Day Five
Met a wonderful black and white Siberian Husky dog this morning. She belongs to the owner of the guesthouse. She's called Milllfvággörrroósthfjürraxxyyzcc. Or something.
Signed the visitors book before we left (but after Operation Free Lunch). The entry before mine said only, in bold capitals: 'I AM FROM SOUTH KOREA'.
So maybe not quite so many Japanese as we'd thought.
Headed off west. Unfortunately it was grey and misty and the tops of the mountains were obscured, but the scenery is desolate and beautiful.
I'm reading a book called Burial Rites, by Hannah Kent, an Australian. I heard about it on the radio a few weeks ago. It's a novel based on a true story and set in Iceland in the 1820s. It's really good. We do a very small detour and drive up the valley it's set in - this is fantastic! The five farmsteads it's based around in the wide, bleak Vatnsdalshar vale are still there. I wonder how many non-Icelandic people who read that book will be privileged enough to visit its setting. None, probably. If my mind wasn't already blown, it is now.
Continue across the north west. We pass unbelievably remote farms occasionally. They all have enormous farm buildings as they have to keep their animals (sheep and ponies mainly) housed all winter. We see a reindeer.
Reach the western area and visit another crazy waterfall - this time a load of underwater rivers emerge from somewhere beneath the brilliant orange and rust of birch trees. There are literally no health and safety precautions - a slack rope has been fixed either side of the path, with signs asking people to keep off the flora, and at the end of the path the ropes disappear and you find yourself teetering on the edge of a precipitous drop over an immense waterfall. This attitude, opposite to our own 'blame culture', makes me chuckle.
'Feel free to fall to your certain agonising death, idiots, but DON'T WALK ON OUR LICHEN.'
Check in to hotel in Reykolt, a small village where Snorri Sturluson lived. Never heard of Snorri Sturluson, but apparently he was a literary big shot in 12th century Europe. It's a national chain hotel, immediately rendering it soulless and money grabbing and I have to buy 24 hours of Internet connection for 7000 Krona (means nothing to me, but sounds expensive).
It stops working just as I'm doing some VERY IMPORTANT FACEBOOK. Rich goes to investigate and turns out there's this superfit hunk from England doing some endurance training thing and Sky TV are doing some news feature on him, and they HAVE to download or upload something VERY important, using up ALL the Internet. Hmmm. I track down superhunk (who is enormous and quite hot actually) and confront him, accusing him of breaking the Internet. The sight of a crazed, slightly squiffy and obviously mad Welsh woman wearing a kaftan in a remote Icelandic valley is too much for him and he takes fright and literally runs away. I return to our room, cackling maniacally, and there's a timid knock on the door. A frightened looking producer apologises profusely and asks if I'm open to bribery. This is what he actually said. I immediately lose my advantage and the upper hand by bursting out laughing. I let him off but warn him that if my article (travel blog) doesn't get to the publishers (Facebook) by the deadline (time I'm too pissed to focus) then I'll be cross.
As it happens they only take an hour, hogging the interwebs, and the hotel refund us the 7000 Krona. Result.
Day Six
Head south towards Reykyavik, veering off inland to the Thingvillar National Park. This is on the Mid Atlantic Fault Line and there is a vast Rift Valley between the cliff-like American and Eurasion tectonic plates. It's pretty amazing to see. Weirdly this was also the site of the first democratically elected Icelandic parliament in 960AD. I think this is very suspicious. They wouldn't have known the significance of the 'cliffs' and yet they chose this area over all the other weird and wonderful (and a lot handier) Icelandic locations. Spooky. We go for a long trek around yet more amazing waterfalls and creepy flooded fissures, before heading back to the car for Operation Free Lunch.
En route to Reykyavik we stop at Alafoss, where they make wool. I want to buy some Icelandic wool and make one of those Fair Isle type jumpers (which cost about £200 here). However, when I eventually get the chance (after many missed turnings and direction-seeking stops) I decide it's too course and scratchy and I can't bear the feel of it between my fingers. Richard slightly exasperated.
Welcomed to Reykyavik with blue skies and brilliant low sunshine. We climb the cathedral tower to get our bearings and are stunned by the prettiness of colourful Reykyavik. Lovely supper, spoilt a bit by noticing Minke Whale on the menu, which makes me cross. Early night in our rather posh hotel, attempting to get through the wine we brought with us from UK, and punctuated by Rich popping out to look for the Northern Lights. No luck tonight. Maybe tomorrow.
