Tag Archives: travelogue

Travelogue N. Ireland 4: Belfast

BELFAST

17-19 March 2023

With an extravagant multicourse breakfast on board from our hotel in Enniskillen, we hit the road for the final leg of our Northern Ireland road trip; the drive to Belfast.

With our sights set on attending the Saint Patrick’s Day parade in the Belfast city centre in the early afternoon, Chris put foot and we went straight to drop off the car.

So concluded our 316 mile road trip of Northern Ireland as we pulled into the car rental drop off in Belfast Airport.

With heavy luggage and no time to waste figuring out the buses and whatnot, we got a taxi to take us door-to-door to our B&B in Belfast. All of the taxi cars at Belfast Airport were fancy, so we were soon nestled in the back of a Mercedes-Benz feeling like first class passengers.

Our driver was chatty, telling us all about how wonderful Belfast is and how friendly the people are, and was quick with recommendations for all of the items on our To Do list.

He also revealed that the route we were taking into the city was part of the Ulster Grand Prix motorbike race circuit, and shared the hair-raising speeds that the motorbikes would be taking on the various twists and turns that we were cautiously taking in the comfort of our luxury vehicle.

Our B&B, Gregory by the Warren, was a converted Victorian mansion, delightfully decorated in muted, earthy tones that complimented the double volume and preserved the feels of the pressed ceilings, ornate cornices, embossed wallpaper et cetera.

Consulting Google Maps, we hit the road on foot and found quite a direct route into the city that was merely a mile from our digs.

The walk into town went past Belfast University and explained how the majority of pedestrians were of student age. In their hordes! I shivered at how scantily-clad a lot of the girls were; dressed up for St Paddy’s Day in lots of bright green (of what little clothing they were wearing). 

Getting into town, there were already long queues outside quite a few pubs. We were concerned, thinking we may have missed the full show and that we had only arrived in line with the after-party.

Fortunately this was not the case and, as we rounded the corner to where the City Hall was, we realised that it was the students that were pre-gaming, and found ourselves in more like-minded company on the High Street waiting for the parade to start.

Of course by now, being Ireland, it was raining.  Just a light drizzle though, so not enough to dampen (literally) the spirits of the patient onlookers.

The crowd cheered as the first float came into sight; a massive model horse, with a booming fella, riding high and cheerleading the crowds to welcome the parader. Hot on his heels was a giant Neverending Story-looking Dog float… and then another float… and then another…

The crowd cheered and whooped and clapped for the procession of floats, bands, dancers, drummers, stilt-walkers, hula-hoopers and participants of all shapes, sizes and ages. Lions International members formed part of the stream of paraders, each carrying a sign showing where in the world they were from. Anywhere and everywhere! A true indication of how cosmopolitan modern Belfast is.

I was keen to get out of the rain, and even keener to clock our first pint for the Guinness Index… on Saint Patrick’s Day… in actual Ireland! We indiscriminately entered the first pub with a Guinness sign and no queue outside. The former being simple but the latter a challenge on arguably the busiest day of the year in this city.

The Hercules was very busy inside, but the skilful bartenders, managing multiple customers at the same time, kept the drinks flowing. Most of the patrons were watching that Cheltenham festival (horseracing) and furtively glancing back and forth between their race betting stubs and the screen, hoping to have picked a winner. 

Noting that a pint of Guinness was “only“ £4.30, and seeing on the menu that they served the ever-elusive pub pie, we pencilled in a return visit for the following day.

With no particular plan in mind, we next found ourselves at The Crown Liquor Saloon, lured in by the historical façade. In operation since 1860, and with largely the original fittings, it was incredible to be in a living Museum, with its heavy oak bar, individual gated stall booths, and all the original wood, panelling and embossed wallpaper you would expect of a Victorian watering hole. It came in at a price though; a big jump to £5.55 for a pint!

Interlacing sightseeing with our mini pub crawl, we found ourselves back outside the pub that we passed on our way in that had the queue all the way around the corner. By now the pavement was even busier, with new people queueing and already-serviced young patrons purging their St Paddy’s indulgences. Unprompted, the doorman gestured us a silent invite as we passed by, cocking his head toward the entrance, offering for us to jump the queue; we couldn’t help but oblige. 

Lavery’s was prepared for their student patrons, and was serving the bustling barful drinks by the dozen in plastic cups. The TV screens were also showing the horseracing. It was receiving far less attention than in The Hercules, but a very very drunk student did press a “£1 off a pint” voucher into my hand saying that she was sharing her “wee winnings” with me. How nice.

Chris has already been served so we couldn’t use it. I paid it forward by giving it to a mousy and sober girl alone at the bar, who’d been waiting ages to be served, quite bewildered and very out of place. She beamed at the gesture. I wonder if she’s been served yet…

Between our intermittent sightseeing and nursing each of our drinks (paying in Pounds is no joke!) time was moving on and we needed to think about dinner.

Heading towards the Queen’s Quarter, we set our sights on The Parlour which had good reviews for food and atmosphere. Hardly surprising since it was nestled in between the university buildings.

We had a fabulous time for a couple of hours, starting with a £5.10 pint of Guinness, benefiting from the power of observation of the  (not-on-the-menu, absolute bargain £4) cheesy garlic pizza and even having a bolshy English student insist we try a Baby Guinness shot (Kahlua and Bailey’s), as his treat because he was (allegedly) half-Saffa (certainly not the tallest of the tales he’d told us).

As a last blast on the way home, we stuck our head in at the pub around the corner from our accommodation, Ryan’s. With the aromas of dinnertime still hanging in the air, the pub smelt great, and sounded even better with the traditional fiddler-dee band playing and the hum of people enjoying each other’s company (in a calmly fashion).

What a treat to be have experienced a genuine Irish St Paddy’s Day!

SATURDAY 

Thinking it a clear morning, we started with a jog around the neighbourhood to get our bearings. Typically, as we approached the farthest point of our pre-planned circuit, it started to rain so we had no choice but to grin and bear it on the return journey. 

By the time we were showered and dressed, it was dry again. But of course once we left home and headed into town on foot, it started raining again. Properly.

The first order of business was some necessary banking at Halifax. We arrived at the branch bedraggled and – speaking for myself – in no mood for the admin uphill that inevitably lay ahead.

The upside of the next hour is that it was warm and dry and there was free Wi-Fi in the branch. The downside is that being Halifax Bank, I once again achieved nothing.  The safest bank account in the world, since not even the account holder, try as they might, can access it. Talk about ‘forced savings’. Pffft.

Desperately in need of a mood-lifter, we made a beeline back to The Hercules for that ever-elusive pie. 

Thank heavens they were open and serving, had a table for us, and were sharp-sharp with bringing out the lightest, fluffiest Chicken and Ham (me) and Beef and Bushmills (Christian) pies. I had champ on the side, to be authentic. Mash with green onions. Yum!

In far better spirits and ready to tackle Belfast again, we set about with the order of the afternoon: explore the Titanic Quarter. Extensive signage along the quayside helped immensely with creating a self-guided walking tour.

