on the main square, so made our way down the street out of town past the info van (the main info centre is being renovated). We eventually found a rather nondescript little cafe and went in for a meal. As was expected, the wine was unbelievably cheap at about four euro for a half bottle. Lunch itself was a bit odd – grilled sandwiches for both of us, mine containing hot dog sausages, my second in two days, after at least four or five years since having one previously. Not a bad lunch for the price, but strange....
Sufficiently fortified, we wandered around for a bit before heading back to our new favourite little bar, underneath Cafe de Paris (I’d mention the name, but I forget). Yet again we enjoyed a bit too much wine, although at two euro a glass how can it be too much?
Eventually we stumbled back down the hill to the B&B to refresh ourselves and get ready for our fancy dinner planned for the evening. Our fire was laid for us while we relaxed, and we spent a few minutes chatting with Virpi and playing with her dog Pandora, the biggest dog I’ve ever seen in my life (a ten month old Great Dane, who is possibly the coolest dog in Portugal).
Relaxed and tidied up, Jamie and I walked up and down and back up the road to the far side of Sintra for our reservation at “G-Spot.” This restaurant evidently prides itself on it’s gastronomy, and it’s owner, or at least main waiter guy is a trained sommelier. This apparently explains the horrendous name – apparently its supposed to mean Gastronomy Spot, slight dirty pun unintended...
The food was good for Sintra, fairly average for what we’re used to in London or Paris given the price...the sommelier did steer us right for wine though and for eighteen euro we had a very nice bottle of red (although at six or seven euro the previous day it was a bit hard to justify).
We stumbled back into Sintra for some night shots of the town, then back down the hill to the B&B, where the fire and a bottle of port were waiting for us. Tomorrow we’re back to Lisbon for 5 days. I think I’m going to miss Sintra, especially the incredibly cheap wine and really quite friendly people. Hopefully we’ll get some sun in Lisbon, although coming from London I can’t really complain about the clouds or slight drizzle...
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Portugal for New Years - 27 Dec 2010
Day One, December 27, 2010 – To Lisbon, And Beyond!
As is our tradition lately, we’d booked a relatively early flight out of Gatwick airport to Lisbon for our Christmas/New Years trip. The weather in Britain has been atrocious lately, with temperature down to freezing and snow drift up to 3 or 4 centimetres deep, so we were understandably concerned that our flight not make it out. Heathrow I think was still shut and Eurostar was having problems, so our concern was understandable.
Despite the anxiety, our flight was only slight delayed and we made it out of Gatwick more or less on time. The flight itself was alright – we flew Portugal’s national carrier “TAP”, which evidently has one of the best customer satisfaction records in Europe. Compared to budget carriers we’ve flown recently, it was a paragon of class and efficiency. On the other hand, the seats were small, and snacks included a very dry bun and a sausage in a bun (with cheese) – to be fair, that sort of spread on other carriers who shall remain nameless could cost up to €15, not including the coffee and pepsi.
We were blessed on the flight with a row behind us consisting of a very enthusiastic little girl who entertained herself by kicking my seat back and her mother, who had one of those deeply emphasymic coughs that just screams bad flu which she was good enough to share with the rest of the flight – I love it when people don’t cover their mouths when they cough...
We arrived in Lisbon and collected our luggage – our Air Canada suitcase survived yet another trip (it’s getting close to being retired – 8 years of fairly heavy travel has seen ripped handles, missing zipper pulls, bent handles brackets, and frayed corners. Virpi, the owner, collected us at the airport in her massive Land Rover and we made the somewhat mad trip up to Sintra.
At Casa do Valle we got the quick tour of the room, featuring scenic balcony and roaring fireplace before heading back up the giant hill to Sintra old town for an afternoon of exploring and beveraging.
Bizarrely, Sintra is insanely cheap for festive beverage, with two of three rounds costing a grand total of €4 for a large glass of wine for each of us. Similar beverages in London would have cost a minimum of about £10, so on the value for money scale we were well ahead right off the bat.
Sintra is actually a pretty cool little village, perched in its hill overlooking the sea in the distance. It seems to be an interesting mix of tourist tat and isolate mountain hill town. There were a surprising number of deserted and crumbling massive houses that seem to be completely left to the elements, with windows boarded up and roofs falling in – anything as beautiful as these places in London would be worth millions.
After much wandering and photo taking, we made our way to a restaurant, possibly called “Touhle”, just off the main square. It was festive, but suffered from the main affliction that seems to affect all the places we’d been too so far in Sintra – a sullen unwillingness to acknowledge the temperature. We’re Canadian, we we’re used to cold, but when it’s this sort of temperature we at least close the doors. Here, it seems, they fight the cold by leaving all doors and windows open and challenging the weather to do it’s worst (it was about 10 degrees celcius, but that’s bloody cold to have all the doors and windows open, even to a Canadian!).
We ordered the grilled meat platter to share, and ended up waiting until the rest of the restaurant was served before we got our insanely massive portion of meat – the cost of the wine at less than five euro a bottle (not great, but not bad considering) made the wait less painful.
Dinner itself was insane – for 23 euro for the two of us, we had two grilled steaks, two pork chops, four lamb chops, four bright pink sausages (the same it appeared as we had in Germany), a giant portion of rice, and a giant portion of chips. It was incredibly tasty, although as they say, hunger makes the best sauce. The entire bill came to just more than €40 including two bottle of wine and mixed starters. Something similar in London or Paris would be at least twice that price. In terms of value for money, it seems that Portugal can’t be beat.
We made our rather unsteady way back down the hill to our B&B, where our fireplace waited for us. free wifi got us a connection to online radio, cold wine in the fridge, candles lit, lights off. Weloaded a few more logs into the fire, poured a glass of wine, and settled in for the night. I can’t remember the last time we’ve been this relaxed. I think I’m going to like Portugal.
As is our tradition lately, we’d booked a relatively early flight out of Gatwick airport to Lisbon for our Christmas/New Years trip. The weather in Britain has been atrocious lately, with temperature down to freezing and snow drift up to 3 or 4 centimetres deep, so we were understandably concerned that our flight not make it out. Heathrow I think was still shut and Eurostar was having problems, so our concern was understandable.
Despite the anxiety, our flight was only slight delayed and we made it out of Gatwick more or less on time. The flight itself was alright – we flew Portugal’s national carrier “TAP”, which evidently has one of the best customer satisfaction records in Europe. Compared to budget carriers we’ve flown recently, it was a paragon of class and efficiency. On the other hand, the seats were small, and snacks included a very dry bun and a sausage in a bun (with cheese) – to be fair, that sort of spread on other carriers who shall remain nameless could cost up to €15, not including the coffee and pepsi.
We were blessed on the flight with a row behind us consisting of a very enthusiastic little girl who entertained herself by kicking my seat back and her mother, who had one of those deeply emphasymic coughs that just screams bad flu which she was good enough to share with the rest of the flight – I love it when people don’t cover their mouths when they cough...
We arrived in Lisbon and collected our luggage – our Air Canada suitcase survived yet another trip (it’s getting close to being retired – 8 years of fairly heavy travel has seen ripped handles, missing zipper pulls, bent handles brackets, and frayed corners. Virpi, the owner, collected us at the airport in her massive Land Rover and we made the somewhat mad trip up to Sintra.
At Casa do Valle we got the quick tour of the room, featuring scenic balcony and roaring fireplace before heading back up the giant hill to Sintra old town for an afternoon of exploring and beveraging.
Bizarrely, Sintra is insanely cheap for festive beverage, with two of three rounds costing a grand total of €4 for a large glass of wine for each of us. Similar beverages in London would have cost a minimum of about £10, so on the value for money scale we were well ahead right off the bat.
Sintra is actually a pretty cool little village, perched in its hill overlooking the sea in the distance. It seems to be an interesting mix of tourist tat and isolate mountain hill town. There were a surprising number of deserted and crumbling massive houses that seem to be completely left to the elements, with windows boarded up and roofs falling in – anything as beautiful as these places in London would be worth millions.
After much wandering and photo taking, we made our way to a restaurant, possibly called “Touhle”, just off the main square. It was festive, but suffered from the main affliction that seems to affect all the places we’d been too so far in Sintra – a sullen unwillingness to acknowledge the temperature. We’re Canadian, we we’re used to cold, but when it’s this sort of temperature we at least close the doors. Here, it seems, they fight the cold by leaving all doors and windows open and challenging the weather to do it’s worst (it was about 10 degrees celcius, but that’s bloody cold to have all the doors and windows open, even to a Canadian!).
We ordered the grilled meat platter to share, and ended up waiting until the rest of the restaurant was served before we got our insanely massive portion of meat – the cost of the wine at less than five euro a bottle (not great, but not bad considering) made the wait less painful.
Dinner itself was insane – for 23 euro for the two of us, we had two grilled steaks, two pork chops, four lamb chops, four bright pink sausages (the same it appeared as we had in Germany), a giant portion of rice, and a giant portion of chips. It was incredibly tasty, although as they say, hunger makes the best sauce. The entire bill came to just more than €40 including two bottle of wine and mixed starters. Something similar in London or Paris would be at least twice that price. In terms of value for money, it seems that Portugal can’t be beat.
We made our rather unsteady way back down the hill to our B&B, where our fireplace waited for us. free wifi got us a connection to online radio, cold wine in the fridge, candles lit, lights off. Weloaded a few more logs into the fire, poured a glass of wine, and settled in for the night. I can’t remember the last time we’ve been this relaxed. I think I’m going to like Portugal.
Thursday, 2 December 2010
8th Wedding Anniversary in Paris!
Wow, it's been a while since our last update.
We spent the last weekend in Paris to celebrate our 8th anniversary. Time sure flies. Time was spent walking the freezing streets taking pics, eating delicious food and drinking fabulous wine.
We spent the last weekend in Paris to celebrate our 8th anniversary. Time sure flies. Time was spent walking the freezing streets taking pics, eating delicious food and drinking fabulous wine.
Friday, 11 June 2010
Day Ten – The Lunch To End All Lunches, Then Home
The sky was overcast this morning, for the first time since we arrived in Italy. We spent some time packing, then went downstairs for a quiet breakfast. After munching through the usual, we went back upstairs to put the last of our stuff in our bags and dragged it all down to the car.
We headed north, in the general direction of Torino, to spend the day exploring hill towns to the east of Torino, per Tim’s recommendation. We first stopped at Cocconato, a cute little village perched on it’s hill. Unlike a lot of the smaller towns we’d driven through, this one seemed a bit busier even though it was pretty tiny. We stopped at the little cafe for a cappuccino to see us through the rest of the day, and to waste a bit of time before lunch.
Next we drove down the hill, following the signs for the Conbipel factory outlet – they really outdid themselves with the signage. We found Conbipel without any problems, but it took us a minute or two to find the restaurant, despite the fact that we drove past it twice without noticing it. In our defense, we were distracted by the sheer oddness of Conbipel – three or four giant warehouse looking buildings with huge parking lots all around, completely full of cars. Despite the number of cars around, there was no traffic and no people in sight. Spooky – looked like the beginning of a zombie-attack movie.
We finally found Restaurant Caccina Rosengana and went in to ask about a table for lunch. It was noon, but they weren’t quite ready – they asked us to come back in 15 minutes. Oddly, the woman we spoke to didn’t speak very much English, but was fluent in French, so we managed quite well without Italian or English at all.
While we waited, we walked over to the closest Conbipel outlet store and went in, not quite sure what to expect. What we found we definitely were NOT expecting from a factory outlet. It looked exactly like a big North American department store, full of mens and women’s clothes. The only real difference was that everything seemed to be own-brand, and other than a bunch of employees folding clothes, it was completely empty. I kept a close eye out for zombies, as you can never be too sure in these sorts of situations.
We wasted our required 15 minutes and walked back next door to the restaurant, where we already had a table waiting for us, complete with a basket of bread and a stack of grissini (really thin bread sticks). I sampled a bunch of the grissini as they are hugely addictive, which in retrospect was a mistake. We ordered the “typical” menu which included antipasti and a few courses, as all good Italian meals do. We were looking forward to it, but were somewhat surprised by the sheer number of courses we had – eight in all, plus coffee at the end.
Lunch included (I’m documenting, so that we’ll remember): bresola wrapped around some sort of a soft cheese/cream cheese type filling, followed by spinach and ricotta balls in carrot pure, then asparagus mousse in a puff pastry shell, with sliced veal with tuna sauce to round out the antipasti course. Yes, that was just antipasti. The first course was split in two – ravioli filled with veal, pork, and rabbit in a sage butter, then spaghetti in a tomato and sausage sauce. Our main course was roasted veal in a butter and aromatic herb sauce, with mixed fresh veggies. Finally, for desert we had a tasting plate of three treats – a chocolate panna cotta type thing, a cherry tart, and a very tasty semifreddo. I’m feeling full again just writing it all down.
After our epic lunch, we were running a bit late (it took a glorious two and a half hours, all told), so we decided to skip the trip to the abbey up the road and just head straight to the airport. We programmed Tracy the satnav and set off, very full and very happy with our choice of lunch venues.
We made it to the airport with only a little confusion – Tracy didn’t feel like following the same route as the signs appeared to want us to go, but she got us there in the end. We dropped off the car, checked in and dropped the bag, and went through security. Both of us are very sad that we have to leave Italy and are definitely not looking forward to going back to real life tomorrow, although I’m looking forward to sleeping in our own bed again. Until next time...
We headed north, in the general direction of Torino, to spend the day exploring hill towns to the east of Torino, per Tim’s recommendation. We first stopped at Cocconato, a cute little village perched on it’s hill. Unlike a lot of the smaller towns we’d driven through, this one seemed a bit busier even though it was pretty tiny. We stopped at the little cafe for a cappuccino to see us through the rest of the day, and to waste a bit of time before lunch.
Next we drove down the hill, following the signs for the Conbipel factory outlet – they really outdid themselves with the signage. We found Conbipel without any problems, but it took us a minute or two to find the restaurant, despite the fact that we drove past it twice without noticing it. In our defense, we were distracted by the sheer oddness of Conbipel – three or four giant warehouse looking buildings with huge parking lots all around, completely full of cars. Despite the number of cars around, there was no traffic and no people in sight. Spooky – looked like the beginning of a zombie-attack movie.
We finally found Restaurant Caccina Rosengana and went in to ask about a table for lunch. It was noon, but they weren’t quite ready – they asked us to come back in 15 minutes. Oddly, the woman we spoke to didn’t speak very much English, but was fluent in French, so we managed quite well without Italian or English at all.
While we waited, we walked over to the closest Conbipel outlet store and went in, not quite sure what to expect. What we found we definitely were NOT expecting from a factory outlet. It looked exactly like a big North American department store, full of mens and women’s clothes. The only real difference was that everything seemed to be own-brand, and other than a bunch of employees folding clothes, it was completely empty. I kept a close eye out for zombies, as you can never be too sure in these sorts of situations.
We wasted our required 15 minutes and walked back next door to the restaurant, where we already had a table waiting for us, complete with a basket of bread and a stack of grissini (really thin bread sticks). I sampled a bunch of the grissini as they are hugely addictive, which in retrospect was a mistake. We ordered the “typical” menu which included antipasti and a few courses, as all good Italian meals do. We were looking forward to it, but were somewhat surprised by the sheer number of courses we had – eight in all, plus coffee at the end.
Lunch included (I’m documenting, so that we’ll remember): bresola wrapped around some sort of a soft cheese/cream cheese type filling, followed by spinach and ricotta balls in carrot pure, then asparagus mousse in a puff pastry shell, with sliced veal with tuna sauce to round out the antipasti course. Yes, that was just antipasti. The first course was split in two – ravioli filled with veal, pork, and rabbit in a sage butter, then spaghetti in a tomato and sausage sauce. Our main course was roasted veal in a butter and aromatic herb sauce, with mixed fresh veggies. Finally, for desert we had a tasting plate of three treats – a chocolate panna cotta type thing, a cherry tart, and a very tasty semifreddo. I’m feeling full again just writing it all down.
After our epic lunch, we were running a bit late (it took a glorious two and a half hours, all told), so we decided to skip the trip to the abbey up the road and just head straight to the airport. We programmed Tracy the satnav and set off, very full and very happy with our choice of lunch venues.
We made it to the airport with only a little confusion – Tracy didn’t feel like following the same route as the signs appeared to want us to go, but she got us there in the end. We dropped off the car, checked in and dropped the bag, and went through security. Both of us are very sad that we have to leave Italy and are definitely not looking forward to going back to real life tomorrow, although I’m looking forward to sleeping in our own bed again. Until next time...
Day Nine – It Got Hotter
After receiving our daily maps and instructions from Tim, we hit the road at the relatively early hour of 10:30, pointing Francesca back in the direction this time of Barbaresco. We got slightly lost again in San Diamano for the second time, as the road through the centre was still closed to pedestrians. There’s an old saying...something about those who cannot remember the past...
Despite the minor directional challenges, we made it to the town of Barbaresco in fairly good time. Francesca was much more comfortable since I discovered I could lower the seat – apparently whoever had it before me was very short. Typical that it took me until the penultimate day to realize that having my hair brush the roof wasn’t how the designers of this particular model had intended me to drive.
We parked Italian-style when we arrived in Barbaresco – up against a wall on the side of the road, not taking into account traffic patterns or parking regulations. To be fair, there were a row of cars parked there, not just us, but it still didn’t look particularly legal. On the other hand, it did seem normal, so we went with it.
Barbaresco turned out to be a quaint little town with a ruined ancient tower at the top of the hill with panoramic views over the valley below, a church with a loud bell tower, and loads of little bars and cafes. We hiked up the steep incline (okay, sauntered up the slight hill) to take in the views, then decided that we were thirsty. As we’d sampled Barolo in the Barolo valley earlier, what could be better than sipping Barbaresco in the village of Barbaresco?
We’d heard that one of the local wine shops poured slightly more generous glasses than the other, and had a brilliant view from their patio, so of course we stopped in there. The old guy running the tasting at Boffa winery was very excited to have us, and spoke high-speed enthusiastic Italian at us non-stop while pointing at his wine description folder and the bottles arranged around it. We adopted our normal strategy for high-speed enthusiastic Italian – grinning and nodding appreciatively at every pause.