Saturday, 28 September 2013
Wednesday, 25 September 2013
Iceland - Days 3&4
Day 3
Woke up alive, which was a relief. Was power cut in hotel at breakfast so no coffee or orange juice (it came out of a machine) so made extra large 'Operation Free Lunch' sandwiches to compensate for the inconvenience.
Continued our journey east on Route One, south of the massive (actual size of Yorkshire) Vatnajökull Glacier. Completely amazing to see ACTUAL glaciers in ACTUAL glacial valleys, just like in geography 'O' level. Cannot come to terms with it at all. They're sort of sliding, imperceptibly slowly, down the valleys - many miles wide and deep, just like candle wax. It's not snowy or icy elsewhere by the way. Just the glacier, on top of the volcanoes like the icing on the cake. In places the glacial 'tongues', as they're called (and they do look like giant icy tongues), almost reach the road. We drive past a particularly large one, in the distance to our left, with the sea on our right, and at Jökulsárlón we notice a pathway over the bank of rocks at the side of the road. We park up and clamber over the rocks and LO AND BEHOLD! A MASSIVE lake FILLED with blue and white icebergs! We stand and stare, and it's completely silent except the eery creaking of the ice and our exclamations of disbelief. It's like we just happened upon another planet.
Back on the road, we follow the coastal road towards the Eastern Fjords, with a brief detour to the lighthouse at Stokknes with the hope of spotting seals. No luck. Too bloody cold for seals. At Hofn the road takes us through a tunnel in the mountain and when we emerge the other side we find ourselves in a completely different country. Glorious sunshine reflects off the deep blue sparkly waters of the Eastern Fjords. Blinded by the low sun we have to find our sunglasses ffs. It's mental.
In and out, in and out, in and out of the fjords we drive, occasionally passing through a village, consisting of about half a dozen very colourful pre-fabricated houses. It's really beautiful. Similar to the Scottish Highlands (crossed with Lanzarote with a big glacial cherry on top).
Then up and over the mountains - we suddenly find ourselves in a snowscape - before descending into the Lagarfljót valley and a little guest house at Egilsstadir in the north east of Iceland.
Guest house doesn't have many facilities. Unlike most places, there's no 'hot pot' (similar to a hot tub but without the chlorine, bubbles or tasteless nouveau riche) and no restaurant. We have dinner in a wonderful restaurant over-looking the river, that was recommended by the guesthouse owner. It's in an old, very grand farm house, with starched table linen, crystal glasses and fabulous artwork on the walls. I have lobster soup and a stupendous fish dish. Rich has smoked goose and lamb. We share a bottle of Chianti and the whole thing comes to about £80. I say this only because Iceland has a reputation for being prohibitively expensive, but since the banks collapsed in 2009 it's actually on a par with UK. Expensive yes, but no more than the UK.
And it was a FABULOUS meal, dahhhling. FABULOUS.
Day 4
Woke feeling a little jaded. The cold tap water here is the most pure and refreshing water I've ever tasted. The hot tap water is 40 degrees and stinks of sulphur. This is a good thing because it means you can fart 'til you're blue in the face and no one points a finger at you. Not that *I* do, of course. But YOU could.
Sunshine and blue skies today. We set off, heading west, climbing up the valley. It's all oranges and browns and blues. Half an hour later and we're in a monochromatic ash- and snow-scape. It's just black and white. Not even any greys. This country is so weird. We can't work out whether the weather is changing or whether it's just entirely different in different parts of the country. Bit of both, probably.
Continue west over the mountains for a couple of hours then take sharp left, heading north up to Krafla and Leirhnjukar - a couple of volcanoes. Is mad up there. Sulphurous steam bubbles out of holes and rifts in the ground and icy snow drifts accumulate elsewhere. Having spent so many hours sitting in the car we decide to trek to the top of the still-active Leirhnjukar volcano. There's virtually no-one around as we're off-season, but the few we see are kitted out in hiking boots and appropriate cold-weather gear. They keep looking at us funny and sniggering. Okay, so I'm wearing jeans and a Topshop coat, I do at least have a pair of sheepskin boots on. Rich is wearing daps ffs. Anyway, we do it, and it's brilliant, and Rich tries to put smoking volcano out by weeing in the crater, and we get lost on the way back down, but we don't die. So. Hah. Stupid British Tourists 1, Rest of the World 0.