According to a board, when Queen’s Quay opened in 1877, it provided much-needed berthing space for the numerous sailing colliers. This vast Port of Belfast was once the heart of the world’s largest shipbuilding industry, and it was from a nearby slipway that the ill-fated Titanic was launched in 1911, later to set out on her maiden voyage in 1912.

The sailing ships have long gone, but Queen’s Quay still plays a vital role as a portal into Titanic Quarter – the largest waterfront development (residential, commercial and entertainment) in Europe, at 185 acres with a mile of water frontage. 

There are many monuments and landmarks to visit along the river, not least of which a collection of bridges, the leaning clocktower (built on top of a river, eroded its foundations), a giant blue and white tiled fish, and of course the multi-million Pound Titanic Museum our taxi driver told could be an afternoon’s investment all on its own.

We paid a visit to Hill Street, popular to Belfast’s good-timers for centuries and we’re amused by the names of the pubs. The Thirsty Goat… The Dirty Onion… The Dark Horse. All in buildings aging from 1680 and up! 

In retrospect, I think we may have chosen poorly; it was only once we’d ordered and were seated that we realised that The Harp, based on wall-to-ceiling Bushmills paraphernalia, was a whiskey bar. No mind, it was nice anyway in our velvet wingback chairs in the window.

Well-rested, we took a walk ‘across the tracks’ to hunt down Falls Road to see the famous mural of Bobby Sands, an IRA volunteer who was jailed for a bombing of a clothing factory in Dunmurry and the ensuing gun battle with the police. 

Whilst in prison, Sands was elected as an MP, the youngest at the time. He succumbed to a 66 day hunger strike less than a year later, protesting against the removal of special privileges that  “political” prisoners had but ordinary criminals didn’t. He never took his seat in the House of Commons and a bill was passed preventing people who have served a term in prison from being voted into parliament, in order to prevent any of the other strikers from running to replace him.

We got more than we bargained for; well worth the almost 2km trek to see several murals and sombre tributes to the violent and turbulent times this city has seen, as well as those in other parts of the world like Gaza, Catalonia and our very own South Africa.

Chris was keen to catch some of the Ireland vs England game but we were quite intimidated at the bars in Fall Road which were Irish to the point of having no English signage. Rugby spectating being loud and rowdy by convention didn’t help to make us feel any more welcome as we tested the waters.

We were also reluctant to get drawn into another student fiasco so needed to pick our pub wisely.

We rationalised that downtown would be a dog show and we’d fare better in the ‘burbs. By now familiar with our surroundings, we cut through the Botanical Gardens thinking that the Botanic Inn sounded sedate.

Boy, were we wrong!

There was a fan park of sorts erected between the hotel and the Chicken Wings pop-up street-food restaurant next door and you could hear the roaring crowd from all the way down the street!

We slipped into Plan B and were pleased to find that the The Jeggy Nettle was, although festive and spirited, more age-appropriate.

Exhausted from almost 20km of on-foot mileage over the course of the day (!!) I asked a group of 4 at a table next to the door if we could perch on the end of their booth seat. They smiled and obliged, and we were grateful to squeeze in.

With a resounding victory for the Irish, the patrons were giddy when the game was over and the traditional band started seamlessly as the commentators started their post-match autopsy.

A band of 4, the young lads fiddled and fluted and squeezed on the accordion like life depended on it. An inspired rendition of Fields of Athenry raised a chorus from the customers (including us) and I swear there would have been jigging happening if there was an inch to spare on the heavy-wood ancient floorboards!

With little wind left in our sails, we opted for a quick n easy takeout (but eat-in) type meal. We simply had to go to the Thai-Tanic to fit the theme of the day! 

SUNDAY 

Hard to believe it was home time already!

We had sights set on a walking tour at 11am (a bit backwards ending off with it, but so be it) and a quick roast lunch before needing to be at the bus station for our 15h30 departure for Dublin International Airport to fly home.

We were at City Hall spot on 11am to meet the guide with the yellow umbrella. He started his patter with the usual go-round of who is from where. When we offered “South Africa”, he shared that our Durban City Hall was built off the same plan as the magnificent Belfast City Hall! I don’t recall ours being as grand, but will have to refresh my memory when next I’m in Durbs.

Our guide was a wealth of knowledge, threading the story of Belfast through the ages from a political, religious and economic perspective as he pointed out places of interest to illustrate the story. As someone who had lived through the latter half of the twentieth century in this troubled city, he spoken sincerely, passionately and often poignantly, padding the sometimes sterile timeline of events with his personal experiences. 

He repeated what we’d learnt in Derry about the Plantation of 1609 and was emphatic that those early days of banning Irish and Catholicism were the seeds of the Troubles, seen centuries before and festering through the ages, with Rebellion through the 1700s to remove the British rule.

He spoke of the devastating potato famine of 1845-1852 and how the Irish people not only received no aid from the UK, but how the British actually exported food from Ireland under armed guard. Some 1.5 million people starved to death and a further estimated 3 million left the country. Apparently 15 US presidents have claimed proudly to be from this Irish stock (including Joe Biden), so who know what a powerhouse Ireland could have been without that brain-drain (sound familiar, South Africa??)

Ireland picked itself up and dusted itself off and by 1880 had a thriving Economy and was an industrial powerhouse for linen, whiskey and its shipyard. The graphic illustrations around the quayside had shown an elegant society with beautiful buildings and horse-drawn carriages, which must have been this heyday.

It was in these grand times that the City Hall was finished (1888), and no expense was spared in the magnificent fittings and fixtures inside. The building is open and free to access, which is also pretty remarkable.

The gardens contain a 30 metre plinth tribute to the Titanic. 

The story as told to us is that Thomas Andrews announced he would build the biggest, fastest, most luxurious, most expensive and ‘unsinkable’ ship. The Titanic was then built by experts with the finest materials. The downfall was wanting to be the the fastest crossing to the US; Titanic was warned by other boats about icebergs, but kept going. The rest is history and almost 2000 people perished.

Our guide’s perspective was that the ship was perfect when it left Belfast and that the proof was in the arrogant and negligent navigational pudding. Nonetheless, the disaster hit Belfast’s ship-building reputation. 

The beautiful design of the Victorian City Hall sparked further discussion on the architecture downtown.

Sadly, Belfast very heavily bombed in World War II over 3 nights in April 1941 because of their well-known contribution to ship and air building for the English. Between the World War and the raging IRA bombings – multiple daily, according to the guide’s personal recollection – many great buildings were destroyed and replaced with functional and boring successors. This explains the eclectic mix of architecture in the inner city. 

Fortunately, buildings of historical value are listed and protected. One such being the majestic The Crown pub that we’d happened upon the previous day. 

Originally called The Railway Inn (because it was opposite old railway), the owner negotiated with a group of skilled Italian artisans who were in the city decorating a church to facelift his bar at night and on weekends. They obliged, hence the ornate work and the rename to the more regal and befitting The Crown.

It sits opposite the Europa Hotel which has the dubious honour of being the most bombed building in Dublin. A victim of poor timing, the hotel was opened at the start of the Troubles. The terrorism caused tourism to tank so the hotel was largely populated with press coming to cover the unrest. The IRA bombed it 33 times.