This recommended and effective strategy resulted in us being sat down at one of the tables on the patio, two very large glasses of wine being placed in front of us, along with a fairly large bowl of cheese and a container of those skinny bread sticks that seem to accompany everything food and/or wine related around here.
The wine was almost as good as the view, and after sampling the two varieties on offer (initially the 2006 vintage, but after seeing how much we’d enjoyed it, the old guy insisted that we try the 2005 as well), we were forced to buy a bottle. We spent quite a bit of time sipping the wine and just relaxing, soaking up the scenery and the heat, which seemed to be steadily building, along with the humidity.
After lingering about as long as we could, we walked back down the hill to the car, which had become a little oven. I opened the door and the wave of heat which poured out forced me back a step – we had to open all the doors to let it cool off for a bit before we could get inside. When we finally did, the thermostat in the car read 39°C – blooming HOT. As we got driving, it dropped to 36°C which was a bit better, although still hotter than I think I’ve ever felt it in London.
It was about 1pm at this point and we were both feeling a bit peckish, so we drove to a nearby restaurant called Rabaya. For no apparent reason, we were the only ones there, which was odd. It was a little out of the way, but the food was excellent and fairly reasonably priced. We went for the four mixed antipasti, then we shared a bowl of slightly red gnocchi in an asparagus sauce – a bit odd, but actually quite tasty.
Lunch taken care of, we hit the road again, mindful of the large black clouds gathering in the distance. The heat seemed more oppressive and I’m sure the humidity had jumped again – perfect conditions for a classic thunder and lightning storm. We drove towards Neive, expecting the skies to open above us at any moment.
They didn’t, and we walked around Neive for a little while, taking a few photos and generally poking about the place. There didn’t seem to be a whole lot going on in town on Sunday afternoon, and after a fairly short while we got back in the car and headed for our third stop of the day, the oddly named town of Mango.
Mango turned out to be actually quite difficult to find, but after a few false starts we made it up the top of the hill and found a place to park. We were immediately underwhelmed by Mango. Nothing seemed to be open other than a slightly dodgy cafe filled with local old guys who stared at us every time we walked past. We’d been told about the enoteca in Mango being particularly good so we thought we’d give that a go. The guy who was supposed to be working there was more interesting in talking to his girlfriend who was visiting (or at least to a girl who he possibly hoped would be his girlfriend, at least for a little while) and thus more or less ignored us. We looked at the very odd art in the back of the room and left.
We had hopes of finding another bar, other than the one in the parking lot with the old guy. In our efforts for liquid refreshment, we spent a while wandering around Mango looking for a likely location, but were ultimately disappointed. We got back in the car and started driving back to Asti, to enjoy our bottle of Barbaresco on the balcony.
Dinner tonight was to be served at Villa Sampaguita, cooked by Rina for our delectation. We went downstairs at 7pm and meet up with Sunil and his wife (the other guests at the B&B) and chatted for a bit (taking some time to inspect the geese, the rabbit, and the chickens) before dinner was served.
The food was excellent, much better than I’d expected. We started with an antipasti dish of grilled aubergine with fresh tomato, olive oil, and pine nuts as one course, and grilled peppers with the local tuna sauce as the other option. That was followed by ravioli filled with some sort of green filling (I’m pretty sure there was some sort of swiss chard type vegetable in it, as well as a bit of some sort of soft cheese. We then had chicken poached in white wine with olives and sun-dried tomato, finished off finally with homemade semifreddo.
All delicious, and all served with glasses of Tim’s homemade organic wine, produced from grapes harvested in the vineyard on the property.
Despite a few rumbled of thunder in the distance and a couple of very large drops of rain, the weather held out. I’d been hoping for the drama of a full lightning storm, which would have at least cleared the haze from the sky, but no such luck. On the other hand, it’s becoming summer in London, which means a few more months of cold and drizzle, so that’s something to look forward to when we get home.
Tomorrow is our last day in Italy for this trip, and neither of us are looking forward to going home. Beyond not wanting to go back to work, we’re both enjoying our time here too much. Tomorrow we have more vineyard visits and probably a tasty lunch planned before our early evening flight back to London. Should be a good day.
Despite the minor directional challenges, we made it to the town of Barbaresco in fairly good time. Francesca was much more comfortable since I discovered I could lower the seat – apparently whoever had it before me was very short. Typical that it took me until the penultimate day to realize that having my hair brush the roof wasn’t how the designers of this particular model had intended me to drive.
We parked Italian-style when we arrived in Barbaresco – up against a wall on the side of the road, not taking into account traffic patterns or parking regulations. To be fair, there were a row of cars parked there, not just us, but it still didn’t look particularly legal. On the other hand, it did seem normal, so we went with it.
Barbaresco turned out to be a quaint little town with a ruined ancient tower at the top of the hill with panoramic views over the valley below, a church with a loud bell tower, and loads of little bars and cafes. We hiked up the steep incline (okay, sauntered up the slight hill) to take in the views, then decided that we were thirsty. As we’d sampled Barolo in the Barolo valley earlier, what could be better than sipping Barbaresco in the village of Barbaresco?
We’d heard that one of the local wine shops poured slightly more generous glasses than the other, and had a brilliant view from their patio, so of course we stopped in there. The old guy running the tasting at Boffa winery was very excited to have us, and spoke high-speed enthusiastic Italian at us non-stop while pointing at his wine description folder and the bottles arranged around it. We adopted our normal strategy for high-speed enthusiastic Italian – grinning and nodding appreciatively at every pause.
This recommended and effective strategy resulted in us being sat down at one of the tables on the patio, two very large glasses of wine being placed in front of us, along with a fairly large bowl of cheese and a container of those skinny bread sticks that seem to accompany everything food and/or wine related around here.
The wine was almost as good as the view, and after sampling the two varieties on offer (initially the 2006 vintage, but after seeing how much we’d enjoyed it, the old guy insisted that we try the 2005 as well), we were forced to buy a bottle. We spent quite a bit of time sipping the wine and just relaxing, soaking up the scenery and the heat, which seemed to be steadily building, along with the humidity.
After lingering about as long as we could, we walked back down the hill to the car, which had become a little oven. I opened the door and the wave of heat which poured out forced me back a step – we had to open all the doors to let it cool off for a bit before we could get inside. When we finally did, the thermostat in the car read 39°C – blooming HOT. As we got driving, it dropped to 36°C which was a bit better, although still hotter than I think I’ve ever felt it in London.
It was about 1pm at this point and we were both feeling a bit peckish, so we drove to a nearby restaurant called Rabaya. For no apparent reason, we were the only ones there, which was odd. It was a little out of the way, but the food was excellent and fairly reasonably priced. We went for the four mixed antipasti, then we shared a bowl of slightly red gnocchi in an asparagus sauce – a bit odd, but actually quite tasty.
Lunch taken care of, we hit the road again, mindful of the large black clouds gathering in the distance. The heat seemed more oppressive and I’m sure the humidity had jumped again – perfect conditions for a classic thunder and lightning storm. We drove towards Neive, expecting the skies to open above us at any moment.
They didn’t, and we walked around Neive for a little while, taking a few photos and generally poking about the place. There didn’t seem to be a whole lot going on in town on Sunday afternoon, and after a fairly short while we got back in the car and headed for our third stop of the day, the oddly named town of Mango.
Mango turned out to be actually quite difficult to find, but after a few false starts we made it up the top of the hill and found a place to park. We were immediately underwhelmed by Mango. Nothing seemed to be open other than a slightly dodgy cafe filled with local old guys who stared at us every time we walked past. We’d been told about the enoteca in Mango being particularly good so we thought we’d give that a go. The guy who was supposed to be working there was more interesting in talking to his girlfriend who was visiting (or at least to a girl who he possibly hoped would be his girlfriend, at least for a little while) and thus more or less ignored us. We looked at the very odd art in the back of the room and left.
We had hopes of finding another bar, other than the one in the parking lot with the old guy. In our efforts for liquid refreshment, we spent a while wandering around Mango looking for a likely location, but were ultimately disappointed. We got back in the car and started driving back to Asti, to enjoy our bottle of Barbaresco on the balcony.
Dinner tonight was to be served at Villa Sampaguita, cooked by Rina for our delectation. We went downstairs at 7pm and meet up with Sunil and his wife (the other guests at the B&B) and chatted for a bit (taking some time to inspect the geese, the rabbit, and the chickens) before dinner was served.
The food was excellent, much better than I’d expected. We started with an antipasti dish of grilled aubergine with fresh tomato, olive oil, and pine nuts as one course, and grilled peppers with the local tuna sauce as the other option. That was followed by ravioli filled with some sort of green filling (I’m pretty sure there was some sort of swiss chard type vegetable in it, as well as a bit of some sort of soft cheese. We then had chicken poached in white wine with olives and sun-dried tomato, finished off finally with homemade semifreddo.
All delicious, and all served with glasses of Tim’s homemade organic wine, produced from grapes harvested in the vineyard on the property.
Despite a few rumbled of thunder in the distance and a couple of very large drops of rain, the weather held out. I’d been hoping for the drama of a full lightning storm, which would have at least cleared the haze from the sky, but no such luck. On the other hand, it’s becoming summer in London, which means a few more months of cold and drizzle, so that’s something to look forward to when we get home.
Tomorrow is our last day in Italy for this trip, and neither of us are looking forward to going home. Beyond not wanting to go back to work, we’re both enjoying our time here too much. Tomorrow we have more vineyard visits and probably a tasty lunch planned before our early evening flight back to London. Should be a good day.
Day Eight – Bring On The Bull
Today we had decided to head into the biggest city in the area – Torino (better known as Turin outside of Italy). We got up and had a relatively quick breakfast, again getting excellent directions and advice from B&B host Tim before setting out in trusty Francesca.
We drove for what seemed like ages before finding the Autostrada, however it was fairly quick from there. The people that were at the B&B mentioned this morning that they’d been through Torino the night before but hadn’t stopped as they didn’t really get a good feeling about it, so we weren’t sure what to expect. We did manage to get lost a few times despite the directions as we drove it, but found the large underground parking complex at Piazza Vittorio Veneto without too much trouble (given that we get lost wherever we go). Driving into town, Torino seemed pretty average – a bit industrial on the outskirts, a bit convoluted and busy as we got closer to the interesting bits.
We dropped off the car at the parking complex and headed out on foot. We were immediately entranced by the covered porticos leading up the road – apparently Torino is known for them. The architecture reminded us quite a bit of Bordeaux, which in turn reminded us of Paris, for some reason. All of the shops along Via Po from the parking lot to Piazza Castello where absolutely beautiful – ornate farmacias and shops that evidently used to be much more grand than they currently are.
There was some sort of event going on in Torino for the weekend, and much preparation was underway as we arrived. The police were out in full force, all three branches as far as we could tell (there are two federal branches apparently, and the Torino force themselves). Despite that, we found our way to the beginning of a walking tour in a guidebook provided by Tim.
Torino is a beautiful city. We had a great time wandering around before finding a place for lunch in the medieval twisty windy part of town (no idea where it was now). We found on the menu a sort of Caprese salad that consisted of a sliced tomato and a 250 gram ball of real buffalo mozzarella. The pizza and bruschetta seemed somewhat secondary to that to be honest.
We continued the walking tour after lunch, but it was starting to get quite hot. Not long after, we stopped at the Piazza Della Consolata and went into the Santuarino Della Consolata chuch to cool off and look at the spectacular interior. It is definitely worth a visit in – ornate doesn’t even begin to describe it – easily one of the most beautiful churches we’ve ever been in (and we’ve seen a few).
After the church, we felt a quick drink was in order. Conveniently located directly across the Piazza was Al Bicerin, a famous local coffee shop. Jamie had a glass of local bubbly and I had the drink named after the shop (or vice versa, I’m not sure which) – coffee, chocolate, and cream – very tasty.
The temperature was pushing 32°C again, and it was really quite humid in the city. Both Jamie and I were pretty much done with the walking and sightseeing, so we headed back to the car and it’s beautiful air conditioning – how did people live before that sweet invention?
Jamie wanted to drive up to Superga – a church on a hill just across from Torino, from which apparently you can get the most amazing views of the city and all the way to the Alps. The drive up was entertaining (if you like driving – loads of switchbacks up a very steep hill), although the haze over Piedmont prevented us from actually seeing the Alps. I can imagine that if it was a really clear day, the view would be amazing. On the other hand, I saw loads of clearly insane cyclists riding up the mountain, and loads of REALLY nice motorcycles at the top.
We took the back roads route on our trip back to Asti, avoiding the Autostrada. Not the most scenic drive through many of the little towns on route, but entertaining nonetheless. It turns out that Italian rural local radio is every bit as bad as rural French local radio, however we can’t understand as much of it. Oddly, this is the first trip to Italy in the last 7 years that we haven’t heard that damn song by “Evanescence” – we tend to hear that almost incessantly every time we’re away from home.
We stopped for a take-away pizza at Riostorante Villa Fernando, just up the road from Ville Sampagiuta. Evidently they don’t get a lot of tourists stopping in (it is way out of the way from anything) and were very excited that they had actual real live Canadians in the shop. We ordered our two takeaway pizzas and a bottle of wine, and were given a few postcards from Asti as a memento – they only requested that we send a postcard back from Canada to them (we didn’t have the heart or level of Italian to explain that we don’t actually live in Canada anymore – we’re going to get our parents to sent a post card from Canada on our behalf).
We sat on the patio of the B&B to eat our pizza and enjoy the late afternoon/early evening sun. The pizza was really quite tasty, and the view over the trees and surrounding hills was amazing. We spent quite a bit of time sitting and relaxing, before heading inside (we’d run out of wine, and needed to open another bottle).
We sat in the communal sitting room and enjoyed a good portion of the bottle of wine from Rivetto before another new couple staying at Villa Sampaguita joined us. Both are in I.T., so we of course got on quite well (Jamie may have felt a little out of place). Tim provided us with yet another bottle, this time of wine which he had made from his own vineyard. We may have stayed up a bit too late, however we had an excellent time. I can’t think of a better way to end a day – a very tasty bottle of wine in Italy, having a conversation with new friends.
We drove for what seemed like ages before finding the Autostrada, however it was fairly quick from there. The people that were at the B&B mentioned this morning that they’d been through Torino the night before but hadn’t stopped as they didn’t really get a good feeling about it, so we weren’t sure what to expect. We did manage to get lost a few times despite the directions as we drove it, but found the large underground parking complex at Piazza Vittorio Veneto without too much trouble (given that we get lost wherever we go). Driving into town, Torino seemed pretty average – a bit industrial on the outskirts, a bit convoluted and busy as we got closer to the interesting bits.
We dropped off the car at the parking complex and headed out on foot. We were immediately entranced by the covered porticos leading up the road – apparently Torino is known for them. The architecture reminded us quite a bit of Bordeaux, which in turn reminded us of Paris, for some reason. All of the shops along Via Po from the parking lot to Piazza Castello where absolutely beautiful – ornate farmacias and shops that evidently used to be much more grand than they currently are.
There was some sort of event going on in Torino for the weekend, and much preparation was underway as we arrived. The police were out in full force, all three branches as far as we could tell (there are two federal branches apparently, and the Torino force themselves). Despite that, we found our way to the beginning of a walking tour in a guidebook provided by Tim.
Torino is a beautiful city. We had a great time wandering around before finding a place for lunch in the medieval twisty windy part of town (no idea where it was now). We found on the menu a sort of Caprese salad that consisted of a sliced tomato and a 250 gram ball of real buffalo mozzarella. The pizza and bruschetta seemed somewhat secondary to that to be honest.
We continued the walking tour after lunch, but it was starting to get quite hot. Not long after, we stopped at the Piazza Della Consolata and went into the Santuarino Della Consolata chuch to cool off and look at the spectacular interior. It is definitely worth a visit in – ornate doesn’t even begin to describe it – easily one of the most beautiful churches we’ve ever been in (and we’ve seen a few).
After the church, we felt a quick drink was in order. Conveniently located directly across the Piazza was Al Bicerin, a famous local coffee shop. Jamie had a glass of local bubbly and I had the drink named after the shop (or vice versa, I’m not sure which) – coffee, chocolate, and cream – very tasty.
The temperature was pushing 32°C again, and it was really quite humid in the city. Both Jamie and I were pretty much done with the walking and sightseeing, so we headed back to the car and it’s beautiful air conditioning – how did people live before that sweet invention?
Jamie wanted to drive up to Superga – a church on a hill just across from Torino, from which apparently you can get the most amazing views of the city and all the way to the Alps. The drive up was entertaining (if you like driving – loads of switchbacks up a very steep hill), although the haze over Piedmont prevented us from actually seeing the Alps. I can imagine that if it was a really clear day, the view would be amazing. On the other hand, I saw loads of clearly insane cyclists riding up the mountain, and loads of REALLY nice motorcycles at the top.
We took the back roads route on our trip back to Asti, avoiding the Autostrada. Not the most scenic drive through many of the little towns on route, but entertaining nonetheless. It turns out that Italian rural local radio is every bit as bad as rural French local radio, however we can’t understand as much of it. Oddly, this is the first trip to Italy in the last 7 years that we haven’t heard that damn song by “Evanescence” – we tend to hear that almost incessantly every time we’re away from home.
We stopped for a take-away pizza at Riostorante Villa Fernando, just up the road from Ville Sampagiuta. Evidently they don’t get a lot of tourists stopping in (it is way out of the way from anything) and were very excited that they had actual real live Canadians in the shop. We ordered our two takeaway pizzas and a bottle of wine, and were given a few postcards from Asti as a memento – they only requested that we send a postcard back from Canada to them (we didn’t have the heart or level of Italian to explain that we don’t actually live in Canada anymore – we’re going to get our parents to sent a post card from Canada on our behalf).
We sat on the patio of the B&B to eat our pizza and enjoy the late afternoon/early evening sun. The pizza was really quite tasty, and the view over the trees and surrounding hills was amazing. We spent quite a bit of time sitting and relaxing, before heading inside (we’d run out of wine, and needed to open another bottle).