Eat our well-earned Operation Free Lunch sandwiches in the car then descend to Myvatn, a massive lake surrounded by weird volcanic stuff, then on to some more amazing waterfalls and then further west to Eyjafjordur - a fjord on the north coast of Iceland. We're staying in a 'country hotel' which is actually a guest house on a farm on the east coast of the fjord. Off season so no supper available here but owner directs us to restaurant in nearby Akureyri (second largest town in Iceland and about the size of Monmouth).
Lovely meal in the fifth floor restaurant overlooking the fjord. Realise we've not had any vegetables since we arrived. Also there's an awful lot of Japanese people here. And 66 golf courses. SIXTY-SIX! The total population is only 300,000 and it's dark for half the year. This country is really weird.
Woke up alive, which was a relief. Was power cut in hotel at breakfast so no coffee or orange juice (it came out of a machine) so made extra large 'Operation Free Lunch' sandwiches to compensate for the inconvenience.
Continued our journey east on Route One, south of the massive (actual size of Yorkshire) Vatnajökull Glacier. Completely amazing to see ACTUAL glaciers in ACTUAL glacial valleys, just like in geography 'O' level. Cannot come to terms with it at all. They're sort of sliding, imperceptibly slowly, down the valleys - many miles wide and deep, just like candle wax. It's not snowy or icy elsewhere by the way. Just the glacier, on top of the volcanoes like the icing on the cake. In places the glacial 'tongues', as they're called (and they do look like giant icy tongues), almost reach the road. We drive past a particularly large one, in the distance to our left, with the sea on our right, and at Jökulsárlón we notice a pathway over the bank of rocks at the side of the road. We park up and clamber over the rocks and LO AND BEHOLD! A MASSIVE lake FILLED with blue and white icebergs! We stand and stare, and it's completely silent except the eery creaking of the ice and our exclamations of disbelief. It's like we just happened upon another planet.
Back on the road, we follow the coastal road towards the Eastern Fjords, with a brief detour to the lighthouse at Stokknes with the hope of spotting seals. No luck. Too bloody cold for seals. At Hofn the road takes us through a tunnel in the mountain and when we emerge the other side we find ourselves in a completely different country. Glorious sunshine reflects off the deep blue sparkly waters of the Eastern Fjords. Blinded by the low sun we have to find our sunglasses ffs. It's mental.
In and out, in and out, in and out of the fjords we drive, occasionally passing through a village, consisting of about half a dozen very colourful pre-fabricated houses. It's really beautiful. Similar to the Scottish Highlands (crossed with Lanzarote with a big glacial cherry on top).
Then up and over the mountains - we suddenly find ourselves in a snowscape - before descending into the Lagarfljót valley and a little guest house at Egilsstadir in the north east of Iceland.
Guest house doesn't have many facilities. Unlike most places, there's no 'hot pot' (similar to a hot tub but without the chlorine, bubbles or tasteless nouveau riche) and no restaurant. We have dinner in a wonderful restaurant over-looking the river, that was recommended by the guesthouse owner. It's in an old, very grand farm house, with starched table linen, crystal glasses and fabulous artwork on the walls. I have lobster soup and a stupendous fish dish. Rich has smoked goose and lamb. We share a bottle of Chianti and the whole thing comes to about £80. I say this only because Iceland has a reputation for being prohibitively expensive, but since the banks collapsed in 2009 it's actually on a par with UK. Expensive yes, but no more than the UK.
And it was a FABULOUS meal, dahhhling. FABULOUS.
Day 4
Woke feeling a little jaded. The cold tap water here is the most pure and refreshing water I've ever tasted. The hot tap water is 40 degrees and stinks of sulphur. This is a good thing because it means you can fart 'til you're blue in the face and no one points a finger at you. Not that *I* do, of course. But YOU could.
Sunshine and blue skies today. We set off, heading west, climbing up the valley. It's all oranges and browns and blues. Half an hour later and we're in a monochromatic ash- and snow-scape. It's just black and white. Not even any greys. This country is so weird. We can't work out whether the weather is changing or whether it's just entirely different in different parts of the country. Bit of both, probably.
Continue west over the mountains for a couple of hours then take sharp left, heading north up to Krafla and Leirhnjukar - a couple of volcanoes. Is mad up there. Sulphurous steam bubbles out of holes and rifts in the ground and icy snow drifts accumulate elsewhere. Having spent so many hours sitting in the car we decide to trek to the top of the still-active Leirhnjukar volcano. There's virtually no-one around as we're off-season, but the few we see are kitted out in hiking boots and appropriate cold-weather gear. They keep looking at us funny and sniggering. Okay, so I'm wearing jeans and a Topshop coat, I do at least have a pair of sheepskin boots on. Rich is wearing daps ffs. Anyway, we do it, and it's brilliant, and Rich tries to put smoking volcano out by weeing in the crater, and we get lost on the way back down, but we don't die. So. Hah. Stupid British Tourists 1, Rest of the World 0.