The IRA no longer exists but Shin Fein is now the leading party. According to a census two years ago, Northern Ireland is now majority Catholic, so could be headed for their first Catholic Prime Minister. And with all the contention around Brexit and having to get special dispensation because having EU borders between Northern Ireland and the Republic breaks the Good Friday Agreement… Watch this space indeed!

The tour ended at the Salmon of Knowledge (the Big Fish we’d seen the previous day) on the banks of the River Lagan, which flows through Belfast and into the Irish Sea. 

On the far side is the Titanic Quarter, with the museum and the minor ship building activities, mostly fitting luxury cruise ships. The addition of the residences, business and light industrial bits make it the biggest waterfront development in the world.

The Big Fish was erected to celebrate the return of salmon to the River of Lagan in 1999 for the first time in 200 years, with pollution having previously driven them away. A bridge had been installed to clean the the river by raising the level of the water and keeping it fast-moving. It not only brought back the fish, but also removed the smell, the eradication of which had stimulated development and tourism in the area. 

The Big Fish is filled with time capsules about life in Belfast in 1999 and with instruction not to open them for 100 years.

Who knows what the contributors chose to preserve. They would have been fresh off the end of the Conflict, in the Good Friday Agreement in Easter 1998. The militarised  borders and checkpoints would just have been removed. Tony Blair had just apologised in parliament for the treatment of the Irish people in the famine. They would no doubt speak of a city divided by religion, with peace walls gated at either end, locked every night at 7pm. (Still in place and locked nightly, and if placed end to end, stretch 21km). They would not yet have seen the population finally reach 7 million, as it is today, only now reaching the same as 1840s! And couldn’t predict that 3/4 of the population lives in the 200 mile strip between Belfast and Dublin! 

The parting shot was some advice on pubs and restaurants. Our guide said that one of downtown Belfast’s novel features is that pubs are required to be in back lanes so families can go about their business in the high streets undisturbed. 

We were delighted to already have visited some of his recommendations and – I couldn’t help it – asked for the cheapest pint in Belfast so we could pay a quick visit and add it to the Index.

That’s how we ended up having our last pint in Belfast as Wetherspoons, for £3.75.

It was a very quick one because we still had a roast lunch to squeeze in.

We got to Maggie May’s at 13h40, just 10 minutes off schedule. We were greeted and seated in the 9-table parlour room of this beautifully preserved Victorian house and served a steaming hot plate of roast beef, with mash and roast taties, carrots and parsnips, drenched in thick brown gravy.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end.

Travelogue N. Ireland 3: Derry & Enniskillen

DERRY & ENNISKILLEN

15 March 2023

Driving in from Bushmills and with only one night in Derry, we prioritised convenience and location for our choice of hotel. The City Hotel, on the banks of the River Foyle and with its view of the Peace Bridge, was perfect for our purposes.

Arriving around lunchtime, our room wasn’t ready yet, which was no problem as we had to speed off to our walking tour anyway. We dashed across town, and met our tour guide, Pat, a few minutes into his intro speech. 

He was telling the group that the name Derry derives from the old Irish word for Oak Grove, and that the original Oak Grove and its settlements were all located on a small hill, which was formerly an island in the River Foyle.

Turns out that he was responding to a common question “is the town called Derry or Londonderry?”; a short question with a long and complicated answer.

From 1541, when Henry VIII became King of Ireland, the English crown steadily sought to assert its control over Ireland.

From the 1550s, areas in the south and west of Ireland were planted with English settlers in the hope of establishing colonies and ‘taming Ireland’s most unruly provinces’.

This ‘plantation’ – newly planted citizens who were given land that often saw Irish farmers losing the land that they’d been working – had changed Ulster (the province that houses the 6 counties that make up Northern Ireland as we know it) beyond recognition.

In the space of a generation they had seen their social order crumble, their culture decline, their religion come under attack, and the landscape radically altered. Although 30,000 British planters had come to Ulster, they had not not been successful in displacing the native Irish in converting them to Anglicanism. 

Part of the Plantation budget was used to secure the town, which had now been renamed from Derry to Londonderry. Construction of the city’s walls began in 1613 and was completed in 1619 at a cost of £11,700. This was a mammoth sum back then!

The walls were designed to cope with recent advances in warfare, particularly the introduction of artillery. Ten metres wide, they consisted of an eight metre thick earthen rampart built with soil, dug from an encircling ditch, and clad with another 2m deep stone face. This meant that even if the outer wall was hit with cannon fire, the compacted earth still provided solid defence AND there was still the second inner stone wall to deal with even if there was time to wreck the outer wall and tunnel the earthen filling. Proper solid!

The walls contain four gates with rectangular towers rising above the city walls. The city within was laid out in a grid pattern at the centre of which was an open air diamond shaped meeting area (what would be the town square, in essence).

The walls were in astoundingly good condition for having stood for more than 400 years and the only adjustment that has been made in modern times, is to lay tarmac on top of the compacted dirt so that the wide walkway is no longer muddy and is more convenient for everyone to enjoy. We had been walking slowly along the wall from one Gate to another as Pat pointed out things of interest and historical significance.

The bulk of the story tells of the endless wrangles between the Protestants and Catholics. The second half of the 1600s was one of the bloodiest eras in Irish history, including the 105 day siege of 1689, where the Protestants closed the city doors, not only leaving the Catholics on the outside of the wall, but also having to wait them out without starving.

Similar standoffs continued to rage right until The Troubles in the late 20th century. There are still living relics, reminding us how recently this struggle happened in Derry. There are still high metal nets dotted along the walls, designed to protect some of the historically significant buildings that were the regular target of petrol bombing from other factions.

Concluding the tour, we went into the Guildhall, which is a free-access exhibition that tells the history of the town of Londonderry, with fun interactives. It also displays John Hume’s awards; the only person to have received the Nobel, Martin Luther and Gandhi peace prizes for his role in orchestrating the peace treaty.

Christian is particularly good at pinning on a mental map, so we then went to fill in the gaps of things he’d seen on the tour that warranted a closer look. Quite easily navigating the city, using the city wall as our guide, we found the mural of the Derry Girls from the popular TV show of the same name that we enjoyed immensely. 

On a more sombre note, we went to pay homage to the site of the Bloody Sunday massacre, with the memorial that now commemorates the landmark. According to Pat, it took years and years to formally evaluate what had happened that day, and it was finally found that the police had overreacted, and the bloodshed was avoidable. Short of the acknowledgement, no further action has been taken; sounds very familiar in light of how similar things are handled back home in South Africa.

By now on the hunt for dinner, we thought the evening’s arrangement would be an easy one since the oldest pub in Derry, which we had spotted on our way to meet the tour, had Chicken and Ham Pie on the menu, which were another box on the To Do list.

Of course, nothing is ever simple. We arrived at the restaurant, had a Guinness and found that we still had another 40 minute wait to get a table because there were two events happening in this venue. Unable to even order until we had secured a table, we would have been eating well after nine, which would not do.

We slipped into Plan B, which was a Dinner for Two set menu offer at our hotel restaurant with two 2 course meals and a bottle of wine for £50. We were unlikely to do much better. 