We sat in the communal sitting room and enjoyed a good portion of the bottle of wine from Rivetto before another new couple staying at Villa Sampaguita joined us. Both are in I.T., so we of course got on quite well (Jamie may have felt a little out of place). Tim provided us with yet another bottle, this time of wine which he had made from his own vineyard. We may have stayed up a bit too late, however we had an excellent time. I can’t think of a better way to end a day – a very tasty bottle of wine in Italy, having a conversation with new friends.
Day Seven – Time to Loosen Trousers
Today we woke up and started getting ready at 8:15, which was earlier than I would have liked as I’d had a cup of full-caffeine coffee the previous evening, which turned out not to be such a good idea. On the other hand, we thought we’d made a good early start to the day.
After getting ready, we went downstairs for breakfast. There were two other couples staying at Villa Sampaguita; a couple from Rhode Island in the States, and another from Canada. Two odd things with this – the guy from Rhode Island is also named Scott (not that odd I suppose), but the guy from Canada was working in the same office building in London England at the same time as Jamie – that is odd.
Breakfast was the usual sort for a B&B – coffee, orange juice, fresh fruit, yoghurt, granola, scrambled eggs (with fresh basil and tarragon, very tasty). We were regaled with tales and advice by the garrulous host Tim, to the point that breakfast stretched to almost an hour and a half – very entertaining. Tim gave us maps and itineraries for the day’s driving tour, and offered to call a friend of his whose family owns a vineyard in the Barolo region.
We finally hit the road at about 11am and headed south, in the general direction of Barolo. The Barolo valley is in the shape generally of a horseshoe, and we drove along the windy roads on the top of the ridge. Tim sent us along the back roads, which are always more interesting than the Autostrada, although the Italian drivers around me seemed intent on self-destruction – I’m convinced they learn to drive at the Mario Andretti School of Fast Motoring And Dangerous Passing (apparently I drive far too slowly, but 90km/hr on roads barely wide enough for my car, let alone two lanes, is just too fast for me).
Due to the late start (apparently), we went straight to the winery for a tour and a tasting. (www.rivetto.it) The Rivetto family has owned the winery and the land for four generations, and Enrico (the youngest son) was nice enough to show us around the place before giving us a taste of three of their wines. Being used to North American wine tastings, I thought he poured tasters like a champion. I actually had to ask him to pour me a slightly smaller portion as I had to drive, which brought a tear to my eye.
The wine was excellent – he gave us a 2007 Barbaresco, then a 2006 and 2005 Barolo. All were brilliant, and we were forced to buy two (I hate when that happens) – a Barbaresco to drink on our patio in Asti and a Barolo to take home with us.
We were there for a fair bit of time, and it was just about lunch time when we were finished. Enrico recommended a restaurant in the town just across the valley from the winery – Restaurant Italian in Serralunga. There were two menus – we chose the €20 option which included antipasti, a first course, a main course, and desert. As there was no listing of what each was, we weren’t really sure what we were going to get. The antipasti turned out to be sliced veal with a local tuna and mayonnaise sauce (which doesn’t sound like it would be good at all on veal, but was actually really good). First course was ravioli for Jamie and nebiolo risotto (nebiolo is a variety of local wine). Both again were very tasty. Mains was rabbit (coniglio sounds better than Bugs Bunny), and dessert was panna cotta and tiramisu.
Full and feeling very pleased with ourselves we walked back to the car to continue our driving tour. Both of us were a bit surprised with the heat – it seemed to have gotten significantly hotter while we were having lunch. The thermometer in the car confirmed it: 32°C on the 4th of June. I’m glad we had air conditioning.
Next on the itinerary was the town of Barolo itself. We found a parking lot just on the edge of town, but of course it was full. There was a sign for more parking further down the hill, so I pointed Francesca in that direction. Unfortunately they have decided to rip up and repave almost all of Barolo, so we were quickly turned around and headed back up to the main road. Still no parking in the lot, however there was a spot on the side of the highway (or whatever it was). I quickly darted over and managed to do a half-decent job of parallel parking, despite being on the wrong side of the road (I’ve re-learned how to drive in Britain on the left, and am finding being back on this side very disconcerting).
We walked down the hill we’d just driven back up and into Barolo. A quick look around revealed almost nothing of any interest – a few wine shops, oddly a museum dedicated solely to corkscrews (which they charged €4 to go into – a bit steep to look at a bunch of old corkscrews in my view), and a whole lot of construction. Maybe it would have been better without the lorries, cranes, and dirt everywhere.
We hiked back up the hill in the sweltering heat (we live in London, anything other than cold drizzle is sweltering to us) and got back in the car, air-con cranked up to the max. We drove down the hill and back up again to see the view from the top of La Morra, as it’s one of the highest spots around and Enrico had said that the views from up there were the best. He was right – from the medieval fortification looked down the entire Barolo valley, all the way to the Alps in the far distance. We thought about stopping for another bottle of wine, but were parked in a customer parking space in front of the local grocery store (we’d been in to buy water, so we were technically customers) and felt a bit guilty about using their reserved space, so we headed back down the hill.
We’d done a fair bit of driving so far, and were about an hour away from home, so we decided to head back and have a glass of wine on the balcony while we waited for a reasonable hour to go for dinner. It turned out to be a very good plan.
I didn’t feel like doing much more driving today, so we chose another of the recommended restaurants – this one quite close to the B&B. It is one of the oddest-located fine dining establishments I’ve ever seen – wedged behind a gas station on the road between Asti and Torino.
La Grotta is evidently one of the most famous restaurants in Asti (according to their literature), and sure enough, on the wall in the lobby is a picture of Pope John Paul II shaking hands with the chefs and the menu they served him. I figure if it’s good enough for the Pope, it’s good enough for me.
We felt a bit under-dressed, as all of the waiters were in white dinner jackets, and everything was served on trolleys – very old-fashioned and elegant. Everyone tells us that Piedmont is known for their antipasti, so we had the “Mixed Lean Meats” as it was described on the menu. It turned out to be a trolley laden with all sorts of delicious treats that the waiter served us a selection of – including: boiled egg with mayonnaise, a sort of potato and tuna salad, beats, veal with tuna mayonnaise, veal tongue with sauce (we didn’t find out that’s what it was until after we’d eaten it), tomato and mozzarella, and others.
We split a first course of baked lasagne, which was quite tasty; although I think based on the size of our main courses we could have easily skipped it. Jamie went for the veal Milanese (otherwise known a schnitzel), and I had saltimbocca alla romana (veal with sage and prosciutto). Both were excellent but GIANT – double or triple what I would have expected at home. We managed to eat a good chunk of both dishes but neither of us could finish; there was just too much. The waiter brought the dessert trolley over, and everything looked so appetizing. We were both too full to really think about it, and we had to decline. A tragedy. I found room for a decaf espresso, but even than was a stretch.
We drove back to the B&B and set up on the balcony for a final glass of wine. I almost immediately got a giant mosquito bite on my toe, which hurts like hell – hate those little flying bastards. We quickly adjourned inside and closed the screen – discretion being the better part of valour. A slightly itchy and swollen end to an excellent and very filling day.
After getting ready, we went downstairs for breakfast. There were two other couples staying at Villa Sampaguita; a couple from Rhode Island in the States, and another from Canada. Two odd things with this – the guy from Rhode Island is also named Scott (not that odd I suppose), but the guy from Canada was working in the same office building in London England at the same time as Jamie – that is odd.
Breakfast was the usual sort for a B&B – coffee, orange juice, fresh fruit, yoghurt, granola, scrambled eggs (with fresh basil and tarragon, very tasty). We were regaled with tales and advice by the garrulous host Tim, to the point that breakfast stretched to almost an hour and a half – very entertaining. Tim gave us maps and itineraries for the day’s driving tour, and offered to call a friend of his whose family owns a vineyard in the Barolo region.
We finally hit the road at about 11am and headed south, in the general direction of Barolo. The Barolo valley is in the shape generally of a horseshoe, and we drove along the windy roads on the top of the ridge. Tim sent us along the back roads, which are always more interesting than the Autostrada, although the Italian drivers around me seemed intent on self-destruction – I’m convinced they learn to drive at the Mario Andretti School of Fast Motoring And Dangerous Passing (apparently I drive far too slowly, but 90km/hr on roads barely wide enough for my car, let alone two lanes, is just too fast for me).
Due to the late start (apparently), we went straight to the winery for a tour and a tasting. (www.rivetto.it) The Rivetto family has owned the winery and the land for four generations, and Enrico (the youngest son) was nice enough to show us around the place before giving us a taste of three of their wines. Being used to North American wine tastings, I thought he poured tasters like a champion. I actually had to ask him to pour me a slightly smaller portion as I had to drive, which brought a tear to my eye.
The wine was excellent – he gave us a 2007 Barbaresco, then a 2006 and 2005 Barolo. All were brilliant, and we were forced to buy two (I hate when that happens) – a Barbaresco to drink on our patio in Asti and a Barolo to take home with us.
We were there for a fair bit of time, and it was just about lunch time when we were finished. Enrico recommended a restaurant in the town just across the valley from the winery – Restaurant Italian in Serralunga. There were two menus – we chose the €20 option which included antipasti, a first course, a main course, and desert. As there was no listing of what each was, we weren’t really sure what we were going to get. The antipasti turned out to be sliced veal with a local tuna and mayonnaise sauce (which doesn’t sound like it would be good at all on veal, but was actually really good). First course was ravioli for Jamie and nebiolo risotto (nebiolo is a variety of local wine). Both again were very tasty. Mains was rabbit (coniglio sounds better than Bugs Bunny), and dessert was panna cotta and tiramisu.
Full and feeling very pleased with ourselves we walked back to the car to continue our driving tour. Both of us were a bit surprised with the heat – it seemed to have gotten significantly hotter while we were having lunch. The thermometer in the car confirmed it: 32°C on the 4th of June. I’m glad we had air conditioning.
Next on the itinerary was the town of Barolo itself. We found a parking lot just on the edge of town, but of course it was full. There was a sign for more parking further down the hill, so I pointed Francesca in that direction. Unfortunately they have decided to rip up and repave almost all of Barolo, so we were quickly turned around and headed back up to the main road. Still no parking in the lot, however there was a spot on the side of the highway (or whatever it was). I quickly darted over and managed to do a half-decent job of parallel parking, despite being on the wrong side of the road (I’ve re-learned how to drive in Britain on the left, and am finding being back on this side very disconcerting).
We walked down the hill we’d just driven back up and into Barolo. A quick look around revealed almost nothing of any interest – a few wine shops, oddly a museum dedicated solely to corkscrews (which they charged €4 to go into – a bit steep to look at a bunch of old corkscrews in my view), and a whole lot of construction. Maybe it would have been better without the lorries, cranes, and dirt everywhere.
We hiked back up the hill in the sweltering heat (we live in London, anything other than cold drizzle is sweltering to us) and got back in the car, air-con cranked up to the max. We drove down the hill and back up again to see the view from the top of La Morra, as it’s one of the highest spots around and Enrico had said that the views from up there were the best. He was right – from the medieval fortification looked down the entire Barolo valley, all the way to the Alps in the far distance. We thought about stopping for another bottle of wine, but were parked in a customer parking space in front of the local grocery store (we’d been in to buy water, so we were technically customers) and felt a bit guilty about using their reserved space, so we headed back down the hill.
We’d done a fair bit of driving so far, and were about an hour away from home, so we decided to head back and have a glass of wine on the balcony while we waited for a reasonable hour to go for dinner. It turned out to be a very good plan.
I didn’t feel like doing much more driving today, so we chose another of the recommended restaurants – this one quite close to the B&B. It is one of the oddest-located fine dining establishments I’ve ever seen – wedged behind a gas station on the road between Asti and Torino.
La Grotta is evidently one of the most famous restaurants in Asti (according to their literature), and sure enough, on the wall in the lobby is a picture of Pope John Paul II shaking hands with the chefs and the menu they served him. I figure if it’s good enough for the Pope, it’s good enough for me.
We felt a bit under-dressed, as all of the waiters were in white dinner jackets, and everything was served on trolleys – very old-fashioned and elegant. Everyone tells us that Piedmont is known for their antipasti, so we had the “Mixed Lean Meats” as it was described on the menu. It turned out to be a trolley laden with all sorts of delicious treats that the waiter served us a selection of – including: boiled egg with mayonnaise, a sort of potato and tuna salad, beats, veal with tuna mayonnaise, veal tongue with sauce (we didn’t find out that’s what it was until after we’d eaten it), tomato and mozzarella, and others.
We split a first course of baked lasagne, which was quite tasty; although I think based on the size of our main courses we could have easily skipped it. Jamie went for the veal Milanese (otherwise known a schnitzel), and I had saltimbocca alla romana (veal with sage and prosciutto). Both were excellent but GIANT – double or triple what I would have expected at home. We managed to eat a good chunk of both dishes but neither of us could finish; there was just too much. The waiter brought the dessert trolley over, and everything looked so appetizing. We were both too full to really think about it, and we had to decline. A tragedy. I found room for a decaf espresso, but even than was a stretch.
We drove back to the B&B and set up on the balcony for a final glass of wine. I almost immediately got a giant mosquito bite on my toe, which hurts like hell – hate those little flying bastards. We quickly adjourned inside and closed the screen – discretion being the better part of valour. A slightly itchy and swollen end to an excellent and very filling day.
Day Six – Goodbye Ocean, Hello Mountains
We got up this morning for the last time in Manarola. It was actually quite overcast for the first time, and we packed our bags feeling almost as gloomy as the weather. We’d loved our five days in the Cinque Terre and didn’t really want to leave.
We rolled our suitcase down to our little cafe for breakfast and had a leisurely cappuccino and pastry – we didn’t have to be at the train until noon so had a bit of time to kill. We spent about as much time as we could nursing our coffees before deciding to sit on the seats down at the harbour and read our books for a while until it was time to go.
The train ride was, other than being full of high school students, uneventful and fairly fast. We got to Genoa and despite having a little map to the car hire shop, couldn’t figure out which way to go from the train station. Fortunately, my very little amount of Italian was just enough to ask a bus driver who was on a break, and even more amazing that than, to understand (sort of) what he meant – the international language of pointing saved the day I think.
Our hire car turned out to be a Lancia Muso which we’ve named “Francesca” (we have a tradition of naming all of our hire cars – our first and still favourite was a Fiat Stilo named “Florianne”, named after the girl at the Quick Burger at the Dijon train station that served us our lunch just before we picked up that hire car. Our sat-nav is called Tracy). Despite driving on the wrong side of the road, and bizarre Italian traffic (how do those scooter drivers not all die?), we made it to the seemingly endless series of tunnels leading up in to the mountains and away from the Mediterranean.
As usual, our hire car was slightly underpowered for hills, and while I managed to keep to 120km/hr, the extra 10km/hr to hit the Autostrada speed limit seemed a bridge too far for poor Francesca. The tunnels did get a bit tiring after a while – sunglasses on, sunglasses off, sunglasses on...and so on and so on. Even Tracy the satnav got tired of it and kept dropping the satellite signal.
We finally made it to the outskirts of Asti and had a major decision to make – trust in Tracy, who didn’t really know where Villa Sampaguita was, or rely on the instructions Jamie had gotten from Google Maps, which has had a history of being vastly wrong for us in the past. As Google at least had an idea of where we were supposed to be, we went with that, which turned out to be a good thing, as Tracy was trying to point us in entirely the wrong direction. After a long drive up possibly the narrowest road in all of Italy, we found it.
Rina came out to meet us and showed us to our room. They were in the middle of a business meeting, so we were left to our own devices. We quickly decided that a run into Asti to pick up a bottle of wine for the evening and dinner was in order.
Parking turned out to be a bit of a mission – the first lot we tried was full as full can be, and after circling for a bit, we thought that we’d try one a bit further out of centre. We were in luck – as we pulled in, someone was pulling out. €2 later we were set for the evening.
The B&B had a list of recommended local restaurants, and Osteria Tacabanda was the one we picked (it seemed easiest to find. As we sat down, we noticed that our waiter appeared to have Down’s Syndrome. Not an issue at all, but a bit unusual. It turns out that Tacabanda is part of a school for people with disabilities where they can learn to work in a restaurant/hotel and gain some independence – almost all of the staff, including the kitchen staff, have a disability of some sort.
We were impressed with the mission of the school, and even more impressed with the quality of the food. I started with a pepper timbale with a bagna caoda (a garlic and anchovy sauce) which was delicious, and Jamie had a lovely little package of cheese and white truffle wrapped in a savoy cabbage – completely delicious. For mains, I went with the roasted rabbit with stuffing, and Jamie had pasta with a parmesan and truffle gelato in top – mine was good, but Jamie’s was fantastic, despite the gelato making the pasta go cold (possibly a bit too clever for its own good).
By the time we finished dinner, we were both absolutely stuffed. We rolled back to the car (Jamie more so than me – as I had to drive, I only had one glass of the barbera that the waiter recommended).
We found our way back to the B&B with surprisingly little drama given the darkness and the tiny road, and have cracked a fresh bottle of wine and are currently sitting on our little balcony, looking at the Piedmontese stars and listening to crickets. Not the sound of the Mediterranean surf, but it’ll do.
We rolled our suitcase down to our little cafe for breakfast and had a leisurely cappuccino and pastry – we didn’t have to be at the train until noon so had a bit of time to kill. We spent about as much time as we could nursing our coffees before deciding to sit on the seats down at the harbour and read our books for a while until it was time to go.
The train ride was, other than being full of high school students, uneventful and fairly fast. We got to Genoa and despite having a little map to the car hire shop, couldn’t figure out which way to go from the train station. Fortunately, my very little amount of Italian was just enough to ask a bus driver who was on a break, and even more amazing that than, to understand (sort of) what he meant – the international language of pointing saved the day I think.