Eat our well-earned Operation Free Lunch sandwiches in the car then descend to Myvatn, a massive lake surrounded by weird volcanic stuff, then on to some more amazing waterfalls and then further west to Eyjafjordur - a fjord on the north coast of Iceland. We're staying in a 'country hotel' which is actually a guest house on a farm on the east coast of the fjord. Off season so no supper available here but owner directs us to restaurant in nearby Akureyri (second largest town in Iceland and about the size of Monmouth).
Lovely meal in the fifth floor restaurant overlooking the fjord. Realise we've not had any vegetables since we arrived. Also there's an awful lot of Japanese people here. And 66 golf courses. SIXTY-SIX! The total population is only 300,000 and it's dark for half the year. This country is really weird.
Tuesday, 24 September 2013
Iceland Days 1&2
Day One
As we haven't had a holiday this year - because we're trying (and failing) to sell our house and move to Portugal, thereby making every day a holiday - we decided on a last minute adventure road trip somewhere or other. I decided on Iceland because I've always wanted to go and I suspected that if we don't go now, we never will. We captured Holly and Grace after their summer galavanting around rural Bulgaria and made them stay at home to look after the animals and off we went.
Arrived in Keflavik (an hour west of Reykjavik) mid afternoon, picked up a hire car and headed south, the plan being to drive around the whole of Iceland in an anticlockwise direction.
First stop was the well-known Blue Lagoon. It's only about 15 minutes from the airport and we were driving past so we decided to have a look, although we'd already decided to visit it properly on our last day before a late afternoon flight home.
The lagoon itself is a wonder of nature - completely BONKERS pale blue, opaque water amongst the black volcanic rock. Gazing through at the steamy public bathing area, I was reminded of Centre Parcs, Longleat, circa 1999, but without the white water rapids. This isn't necessarily a good thing but I shall reserve judgement until I've had the full experience.
Drove on south to the coast then headed east, then inland at Porlakshöen, and up to Hveragerdi, where we spent our first night. 'Hver' means 'hot spring' and there is an actual HOT river that runs through the town. Use is made of this to grow tropical fruit and vegetables and the town is full of huge glowing greenhouses. We stayed in a small hotel/guesthouse which was actually ON the hot river. Our timber-floored room had a balcony over-looking the river, and steam spurted out of holes and cracks in the ground on the banks. We ate supper in the little restaurant - fish gratin - then donned our swimming gear and ran outside. Beneath our balcony was a 38 degree C hot-tub and under our room was a steam room. Not a posh spa kind of steam room - an authentic one, made of stone and accessed via an outside door, with crumbly walls and sulphurous steam spurting and gurgling from a hole in the corner in an entirely unpredictable and alarming way. With the outside temperature about 6 degrees,two glasses of red on board, and the river thundering by in the darkness, it was BONKERS.
Day Two
Lovely breakfast, with the option to take an egg outside in a little net thing on the end of a fishing rod thing and cook it yourself by dangling it in a steam hole underground for 4 minutes. Declined the offer. Launched 'Operation Free Lunch' which involved surreptitiously building ham and cheese sandwiches and hiding them up my jumper for us to eat later in the car. Huge success. Should add (for the trolls) that no way was this stealing - we have small appetites compared to most and never get our money's worth at buffet-type breakfasts.
Drove up the Hvitá valley to Geysir. Hilarious that Richard was so surprised and delighted by this. The big Geysir, after which all geysers are named, erupts unpredictably, but its neighbour Strokkur erupts every 5-10 minutes. We watched it erupt 4 times, Richard's whoops of joy and peals of laughter undiminished each time. BONKERS.
Continued up the valley to Gullfoss (Golden Falls). Incredible double water-fall down into hidden ravine that took us both by surprise, especially the refreshing lack of health and safety precautions.
Was really cold up there. Rich beginning to regret bringing no hat, no gloves, no scarf and just a moleskin jacket. To Iceland. ICEland.
Drove back down the valley and then up the next one, apparently the longest glacial valley in Europe. Apart from great views of Hekla - a volcano once thought to be the literal gateway to Hell - this proved to be a mistake. Vast plains of lava for miles in every direction and the road turned into a gravel road halfway which meant driving 26 km at 15 mph.