The hotel did us proud and the French onion soup and crispy bread was served quick and hot; appreciated after an afternoon of walking around in the rain. A roast dinner to follow washed down with an Italian merlot was just a bonus.

THURSDAY 

It seems that the best Irish weather is first thing in the morning.
Filling our boots from the hotel buffet, we checked out, but left the car in the parking lot as we went out to make the most of the sunshine. We took a walk across the Peace Bridge and a loop around the outer city wall, through the ‘West Bank Loyalists’ Protestant enclave with its red-white-and-blue painted enclave… at which time it started to rain, which was our cue to hit the road.

Today’s drive would see us covering 70 miles to see what the South West of Northern Ireland had to offer.

Enniskillen is a Fermanagh House county town 400 years in the making, founded by a charter of King James I in 1612, and grown as a plantation town under the guidance of Captain William Cole.
The name Enniskillen comes from the Irish ‘inis’ meaning island and ‘Cethlenn’ which is believed to be Kathleen (Queen of the Formorians) who, after being wounded in battle, took refuge on the island and died.

The island, chosen as a strategic site, was formally a McGuire stronghold, one of the medieval chieftains of Fermanagh. It is the only island town in Ireland. As well as houses in public buildings, there were wooden bridges, built at the east and west into of the island. These bridges have, of course, long since been replaced with modern concrete versions. The main street of Enniskillen runs the full length of the island, from one bridge to the other. We managed to keep ourselves entertained for the full afternoon on the small section of island.

We made a visit to Enniskillen Castle, which sits on the banks of the river just before the far bridge. Signboards outside the castle speak of how the Meadows make for a great meeting place to enjoy the day going by, assuming there is ever a day when it doesn’t rain.

We enjoyed a slow stroll along the length of the High Street, window shopping and reviewing the menus displayed in the many pubs and restaurants, looking for the ever-elusive pie.

The rain picked up a bit so we were forced to seek refuge in the Horseshoe & Saddlers pub to have a pint in a window table from where we could people-watch.

Being such a small town, we’d already ticked off all the landmarks so when the rain abated we returned to our hotel for some downtime. We’d booked in the motel section of the Enniskillen Hotel, so had 4 star amenities at our disposal for a 3 star price tag!

Having had a lighten than usual day, our massive breakfast lasted longer than usual and when dinnertime rolled around, it was more of a precaution than a requirement.

We decided to wander into town to see what grabbed us, starting with a pint of Guinness at the landmark Victorian pub, Blake’s of the Hollow.

Still not madly hungry, we were drawn to the more modern Firehouse to share a ridiculously good pulled pork and caramelised onion pizza.

Travelogue Ireland 2023: Waterford

WATERFORD

5-10 March 2023

With a charged start to the year that produced a fleeting home-appearance of Brother from Ireland, the usual invitations were laid (“you must come over to Ireland for a visit!”) and promises made (“sure I will! Soon!”). 

For once, there was follow-through. Sister-in-law’s 50th birthday in March was the perfect excuse.

With leave to burn, I booked a week to spend on my own with the family (just outside Waterford) over the half-century celebrations before joining Chris to do a weekend in Isle of Man, and a quick loop around Northern Ireland, culminating in what would no doubt be a very festive farewell in Belfast over St Patrick’s Day weekend.

Waiting the few weeks between booking the tickets and beginning the shenanigans was torture! 

Packing the suitcase equally so. It’s always tricky packing for the season alternate to the current at home. One’s wardrobe always seems so foreign, even though it was a staple just a few months earlier. I didn’t cut any corners and packed everything I may possibly need, in anticipation of the crazy cold I knew I’d be facing on the other side, thanks to almost daily updates from the weather app that revealed plunging temperatures.

It was a very long journey, travelling on my own which is very rare. I managed to use my time wisely, getting unusually good sleep on both flights and utilising the two-hour stopover in Dubai in the middle to get a 5km walk in (by covering the length of Terminals B and C) to keep the blood flowing.

Exiting Dublin Airport, I was grateful for the detailed instructions I had been given on where to find the bus terminus and which bus to catch because not only was I travel-weary, but the bracing cold in my too-light travel wear meant there was no time to dilly-dally if I intended not to freeze to death (a bit dramatic, but it truly was flippin’ cold!).

Half an hour later, I was ensconced in a nice warm coach and enjoying the view from the big windows as we hurtled towards Waterford. 

Anthony met me at the bus station and loaded my incredibly-heavy suitcase into his van to take me back to the family home, where my sister-in-law and nephew were eagerly awaiting my arrival.

I got the lowdown on the lay of the land as we drove out of Waterford, took the bridge over the river and headed up to their suburb, Slieverue.

It was a fantastic reunion, aware of how long it had been since we had last seen each other… and yet fitting back hand-in-glove like no time had passed at all!

I was given the tour of the very spacious home and shown to my very lovely suite; instructed to make myself at home, with a kickstart pack on the bed – fluffy winter pyjamas, a gown and even a pair of slippers!

Returning downstairs to the kitchen, I presented all the treasures I had brought from home. Nothing sophisticated; a selection of favourites that could not be sourced in Ireland so were met with the anticipated and desired level of glee.

In return, I was gifted my first Guinness of the trip and we settled into the lounge to catch up on what we’d missed over the last few years. With conversation flowing, more Guinness on hand and a very cold Ireland outside the front door, we agreed that my arrival celebration would be an in-home one with a delicious pasta meal and the very best company.

I did an admirable job of staying captivated until about 10pm, when my stamina failed me and I simply had to go and test those fluffy jarmies. Yawn. My weary bones were asleep as my head hit the pillow…

MONDAY 

Being Luanne’s birthday, special effort was made for everyone to get up a little early to commune in the kitchen and do well-wishes, presents – and even a quick video call with the parents in South Africa – over a very civilised cup of tea, before Luanne needed to get Connor off to school. 

Anthony and I popped down to the supermarket to get some goodies for breakfast and were soon whipping up a selection of the Birthday Girl’s favourites, to get her day started right.

With bacon and pancakes in the fuel tank, we kitted up nice ‘n warm and took a walk around Slieverue. It was a treat to be able to walk out of the driveway and cross the road into the countryside, ambling down narrow lanes and appreciating the greenery that came from all the Irish rainfall.

Just over an hour and 6km later, we appreciated the return to our warm nest, where we spent most of the afternoon debating what we would do that evening to celebrate the Big Birthday. We were still discussing it when Luanne had to go and fetch Connor from school, so I decided to ride along for company and to play lookout for anything that might catch our fancy for the evening.

Poor Connor wasn’t feeling brilliant, staving off a bit of a cold and with a nagging cough that was taking the wind out of his sails. Consequently, he asked permission to be excused from any celebrations, either home or out. We suspected that he had ulterior motives, to self-medicate with his online games! And his absence spurred his parents to decide on curry for dinner since this was something that Connor would not eat and so a rare opportunity for them (and, of course, no arguments from me!).

We got a taxi into town and walked along the quayside, settling on Cafe Goa thanks to the only remaining table in the cosy little restaurant being a warm and welcoming table-for-four summoning us through the bay window. 