Our hire car turned out to be a Lancia Muso which we’ve named “Francesca” (we have a tradition of naming all of our hire cars – our first and still favourite was a Fiat Stilo named “Florianne”, named after the girl at the Quick Burger at the Dijon train station that served us our lunch just before we picked up that hire car. Our sat-nav is called Tracy). Despite driving on the wrong side of the road, and bizarre Italian traffic (how do those scooter drivers not all die?), we made it to the seemingly endless series of tunnels leading up in to the mountains and away from the Mediterranean.
As usual, our hire car was slightly underpowered for hills, and while I managed to keep to 120km/hr, the extra 10km/hr to hit the Autostrada speed limit seemed a bridge too far for poor Francesca. The tunnels did get a bit tiring after a while – sunglasses on, sunglasses off, sunglasses on...and so on and so on. Even Tracy the satnav got tired of it and kept dropping the satellite signal.
We finally made it to the outskirts of Asti and had a major decision to make – trust in Tracy, who didn’t really know where Villa Sampaguita was, or rely on the instructions Jamie had gotten from Google Maps, which has had a history of being vastly wrong for us in the past. As Google at least had an idea of where we were supposed to be, we went with that, which turned out to be a good thing, as Tracy was trying to point us in entirely the wrong direction. After a long drive up possibly the narrowest road in all of Italy, we found it.
Rina came out to meet us and showed us to our room. They were in the middle of a business meeting, so we were left to our own devices. We quickly decided that a run into Asti to pick up a bottle of wine for the evening and dinner was in order.
Parking turned out to be a bit of a mission – the first lot we tried was full as full can be, and after circling for a bit, we thought that we’d try one a bit further out of centre. We were in luck – as we pulled in, someone was pulling out. €2 later we were set for the evening.
The B&B had a list of recommended local restaurants, and Osteria Tacabanda was the one we picked (it seemed easiest to find. As we sat down, we noticed that our waiter appeared to have Down’s Syndrome. Not an issue at all, but a bit unusual. It turns out that Tacabanda is part of a school for people with disabilities where they can learn to work in a restaurant/hotel and gain some independence – almost all of the staff, including the kitchen staff, have a disability of some sort.
We were impressed with the mission of the school, and even more impressed with the quality of the food. I started with a pepper timbale with a bagna caoda (a garlic and anchovy sauce) which was delicious, and Jamie had a lovely little package of cheese and white truffle wrapped in a savoy cabbage – completely delicious. For mains, I went with the roasted rabbit with stuffing, and Jamie had pasta with a parmesan and truffle gelato in top – mine was good, but Jamie’s was fantastic, despite the gelato making the pasta go cold (possibly a bit too clever for its own good).
By the time we finished dinner, we were both absolutely stuffed. We rolled back to the car (Jamie more so than me – as I had to drive, I only had one glass of the barbera that the waiter recommended).
We found our way back to the B&B with surprisingly little drama given the darkness and the tiny road, and have cracked a fresh bottle of wine and are currently sitting on our little balcony, looking at the Piedmontese stars and listening to crickets. Not the sound of the Mediterranean surf, but it’ll do.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Day Five – Yes, but where is OUR yacht?
Day Five – Yes, but where is OUR yacht?
Jamie managed to sleep in today, sort of. We rolled out of bed at almost 9am, me with a significantly fuzzy head. Apparently I’d had more to drink last night that I realized and couldn’t really remember coming home, writing the trip report, or going to bed. Good times, until the hangover kicked in.
Our mission for the day was to visit the town of Santa Margherita Ligure, a little way up the coast from the Cinque Terre, near Portofino. We stopped at the train station to find out when the trains ran before getting breakfast – as it turned out, we had about 5 minutes before the next train to Riomaggiore; from Riomaggiore we could catch another train to Santa Margherita and be there before noon. We rushed over to the platform, caught the train, and made it to Riomaggiore.
It turns out that Riomaggiore is a very busy little village in the morning, and everyone seems to congregate in the piazza shared by the train station, the tourist information office, and the start of the walking path to Manarola. After fighting through the massive and slow moving crowds, we staked out a little patch on the platform. In due course, our train arrived and we pushed on. All the tour groups in the world were already on the train so we had to stand until we got to Monterosso, where most of them got off. We found some seats at that point and had quite a nice trip the rest of the way.
We got off the train in Santa Margherita and made our way down the steps to the harbour front – yes, pretty much EVERYTHING in this part of Italy seems to be either up some stair, down some stairs, or both. We walked along the harbour front, looking at both the ocean view, the cute town itself, and all the yachts and sailboats moored in the place. Some of them where monsters (not quite Capri-style, but some of them were close) – we wondered which one was ours.
We walked pretty much as far as we could along the harbour before we started looking for a place to eat lunch. We were both craving pizza, however we couldn’t really see anything that had it on the menu. We checked out one really expensive place, and another that looked okay but was in an alley with no view, before settling on the uber-touristy bar on the waterfront that we found – so non-descript that I don’t even know the name, although it did have a large sign on the sign advertising their speciality of the house – sex on the beach. Classy, I know. Not our normal venue for lunch, but they did have pizza.
We sat in the bright and sunny dining room watching a few ducks swim around, a bunch of fish in the water, and a whole load of very expensive boats, while we enjoyed our pizza and wine. Not the best pizza in the world, but it had a nice view.
We walked back towards the train station along the beachfront, dipping our toes in the warm Mediterranean water. As with the Cinque Terre, it seems that the beaches in Santa Margherita are mostly rock and not so easy on my sensitive city-boy feet. After rinsing off, we started walking back up the hill to the train station, stopping for a quick gelato on the way. On the stairs back up to the train, I noticed a strange black/brown thing on my foot. On further examination, it appeared that I’d stepped in something black and tar-like, probably on the beach. It had become lodged between two of my toes, and despite a vigorous session with a gelato napkin, I couldn’t manage to shift all of it.
Disturbed and slightly disgusted, we got on the train and found a seat. We both managed to fall asleep on the ride back to Monterosso, which was quiet other than the few minutes of my frantically looking for the train tickets (I’m a creature of habit, however I’d accidently put them in the wrong pocket in my camera bag. Jamie was NOT impressed). We changed trains at Monterosso for the intra-Cinque train and got back to Manarola without even having the damn tickets checked!
We headed up to the balcony to finish off the remains of the wine from last night as well as the beer I’d conveniently put in the fridge the previous day. The sun was a bit hit and miss, large grey clouds looked like they were moving in. I kept having to put my shirt back on, then take it off again, over and over. The wine and beer made it less annoying.
At 6ish, we decided that despite it being very early for dinner in Italy, we were both hungry. We got ready and walked the long way down to the village, stopping briefly to dump the rather embarrassingly large collection of empty wine and beer bottles in the recycle bin at the end of the road. While we fully support recycling, putting the bin in the middle of the road where everyone in the village can see how much you’ve drunk is a bit off-putting.
We stopped in at our favourite of Manarola’s restaurants for dinner – Trattoria Il Porticciolo. We’d had such an excellent meal on our first night in town with Sam and Chelsea that we thought we’d give it another go. We weren’t disappointed. Jamie started with the Caprese salad just to be different, and I had stuffed squid. The salad was as you would expect, but the stuffed squid was amazing – it had a sort of thick ragu/cheese filling in a tomato sauce that was so tasty. The taste of the filling initially overpowered the taste of the squid, but as you chewed the squid came to the front – not rubbery or chewy at all. We followed that up with ravioli for Jamie and Trofie in pesto for me (trofie being a local type of pasta) – both excellent, but so much trofie!
Desert was gelato down at the seats overlooking the harbour – we were both sad about our last night in the Cinque Terre. After gelato, we went down the boat ramp and stood in the breaking waves for a little while, feeling the water of the Med wash over our feet one last time. Maudlin, I know, but it’s an amazing place.
We’ve ended our last evening in the Cinque Terre with a final bottle of wine on our balcony, writing this report and watching possibly the most beautiful sunset of all time – a break in the clouds bathed Corniglio on its hill with golden light. We’re sad to be leaving this place, but looking forward to our 5 day driving tour of Piedmont starting tomorrow.
Jamie managed to sleep in today, sort of. We rolled out of bed at almost 9am, me with a significantly fuzzy head. Apparently I’d had more to drink last night that I realized and couldn’t really remember coming home, writing the trip report, or going to bed. Good times, until the hangover kicked in.
Our mission for the day was to visit the town of Santa Margherita Ligure, a little way up the coast from the Cinque Terre, near Portofino. We stopped at the train station to find out when the trains ran before getting breakfast – as it turned out, we had about 5 minutes before the next train to Riomaggiore; from Riomaggiore we could catch another train to Santa Margherita and be there before noon. We rushed over to the platform, caught the train, and made it to Riomaggiore.
It turns out that Riomaggiore is a very busy little village in the morning, and everyone seems to congregate in the piazza shared by the train station, the tourist information office, and the start of the walking path to Manarola. After fighting through the massive and slow moving crowds, we staked out a little patch on the platform. In due course, our train arrived and we pushed on. All the tour groups in the world were already on the train so we had to stand until we got to Monterosso, where most of them got off. We found some seats at that point and had quite a nice trip the rest of the way.
We got off the train in Santa Margherita and made our way down the steps to the harbour front – yes, pretty much EVERYTHING in this part of Italy seems to be either up some stair, down some stairs, or both. We walked along the harbour front, looking at both the ocean view, the cute town itself, and all the yachts and sailboats moored in the place. Some of them where monsters (not quite Capri-style, but some of them were close) – we wondered which one was ours.
We walked pretty much as far as we could along the harbour before we started looking for a place to eat lunch. We were both craving pizza, however we couldn’t really see anything that had it on the menu. We checked out one really expensive place, and another that looked okay but was in an alley with no view, before settling on the uber-touristy bar on the waterfront that we found – so non-descript that I don’t even know the name, although it did have a large sign on the sign advertising their speciality of the house – sex on the beach. Classy, I know. Not our normal venue for lunch, but they did have pizza.
We sat in the bright and sunny dining room watching a few ducks swim around, a bunch of fish in the water, and a whole load of very expensive boats, while we enjoyed our pizza and wine. Not the best pizza in the world, but it had a nice view.
We walked back towards the train station along the beachfront, dipping our toes in the warm Mediterranean water. As with the Cinque Terre, it seems that the beaches in Santa Margherita are mostly rock and not so easy on my sensitive city-boy feet. After rinsing off, we started walking back up the hill to the train station, stopping for a quick gelato on the way. On the stairs back up to the train, I noticed a strange black/brown thing on my foot. On further examination, it appeared that I’d stepped in something black and tar-like, probably on the beach. It had become lodged between two of my toes, and despite a vigorous session with a gelato napkin, I couldn’t manage to shift all of it.
Disturbed and slightly disgusted, we got on the train and found a seat. We both managed to fall asleep on the ride back to Monterosso, which was quiet other than the few minutes of my frantically looking for the train tickets (I’m a creature of habit, however I’d accidently put them in the wrong pocket in my camera bag. Jamie was NOT impressed). We changed trains at Monterosso for the intra-Cinque train and got back to Manarola without even having the damn tickets checked!
We headed up to the balcony to finish off the remains of the wine from last night as well as the beer I’d conveniently put in the fridge the previous day. The sun was a bit hit and miss, large grey clouds looked like they were moving in. I kept having to put my shirt back on, then take it off again, over and over. The wine and beer made it less annoying.
At 6ish, we decided that despite it being very early for dinner in Italy, we were both hungry. We got ready and walked the long way down to the village, stopping briefly to dump the rather embarrassingly large collection of empty wine and beer bottles in the recycle bin at the end of the road. While we fully support recycling, putting the bin in the middle of the road where everyone in the village can see how much you’ve drunk is a bit off-putting.
We stopped in at our favourite of Manarola’s restaurants for dinner – Trattoria Il Porticciolo. We’d had such an excellent meal on our first night in town with Sam and Chelsea that we thought we’d give it another go. We weren’t disappointed. Jamie started with the Caprese salad just to be different, and I had stuffed squid. The salad was as you would expect, but the stuffed squid was amazing – it had a sort of thick ragu/cheese filling in a tomato sauce that was so tasty. The taste of the filling initially overpowered the taste of the squid, but as you chewed the squid came to the front – not rubbery or chewy at all. We followed that up with ravioli for Jamie and Trofie in pesto for me (trofie being a local type of pasta) – both excellent, but so much trofie!
Desert was gelato down at the seats overlooking the harbour – we were both sad about our last night in the Cinque Terre. After gelato, we went down the boat ramp and stood in the breaking waves for a little while, feeling the water of the Med wash over our feet one last time. Maudlin, I know, but it’s an amazing place.
We’ve ended our last evening in the Cinque Terre with a final bottle of wine on our balcony, writing this report and watching possibly the most beautiful sunset of all time – a break in the clouds bathed Corniglio on its hill with golden light. We’re sad to be leaving this place, but looking forward to our 5 day driving tour of Piedmont starting tomorrow.
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
Day Four - Sunburn anyone?
Day Four – Sunburn, Anyone?
For some reason, Jamie let me sleep in this morning. She was evidently awake at 8am, but let me sleep until 9:30 before she got bored watching the vista from the balcony. We got ready (well, I got ready) and we walked the long way into town. Our first stop was for a pair of those touristic beach mats made of hay that smell of the countryside and/or cheap seagrass carpets – we were getting ready for an Italian Riviera Beach Day.
After our new traditional breakfast of a cappuccino and apricot-jam-filled croissant at the place beside the place with the nice view of the harbour, we caught the train to Monterosso; the town with the nicest beach.
Jamie managed to get onto the train without getting stuck in the door and the train ride was uneventful. I’m not sure that there was much going in Monterosso other than the beach – I think it’s the only of the five villages with a mostly non-rocky village (not in the sweaty guy from Philly sense, although there very well may have been some sweaty guys from Philly there). We claimed a spot on the last bit of sand left (other than the pay beach), despite the construction going on 10 feet behind us.
Fortunately the Italian tradition of the afternoon extended lunch/siesta saved us, and soon after we sat down the workmen left for their lunch/naps. The beach, despite being somewhat pebbley, was amazing, with great views of both the ocean and along the waterfront to the village. The water, as is to be expected of the Mediterranean was warm and amazingly clean (as far as we could see at any rate).
Despite all of the SPF 25 we liberally applied, after a couple of dips in the sea and a few hours lounging on the beach, we were both feeling a bit toasty (okay, we are both the shade of bright red only people who have lived in the gloom and cloud cover of London for several years can attain). We retired to a bar just beside one of the private sections of the beach for refreshments, which may have included wine, just for something different. We also had a very tasty bowl of fresh sliced strawberries in lemon juice with sugar – can’t get much better than that, if I’m honest.
We spent a few hours trying to work out how we could afford to move to a place that had sunshine and the Mediterranean within easy reach while drinking our wine and eating our strawberries. Nothing confirmed, but several promising plans made (lottery winnings placing high on the list of likely contenders), we made our way back to the train station to catch the 4:07 back to Manarola.
Other than a very odd family in the seats beside us (the son nibbled on his mother’s ear, then she returned the favour, all while dad watched – creepy doesn’t even begin to describe it), the train ride was as expected. The grocery stores in town (there are only two) were closed until 5pm as they are every day, so we went back up to the flat for a glass of wine for Jamie and a bottle of Birra Morretti for me (I’m better at rationing the beverages). We enjoyed the afternoon sun for a bit. Having re-applied the sunscreen, before heading down into town for essential supplies at the grocery store and dinner at the Michelin recommended restaurant in town (Marina Piccola) for dinner
Dinner was very tasty – Jamie started with a classic tomato and mozzarella salad and I had the local anchovy in lemon and oil. I’m not normally a fish fan, especially super fishy tasting fish like anchovy, but this version is really tasty. For mains, Jamie had trofie (a type of local pasta) with artichoke and scampi, and I had cuttlefish with chick peas. Both were excellent, and the view of the setting sun over the Manarola harbour was incredible.
After dinner, we grabbed a cup of gelato each and sat on the benches above the harbour to enjoy our treat. I have to say, my pistachio was better than Jamie’s mint, although I suspect she might argue with that. Dessert having been consumed, we headed back to the hotel to write our day’s report and enjoy a final glass of wine before bed.
For some reason, Jamie let me sleep in this morning. She was evidently awake at 8am, but let me sleep until 9:30 before she got bored watching the vista from the balcony. We got ready (well, I got ready) and we walked the long way into town. Our first stop was for a pair of those touristic beach mats made of hay that smell of the countryside and/or cheap seagrass carpets – we were getting ready for an Italian Riviera Beach Day.
After our new traditional breakfast of a cappuccino and apricot-jam-filled croissant at the place beside the place with the nice view of the harbour, we caught the train to Monterosso; the town with the nicest beach.
Jamie managed to get onto the train without getting stuck in the door and the train ride was uneventful. I’m not sure that there was much going in Monterosso other than the beach – I think it’s the only of the five villages with a mostly non-rocky village (not in the sweaty guy from Philly sense, although there very well may have been some sweaty guys from Philly there). We claimed a spot on the last bit of sand left (other than the pay beach), despite the construction going on 10 feet behind us.
Fortunately the Italian tradition of the afternoon extended lunch/siesta saved us, and soon after we sat down the workmen left for their lunch/naps. The beach, despite being somewhat pebbley, was amazing, with great views of both the ocean and along the waterfront to the village. The water, as is to be expected of the Mediterranean was warm and amazingly clean (as far as we could see at any rate).
Despite all of the SPF 25 we liberally applied, after a couple of dips in the sea and a few hours lounging on the beach, we were both feeling a bit toasty (okay, we are both the shade of bright red only people who have lived in the gloom and cloud cover of London for several years can attain). We retired to a bar just beside one of the private sections of the beach for refreshments, which may have included wine, just for something different. We also had a very tasty bowl of fresh sliced strawberries in lemon juice with sugar – can’t get much better than that, if I’m honest.
We spent a few hours trying to work out how we could afford to move to a place that had sunshine and the Mediterranean within easy reach while drinking our wine and eating our strawberries. Nothing confirmed, but several promising plans made (lottery winnings placing high on the list of likely contenders), we made our way back to the train station to catch the 4:07 back to Manarola.