Rejoined Route 1, the circular route around Iceland, and headed east along the south coast. Stopped at two more spectacular waterfalls, both of which cascaded off the foothills of the Eyjafjalla volvano - that's the fecker that kept us stranded in India in 2010. Then on past Katla, its neighbour and big brother volcano, that historically always erupts shortly after Eyjafjalla. Look out, Europe, she's gonna blow any minute. It's covered in a huge glacier and glacial fingers drape down the valleys like melting wax. Rich and I try to outdo each other by coming out with geographical terms we remember from 'O' level geography. I lose when I point to a pile of rocks and say 'tundra'. Apparently. Although I'm still not convinced.
On to Dyrhólaey, the southernmost tip of Iceland. Spectacular. Black sands. Fierce winds. Biting cold. And NO PUFFINS. Bitterly disappointed. I love puffins.
Back on route 1 and headed east. Vast desolate ash plains for ten miles to our right and five miles to our left and a two hour drive across it to our next destination. Needed petrol. Or was it diesel? Didn't say anywhere. Checked hire car document - 'diesel' box definitely crossed. Diesel pump wouldn't fit in tank. Concluded it must be petrol DESPITE WHAT DOCUMENTATION SAID. Set off across deserted vast plains in the failing light and driving rain, convinced car going to conk out and we'd be stranded (and bankrupted) and probably die. Like a couple of idiots. But we did it anyway. Phewee. It's seemingly a petrol car and documentation is wrong. Convinced now that car hire company did it on purpose because we refused to take out extra insurance. Bastards.
Eventually found hotel at Hoff. The Hoff Hotel. Nestled in the foothills of Vatnajökull, the biggest glacier in Europe, looking out over 10 miles of ash, and in the middle of absolutely nowhere, it reminded me A LOT of the hotel in The Shining.
Arrived at 7pm and restaurant was 'shut'. Only place to eat was back at Skaftafell - a petrol station about 20 km back the way we came. Had cheeseburger and chips in typical Icelandic fashion, bought a hat for Rich, then returned to our hotel. Fortunately we have a box of wine in our suitcase as at time of writing am convinced can hear child tricycling around the corridors and am fully expecting 'Jonny' to make an unforgettable entrance with an axe.
Monday, 18 June 2012
Day 6 Oporto
Last night we went to a restaurant called 17 Degrees which is on the top of a tower which is the hotel Dom Enrique. To get there we went the other way up the road of which our apartment is at one end. Turns out our apartment is on Brothel Street. Haha! Who knew?
Fabulous views over the city from the restaurant, and had the best meal of the holiday. Wrote a little thank you letter to the chef.
Today we wandered about parts of Oporto we hadn't yet seen then had lunch - sardines! - down by the river. Got ripped off but what the hell. Afterwards we sprawled on a wall in the sun to wait for a boat trip up and down the river. Someone suddenly threw a can of white paint all over us. When I say 'someone' I mean 'a seagull'. Good luck, my arse.
Childishly barged our way through the tourists getting on the boat so we could nab the best seats - outside and in the bow. Froze for a bit in the onshore winds then sheepishly abandoned our prime position and went inside. Lovely view of the city from the river.
Crossed the big bridge to explore the other side, where all the port caves are. Looked round and saw Holly embracing a young man.
'Blimey,' I thought, confused, 'Seagull poo really is lucky for some!'
Turned out it was a friend of hers from college. Spooky bizarre small world innit?
Endured a tour around one of the port caves in return for the free 'tastes' (white is lovely, ruby is better) then walked home. When I say 'walked' I mean 'dragged our carcasses up 2789 steps'.
Tonight we eat in and chill and drink port. Tomorrow we catch a train back to Lisbon, from where I fly back to rainy Wales and Holly gets a bus to Odeceixe to help build arty-farty stuff on an Eco-farm for three weeks, or some such jammy nonsense.
The youth of today, eh? What would I do without them....?
Fabulous views over the city from the restaurant, and had the best meal of the holiday. Wrote a little thank you letter to the chef.
Today we wandered about parts of Oporto we hadn't yet seen then had lunch - sardines! - down by the river. Got ripped off but what the hell. Afterwards we sprawled on a wall in the sun to wait for a boat trip up and down the river. Someone suddenly threw a can of white paint all over us. When I say 'someone' I mean 'a seagull'. Good luck, my arse.
Childishly barged our way through the tourists getting on the boat so we could nab the best seats - outside and in the bow. Froze for a bit in the onshore winds then sheepishly abandoned our prime position and went inside. Lovely view of the city from the river.