As the only server in the restaurant, our hostess-cum-waitress welcomed and seated us, and proceeded to bustle gracefully between the tables delivering us menus, water and poppadoms while deftly managing the rest of the patrons. She filled our glasses with wine, efficiently took our order and returned with bowls of piping hot food before we’d made a dent in our drinks. 

The curry was spicy and delicious and we scooped it all up with the sticky rice and crunchy fresh naan bread, washed down with the delightful Chilean Cab Sauv.

Fed and happy, but not ready to return home quite yet, we walked to the corner for a nightcap in the Timbertoes Bar off the reception of Treacy’s Hotel. Traditional pub with a sturdy and polished wooden bar as the focal feature, and a fireplace on each end cosying up the place, we indulged in a pint of Guinness from the tap (at 6.50 Euros a pop, which would have to be recorded on the Index!)

Our taxi picked us up right outside and we marvelled at our luck since although it had been raining intermittently over the course of the evening, we’d had the good fortune for it to be dry each time we had needed to be out on the street moving from place to place. Forget the luck of the Irish; this was properly the luck of the South Africans!

Bleeding the special occasion for all it was worth, we opened a bottle of red at home to see out the last of Luanne’s birthday. Despite an endless stream of conversation all day, there were still untold stories that saw us to bedtime.

TUESDAY

A late start thanks to the late evening, I only surfaced after Connor had been taken to school. Not even attempting to rush the day, I produced myself downstairs in the kitchen in my holiday gear (fluffy jarmies, gown and slippers), ready for my mug of tea and a close-out decision on what we’d be doing for the day. Much of our decision-making depended on the weather and even though it would be barely 5 degrees by lunchtime, the sun was out and the day needed to be appreciated.

We had a leisurely brunch of pork bangers, scrambles and pancakes and then slowly prepared for the outing.

Luanne and I led the charge, with a walk around the Village Loop, which started at our gate and circled the enclave of houses behind us. Luanne then walked a second loop while I ran it twice to complete my required 30 min heart rate boost. With the hint of sunshine, we even managed to break a sweat!

Smug at our commitment to good health, we earned ourselves an afternoon of sloth. 

Anthony, encouraged by how invigorated Luanne and I were from our adventure, dabbled with the idea of repeating the exercise while Luanne was out fetching Connor. Of course, we spent so much time procrastinating about whether or not to do it, that Luanne was back before we’d left.

Changing tactics, we decided that we’d just walk the route instead, all the way down to Miler pub, where we would reward ourselves with a pint for completing the 2k downhill – and prepare for the corresponding 2km uphill return. Brilliant to enjoy the fresh air and good balance to spend as much time on the journey as the destination.

On the way back, we were compelled to stop off at the local pub, Stapleton’s, a couple of hundred metres from home, for a pint of fresh-pulled Guinness (5.20 Euros; definitely getting onto the Index!)

Once home, we did a team effort of making dinner an event, with Anthony managing the food, Luanne sorting the music and me providing little more than moral support.

Homemade Alfredo was exactly what we needed to replenish the resources we’d used on our forays around the neighbourhood, while the spirited family dinner and jovial conversation nourished the soul.

WEDNESDAY

Needing to see what all the fuss was about, the plan for the morning was to track down a traditional Waterdford Blaa for breakfast after dropping Connor off at school.

It was freezing – literally, since light snow had started falling that morning – so we parked the car and started the search for a breakfast blaa in earnest, with hands wedged in gloves and in pockets, heads down and chins nested in scarves.

Not flying completely blind since we’d done a notable amount of Googling on the subject, the first open place we recognised from the online searching, was a big bakery called The Granary.

Although quite a big shop, the warm glow of the entrance and the glimpse of the shiny glass counter displaying baked goods that we could see from the door drew us in like a moth to a flame!

We knew we had chosen the right place when we asked the chap behind the counter if they served Blaa with sausages or bacon or eggs and he said all 3, in one! We ordered 3 of those and topped up with hot beverage selections at the cashier.

We’d barely completed the payment transaction when the Blaas were brought to us. A stack of fry-up goodness on a soft white powdered bun. We were invited to try the complimentary tomato relish, which rounded off the gooey (egg), crispy (bacon), and crunchy (sausages) melt-in-your-mouth (blaa) combo perfectly. Unforgettable breakfast bun, well worth a repeat visit!

Being a very chilly day and with the icy wind howling outside, there would be no ambition of walking or running in the wilds. Anthony had skipped gym for a few days while playing host, so we decided we would go to gym together around midday to try and work through the blaa and make space for lunch, which was planned as a reheat of butternut soup that Anthony has previously made from scratch. Breakfast had been such a mouthful that without some attempt at moving it, there would be no space to do justice to the chunky soup that was so perfectly suited to the grey day!

Never able to stick to a schedule (and with no intention of rushing unnecessarily while on holiday), we inevitably left late for gym, which resulted in an awkward amount of time on the tail end of our workout. So, instead of returning home, Anthony dropped me off in town, where I met Luanne and we did a bit of To Do list shopping before picking up Connor from school.

The bright side of the dreary weather is that there is little better than a medicinal hot chocolate when you get home! Melting marshmallows to warm the cockles!

With the grown-ups having some work to do, Connor and I filled the gap with making a cake, belated for Luanne’s birthday which had passed early that week while Connor was a little under the weather. Cheating a bit with a box mixture, we were still very chuffed at the result – and coated the top and sides with a thick layer of cream cheese icing and used chocolate drops to spell out ’50’ in the middle. As chuffed as we were with our masterpiece, Mama Bear was double-chuffed with our combined efforts!

THURSDAY

With the worst weather of the week forecast for Thursday, we woke up to a bleak and raining day. The upside, however, was that the cloud cover holds the warmth in and we were forecast a balmy 8 degree high. At some point during the day. If there was one thing I’d learnt so far it was that Irish weather is all over the place. As Anthony said, “If you don’t like the weather now, wait 10 minutes” because it was bound to swing!

Also great weather for comfort eating, so why not have delicious Alfredo leftover for breakfast?!

Devoid of ambitions for the day and very happy to continue using the weather as an excuse, it was a long and leisurely morning in jarmies and gown, glued to the Lazy Boy and passing the day with book, tea, internet, travelogue, Facebook, book, Rooibos, yawn, WhatsApp, wash-rinse-repeat. Very busy doing nothing.

So busy doing nothing, in fact, that we were half an hour late for our only intended excursion. Another visit to the gym. 

No mind, we did a shorter workout so that we were on time to fetch Connor, which was essential since it was raining quite heavily – and of course quite cold, but a little warmer than you’d think with the the cloud cover keeping in what little warmth there was.

We had the final Choc O’Clock (hot chocolate and marshmallow egg) when we got home. I would miss this daily ritual, which was always a warm welcome home.

Retiring to my recliner while the family took care of their respective work and homework, I basked in the dusky light through the bay window, enjoying the novelty of having nothing to do and nowhere to be.