Other than a very odd family in the seats beside us (the son nibbled on his mother’s ear, then she returned the favour, all while dad watched – creepy doesn’t even begin to describe it), the train ride was as expected. The grocery stores in town (there are only two) were closed until 5pm as they are every day, so we went back up to the flat for a glass of wine for Jamie and a bottle of Birra Morretti for me (I’m better at rationing the beverages). We enjoyed the afternoon sun for a bit. Having re-applied the sunscreen, before heading down into town for essential supplies at the grocery store and dinner at the Michelin recommended restaurant in town (Marina Piccola) for dinner
Dinner was very tasty – Jamie started with a classic tomato and mozzarella salad and I had the local anchovy in lemon and oil. I’m not normally a fish fan, especially super fishy tasting fish like anchovy, but this version is really tasty. For mains, Jamie had trofie (a type of local pasta) with artichoke and scampi, and I had cuttlefish with chick peas. Both were excellent, and the view of the setting sun over the Manarola harbour was incredible.
After dinner, we grabbed a cup of gelato each and sat on the benches above the harbour to enjoy our treat. I have to say, my pistachio was better than Jamie’s mint, although I suspect she might argue with that. Dessert having been consumed, we headed back to the hotel to write our day’s report and enjoy a final glass of wine before bed.
A Vacation in Italy - Cinque Terre and Piedmont
Day One – Travelling and Wine
The alarm woke us up with its insistent beeping at the ungodly hour of 5am. We’d only gotten to bed at 12:30 the night before so weren’t particularly perky at that hour, especially with a full day of travel ahead of us.
It took us an hour to get ready, two hours to get to Stanstead airport to wait two hours for our flight. Two and a half hours after we took off (most of which I slept through) we landed in Genoa – oddly the runway of the Genoa airport is built right out over the sea, you can’t see land until the plane is a couple dozen feet above it, which is pretty low when it looks like it’s going to be a water landing.
From Genoa airport we caught the bus into the main part of town so that we could sit and wait for the train. We were lucky enough to sit in front of an older couple who didn’t stop complaining the entire ride – the instructions at the bus ticket machine weren’t clear enough (we bought our tickets without any problems), the instructions given by the bus driver weren’t clear (seemed okay to me), no one could understand when she spoke Italian to them (I speak a little Italian – enough to know that what she was speaking wasn’t it)...I’ve never come so close to actually punching someone to make them stop talking while on vacation.
We finally made it to Genoa Prinicpe train station with absolutely no violence perpetrated on anyone, which was quite an achievement as far as I was concerned. We had a horrid little lunch in the train station while we waited for our train (why is it that train stations always have the most dire cafes?). The train itself was somewhat uneventful – two hours winding along the Ligurian coast on our way to Manarola, the fourth of the five villages of the Cinque Terra.
The directions from the train station to our little hotel couldn’t have been simpler to follow – leave the train, go through a tunnel, turn right, then turn right again, walk to the last house before the sea. The room is smallish but nicely decorated with a full-sized bed, closet with mini fridge and safe, and a full bathroom (toilet, sink, full size shower, but no hot water as it turns out).
On our was to the hotel, we’d stopped at a little grocery store to pick up essential supplies – a couple bottles of wine. After dropping off our bags, we walked up the stairs to the little balcony overlooking the ocean and sat down for a quick drink. An hour (and a bottle of wine) later, we headed back into town to meet our friends Sam and Chelsea for dinner – oddly we’d discovered a few days before leaving that we’d both be in the same town at the same time.
We found them without too much bother (as the town is ridiculously small) and made reservations at one of the five restaurants for dinner later that evening. In the meantime, we went up to their room overlooking the town for a glass or two of wine while we watched the sunset.
After the wine, dinner was excellent. We’d heard that the food in the Cinque Terra wasn’t that good, but our first meal was excellent and relatively cheap. I had anchovies in lemon sauce (not fishy or salty at all – definitely not tinned anchovies) and Jamie had swordfish carpaccio – I’m not sure if swordfish is a local fish but it’s certainly on all the menus. We followed that by the mixed seafood grill for me and pesto lasagne for Jamie (pesto being a local speciality). Both were excellent – far better than expected. Unfortunately the four bottles of wine that the four of us shared on top of the bottle of wine we had before dinner went a bit to our heads, so after a long supper (we closed the place down), Jamie and I headed back up the hill for bed. Apparently we had another glass of wine on the balcony, however I don’t recall this at all – the evidence (open wine bottle, used glasses) though speaks for itself.
Day Two – Walking and Sunburn
We had to get up fairly early this morning – we hadn’t actually met anyone the previous day when we checked in as the owner of the hotel wasn’t available. Again the alarm went off far too early (although it was 8:15 this time, rather than 5am) and we were forced to get up against our will.
We met the lady who I think we were supposed to – it was a little hard to tell as she spoke almost no English and my Italian has really disappeared in the last 3 years. At any rate, she took our passport details and filled in the relevant paperwork.
We were a bit peckish at this point, and I was in dire need of a cup of coffee, so we headed into town to look for somewhere to have breakfast. We found a place just above the main harbour and had cappuccinos and pastries and wondered if the cloud cover would clear up.
After breakfast we quickly went down to the water to see how cold it was. It’s the Med, so I was surprised that it felt a bit cold. Oh well. We walked back up the hill and through the tunnel to the train station and the start of the Via del Amore walk to Riomaggiore, the next town from us. We bought our slightly expensive tickets which gave us three days access to the paths between the towns (€10 each – not too bad for 3 days I suppose) and headed off toward the horizon.
They say that hell is other people, and I’m pretty sure they were all on that path this morning. It was queue after queue after queue the whole way. I was ready to leap off the edge most of the walk over, with tour after tour going past (why do the insist on taking up the WHOLE path?) and large groups of elderly slow-walkers ahead of us.
We finally made it to Riomaggiore and found all the people that weren’t yet on the path standing around at the entrance to the path. Took us 5 minutes just to get through the horde, again without violence on my part, which was a major achievement
We took the long way round to the main part of town in an effort to avoid the crowd (and we didn’t see the shortcut to be honest). We got into the main part of town and relatively quickly found a bank machine (the one in Manarola was broken and were had no cash). We got some money and walked down to the harbour. Not that much going on down there, and we were getting hungry, so after sitting on a rock for a bit watching the water (and some young people across the harbour mix champagne and orange juice in plastic cups) we went back up to the Co Op grocery store to buy a picnic lunch.
I spent some time throwing some peaches around (okay, so I dropped them) and buying various implement of lunch including water and orange juice (we’re so healthy). We then went to a take away pizza place and bought some pizza made on focaccia bread and walked to the rocky beach just past Riomaggiore. Lunch was fantastic, and the peach was possibly the best piece of fruit I’ve ever eaten – it tasted like actual sunshine, despite the soft bit on one side from where I’d dropped it.
After lunch we felt that it was time to head back to Manarola, but were not looking forward to the walk back with all the people. It turned out that the big crowd was only there for the morning – there were very few people out by the afternoon. It hardly took us any time to get back to the hotel and settle in for an afternoon of reading on the balcony in the sun, drinking wine and relaxing.
A few hours and a sunburn later, we went back into town to have dinner at a restaurant recommended by Sam and Chelsea the previous night. Not as good as dinner the evening before, but still not bad. Dinner was followed by a few minutes getting drenched in the surf, then a bottle of wine at the little local bar, with live guitar and an owner with a predilection for singing in Italian – a classic end to a classic day.
Day Three – Walking, Walking, Walking
Jamie decided that despite our talk of having a Monday morning lie-in, that 8:30am would be a good time to get up. Something about not being tired anymore and unable to sleep...I dunno, I was in the middle of a very odd yet intriguing dream involving a deserted house, neoprene knee braces, and ill-fitting baseball caps.
We hadn’t been overly impressed with our €5 per person breakfast the previous day so decided after getting a move-on that we’d try something new. €6 total at the new place next door to the expensive place got us a cappuccino each and a better croissant – this one with apricot jam in, as is the Italian style.
After breakfast, Jamie forced me onto the trail towards Corniglia, the next village along in the chain of five villages. We immediately got lost, as we followed the signs someone had posted with little arrows pointing to what turned out to be the high road/red route, rather than the much easier/lower blue route. It didn’t take us long hiking up into the mountains to realize our mistake and head back down to the lazy route – to be fair, both of us were wearing our flip-flops and definitely weren’t prepared for full-on mountaineering.
The hike turned out to be more difficult than the one between Manarola and Riomaggiore, which was a full-paved and bar-enhanced stroll by contrast. The Manarola-Corniglia path was much less paved and didn’t include a bar at all, a major disappointment as we hadn’t thought to pack water or wine for the trip and developed a massive thirst on the way.
After finding the correct path, we reached the train station at Corniglia without much drama and were presented with a moral dilemma – wait for the lazy touristic bus to take us up the hill into the town, or brave the 360-odd stairs up. Jamie, being the patient fan of waiting for things, including public transit like buses, insisted that we take the stairs. It was a long way up. A very long way.
It turned out that Corniglia, after all those stairs, wasn’t actually all that special. We checked out the views from Piazza Santa Margharita and from the tower at the top of the village before stopping for a slice of pizza (in the Cinque Terra, they make pizza on focaccia bread – it tastes even better than it sounds, if such a thing is even possible) and sat down to wait for the bus back down to the train station. It took a long time, so long that we decided not to wait, and walked back down the stairs.
We bought our tickets for the train, validated them, and rushed over to the appropriate platform for the train over to Vernazza, the second village on our tour for the day. It was at this point that we checked the train schedule. For reasons that remain unexplained, the train schedule in the Cinque Terre is a bit erratic. There are times during the day when there is a train every 10 minutes or so, and other times when there is an hour or two gap between them. Guess which we managed to get?
An hour of patiently sitting later, we caught the train to Vernazza. Three minutes later, we were there. Our hour of waiting apparently saved us two hours of major off-pavement mountain hiking, not appropriate for sandals and lazy people. I think it was worth it, and not just because I had an ice cream while I was waiting.
It seems that all of the people that were annoying on the path to Riomaggiore the previous day had decided to make their way to Vernazza. It was the biggest and most touristy of the four villages we’d visited and we weren’t immediately impressed, although to be fair I think the villages are at their best in the evenings when the tours and large groups of Italian students go home. We walked through town towards the harbour, noticing the end of the walking path from Corniglia on our way...poor sods who’d decided to walk it.
There had been rain over night the previous night and the waves had drastically increased in size over the previous day – there wasn’t much swimming going on in the protected beach area, and quite a bit of the harbour was blocked off by red ropes and massive waves.
We found a restaurant right on the waterfront and had a tasty lunch of bruschetta and pizza and possibly some wine, just for something different. We had a nice chat to some Americans who were sitting at the table beside us, and we all agreed that the local yokels who chose to disregard all the red barriers and jump off the end of the jetty into the waves were probably idiots. Pretty much everybody who saw them do it stood up in horror, and one tourist guy ran to try to save them (he had the look of a professional lifeguard about him). They stayed in the water for about 10 minutes, then popped back out onto the jetty like the penguins did in that movie about penguins. I got into the act as well, sitting as close as I could to the breaking waves without actually putting my life in much actual danger. I’m a dare devil, I know – “carefully considered risk taking” is my middle name (my parents thought Danger was too cliché for a middle name).
Lunch and adrenaline-rush had both been checked off our list of things to do for the afternoon. All that was left for Vernazza was a trip up the bloody mountain to take some more pictures. The recent month of torrential rains meant that the trail from Vernazza to Monterosso was closed, but this being Italy nothing prevented us from walking quite a way up it to get our shot – the things we do for our photography.
Our train timing was only slight better on the way home – we managed to get to the station, buy tickets, validate them, and rush onto the train, sort of. I made it on without a problem, but Jamie got tangled up in a group of elderly Americans who were having a very loud discussion questioning if they were on platform One right under the sign indicating that they were on platform one, and more crucially for Jamie, right in front of the door to the train. It closed while Jamie was about half-way through getting on. This was not good. She managed to squeeze through with only a large black mark on her arm which I’m sure will become a bruise and a squished camera bag (fortunately the camera wasn’t in the bag).
The train back to Manarola was definitely the way to go, rather than the death march we would have faced had we chosen to walk it. We stopped back at the room for some quality time on the balcony with a bottle of wine and a fresh application of suntan lotion. It was decided that there are few ways to spend an afternoon/early evening that come even close to comparing to the sheer awesomeness of wine, sun, loungy-style deck chairs, and wine.
Dinner was up the hill at Dal Billy (I think Billy is a local type of lobster, but I could be making that up – have I mentioned the wine?). We’d heard great things about this restaurant and had booked our table on Saturday night to make sure we could get a spot outside. We were seated quickly and the waiter recommended the mixed seafood platter to start as a sharing plate. It was excellent and we were excited about the main dish based on the quality of the starter. Unfortunately the shared pasta with crab didn’t live up to expectation. By the time we got through cracking all the bits of crab and getting the meat out, the pasta had gone cold. Beyond that, they had cracked a fair bit of crab before serving it and we both spent most of the main course picking little bits of crab shell out of our mouths. Not the most enjoyable main course we’d ever had.
Dinner finished, we walked back down the hill for a nightcap of wine on the balcony. We were both tired, but very relaxed and happy with the day – two villages, a relatively strenuous hike, an ice cream, some wine, some carefully considered danger...what more could one ask for?
The alarm woke us up with its insistent beeping at the ungodly hour of 5am. We’d only gotten to bed at 12:30 the night before so weren’t particularly perky at that hour, especially with a full day of travel ahead of us.
It took us an hour to get ready, two hours to get to Stanstead airport to wait two hours for our flight. Two and a half hours after we took off (most of which I slept through) we landed in Genoa – oddly the runway of the Genoa airport is built right out over the sea, you can’t see land until the plane is a couple dozen feet above it, which is pretty low when it looks like it’s going to be a water landing.
From Genoa airport we caught the bus into the main part of town so that we could sit and wait for the train. We were lucky enough to sit in front of an older couple who didn’t stop complaining the entire ride – the instructions at the bus ticket machine weren’t clear enough (we bought our tickets without any problems), the instructions given by the bus driver weren’t clear (seemed okay to me), no one could understand when she spoke Italian to them (I speak a little Italian – enough to know that what she was speaking wasn’t it)...I’ve never come so close to actually punching someone to make them stop talking while on vacation.
We finally made it to Genoa Prinicpe train station with absolutely no violence perpetrated on anyone, which was quite an achievement as far as I was concerned. We had a horrid little lunch in the train station while we waited for our train (why is it that train stations always have the most dire cafes?). The train itself was somewhat uneventful – two hours winding along the Ligurian coast on our way to Manarola, the fourth of the five villages of the Cinque Terra.
The directions from the train station to our little hotel couldn’t have been simpler to follow – leave the train, go through a tunnel, turn right, then turn right again, walk to the last house before the sea. The room is smallish but nicely decorated with a full-sized bed, closet with mini fridge and safe, and a full bathroom (toilet, sink, full size shower, but no hot water as it turns out).
On our was to the hotel, we’d stopped at a little grocery store to pick up essential supplies – a couple bottles of wine. After dropping off our bags, we walked up the stairs to the little balcony overlooking the ocean and sat down for a quick drink. An hour (and a bottle of wine) later, we headed back into town to meet our friends Sam and Chelsea for dinner – oddly we’d discovered a few days before leaving that we’d both be in the same town at the same time.
We found them without too much bother (as the town is ridiculously small) and made reservations at one of the five restaurants for dinner later that evening. In the meantime, we went up to their room overlooking the town for a glass or two of wine while we watched the sunset.
After the wine, dinner was excellent. We’d heard that the food in the Cinque Terra wasn’t that good, but our first meal was excellent and relatively cheap. I had anchovies in lemon sauce (not fishy or salty at all – definitely not tinned anchovies) and Jamie had swordfish carpaccio – I’m not sure if swordfish is a local fish but it’s certainly on all the menus. We followed that by the mixed seafood grill for me and pesto lasagne for Jamie (pesto being a local speciality). Both were excellent – far better than expected. Unfortunately the four bottles of wine that the four of us shared on top of the bottle of wine we had before dinner went a bit to our heads, so after a long supper (we closed the place down), Jamie and I headed back up the hill for bed. Apparently we had another glass of wine on the balcony, however I don’t recall this at all – the evidence (open wine bottle, used glasses) though speaks for itself.
Day Two – Walking and Sunburn
We had to get up fairly early this morning – we hadn’t actually met anyone the previous day when we checked in as the owner of the hotel wasn’t available. Again the alarm went off far too early (although it was 8:15 this time, rather than 5am) and we were forced to get up against our will.
We met the lady who I think we were supposed to – it was a little hard to tell as she spoke almost no English and my Italian has really disappeared in the last 3 years. At any rate, she took our passport details and filled in the relevant paperwork.
We were a bit peckish at this point, and I was in dire need of a cup of coffee, so we headed into town to look for somewhere to have breakfast. We found a place just above the main harbour and had cappuccinos and pastries and wondered if the cloud cover would clear up.
After breakfast we quickly went down to the water to see how cold it was. It’s the Med, so I was surprised that it felt a bit cold. Oh well. We walked back up the hill and through the tunnel to the train station and the start of the Via del Amore walk to Riomaggiore, the next town from us. We bought our slightly expensive tickets which gave us three days access to the paths between the towns (€10 each – not too bad for 3 days I suppose) and headed off toward the horizon.
They say that hell is other people, and I’m pretty sure they were all on that path this morning. It was queue after queue after queue the whole way. I was ready to leap off the edge most of the walk over, with tour after tour going past (why do the insist on taking up the WHOLE path?) and large groups of elderly slow-walkers ahead of us.
We finally made it to Riomaggiore and found all the people that weren’t yet on the path standing around at the entrance to the path. Took us 5 minutes just to get through the horde, again without violence on my part, which was a major achievement
We took the long way round to the main part of town in an effort to avoid the crowd (and we didn’t see the shortcut to be honest). We got into the main part of town and relatively quickly found a bank machine (the one in Manarola was broken and were had no cash). We got some money and walked down to the harbour. Not that much going on down there, and we were getting hungry, so after sitting on a rock for a bit watching the water (and some young people across the harbour mix champagne and orange juice in plastic cups) we went back up to the Co Op grocery store to buy a picnic lunch.