Crossed the big bridge to explore the other side, where all the port caves are. Looked round and saw Holly embracing a young man.
'Blimey,' I thought, confused, 'Seagull poo really is lucky for some!'
Turned out it was a friend of hers from college. Spooky bizarre small world innit?
Endured a tour around one of the port caves in return for the free 'tastes' (white is lovely, ruby is better) then walked home. When I say 'walked' I mean 'dragged our carcasses up 2789 steps'.
Tonight we eat in and chill and drink port. Tomorrow we catch a train back to Lisbon, from where I fly back to rainy Wales and Holly gets a bus to Odeceixe to help build arty-farty stuff on an Eco-farm for three weeks, or some such jammy nonsense.
The youth of today, eh? What would I do without them....?
Sunday, 17 June 2012
Day 4/5 Oporto
Got on a train to Oporto. Three hour journey up the coast. We both fell asleep.
Found our apartment -€30/night - bloody bargain. Nice one Holz.
Headed down to the river and had a beer watching the little boats sailing up and down. Wandered about the cobbled streets. Architecture fabulous, although more dusty and crumbly than Lisbon. There's more poverty, and certainly more port casualties, in Oporto, than in Lisbon.
Just so happens that there was a huge vintage fair on today (coincidence Holly?). Holly apoplectic with joy. She bought a funky pair of shoes for €2. Annoyingly, she keeps spontaneously exclaiming 'TWO EUROS!' whenever there's a lull in the conversation.
Tried to find grocery store for teabags, bread, milk etc. They don't have one.
Went out for supper. Aperitif of White Port in a bar was cut short by a wino who was mesmerised by Holly. Mesmerised. Had to leave when he tried to touch her legs, as I don't know the Portuguese for 'Enough! Now fuck off...'
Brilliant meal in super-trendy (but not expensive) restaurant Holly 'knew' about (Café Vitoria), then on to an über-cool bar (É Prá Poncha). Über-cool until we walked in anyway. After a couple of Mojitos Holly started doing yoga poses on the dance floor. We left after the Downward Facing Dog Fannyfarts incident.
Eventually found the other bar she wanted to go to - The MouseHaus - on 4th floor above a multi-story carpark which served LETHAL V&Ts. She's a pretty good tour guide, my daughter. I recommend her.
Slept very well.
This morning Holz went off in search of a grocery store again and returned empty handed, so we had Turkish coffee, stale bread and an old cucumber that we'd brought from Lisbon for breakfast.
The plan was to go to Foz, the beach district, and chill on the beach all day. Fat chance with Holly about. We couldn't work out which stupid bus to catch so we got a taxi to drop us at Serralves, a contemporary art gallery with fantastic gardens, and after trudging around there for an hour we walked further west to Foz. It started to rain so we found a lovely glass walled restaurant on the beach and had a long lunch. The sun came out so we thought we'd have coffee on the decking area outside, which was strewn with giant beanbags and beautiful people. I caught my toe on the top step and tripped, sprawling prostate on the floor in the middle of them all. For a moment I considered pretending to be dead. I thought Holly was going to asphyxiate with laughter. She's still chuckling now, the bloody little witch.
Limped up the long stretch of beach, which is lovely, to Fort de Sâo Francisco Xavier, where I got to lie on the sand and chill for 30 seconds, before we caught the bus back into town.
I wonder where we're going tonight?
Found our apartment -€30/night - bloody bargain. Nice one Holz.
Headed down to the river and had a beer watching the little boats sailing up and down. Wandered about the cobbled streets. Architecture fabulous, although more dusty and crumbly than Lisbon. There's more poverty, and certainly more port casualties, in Oporto, than in Lisbon.
Just so happens that there was a huge vintage fair on today (coincidence Holly?). Holly apoplectic with joy. She bought a funky pair of shoes for €2. Annoyingly, she keeps spontaneously exclaiming 'TWO EUROS!' whenever there's a lull in the conversation.
Tried to find grocery store for teabags, bread, milk etc. They don't have one.
Went out for supper. Aperitif of White Port in a bar was cut short by a wino who was mesmerised by Holly. Mesmerised. Had to leave when he tried to touch her legs, as I don't know the Portuguese for 'Enough! Now fuck off...'
Brilliant meal in super-trendy (but not expensive) restaurant Holly 'knew' about (Café Vitoria), then on to an über-cool bar (É Prá Poncha). Über-cool until we walked in anyway. After a couple of Mojitos Holly started doing yoga poses on the dance floor. We left after the Downward Facing Dog Fannyfarts incident.