We finally got around to having our pate on melba and brie on crackers as a little sundowner treat (we had been meaning to all week) and had a special guest appearance by Connor, who had swapped his computer games for our fun and games for the evening (no mean feat for a teenage boy!)

Celebrating the time together and commiserating at how quickly it had gone, we outsourced the cooking and ordered pizzas for dinner. Lots of antics and laughs in the lounge as we created new memories that we’d be able to relive the next time we were able to meet up.

FRIDAY 

With best intention of an up-and-out, we inevitably faffed our way into leaving about an hour later than intended. 

Luanne had dropped Connor at school and returned with fluffy sausage rolls, still hot from the oven at Asda, which had taken the urgency out of hitting the road for brunch on the way to the airport in Dublin.

We’d been fearing a slow passage since the weather apps all reported snow overnight in Dublin meaning the roads could be wet and icy, slowing our movement and raising the risk for accidents and such things causing traffic.

With the luck of the Irish still on our side, none of these things transpired, and we made good time getting to Avoca Cafe just outside Dublin for our morning meal.

We probably could have spent double the time there since the ground floor was a market of infinite browsing potential, with a full service and self service restaurant upstairs. 

But we were on a mission and so efficiently ordered delicious things, enjoying our last meal together with the usual peppering of tales and teasing… which I would so miss until we were next reunited.

Travelogue N.Ireland 1: Isle of Man

ISLE OF MAN

9-13 March 2023

Having spent the better part of a week with the family in Waterford, it was an easy connect to hop to Isle of Man for a weekend.

Christian had flown into Dublin Airport to join me and the family had graciously offered to drive me to Dublin, so we left Waterford at 10am in order to synchronise the meet-up (including a quick stop-in for a brunch snack at the heavenly Avoca Café en route.

It was bittersweet; sad to leave the family behind but pleased to see Chris again and to be embarking on a new adventure.

Despite well-oiled logistics seeing our plan executed perfectly, we were delayed in Dublin by our plane arriving late. 

Surprisingly, even though we only landed in Isle of Man just before 6pm, it was not yet sunset and we were able to get our rental car sorted and hit the road while it was still light.

We had booked to stay in the capital, Douglas, for 3 nights. Since the island is so small, it was easier to unpack and make one hotel our homebase and then explore the length and breadth as satellite trips.

Having downloaded offline Google Maps, we found our accommodation very easily. Arrandale House, a modest and well-priced hotel in the city centre opposite Hutchinson Square park, had easy access to the promenade, shopping streets, as well as the main artery road that would link us to the other towns.

There was snow everywhere, so we kitted up before heading out to explore our new surrounds. Hats, scarves, gloves, jackets… not the usual seaside outfit!

Down to the Promenade which, even in the dim evening light, looked impressive with its long crescent of Victorian facades lining the land side of the blue orb of the natural bay.

It was that witching hour of the evening when you get the best mix of people doing their thing in public places. While there were still some people jogging and cycling (in this weather, gasp!), there were others who had already had a ‘long day’ and were (hopefully) headed home, and others (like us – heading in, bearing in mind this was Friday night and a seaside holiday destination) on a mission to get fed and/or watered.

We walked from one end to the other to get our bearings and earmark things we wanted to see in the light of day, and then headed to the top-rated chippie for a fresh ‘n delicious seafood feast of bacon and garlic scallops to start, with crunchy battered flaky cod and salted vinegary chips as the main event to warm the cockles.

It had been a long day of travels – especially for Chris – and we had Netflix in our hotel room, so we opted for a movie night in so we would be fresh and ready to road trip the next day.

SATURDAY 

One of our criteria for accommodation was an inclusive breakfast package. Being largely stomach-driven, it adds immeasurable admin to have to source breakfast before the day can even start.

The Arrandale did us particularly proud with cereals, yoghurts, fruits and juices self-serve while the hot breakfast you choose off the laminated menu on the table is prepared. A hot bevvie of choice is also served almost immediately. Rare but appreciated, hot chocolate was an option… and served as a whole pot, which is usually a decadence reserved for tea!

With a full day ahead, the Full English was the only smart option. We’d barely had time to neck our starters and first cup of coffee/chocolate (respectively) when the plate of fried deliciousness was served to us.

Ready to take on the world, we packed all our warm gear into the rental car and hit the road, headed north.

Although Chris had prepared me with the knowledge that Isle of Man is 32 miles from north to south and 12 miles across at its widest point, I still had “road trip” in my head, so boy was I surprised when we got to our first stop, Onchan, in six minutes. 

It was so sudden that we didn’t even stop. It really felt like an extension – a suburb – of Douglas, so unlikely to produce any new adventure.

Soldiering on, at a leisurely 40 mph, we were still in the next stop, Laxey, in 20 minutes. 

We parked the car close to the primary landmark: the Great Laxey Wheel. 

Built in 1854 to pump water from the Great Laxey Mine complex, the ‘Lady Isabella’ (as it was fondly dubbed, after the wife of the Governor who commissioned it) is a feat of Victorian engineering. It was constructed as a power source; while the rest of the world was moving to steam power, Isle of Man had no coal so decided to use the abundance of running water as a hydro power source rather than being reliant on importing coal. It is still the largest working water wheel in the world today.

We returned to the car via Ham and Egg Terrace, so-named because the enterprising ladies who lived in this row of terrace houses – the longest under a single roof on all the island back then – served tea and refreshments to the stream of tourists who flooded in from the UK to have their holidays on Isle of Man and came to see Lady Isabella. One of these tea rooms still exists; Brown’s, established in 1906.

Having walked Laxey from end to end, and with nothing open even though it was midday on a Saturday, it was time to move on.

Again a short hop, Ramsey looked a lot more lively. We took a walk along the quayside and what looked like it must be an important bridge at the harbour, when the wind picked up and cut through us with its iciness.

With a sign outside The Commercial Hotel promising Guinness at £4.20 a pint, a short stint in front of the fireplace (and a logging on our Guinness Index) was exactly what the day needed.

The pub was already quite busy, so we occupied ourselves with eavesdropping the colourful conversation being passed between the bar lady and the (clearly regular) patrons that covered all sorts of things ranging from politics to very domestic situationships!

Plucking up the courage to resume our tour, we returned to the car and continued the journey to the north, to Point of Ayre, with its famed lighthouse called ‘The Winkie’.

It was so cold and windy that we did little more than nip out of the car, take some snaps and jump back into the car like we’d escaped an ice age!

It was very rewarding sightseeing, thanks for the super-short travel distances and easy access to points of interest so we felt the levels of achievement for the day warranted an early return to Homebase.

We got back to Douglas just in time. The rain had started to set in and the temperature had plummeted. Since our hotel room had Netflix, we took a couple of hours out to relax and hole in from the inclement weather outside.

Being Saturday night in Douglas, we needed to at least put some effort into trying one or two of the acclaimed pubs on the promenade.

It was a bit hit-and-miss, as we realised there were some pivotal sporting events that had the more popular bars full to bursting. Never shy of an Irish pub, we settled in O’Donnells in the shopping street for a pint while we planned next steps.