I spent some time throwing some peaches around (okay, so I dropped them) and buying various implement of lunch including water and orange juice (we’re so healthy). We then went to a take away pizza place and bought some pizza made on focaccia bread and walked to the rocky beach just past Riomaggiore. Lunch was fantastic, and the peach was possibly the best piece of fruit I’ve ever eaten – it tasted like actual sunshine, despite the soft bit on one side from where I’d dropped it.
After lunch we felt that it was time to head back to Manarola, but were not looking forward to the walk back with all the people. It turned out that the big crowd was only there for the morning – there were very few people out by the afternoon. It hardly took us any time to get back to the hotel and settle in for an afternoon of reading on the balcony in the sun, drinking wine and relaxing.
A few hours and a sunburn later, we went back into town to have dinner at a restaurant recommended by Sam and Chelsea the previous night. Not as good as dinner the evening before, but still not bad. Dinner was followed by a few minutes getting drenched in the surf, then a bottle of wine at the little local bar, with live guitar and an owner with a predilection for singing in Italian – a classic end to a classic day.
Day Three – Walking, Walking, Walking
Jamie decided that despite our talk of having a Monday morning lie-in, that 8:30am would be a good time to get up. Something about not being tired anymore and unable to sleep...I dunno, I was in the middle of a very odd yet intriguing dream involving a deserted house, neoprene knee braces, and ill-fitting baseball caps.
We hadn’t been overly impressed with our €5 per person breakfast the previous day so decided after getting a move-on that we’d try something new. €6 total at the new place next door to the expensive place got us a cappuccino each and a better croissant – this one with apricot jam in, as is the Italian style.
After breakfast, Jamie forced me onto the trail towards Corniglia, the next village along in the chain of five villages. We immediately got lost, as we followed the signs someone had posted with little arrows pointing to what turned out to be the high road/red route, rather than the much easier/lower blue route. It didn’t take us long hiking up into the mountains to realize our mistake and head back down to the lazy route – to be fair, both of us were wearing our flip-flops and definitely weren’t prepared for full-on mountaineering.
The hike turned out to be more difficult than the one between Manarola and Riomaggiore, which was a full-paved and bar-enhanced stroll by contrast. The Manarola-Corniglia path was much less paved and didn’t include a bar at all, a major disappointment as we hadn’t thought to pack water or wine for the trip and developed a massive thirst on the way.
After finding the correct path, we reached the train station at Corniglia without much drama and were presented with a moral dilemma – wait for the lazy touristic bus to take us up the hill into the town, or brave the 360-odd stairs up. Jamie, being the patient fan of waiting for things, including public transit like buses, insisted that we take the stairs. It was a long way up. A very long way.
It turned out that Corniglia, after all those stairs, wasn’t actually all that special. We checked out the views from Piazza Santa Margharita and from the tower at the top of the village before stopping for a slice of pizza (in the Cinque Terra, they make pizza on focaccia bread – it tastes even better than it sounds, if such a thing is even possible) and sat down to wait for the bus back down to the train station. It took a long time, so long that we decided not to wait, and walked back down the stairs.
We bought our tickets for the train, validated them, and rushed over to the appropriate platform for the train over to Vernazza, the second village on our tour for the day. It was at this point that we checked the train schedule. For reasons that remain unexplained, the train schedule in the Cinque Terre is a bit erratic. There are times during the day when there is a train every 10 minutes or so, and other times when there is an hour or two gap between them. Guess which we managed to get?
An hour of patiently sitting later, we caught the train to Vernazza. Three minutes later, we were there. Our hour of waiting apparently saved us two hours of major off-pavement mountain hiking, not appropriate for sandals and lazy people. I think it was worth it, and not just because I had an ice cream while I was waiting.
It seems that all of the people that were annoying on the path to Riomaggiore the previous day had decided to make their way to Vernazza. It was the biggest and most touristy of the four villages we’d visited and we weren’t immediately impressed, although to be fair I think the villages are at their best in the evenings when the tours and large groups of Italian students go home. We walked through town towards the harbour, noticing the end of the walking path from Corniglia on our way...poor sods who’d decided to walk it.
There had been rain over night the previous night and the waves had drastically increased in size over the previous day – there wasn’t much swimming going on in the protected beach area, and quite a bit of the harbour was blocked off by red ropes and massive waves.
We found a restaurant right on the waterfront and had a tasty lunch of bruschetta and pizza and possibly some wine, just for something different. We had a nice chat to some Americans who were sitting at the table beside us, and we all agreed that the local yokels who chose to disregard all the red barriers and jump off the end of the jetty into the waves were probably idiots. Pretty much everybody who saw them do it stood up in horror, and one tourist guy ran to try to save them (he had the look of a professional lifeguard about him). They stayed in the water for about 10 minutes, then popped back out onto the jetty like the penguins did in that movie about penguins. I got into the act as well, sitting as close as I could to the breaking waves without actually putting my life in much actual danger. I’m a dare devil, I know – “carefully considered risk taking” is my middle name (my parents thought Danger was too cliché for a middle name).
Lunch and adrenaline-rush had both been checked off our list of things to do for the afternoon. All that was left for Vernazza was a trip up the bloody mountain to take some more pictures. The recent month of torrential rains meant that the trail from Vernazza to Monterosso was closed, but this being Italy nothing prevented us from walking quite a way up it to get our shot – the things we do for our photography.
Our train timing was only slight better on the way home – we managed to get to the station, buy tickets, validate them, and rush onto the train, sort of. I made it on without a problem, but Jamie got tangled up in a group of elderly Americans who were having a very loud discussion questioning if they were on platform One right under the sign indicating that they were on platform one, and more crucially for Jamie, right in front of the door to the train. It closed while Jamie was about half-way through getting on. This was not good. She managed to squeeze through with only a large black mark on her arm which I’m sure will become a bruise and a squished camera bag (fortunately the camera wasn’t in the bag).
The train back to Manarola was definitely the way to go, rather than the death march we would have faced had we chosen to walk it. We stopped back at the room for some quality time on the balcony with a bottle of wine and a fresh application of suntan lotion. It was decided that there are few ways to spend an afternoon/early evening that come even close to comparing to the sheer awesomeness of wine, sun, loungy-style deck chairs, and wine.
Dinner was up the hill at Dal Billy (I think Billy is a local type of lobster, but I could be making that up – have I mentioned the wine?). We’d heard great things about this restaurant and had booked our table on Saturday night to make sure we could get a spot outside. We were seated quickly and the waiter recommended the mixed seafood platter to start as a sharing plate. It was excellent and we were excited about the main dish based on the quality of the starter. Unfortunately the shared pasta with crab didn’t live up to expectation. By the time we got through cracking all the bits of crab and getting the meat out, the pasta had gone cold. Beyond that, they had cracked a fair bit of crab before serving it and we both spent most of the main course picking little bits of crab shell out of our mouths. Not the most enjoyable main course we’d ever had.
Dinner finished, we walked back down the hill for a nightcap of wine on the balcony. We were both tired, but very relaxed and happy with the day – two villages, a relatively strenuous hike, an ice cream, some wine, some carefully considered danger...what more could one ask for?
Sunday, 11 April 2010
Spring Arrives in London!
After a long, cold winter (ok, cold for London!) it appears that spring is finally here!! We have had about 4 days of sun, and are loving it!!
This week was my second week at my new job and I love it so far. I left Northern Trust 26 March and started as the Senior Internal Auditor at Mondrian Investment Partners on the 29 March. So far so good. The people are great and the work is interesting. Fingers crossed!
We've had a busy weekend. Friday after work, Tim and I met Heidi and Scott at St Pancras Champagne Bar (at the train station) to celebrate our new jobs (Tim and I) and Heidi's promo to Project Manager. We enjoyed a lovely bottle of champagne (yes, it was the cheapest on the menu, but so what?). After a lovely glass of champagne we headed to Smithy's Wine Bar (http://www.smithyslondon.com/home.html) for steaks and lamb. My steak was lovely, but Scott wasnt too impressed with his lamb. We dont spend too much time in this area, so it was nice to visit somewhere different. We stopped at another wine bar on the way home and enjoyed the warm evening.
Saturday we woke up to a beautiful sunny day. Scott had his final driving lesson as he takes his manual test on Monday. I cleaned while he was out and then we headed to Greenwich for lunch in the village. We also scoped out a Davy's wine bar by the station and will definitely be trying it out soon!
Last night we headed out to Southfields in SW London (completely opposite where we live) for dinner at our friends, Kelly and Angela. This involved taking the DLR to Canning Town, the Juliblee line to Westminster, and then the dreaded District line to Southfields. Wasnt actually as bad as we thought and we arrived only slightly late. Dinner was mexican with lots of wine and good friends.
Today was another sunny, but cooler day and we had a mission. We decided to cycle out to Green Park for a picnic afternoon with Alexis, Hugo and Kelly. No problem. We trained into town and then cycled to the park. Well Scott cycled, but I attempted to cycle through Trafalgar Square, freaked out, and then walked to The Mall...where the closed road was lovely for cycling. Seriously, people that cycle in central London are crazy. Cars everywhere, tourists everywhere, no way. But the afternoon was great...too bad the sun didnt stay out. Stupid clouds.
Now back at home, relaxing with a gin and tonic, we are getting ready for another exciting week!
This week was my second week at my new job and I love it so far. I left Northern Trust 26 March and started as the Senior Internal Auditor at Mondrian Investment Partners on the 29 March. So far so good. The people are great and the work is interesting. Fingers crossed!
We've had a busy weekend. Friday after work, Tim and I met Heidi and Scott at St Pancras Champagne Bar (at the train station) to celebrate our new jobs (Tim and I) and Heidi's promo to Project Manager. We enjoyed a lovely bottle of champagne (yes, it was the cheapest on the menu, but so what?). After a lovely glass of champagne we headed to Smithy's Wine Bar (http://www.smithyslondon.com/home.html) for steaks and lamb. My steak was lovely, but Scott wasnt too impressed with his lamb. We dont spend too much time in this area, so it was nice to visit somewhere different. We stopped at another wine bar on the way home and enjoyed the warm evening.
Saturday we woke up to a beautiful sunny day. Scott had his final driving lesson as he takes his manual test on Monday. I cleaned while he was out and then we headed to Greenwich for lunch in the village. We also scoped out a Davy's wine bar by the station and will definitely be trying it out soon!
Last night we headed out to Southfields in SW London (completely opposite where we live) for dinner at our friends, Kelly and Angela. This involved taking the DLR to Canning Town, the Juliblee line to Westminster, and then the dreaded District line to Southfields. Wasnt actually as bad as we thought and we arrived only slightly late. Dinner was mexican with lots of wine and good friends.
Today was another sunny, but cooler day and we had a mission. We decided to cycle out to Green Park for a picnic afternoon with Alexis, Hugo and Kelly. No problem. We trained into town and then cycled to the park. Well Scott cycled, but I attempted to cycle through Trafalgar Square, freaked out, and then walked to The Mall...where the closed road was lovely for cycling. Seriously, people that cycle in central London are crazy. Cars everywhere, tourists everywhere, no way. But the afternoon was great...too bad the sun didnt stay out. Stupid clouds.
Now back at home, relaxing with a gin and tonic, we are getting ready for another exciting week!
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Fabulous Easter Weekend in Budapest - Day 4
Monday 5 April 2010
Our last day in Budapest. Very sad. We ate breakfast, packed up and left our baggage at the B&B. We walked up Castle Hill and across to Buda castle. This was the first day of rain that we had, and it made it a bit more difficult to take photos. I really wanted a picture of Chain Bridge from the hill, so we walked over to the funicular and Scott helped me by holding an umbrella over my camera. He is a the best husband ever.
After the pic, we decided to take the funicular down and walk across the Chain Bridge to St Stephen’s Basilica. On the way we stopped for coffee and to pick up Scott’s stein souvenir. After that we headed to the Basilica. WOW! This has to be the most beautiful church I have seen...even above St Peter’s in Rome. The entire church is covered in the most gorgeous tiling in gold and other beautiful colours. Stunning. We happened to get there as service was ending so the ceilings were all lit up. We loved it.
Once done with admiring the beauty there we decided we needed a drink (what a surprise). Turns out the area around the Basilica is a bit posh...we eventually found a lovely Italian restaurant with a very trendy bar area to get a drink. We sat there for a while enjoying the atmosphere and then decided to walk back to the B&B to catch a taxi back to the airport to fly home.
The flight back was again uneventful...and we arrived back home safe and sound, just in time to take Hamilton and Charlie out for their night time walk. A fabulous vacation, we highly recommend Budapest!
Our last day in Budapest. Very sad. We ate breakfast, packed up and left our baggage at the B&B. We walked up Castle Hill and across to Buda castle. This was the first day of rain that we had, and it made it a bit more difficult to take photos. I really wanted a picture of Chain Bridge from the hill, so we walked over to the funicular and Scott helped me by holding an umbrella over my camera. He is a the best husband ever.
After the pic, we decided to take the funicular down and walk across the Chain Bridge to St Stephen’s Basilica. On the way we stopped for coffee and to pick up Scott’s stein souvenir. After that we headed to the Basilica. WOW! This has to be the most beautiful church I have seen...even above St Peter’s in Rome. The entire church is covered in the most gorgeous tiling in gold and other beautiful colours. Stunning. We happened to get there as service was ending so the ceilings were all lit up. We loved it.
Once done with admiring the beauty there we decided we needed a drink (what a surprise). Turns out the area around the Basilica is a bit posh...we eventually found a lovely Italian restaurant with a very trendy bar area to get a drink. We sat there for a while enjoying the atmosphere and then decided to walk back to the B&B to catch a taxi back to the airport to fly home.
The flight back was again uneventful...and we arrived back home safe and sound, just in time to take Hamilton and Charlie out for their night time walk. A fabulous vacation, we highly recommend Budapest!
Fabulous Easter Weekend in Budapest - Day 3
Sunday 4 April 2010
Today is spa day – yippee!!! We got up around 9 and after breakfast headed straight out on the metro to the Széchenyi Baths. Wow, what a day! The baths are amazing...all different temperatures of baths and saunas. Scott was in heaven with all the dry and wet saunas, and I loved all the baths. All different shapes and sizes of people, some very interesting ‘characters’ shall we say! Some pools were hot, some were VERY cold, and others had strong currents that carried you around and around. We spent at least 3 hours relaxing and came out like wet noodles.
After a long relaxing morning, we headed back on the metro to Oktagon and spent the afternoon cafe hopping around Liszt F. Ter. We started for lunch at Menza (http://www.menzaetterem.hu/). I had a lovely spit roasted chicken with coriander rice, and Scott had a traditional Hungarian veal stew. Excellent. We enjoyed a few bevies there and then headed across to Karma for further drinks. We loved this little square with all its restaurants and cafes. Highly recommend it!
For dinner we took the metro back to Batthyány Square and ate at a restaurant recommended by our B&B, but I can’t remember the name. We enjoyed some traditional home cooking and then had a night cap and were in bed before 11pm.
Today is spa day – yippee!!! We got up around 9 and after breakfast headed straight out on the metro to the Széchenyi Baths. Wow, what a day! The baths are amazing...all different temperatures of baths and saunas. Scott was in heaven with all the dry and wet saunas, and I loved all the baths. All different shapes and sizes of people, some very interesting ‘characters’ shall we say! Some pools were hot, some were VERY cold, and others had strong currents that carried you around and around. We spent at least 3 hours relaxing and came out like wet noodles.
After a long relaxing morning, we headed back on the metro to Oktagon and spent the afternoon cafe hopping around Liszt F. Ter. We started for lunch at Menza (http://www.menzaetterem.hu/). I had a lovely spit roasted chicken with coriander rice, and Scott had a traditional Hungarian veal stew. Excellent. We enjoyed a few bevies there and then headed across to Karma for further drinks. We loved this little square with all its restaurants and cafes. Highly recommend it!
For dinner we took the metro back to Batthyány Square and ate at a restaurant recommended by our B&B, but I can’t remember the name. We enjoyed some traditional home cooking and then had a night cap and were in bed before 11pm.
Fabulous Easter Weekend in Budapest - Day 2
Saturday 3 April 2010
We woke up early at 8am and headed up for breakfast by around 8:45am. First mistake – not wearing shoes up stairs to breakfast! Judit was quick to let us know that shoes must be worn at all times so that we don’t slip and fall! Finishing up breakfast we headed down to Batthyány Square to catch the train to the Central Market in Pest. We caught Tram 41 and off we went! We got off just before the Victory Bridge and walked across to Pest.
The market building is huge and beautiful. Inside are stalls selling all kinds of paprika, meats, veggies and Hungarian crafts (ok, the crafts are more tourist naf). We found that after so many market visits over the last few years that they are all starting to look similar, so we didn’t spend too much time there. We headed down Vaci Utca, the pedestrian street lined with cafes and touristy stores. The architecture is lovely and we decided to stop for a quick drink to admire it! More wandering and we found ourselves on the Danube River at a lovely restaurant for lunch. We ordered the goulash and bevies and relaxed in the sunshine. Delicious!
After lunch called for more wandering so we walked all the way up to Parliament to admire the beautiful building. Along the way we came to a bunch of metal shoes along the banks of the Danube. This is a tribute to all the Jews that were killed by the Nazis in WW2. Apparently they didn’t have transport to take them to a concentration camp, so they ordered them to the banks of the river, tied them in groups of twos and shot 1 of pair. They were then thrown into the river. Judit actually worked with someone who had been shot and managed to survive, the cold of the river (it was Nov) seemed to have helped him survive.
We ended up around Parliament, which is a beautiful neo-gothic building on the Danube. As it was a Saturday, and time for another drink, we looked around for a cafe...however everything was closed for the weekend. We wandered up to the Margaret Bridge and crossed back over to Buda and headed back to Batthyány Square and settled into the patio at Angelika overlooking the river. After a few minutes we noticed a bunch of people walking by with pillows. Weird. And then some more...finally the waiter went across the street and asked someone and it turns out they had a flash mob pillow fight at the bottom of castle hill that day. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOus9C0xEOU Cool!