Eventually found the other bar she wanted to go to - The MouseHaus - on 4th floor above a multi-story carpark which served LETHAL V&Ts. She's a pretty good tour guide, my daughter. I recommend her.
Slept very well.
This morning Holz went off in search of a grocery store again and returned empty handed, so we had Turkish coffee, stale bread and an old cucumber that we'd brought from Lisbon for breakfast.
The plan was to go to Foz, the beach district, and chill on the beach all day. Fat chance with Holly about. We couldn't work out which stupid bus to catch so we got a taxi to drop us at Serralves, a contemporary art gallery with fantastic gardens, and after trudging around there for an hour we walked further west to Foz. It started to rain so we found a lovely glass walled restaurant on the beach and had a long lunch. The sun came out so we thought we'd have coffee on the decking area outside, which was strewn with giant beanbags and beautiful people. I caught my toe on the top step and tripped, sprawling prostate on the floor in the middle of them all. For a moment I considered pretending to be dead. I thought Holly was going to asphyxiate with laughter. She's still chuckling now, the bloody little witch.
Limped up the long stretch of beach, which is lovely, to Fort de Sâo Francisco Xavier, where I got to lie on the sand and chill for 30 seconds, before we caught the bus back into town.
I wonder where we're going tonight?
Friday, 15 June 2012
Day 3 Lisbon with Holz
Lovely meal and cocktails at the funky Pharmacia restaurant last night - I drank a Placebo, which was a misnomer, to say the least, and Holly had a Morphia. Then to a bar in Cais do Sodré called Pensoa Amor which used to be a brothel and is still decorated as such. Loved it. And the Long Island Iced Teas.
Today we got up early for a trip to Sintra, a National Park to the west of Lisbon. Got picked up at 9 by Marco and his van from the We Hate Tourism Tours company - he zoomed into the square beeping his horn and doing the peace sign at us as he whizzed around the roundabout and we knew it was going to be a good day. Marco is a photographer with manic enthusiasm and an endearing tic. He asked what I did for a job.
'Deesgusting! Deesgusting! Deesgusting! Deesgusting! DeesGUSTING!' he said. 'Hey! Lemmee ask you one question.. How crazy ARE you?!'
Not as crazy as your driving, mate, I thought.
We stopped in the village of Sintra - very pretty - and had a shot of ginginha (a cherry brandy) in a chocolate cup - then visited the Quinta Da Regaleira which is a magnificent estate tarted up by an eccentric millionaire. Reminded me of Port Meirion, a bit. The gardens are like something from Tolkein, with underground grottoes and waterfalls and a subterranean tower the size of the one in Pisa. Completely magical. Inside the house we climbed a very narrow stone spiral stairway to a tiny turret and at the top there were three members of a Lithuanian Chapter of the Hells Angels. THAT was a surprise. Turns out there's an international Harley Davidson convention at nearby Cascais and the area is TEEMING with fat hairy bikers with teeny weeny peenies. Yuck.
Had a picnic lunch under some trees at a waterfall - Marcos provided bread and chorizo and cheese and olives and wine and it was lovely.
At Cabo da Roca, which is the Western-most point of Europe, Holly and I climbed over a wall on the cliff and did a wee. Marking our European territory, like, innit.
Stopped at the beach at Praia do Guincho and watched the crazy surfers for a bit, then on to Cascais for 'zee best ice cream in zee WORLD!'. He was right - it was.
Back east through Estoril which has the most ENORMOUS casino, which was, apparently, the inspiration for Casino Royale, and then back along the coast to Belém where Marcos procured Pastel de Nata - a cinnamon flavoured custard tart for which Belém is famous.
Great day. Chilling tonight as we're off to Oporto tomorrow.
Today we got up early for a trip to Sintra, a National Park to the west of Lisbon. Got picked up at 9 by Marco and his van from the We Hate Tourism Tours company - he zoomed into the square beeping his horn and doing the peace sign at us as he whizzed around the roundabout and we knew it was going to be a good day. Marco is a photographer with manic enthusiasm and an endearing tic. He asked what I did for a job.
'Deesgusting! Deesgusting! Deesgusting! Deesgusting! DeesGUSTING!' he said. 'Hey! Lemmee ask you one question.. How crazy ARE you?!'
Not as crazy as your driving, mate, I thought.