Following online recommendations, we tried the Thirsty Pigeon next, where a local called Finney adopted us, having seen my curiosity at the open entertainment section that he had discarded on the communal bar counter in front of him. 

I showed interest in the crossword blockbuster and asked the waitress for a pen; he introduced himself and joined in the game. We spent a couple of hours talking to him about the island while we populated the brainteaser games in the newspaper together. 

It was very definitely past our dinner time and Chris was highly motivated for an Indian meal so we headed back in the direction of home to hit up the curry den we’d earmarked on our way out.

Almost as if Finney had conjured the weather to illustrate the story he’d shared of Life on the Island, it was blowing a gale of cold air from the sea, exacerbating the light rain. Like a novice, I had our holi-brolly out, thinking it would combat the elements. On the contrary, the wind kept catching it and concaving it so forcibly and repeatedly that the poor thing didn’t stand a chance; the spokes buckled and it was soon sent to an undignified final resting place, rammed into Her Majesty’s bin.

A couple a few steps behind us chuckled good-nature fly as they witnessed my surrender. Clearly locals who knew better than to even bother. Tightening my hood and shoving my gloved hands deeper into my pockets, I joined the ranks of Grin and Bear It.

We arrived at a warm and dry Flavours restaurant ready to commit. Unfortunately they were not. “Fully booked”, they said.

Pfft.

Not skipping a beat, we went around the corner to Taste of Bengal. Also fully booked. We should have thought to reserve ahead as soon as we noted the drunken Stag parties and very very drunken Hen do at the Pigeon.

Sticking to theme, we resorted to a kebab instead, having passed one that smelled particularly alluring on our curry-hunt.

Quick, fresh and tasty, we were not disappointed! 

SUNDAY

Mixing things up a bit, I had the kippers – an Isle of Man speciality – for breakfast. Served in place of the sausage and bacon on an otherwise Full English plate, it was a bet well-placed. Yum!

The quest for the day involved crossing the island to Peel, on the West Coast. What may sound like a massive undertaking was in actuality only a 17km journey.

We were soon parked in the Old Market and picking a direction to explore. Drawn by the Castle, we headed quayside. 

On closer inspection, the castle was not open for access so we made do with a walk around the castle wall and imagining what had gone on inside.

We then took a turn through the Cathedral gardens. With the building boasting having occupied its position since the 4th Century, the gardens had been cleverly crafted into a timeline of exhibits of relics commemorating the bishops who had made their mark on it over time. 

Making use of the good weather, we added Port Erin onto our itinerary for the day. Although our origin and destination were both coastal, Google Maps took us on an inland route.

Despite not having fresh snowfall for days, the exposed hilltops combined with the icy winds had preserved the snow and made for a white-knuckle drive over the (fortunately) short distance.

Christian was forced to steer the little rental Noddy car to where mightier vehicles had forged tyre trails, and periodically give way to motorists from the other direction. Fortunately, the drivers in Isle of Man seem to be very unhurried and polite so it wasn’t difficult to negotiate oncoming traffic.

Arriving in Port Erin, we parked the car and struggled to find something to do. Town was shut tight for the weekend, so we did a bit of window shopping along the main street, and then walked along the quay side to the building at the end, which we hoped would be something interesting. It was not.

On the return journey, we did a stop-in at Bushy’s in the Bay Hotel to warm up, and have a swift pint. With the blazing fire, and a good playlist, it made for a very relaxing ‘excursion’.

On the way back to the car, we were horrified to see that there were people swimming in the sea.  Clearly not all locals were that crazy though, since there were friends and onlookers on the beach, dressed pretty much the same as we were with jackets, scarves, hats, gloves… Exactly what you would expect under these conditions. 

As now-seasoned tourists, we cleverly checked the curry house times upfront. We planned our evening around it so as not to be caught short again. 

We had a last few things to see in Douglas, so dropped off the car and hoofed along the promenade to the old town.

Masterfully ticking off the end of the To Do list, we were at Taste of Bengal in time to be their first table for the evening… We smugly worked our way through multiple courses with our bottle of red (from the dingy Off Licence downstairs) as the tables filled up around us. Fool me once, indeed! 

MONDAY 

We awoke to sunshine on our last morning. Well, sort of sunshine. It was bright and not raining.

… Until we were half way through our run on the promenade!

Fortunately we were dressed for it so didn’t get too drenched. And nothing that a hot shower, a pot of hot chocolate and a full English breakfast couldn’t cure.

Ahead of schedule, we enjoyed a leisurely drive down to Castletown. We had a couple of hours to wander around before getting to the airport for our flight to Belfast.

With no particular agenda, we made our way to the main attraction, Castle Rushen, first. The large wooden entrance door was shut tight.

While we were reading the information board and reviewing the open times, the door opened and a man appeared. He told us we were early for opening. And not just a few minutes; the castle was only opening for viewing for the season from 1 April. We were weeks too early!

Seeing our disappointment, he told us he had some business to attend to but to come back in half an hour and he would then let us in to have a quick look. 

It was easy to wile the time away, doing a quick circuit around the old town and reading the monument boards on the various historical landmarks.

We learnt that Castletown was once the ancient capital of the Isle of Man and the House of Keys across the road from the Castle was home to the Manx parliament between the years 1821 to 1874. It was at the centre of 19th-century political life and has been restored to its former appearance of 1866, a milestone in Manx history because the self-elected house took its first steps along the road to modern democracy by becoming a popularly elected Body, in essence forming the first parliament in the world.

Returning to the Castle at 11:30, the door was again shut tight. We pressed the bell, and another man greeted us at the door. He introduced himself as the Pest Control Guy and inviting us in. He directed us to our original host, who was in his office.

We were treated to a full hour of private tour into every nook and cranny of the castle, with commentary along the way as to how the castle had grown and provided service for more than a millennium.

Our host guided us through a couple of dining rooms, decorated to illustrate the very different eras that had enjoyed the space. We saw the Lord’s Chambers, the vault, the banquet hall, and got to see spectacular views from the castle battlements, right at the top of the building, with clear view as far as the eye could see in every direction.

Our host narrated the tour throughout, complimenting the living history exhibits with information about modern Manx, the people, the language, the economy and even his experience of the most recent plight, the Covid pandemic.

Thanking him profusely for his time and being so accommodating, we tackled the final strait to the airport to conclude our weekend.

We had seen and done everything on our list – and a few things that weren’t – and still only done 108km in total!

Travelogue Corsica 3: Bastia

BASTIA

01 – 04 October 2022

Mapping our route around Corsica, we had stuck mostly to the coast, picturing a beach holiday and visiting most of the main cities which must have been built around the commercially-necessary ports.

The exception was our final leg back to Bastia where we would be traversing the island through the mountains, through a town called Corte, which was reviewed to be a lively town thanks to the University and resulting energy of the student population.

What we hadn’t realised (basing our itinerary on blogs and reviews rather than a contoured map) is exactly how mountainous Corsica is. The majority of the island is one big mountain range, save for a relatively narrow strip around the coast.

Thus, our journey from Ajaccio to Bastia started almost immediately with a climb into the mountains and a corresponding change in scenery and in climate.