By this point we were both exhausted, so headed up to our B&B for a quick cat nap/book read before dinner. We decided to go back up the hill for dinner and just found a semi-touristy place with a simple menu for dinner. We enjoyed our dinner, but could have done without the crappy gypsy renditions of Phantom of the Opera on the accordion...sorry Bruce!
We woke up early at 8am and headed up for breakfast by around 8:45am. First mistake – not wearing shoes up stairs to breakfast! Judit was quick to let us know that shoes must be worn at all times so that we don’t slip and fall! Finishing up breakfast we headed down to Batthyány Square to catch the train to the Central Market in Pest. We caught Tram 41 and off we went! We got off just before the Victory Bridge and walked across to Pest.
The market building is huge and beautiful. Inside are stalls selling all kinds of paprika, meats, veggies and Hungarian crafts (ok, the crafts are more tourist naf). We found that after so many market visits over the last few years that they are all starting to look similar, so we didn’t spend too much time there. We headed down Vaci Utca, the pedestrian street lined with cafes and touristy stores. The architecture is lovely and we decided to stop for a quick drink to admire it! More wandering and we found ourselves on the Danube River at a lovely restaurant for lunch. We ordered the goulash and bevies and relaxed in the sunshine. Delicious!
After lunch called for more wandering so we walked all the way up to Parliament to admire the beautiful building. Along the way we came to a bunch of metal shoes along the banks of the Danube. This is a tribute to all the Jews that were killed by the Nazis in WW2. Apparently they didn’t have transport to take them to a concentration camp, so they ordered them to the banks of the river, tied them in groups of twos and shot 1 of pair. They were then thrown into the river. Judit actually worked with someone who had been shot and managed to survive, the cold of the river (it was Nov) seemed to have helped him survive.
We ended up around Parliament, which is a beautiful neo-gothic building on the Danube. As it was a Saturday, and time for another drink, we looked around for a cafe...however everything was closed for the weekend. We wandered up to the Margaret Bridge and crossed back over to Buda and headed back to Batthyány Square and settled into the patio at Angelika overlooking the river. After a few minutes we noticed a bunch of people walking by with pillows. Weird. And then some more...finally the waiter went across the street and asked someone and it turns out they had a flash mob pillow fight at the bottom of castle hill that day. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOus9C0xEOU Cool!
By this point we were both exhausted, so headed up to our B&B for a quick cat nap/book read before dinner. We decided to go back up the hill for dinner and just found a semi-touristy place with a simple menu for dinner. We enjoyed our dinner, but could have done without the crappy gypsy renditions of Phantom of the Opera on the accordion...sorry Bruce!
Fabulous Easter Weekend in Budapest - Day 1
Friday 2 April 2010
Rise and shine bright and early and started out for the 2+ hour trek to Gatwick airport. It was time to begin our Hungarian Adventure! We left the kids with Kevin, our dog sitter, and jumped on the plane heading east. The flight itself was uneventful, which is how we like them, and land around 2:45pm Budapest time.
On the very strict instruction of our B&B hostess, we went outside and got a ticket for the Zona taxi. Apparently the taxi drivers in Budapest are a bit skilful at fleecing tourists and the Zona taxis are the most reliable. At 5000 HUF (about 15GBP) it was an efficient way to get into town. Unfortunately, the taxi driver we got was quite grumpy. Well it may have helped if we hadn’t offended the driver by not understanding his English when he asked if we knew where the address was that we had given him!
We pulled up at Bellevue B&B (www.bellevuebudapest.com) around 3:30pm. We were met by Judit, the B&B hostess and proceeded to listen to her instructions about the way everything in the B&B worked. We weren’t expecting Hungarians to be mean, but we did expect them to be very direct, and Judit didn’t disappoint. She was very thorough and very direct, but VERY friendly and helpful. I think she was used to older, slower guests as her suggestions for transit included using the bus a lot, but we preferred to walk, even up all the hills.
Our B&B was steps away from Fisherman’s Bastion and Mátyás Church, perfect location. Some rooms had lovely views of Parliament over the river. We chose to go with the basic room at 50Eur a night, the price was right, and it was fine. It had a nice balcony that would be great in the summer. We prefer to spend our cash on food and drink, so this was fine and we would go back. Breakfast was typical Eastern Europe breakfast of tomatoes, meats, cheese, and bread with your choice of boiled eggs.
After our orientation with Judit we headed straight up Castle Hill to get some photos in the sunshine! After admiring the beautiful views we wandered around and then decided a snack was in order. We settled onto a patio and ordered a plate of Hungarian cheese in olive oil and Hungarian wine and beer. Definitely what we needed...and CHEAP!!! A glass of delicious wine was only a few GBP! Yes, we are going to love Budapest!
Once in the shade we got a bit cool so decided to go for another walk. We walked down Lord’s St and enjoyed the Baroque and Gothic facades. We ended up at Ruszwurm, a pastry shop that has been selling cakes since 1824 (http://www.ruszwurm.hu/a_menu.html). We had a delicious coffee and ordered cake! I had a delicious cherry strudel and Scott had a Kirsch cake...so good!!
We had dinner reservations for 8:00pm...yes we ate dessert before dinner! We had made dinner at Restaurant Alabárdos (http://www.alabardos.hu/) and arrived to be seated right on time. We started off with some Hungarian champagne as we reviewed the menu. I started off with a lovely stuffed tomato in a cold tomato soup; Scott had a trout/perch tartar. Both were fantastic. We followed that up with a lovely pan fried trout for me and a rib eye steak Hungarian style for Scott. Of course no Hungarian meal would be complete without some Pálinka (Hungarian fruit brandy). Fantastic food, at ridiculously cheap prices. We rolled back to the B&B and enjoyed a final glass of wine before hitting the sack.
Rise and shine bright and early and started out for the 2+ hour trek to Gatwick airport. It was time to begin our Hungarian Adventure! We left the kids with Kevin, our dog sitter, and jumped on the plane heading east. The flight itself was uneventful, which is how we like them, and land around 2:45pm Budapest time.
On the very strict instruction of our B&B hostess, we went outside and got a ticket for the Zona taxi. Apparently the taxi drivers in Budapest are a bit skilful at fleecing tourists and the Zona taxis are the most reliable. At 5000 HUF (about 15GBP) it was an efficient way to get into town. Unfortunately, the taxi driver we got was quite grumpy. Well it may have helped if we hadn’t offended the driver by not understanding his English when he asked if we knew where the address was that we had given him!
We pulled up at Bellevue B&B (www.bellevuebudapest.com) around 3:30pm. We were met by Judit, the B&B hostess and proceeded to listen to her instructions about the way everything in the B&B worked. We weren’t expecting Hungarians to be mean, but we did expect them to be very direct, and Judit didn’t disappoint. She was very thorough and very direct, but VERY friendly and helpful. I think she was used to older, slower guests as her suggestions for transit included using the bus a lot, but we preferred to walk, even up all the hills.
Our B&B was steps away from Fisherman’s Bastion and Mátyás Church, perfect location. Some rooms had lovely views of Parliament over the river. We chose to go with the basic room at 50Eur a night, the price was right, and it was fine. It had a nice balcony that would be great in the summer. We prefer to spend our cash on food and drink, so this was fine and we would go back. Breakfast was typical Eastern Europe breakfast of tomatoes, meats, cheese, and bread with your choice of boiled eggs.
After our orientation with Judit we headed straight up Castle Hill to get some photos in the sunshine! After admiring the beautiful views we wandered around and then decided a snack was in order. We settled onto a patio and ordered a plate of Hungarian cheese in olive oil and Hungarian wine and beer. Definitely what we needed...and CHEAP!!! A glass of delicious wine was only a few GBP! Yes, we are going to love Budapest!
Once in the shade we got a bit cool so decided to go for another walk. We walked down Lord’s St and enjoyed the Baroque and Gothic facades. We ended up at Ruszwurm, a pastry shop that has been selling cakes since 1824 (http://www.ruszwurm.hu/a_menu.html). We had a delicious coffee and ordered cake! I had a delicious cherry strudel and Scott had a Kirsch cake...so good!!
We had dinner reservations for 8:00pm...yes we ate dessert before dinner! We had made dinner at Restaurant Alabárdos (http://www.alabardos.hu/) and arrived to be seated right on time. We started off with some Hungarian champagne as we reviewed the menu. I started off with a lovely stuffed tomato in a cold tomato soup; Scott had a trout/perch tartar. Both were fantastic. We followed that up with a lovely pan fried trout for me and a rib eye steak Hungarian style for Scott. Of course no Hungarian meal would be complete without some Pálinka (Hungarian fruit brandy). Fantastic food, at ridiculously cheap prices. We rolled back to the B&B and enjoyed a final glass of wine before hitting the sack.
Saturday, 2 January 2010
Day Seven – Last Tango in Paris
Paris Christmas 2009
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010
Day Seven – Last Tango in Paris
I spent the night last night with a raging migraine – I’ve never had one before and didn’t enjoy the experience. Sufficed to say that I didn’t get much sleep and woke up a bit grumpy and out of sorts (after the two or three hours of sleep I did manage to get). Note for next trip – pack extra strength ibuprofen (and probably a full first aid kit, because let’s be honest, I can hardly go two days without doing myself an injury – this trip alone I’ve managed to pour boiled water over my hand, stub my toe at least three times on the fridge, knock various bits of myself in the shower, trip, hurt big toe walking too much, strain my back turning over in bed, and twist my neck).
Our first stop of the morning was the pharmacy just across the street for my super-french strength nurofen – the French don’t do drugs by half measures and I got the full 400mg dose box, which calmed down what was left of my headache in no time.
We took the bus from Jean-Pierre Timbaud all the way to Gare Montparnasse for a wander through the really nice market there. It constantly amazes me how the French manage to find enough fresh produce to do a quality market in the middle of winter (it was even snowing, as they sold leeks, beets and potatoes). We spent a few minutes trying to find the excellent restaurant we ate in the last time we were in Paris but were obviously on the wrong street – it was one of those excellent Parisian 7-table tiny restaurants that the chef obviously opened because he loves serving quality food, rather than trying to make a fortune (unlike some of our celebrity chefs).
We enjoyed the sights and smells as we walked through the market – we hadn’t had breakfast and the cooking chickens and sausages made our mouths water. At the end of the market street was the main entrance for the Montparnasse cemetery (we’d done the Père Lachaise cemetery on a previous trip). We spent a little while wandering around looking at the ornate French sepulchres, coming across Serge Gainsbourg’s grave along the way (sort of a French version of late, great Jim Morrison, grave complete with flowers, poems, photos, drawing etc, much as Jims is in Père Lachaise).
Having had enough of gravestones and freaking COLD winds, we left the cemetery through the opposite entrance, looking for a restaurant Jamie had found in one of her guide books. Unfortunately, it had both changed names AND was closed, however up the road was an interesting market street with just about the largest supply of butchers I’ve ever seen in one place (Rue Daguerre in the 14th).
We spent probably a bit longer than is reasonable looking at the chopped up bits of former animals, then had lunch at La Chope Daguerre. The chef, or owner (its sometimes hard to tell) welcomed us in, gave us a seat, and suggested the poulet with the tone of a man who has purchased more of the special than he now expects to actually sell. In fact, the poulet was also recommended by the waitress, and with two suggestions, how could we refuse? €14 got us a ¼ chicken with girolles mushrooms, roasted potatoes sautéed in some sort of delicious fat, and a bit of salad. More than either of us could eat. And wine, of course.
We almost literally rolled out of the restaurant and across the street to a little shop selling various types of fresh pastas and sauces – we’d enjoyed the pasta so much the previous night that we decided to do it again. We bought another €12 of tortellini this time with a basil and tomato sauce. I was complimented on my French by the guy at the store (I have an odd Outaouais Quebec/Western Canadian accent that Parisians seem to find mostly incomprehensible – the Outaouais region is the bit of Quebec just northeast of Ottawa – a sort of Canadian farmer French, but it’s what I learned as a kid). I felt very proud that I was understood – usually I get a blank stare and confusion...
From the 14th, we took the metro to the Latin quarter for the trying on of hats and photography of tourists and shop owners (I was thinking of getting one of those giant fur hats with the ear-flaps as it was so bloody cold, but after trying a few on I realised that 1. I looked like a monumental twit and that 2. see point 1). Photos taken, streets wandered, massive hordes of people bumped into, restaurant touts trying to get us to eat their particular skewers of meat ignored, and we decided that we were thirsty (by day 7, I’m sure you’re detecting a theme to our travels).
We found a sympathetic cafe just outside the heaving masses and sat for a bit enjoying a cafe crème and a bit of wine, watching the scenery walk past. There are very few things in this world as relaxing as sitting in a French cafe in Paris watching the world walk past.
Post beverage, we decided that what we really needed was a bottle of wine, so we walked up the hill to our old stomping grounds just below the Pantheon on Rue Des Ecoles and specifically La Petite Périgourdine, where we’d spent far too many happy hours (and euros) over the past few years. Not much has changed at La Petite – a bit of a renovation from the first few times, but some of the waiters are the same, even after 6 years...
We took the bus back to our little garret, stopping at the Marche Franprix on the way to pick up a bottle of wine and 6 boxes of gavottes (only three for me, the others for co-workers back in London – seriously, they are spectacular and you must have them if you see them). Dinner was excellent as expected, followed by an evening of photo editing, writing, and packing.
After a week in Paris with nothing in particular to do and nothing in particular to see, at probably not the best time of year to be here, we’ve both decided (or re-affirmed more accurately) that we both love it here – Canada will always be where we’re from, and London is where we live, but I think France is where our hearts are and where our livers will probably eventually give out.
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010
Day Seven – Last Tango in Paris
I spent the night last night with a raging migraine – I’ve never had one before and didn’t enjoy the experience. Sufficed to say that I didn’t get much sleep and woke up a bit grumpy and out of sorts (after the two or three hours of sleep I did manage to get). Note for next trip – pack extra strength ibuprofen (and probably a full first aid kit, because let’s be honest, I can hardly go two days without doing myself an injury – this trip alone I’ve managed to pour boiled water over my hand, stub my toe at least three times on the fridge, knock various bits of myself in the shower, trip, hurt big toe walking too much, strain my back turning over in bed, and twist my neck).
Our first stop of the morning was the pharmacy just across the street for my super-french strength nurofen – the French don’t do drugs by half measures and I got the full 400mg dose box, which calmed down what was left of my headache in no time.
We took the bus from Jean-Pierre Timbaud all the way to Gare Montparnasse for a wander through the really nice market there. It constantly amazes me how the French manage to find enough fresh produce to do a quality market in the middle of winter (it was even snowing, as they sold leeks, beets and potatoes). We spent a few minutes trying to find the excellent restaurant we ate in the last time we were in Paris but were obviously on the wrong street – it was one of those excellent Parisian 7-table tiny restaurants that the chef obviously opened because he loves serving quality food, rather than trying to make a fortune (unlike some of our celebrity chefs).
We enjoyed the sights and smells as we walked through the market – we hadn’t had breakfast and the cooking chickens and sausages made our mouths water. At the end of the market street was the main entrance for the Montparnasse cemetery (we’d done the Père Lachaise cemetery on a previous trip). We spent a little while wandering around looking at the ornate French sepulchres, coming across Serge Gainsbourg’s grave along the way (sort of a French version of late, great Jim Morrison, grave complete with flowers, poems, photos, drawing etc, much as Jims is in Père Lachaise).
Having had enough of gravestones and freaking COLD winds, we left the cemetery through the opposite entrance, looking for a restaurant Jamie had found in one of her guide books. Unfortunately, it had both changed names AND was closed, however up the road was an interesting market street with just about the largest supply of butchers I’ve ever seen in one place (Rue Daguerre in the 14th).
We spent probably a bit longer than is reasonable looking at the chopped up bits of former animals, then had lunch at La Chope Daguerre. The chef, or owner (its sometimes hard to tell) welcomed us in, gave us a seat, and suggested the poulet with the tone of a man who has purchased more of the special than he now expects to actually sell. In fact, the poulet was also recommended by the waitress, and with two suggestions, how could we refuse? €14 got us a ¼ chicken with girolles mushrooms, roasted potatoes sautéed in some sort of delicious fat, and a bit of salad. More than either of us could eat. And wine, of course.
We almost literally rolled out of the restaurant and across the street to a little shop selling various types of fresh pastas and sauces – we’d enjoyed the pasta so much the previous night that we decided to do it again. We bought another €12 of tortellini this time with a basil and tomato sauce. I was complimented on my French by the guy at the store (I have an odd Outaouais Quebec/Western Canadian accent that Parisians seem to find mostly incomprehensible – the Outaouais region is the bit of Quebec just northeast of Ottawa – a sort of Canadian farmer French, but it’s what I learned as a kid). I felt very proud that I was understood – usually I get a blank stare and confusion...
From the 14th, we took the metro to the Latin quarter for the trying on of hats and photography of tourists and shop owners (I was thinking of getting one of those giant fur hats with the ear-flaps as it was so bloody cold, but after trying a few on I realised that 1. I looked like a monumental twit and that 2. see point 1). Photos taken, streets wandered, massive hordes of people bumped into, restaurant touts trying to get us to eat their particular skewers of meat ignored, and we decided that we were thirsty (by day 7, I’m sure you’re detecting a theme to our travels).
We found a sympathetic cafe just outside the heaving masses and sat for a bit enjoying a cafe crème and a bit of wine, watching the scenery walk past. There are very few things in this world as relaxing as sitting in a French cafe in Paris watching the world walk past.
Post beverage, we decided that what we really needed was a bottle of wine, so we walked up the hill to our old stomping grounds just below the Pantheon on Rue Des Ecoles and specifically La Petite Périgourdine, where we’d spent far too many happy hours (and euros) over the past few years. Not much has changed at La Petite – a bit of a renovation from the first few times, but some of the waiters are the same, even after 6 years...