We stopped in the village of Sintra - very pretty - and had a shot of ginginha (a cherry brandy) in a chocolate cup - then visited the Quinta Da Regaleira which is a magnificent estate tarted up by an eccentric millionaire. Reminded me of Port Meirion, a bit. The gardens are like something from Tolkein, with underground grottoes and waterfalls and a subterranean tower the size of the one in Pisa. Completely magical. Inside the house we climbed a very narrow stone spiral stairway to a tiny turret and at the top there were three members of a Lithuanian Chapter of the Hells Angels. THAT was a surprise. Turns out there's an international Harley Davidson convention at nearby Cascais and the area is TEEMING with fat hairy bikers with teeny weeny peenies. Yuck.
Had a picnic lunch under some trees at a waterfall - Marcos provided bread and chorizo and cheese and olives and wine and it was lovely.
At Cabo da Roca, which is the Western-most point of Europe, Holly and I climbed over a wall on the cliff and did a wee. Marking our European territory, like, innit.
Stopped at the beach at Praia do Guincho and watched the crazy surfers for a bit, then on to Cascais for 'zee best ice cream in zee WORLD!'. He was right - it was.
Back east through Estoril which has the most ENORMOUS casino, which was, apparently, the inspiration for Casino Royale, and then back along the coast to Belém where Marcos procured Pastel de Nata - a cinnamon flavoured custard tart for which Belém is famous.
Great day. Chilling tonight as we're off to Oporto tomorrow.
Thursday, 14 June 2012
Lisbon with Holz, Day 2
Went out for dinner last night in an amazing circus-act-supporting place with funky decor and fabulous views, on the other side of town, that Holly 'knew' about. Was lovely. Mojitos, tapas and a bottle of wine. Not sure if it was the combination of all of the above
but things went a bit strange after that. These three gurning drug dealers arrived and they sat gurning at each other intensely, and their presence upset the staff who went to pieces and refused to get our bill for us and were tripping each other up and stuff, and Holly lost her ring. I may have remembered all that wrong.
Took charge of the map because I was convinced there was a shorter route back home. Forgot that Holly is my daughter and therefore won't be told. Battle of wills ensued. Got very lost. Map got thrown on floor and stamped on. Strangers got involved. Tried, and failed, to pull the Parent card. Ah well, we got there in the end. Stubborn little witch. Can't think WHERE she gets it from.
Builders next door started banging things at 8am! Bastards. Accidentally showed everyone on the tram my foof as I stood on balcony inspecting the weather. Eventually got our acts together and got on a tram headed west. Accidentally didn't buy a ticket, although we did try but it was too complicated. Result! Got off at Alcântara and wandered around the LX Factory - a huge arty-farty reclamation of old factories. Found best bookshop ever which had integral bar and coffee shop. Walked west along river front and ate our sandwiches under the mahoosive Pont 25 De Abril, then continued walking west for miiiiiles until we got to Belém. Nice place, nice old monastery. Had beer in sunshine then went to the Berardo Collection - a modern art gallery, most of which I didn't understand but Holly did. I liked it anyway. Well, most of it.
Knackered, we got back on a tram and figured out how to buy a ticket which was just as well because the ticket inspectors got on and nabbed the people who didn't. Hah! Stupid tourists.
but things went a bit strange after that. These three gurning drug dealers arrived and they sat gurning at each other intensely, and their presence upset the staff who went to pieces and refused to get our bill for us and were tripping each other up and stuff, and Holly lost her ring. I may have remembered all that wrong.
Took charge of the map because I was convinced there was a shorter route back home. Forgot that Holly is my daughter and therefore won't be told. Battle of wills ensued. Got very lost. Map got thrown on floor and stamped on. Strangers got involved. Tried, and failed, to pull the Parent card. Ah well, we got there in the end. Stubborn little witch. Can't think WHERE she gets it from.
Builders next door started banging things at 8am! Bastards. Accidentally showed everyone on the tram my foof as I stood on balcony inspecting the weather. Eventually got our acts together and got on a tram headed west. Accidentally didn't buy a ticket, although we did try but it was too complicated. Result! Got off at Alcântara and wandered around the LX Factory - a huge arty-farty reclamation of old factories. Found best bookshop ever which had integral bar and coffee shop. Walked west along river front and ate our sandwiches under the mahoosive Pont 25 De Abril, then continued walking west for miiiiiles until we got to Belém. Nice place, nice old monastery. Had beer in sunshine then went to the Berardo Collection - a modern art gallery, most of which I didn't understand but Holly did. I liked it anyway. Well, most of it.
Knackered, we got back on a tram and figured out how to buy a ticket which was just as well because the ticket inspectors got on and nabbed the people who didn't. Hah! Stupid tourists.
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