We took the bus back to our little garret, stopping at the Marche Franprix on the way to pick up a bottle of wine and 6 boxes of gavottes (only three for me, the others for co-workers back in London – seriously, they are spectacular and you must have them if you see them). Dinner was excellent as expected, followed by an evening of photo editing, writing, and packing.
After a week in Paris with nothing in particular to do and nothing in particular to see, at probably not the best time of year to be here, we’ve both decided (or re-affirmed more accurately) that we both love it here – Canada will always be where we’re from, and London is where we live, but I think France is where our hearts are and where our livers will probably eventually give out.
Friday, 1 January 2010
Day Six – Freezing on New Year’s Day
Paris Christmas 2009
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010
Day Six – Freezing on New Year’s Day
For some reason, we slept in until 11am this morning – it seems that the “City of Lights” becomes the “City that Never Bloody Sleeps, Yells A Lot, And Breaks Bottles All Bloody Night” on New Year’s Eve. We turned in at about 2:30, but I was hearing the festivities outside until at least 6am in the morning. Twits are twits the world over.
My MacGyver Solution #2 for coffee worked a bit better than the first try, but still wasn’t ideal. Plus, we’d forgotten to pick up breakfast supplies when we did our grocery shopping the other day, so we didn’t spend too much time in the garret before heading out.
First mission was supposed to be a snack and a coffee for me; however we instead had onion soup and wine at a cafe on Place de la Republic. Unfortunately the soup was actually a bit tasteless until we’d poured an unreasonable amount of salt into it – disappointing. The croque madame that the people beside us had looked lovely - wish we’d had that. We finished lunch (it was after noon, so the wine was permitted, although as Jimmy Buffet so rightly pointed out, it’s five o’clock somewhere...). The Metro took us quickly to Franklin D. Roosevelt.
The decision to tackle the Champs Elysees from the downhill side had been a strategic one – there would be loads of posh people out shopping we thought, and we’d end the walk up the hill with the Arc de Triomphe. We hadn’t, however, counted on the blistering cold or the fact that all the really posh people had done their shopping before Christmas – it was just us and the tourists freezing our butts off (we are clearly not tourists, we’re travellers, but not in the living in a caravan in a school field kind of way). Okay, it wasn’t actually that cold from a Canadian perspective, but we’ve been in London for a few years and have become soft and complacent, and unwilling to deal with sub-zero temperatures.
There wasn’t actually much to see on the street as it turned out. There wasn’t even much traffic on the Etoile so no near-misses or accidents to enjoy (watching heavy traffic at the Etoile is one of the greatest joys of Paris – quantum physicists could watch it to learn about complex relationships and it must send car insurance underwriters into convulsions just to think of it). We decided to find the most heavily touristed area of Paris – the Trocadero and the Eiffel Tower, being amazed on the walk down Rue Kleber by the detritus of the previous night’s festivities. Even the Russians got into the act, leaving an empty bottle of Russian champagne on the pavement.
The Trocadero didn’t disappoint, being fully congested with both bundled up tourists and the jingle-jangle men who follow them like flies do big piles of...well...you get the idea... (so named jingle-jangle men because of the sound their giant hoops of Eiffel Tower key chains make when they shake them). We spent some time taking photos of the Eiffel Tower and of people taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower (I like to think of them as meta photos) before walking down the stairs and across the bridge to the tower itself.
If you wonder what everyone in Paris does on a cold New Year’s day, evidently it’s go to the Eiffel Tower and stand in queues. We’ve never seen it so busy there – it was difficult to walk across from one side to the other – absolutely mental. We eventually made it across and tried to find a cafe for a warming cup of coffee – everything close to the tower was packed so we walked further and further away before walking past one with a spare table.
We sat down, unbundled, perused the menu and decided on a hot chocolate for me, a glass of wine for Jamie, and a slice of chocolate cake to share. The waiter was horrified – we were in the restaurant section and wanted just dessert? Madness, evidently. We were hustled off to a tiny table crammed into a corner, which we decided wasn’t quite what we were looking for.
We eventually found a cafe farther from the Eiffel Tower that was willing to let us have just a drink and dessert – it was actually just around the corner from Les Invalides. Great little place choc-a-bloc full of rugby memorabilia, including a huge supply of signed rugby balls and jerseys. We enjoyed a very tasty hot chocolate, wine, and cherry tarts (the French do tarts better than any nation in the world as far as I’m concerned, and I’m willing to forgive them just about anything based on this. That and the wine. And the food. And the architecture, and the people, and it goes on and on and on...).
Somewhat warmer we braved the frigid streets of Paris, heading towards the Metro and our return to the 11th for dinner and possibly wine (alright, almost definitely wine). A quick stop at one of the few open boulangerie for a baguette and some chouettes (little puffs of choux pastry dusted with a sugary crust – so tasty) and we were home. Dinner this evening included the aforementioned baguette and beef tortellini with ragu sauce we’d picked up the other day at the Italian market store. Very tasty. A quiet night in, but well-deserved after last night’s extravagance.
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010
Day Six – Freezing on New Year’s Day
For some reason, we slept in until 11am this morning – it seems that the “City of Lights” becomes the “City that Never Bloody Sleeps, Yells A Lot, And Breaks Bottles All Bloody Night” on New Year’s Eve. We turned in at about 2:30, but I was hearing the festivities outside until at least 6am in the morning. Twits are twits the world over.
My MacGyver Solution #2 for coffee worked a bit better than the first try, but still wasn’t ideal. Plus, we’d forgotten to pick up breakfast supplies when we did our grocery shopping the other day, so we didn’t spend too much time in the garret before heading out.
First mission was supposed to be a snack and a coffee for me; however we instead had onion soup and wine at a cafe on Place de la Republic. Unfortunately the soup was actually a bit tasteless until we’d poured an unreasonable amount of salt into it – disappointing. The croque madame that the people beside us had looked lovely - wish we’d had that. We finished lunch (it was after noon, so the wine was permitted, although as Jimmy Buffet so rightly pointed out, it’s five o’clock somewhere...). The Metro took us quickly to Franklin D. Roosevelt.
The decision to tackle the Champs Elysees from the downhill side had been a strategic one – there would be loads of posh people out shopping we thought, and we’d end the walk up the hill with the Arc de Triomphe. We hadn’t, however, counted on the blistering cold or the fact that all the really posh people had done their shopping before Christmas – it was just us and the tourists freezing our butts off (we are clearly not tourists, we’re travellers, but not in the living in a caravan in a school field kind of way). Okay, it wasn’t actually that cold from a Canadian perspective, but we’ve been in London for a few years and have become soft and complacent, and unwilling to deal with sub-zero temperatures.
There wasn’t actually much to see on the street as it turned out. There wasn’t even much traffic on the Etoile so no near-misses or accidents to enjoy (watching heavy traffic at the Etoile is one of the greatest joys of Paris – quantum physicists could watch it to learn about complex relationships and it must send car insurance underwriters into convulsions just to think of it). We decided to find the most heavily touristed area of Paris – the Trocadero and the Eiffel Tower, being amazed on the walk down Rue Kleber by the detritus of the previous night’s festivities. Even the Russians got into the act, leaving an empty bottle of Russian champagne on the pavement.
The Trocadero didn’t disappoint, being fully congested with both bundled up tourists and the jingle-jangle men who follow them like flies do big piles of...well...you get the idea... (so named jingle-jangle men because of the sound their giant hoops of Eiffel Tower key chains make when they shake them). We spent some time taking photos of the Eiffel Tower and of people taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower (I like to think of them as meta photos) before walking down the stairs and across the bridge to the tower itself.
If you wonder what everyone in Paris does on a cold New Year’s day, evidently it’s go to the Eiffel Tower and stand in queues. We’ve never seen it so busy there – it was difficult to walk across from one side to the other – absolutely mental. We eventually made it across and tried to find a cafe for a warming cup of coffee – everything close to the tower was packed so we walked further and further away before walking past one with a spare table.
We sat down, unbundled, perused the menu and decided on a hot chocolate for me, a glass of wine for Jamie, and a slice of chocolate cake to share. The waiter was horrified – we were in the restaurant section and wanted just dessert? Madness, evidently. We were hustled off to a tiny table crammed into a corner, which we decided wasn’t quite what we were looking for.
We eventually found a cafe farther from the Eiffel Tower that was willing to let us have just a drink and dessert – it was actually just around the corner from Les Invalides. Great little place choc-a-bloc full of rugby memorabilia, including a huge supply of signed rugby balls and jerseys. We enjoyed a very tasty hot chocolate, wine, and cherry tarts (the French do tarts better than any nation in the world as far as I’m concerned, and I’m willing to forgive them just about anything based on this. That and the wine. And the food. And the architecture, and the people, and it goes on and on and on...).
Somewhat warmer we braved the frigid streets of Paris, heading towards the Metro and our return to the 11th for dinner and possibly wine (alright, almost definitely wine). A quick stop at one of the few open boulangerie for a baguette and some chouettes (little puffs of choux pastry dusted with a sugary crust – so tasty) and we were home. Dinner this evening included the aforementioned baguette and beef tortellini with ragu sauce we’d picked up the other day at the Italian market store. Very tasty. A quiet night in, but well-deserved after last night’s extravagance.
Day Five – New Years in Paris
Paris Christmas 2009
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010
Day Five – New Years in Paris
We only managed to sleep in until 9:30 this morning before Jamie was up and ready to go. I wasn’t, after a long night listening to someone in our flat snore (here’s a hint, it wasn’t me), the girl in the flat next door talking on what I assume was a webcam, and the noise from outside. I was especially unenthusiastic as I’d accidently broken the coffee pot the evening before while washing the dishes, and would therefore have to McGuyver some sort of method of pouring hot water through coffee grounds and into a mug.
We packed up after an unsatisfying and slightly gritty cup of coffee and walked down to Republic, looking in all the bric a brak stores we could see looking for a replacement coffee machine – unsuccessfully.
We ended up taking the bus, rather than the metro as planned – it’s so much more interesting than the metro and generally as convenient, if not as fast. It dropped us off at Hotel de Ville, where we made one last attempt at coffee machine replacement at Darty (we saw a few on the way, but they were all too big – the one in the flat is a little 4-cup jobbie rather than a full 10 cup system – down to counter space).
We were both quite hungry and thirsty, and it was starting to drizzle, so we decided to find a cafe to sit and have some lunch and watch people walk past. What better place to watch people than in the Latin Quarter, so we had a really atrocious pichet of white wine and some quite good onion soup at one of the cafes in Place St Michel, being entertained by the Americans at one table and the Venezuelans at another attempt French.
By the time we’d finished the wine and soup, the drizzle had cleared, so we walked up to Luxembourg Gardens looking for interesting photo opportunities. Somehow the temperature had dropped from 14 degrees the prior day to just above freezing, and neither of us had really dressed for it – I froze in my t-shirt and jacket, and wished I’d worn the sweater I’d considered that morning. Jamie was much more stoic, as is often the case.
There weren’t many people in the gardens, not surprising I guess given the time of year and the weather. Plan B was the Musee D’Orsay, which we’ve never managed to get around to visiting on our previous five trips to Paris. When we got to the entrance we found all the people that should have been in the gardens – they had all chosen to stand in the largest queue I’ve ever seen in Paris (with the possible exception of the Eiffel Tower in summer). We quickly decided that just about the last thing we wanted to do was stand in a queue in the freezing cold when there were any number of conveniently located cafes which in addition to having wine, also had heat.
We found one on Blvd St Germain and enjoyed another pichet of wine. This time we found entertainment watching the endless stream of people walk past our little spot (Jamie taking endless random photos). While sitting the cafe, we couldn’t help but notice a busy patisserie right across the road, and the thought of a tasty éclair was enough to get us moving when the last of the wine disappeared. The éclair was bloody tasty.
The temperature had dropped even further, so we abandoned our plan of walking across Pont Alexandre III and went straight for the metro at Place de la Concorde instead. A brief stop at an Italian food store, and another at a wine shop, and our New Year’s day food prep was done (as well as my winter supply of quality Calvados). We dropped off the bags in the garret, I had a quick nap while Jamie cleaned up her photos.
Dinner plans for New Year’s Eve were based on recommendations from Fodors – a meal at Le Tastevin on Isle St Louis. We arrived for 8:30 and were greeted by an enthusiastic Annick and a slightly off-pitch singer warbling French classics with gusto, even if not generally in the same neighbourhood as the key (it all went pear-shaped when she tried to hit the high notes in My Heart Will Go On from Titanic – I think even Celine Dion has trouble with some of those). We sat down and checked out the menu, although both of us knew what we were going to have before we’d even arrived.
The Chateau Neuf de Pape was an excellent compliment to the meal – Coquilles St Jaques followed by Fillet de Beouf with foie gras and a truffle sauce for Jamie, and foie gras with truffle sauce followed by roasted venison with mashed chestnuts for me. We both then had a very tasty pear gratinee by Berthillion, then a very odd apple and camembert gratin – both ingredients individually are quite tasty, but don’t really go well together as it turns out.
The New Year’s countdown was extraordinarily odd – the music stopped a few minutes before midnight, someone counted down from five, a waiter popped one of the two giant balloons suspended from the ceiling filled with confetti, then the lights went out the other balloon was popped, then the lights came back on. Small glasses of champagne were handed out, then midnight passed. Overall, dinner was very good –the food was very well done and the atmosphere was really nice for a festive evening.
We headed out into the Parisian night, full to bursting with mostly wine and foie gras, extremely pleased with the year past (for the most part) and looking forward to a happy and prosperous 2010. Most of Paris seemed to be out and about having a good time. We made our way up our 101 steps (as tiring on day 5 as they were on day 1, although the volume we ate and drank may have had something to do with that) and had a final toast.
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010
Day Five – New Years in Paris
We only managed to sleep in until 9:30 this morning before Jamie was up and ready to go. I wasn’t, after a long night listening to someone in our flat snore (here’s a hint, it wasn’t me), the girl in the flat next door talking on what I assume was a webcam, and the noise from outside. I was especially unenthusiastic as I’d accidently broken the coffee pot the evening before while washing the dishes, and would therefore have to McGuyver some sort of method of pouring hot water through coffee grounds and into a mug.
We packed up after an unsatisfying and slightly gritty cup of coffee and walked down to Republic, looking in all the bric a brak stores we could see looking for a replacement coffee machine – unsuccessfully.
We ended up taking the bus, rather than the metro as planned – it’s so much more interesting than the metro and generally as convenient, if not as fast. It dropped us off at Hotel de Ville, where we made one last attempt at coffee machine replacement at Darty (we saw a few on the way, but they were all too big – the one in the flat is a little 4-cup jobbie rather than a full 10 cup system – down to counter space).
We were both quite hungry and thirsty, and it was starting to drizzle, so we decided to find a cafe to sit and have some lunch and watch people walk past. What better place to watch people than in the Latin Quarter, so we had a really atrocious pichet of white wine and some quite good onion soup at one of the cafes in Place St Michel, being entertained by the Americans at one table and the Venezuelans at another attempt French.
By the time we’d finished the wine and soup, the drizzle had cleared, so we walked up to Luxembourg Gardens looking for interesting photo opportunities. Somehow the temperature had dropped from 14 degrees the prior day to just above freezing, and neither of us had really dressed for it – I froze in my t-shirt and jacket, and wished I’d worn the sweater I’d considered that morning. Jamie was much more stoic, as is often the case.
There weren’t many people in the gardens, not surprising I guess given the time of year and the weather. Plan B was the Musee D’Orsay, which we’ve never managed to get around to visiting on our previous five trips to Paris. When we got to the entrance we found all the people that should have been in the gardens – they had all chosen to stand in the largest queue I’ve ever seen in Paris (with the possible exception of the Eiffel Tower in summer). We quickly decided that just about the last thing we wanted to do was stand in a queue in the freezing cold when there were any number of conveniently located cafes which in addition to having wine, also had heat.
We found one on Blvd St Germain and enjoyed another pichet of wine. This time we found entertainment watching the endless stream of people walk past our little spot (Jamie taking endless random photos). While sitting the cafe, we couldn’t help but notice a busy patisserie right across the road, and the thought of a tasty éclair was enough to get us moving when the last of the wine disappeared. The éclair was bloody tasty.
The temperature had dropped even further, so we abandoned our plan of walking across Pont Alexandre III and went straight for the metro at Place de la Concorde instead. A brief stop at an Italian food store, and another at a wine shop, and our New Year’s day food prep was done (as well as my winter supply of quality Calvados). We dropped off the bags in the garret, I had a quick nap while Jamie cleaned up her photos.
Dinner plans for New Year’s Eve were based on recommendations from Fodors – a meal at Le Tastevin on Isle St Louis. We arrived for 8:30 and were greeted by an enthusiastic Annick and a slightly off-pitch singer warbling French classics with gusto, even if not generally in the same neighbourhood as the key (it all went pear-shaped when she tried to hit the high notes in My Heart Will Go On from Titanic – I think even Celine Dion has trouble with some of those). We sat down and checked out the menu, although both of us knew what we were going to have before we’d even arrived.
The Chateau Neuf de Pape was an excellent compliment to the meal – Coquilles St Jaques followed by Fillet de Beouf with foie gras and a truffle sauce for Jamie, and foie gras with truffle sauce followed by roasted venison with mashed chestnuts for me. We both then had a very tasty pear gratinee by Berthillion, then a very odd apple and camembert gratin – both ingredients individually are quite tasty, but don’t really go well together as it turns out.
The New Year’s countdown was extraordinarily odd – the music stopped a few minutes before midnight, someone counted down from five, a waiter popped one of the two giant balloons suspended from the ceiling filled with confetti, then the lights went out the other balloon was popped, then the lights came back on. Small glasses of champagne were handed out, then midnight passed. Overall, dinner was very good –the food was very well done and the atmosphere was really nice for a festive evening.
We headed out into the Parisian night, full to bursting with mostly wine and foie gras, extremely pleased with the year past (for the most part) and looking forward to a happy and prosperous 2010. Most of Paris seemed to be out and about having a good time. We made our way up our 101 steps (as tiring on day 5 as they were on day 1, although the volume we ate and drank may have had something to do with that) and had a final toast.
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