Soon back in the ‘head of broccoli‘ (as I had likened the terrain; florets of dense green forest), the roads were so windy it was as if their architect had dropped cooked spaghetti onto a map and then built the tarred road accordingly. Twists and turns as we climbed up one side of a mountain and then descended down the other, our little Fiat 500 feeling every inch in both directions.

The view was sublime. So picturesque. Very hard to describe in words how epic the vastness of the panoramas were. Climbing walls of mountains from where you could see an endless green blanket of forest and a hazy horizon, the blinking blue ocean.

We passed through a few small towns, with welling excitement as each approached; a collection of multi-storey stone symbols of civilisation, staked into the rocks and poking through the trees. Again, hard to describe adequately since ‘old buildings’ and ‘tightly packed enclaves’ hardly sound worthy of any emotional attachment. And yet the views weren’t getting tired and the little towns not getting stale, and we still had the compulsion to point out every single boulangerie we saw, as if gathering points on a treasure hunt.

Corte was immediately noticeably different from the other little towns. It was multiple times the size and as we entered the town there were sports fields and other telltale signs of the university campus. Driving through the Centre Ville, there were countless cafes and restaurants doing a roaring trade.

Being model citizen tourists, we ticked off the sites first – most notably the famous Citadel, built on the edge of a crag that as a literal cliffhanger allowed it to oversee its dominion in all directions – before rewarding ourselves with lunch.

Normally struggling with choosing a restaurant with so many options and usually only a single meal in each town, we were instantly drawn to a place called A Casa Di L’Orsu (House of the Bear, or similar) which had numerous wild boar meals on their menu display board outside. Being a speciality in Corsica and especially inland, we were sold!

With a bargain set menu (no doubt intended to appeal to a student clientele), we were able to sample a number of dishes including the peasant soup, a wild boar pasta dish, wild boar vol au vent (really just a fancy open pie; stole the show) and local cheeses and fig jam for which the inland is also famous.

Fed and happy, we finished off the journey, with Romesh for company until we were descending into Bastia and needed our GPS to guide us to our hotel. 

We had booked 3 nights at Hotel Le Bastia so were very pleased when it exceeded our expectations. Besides having secure and spacious basement parking, our room had double French doors with wooden shutters to keep out the light and with a magnificent sea view when they were open! The hotel also had a fitness gym room and a large basement swimming pool that was heated and enclosed so it doubled as a sort of sauna vibe with loungers.

After our quick tour of the hotel, we hit the streets. 

On arrival, while pleased for the view from our ridge, I’d been concerned that we may be a bit far from the action. N’est pas! We discovered that while it would be quite tiresome trekking up and down the zigzag roads to the promenade, there were stone step alleyways at regular intervals that allowed us to descend more directly, taking no more than a few minutes to get to the town square or the Old Port.

Bastia was preparing a Beer Fest in the town square which I am almost ashamed to say that we did not attend thanks to our lengthy no-sundowners the night before, the cross-country mountain-climbing traverse of the day and the knowledge that the next day was to be a long one.

We did toast our new homebase though, with a jug of sangria (the most fruit we’d had all holiday) and some croquettes, calamari and nachos tapas.

SUNDAY

Sunday was designated for our road trip around the Cap Corse, dubbed ‘an island with in an island’ because it is an index-finger peninsula poking out of the top of Corsican mainland fist.

We approached the road trip in an anticlockwise direction, as per most of the itineraries we had reviewed online. The rationale was to drive from east to west, following the Sun. 

The first stop was a mere 11km from Bastia, a tiny town called Erbalunga, which was no more than a small ring of buildings hugging to a miniature marina on the sliver of flat(ish) land carved out of the mountains behind.

Within 20 minutes we’d covered the town end-to-end, enjoying the character of the narrow alleyways, steep stone staircase and random low archways that melded together the tatty-chic apartments in which people still went about their daily lives (as many generations had before them).

With a surprisingly lively town square with 7 or 8 restaurants, a handful of the essential shops on the high street and so close to Bastia (and its airport), Erbalunga would make an ideal Work From Anywhere town! 

We got out for a quick trot around the next two or three towns and beaches, but it was quite windy so we didn’t stop for very long in any one place. Ironically when we stopped at the landmark Mattei Windmill it wasn’t moving, while we very nearly got blown off the koppie by a gale force gust of wind!

Any collection of words would not do justice to the spectacular panoramas – both inland and out to sea – to which we were treated as Chris zigged and zagged us along the coastal road.

Some parts were very steep and narrow with no barriers to the sheer drops beside us. Chris noted that if this trail was at home in South Africa there would be railings, warning signs, speed cameras and who knows what else, where in Corsica it was left to the driver to self-regulate in order to avoid tumbling off the cliff to a fiery death. 

He negotiated the ups and downs valiantly as I click-click-clicked photos out of the passenger seat window, capturing at least some of the essence of the experience that I anticipated I would not be able to verbalise. View the Facebook album.

We had pencilled the idea of lunch on the road but not defined where we would like to stop. While we had looked at a few menu boards, nothing had grabbed us; too windy, too sunny, too busy, not busy enough. It had gotten to mid afternoon and we resigned ourselves that we’d missed the boat, everywhere would be on siesta and we’d have dinner on our returns to Bastia instead.

Then, best left in fate’s hands, we rounded a random bend between Centuri and Nonza and were faced with the perfect scene: a small wooden deck terrace with dainty wrought iron furniture, hanging so far off the steep hillside that it looked to be floating on the endless azure ocean on the skyline. 

Chris parallel parked the car like a local, ie single smooth twist of the steering wheel to place our little Fiat 500 inches from the stone wall on the passenger side, and right in the middle of the cars in front and behind with no more than a half metre either side. THAT is how much motivation our little terrace provided!

The waitron at L’Auberge du Chat Qui Pêche (The Inn of the Chat who Fishes) welcomed us and ushered us to a table right at the edge of the terrace, from where we could see the terraced gardens (citrus and veg) below and of course the massive magnificent ocean that stretches as far as the eye could see in either direction.

Expecting to pay a premium (which is saying something considering the normal price of things), we were surprised when the daily menu board was presented to us and left on an easel for our inspection. Everything was easily €5 cheaper than in the cities, which is crazy since the view alone was worth multiple times that!

We shared a juicy 300g pork chop with sautéed potatoes complemented with fried calamari for a sort of surf n turf combo, washed down with a (small) beer to toast our good fortune that this slice of heaven had presented itself so clearly to us.

Wishing we could stay to enjoy the sunset, but knowing how treacherous the remainder of the drive would be in the dark, we called for our bill. Shock, horror, the restaurant didn’t accept credit card! Only cash and cheque. Cheque? In 2022?! Anyway…

With our broken French and the landlord’s broken English, we found a third option of mutual benefit. PayPal. Jumping onto their wifi I attempted to transfer the Euros from my PayPal account. The transaction required an OTP delivered by SMS, which was proving troublesome since we were in stone building in a thicket in the middle of nowhere.

The landlord didn’t even raise an eyebrow at my raindancing like a mad thing on the terrace, waving my phone at the sea trying to get the damn OTP. When it eventually came, he gave us a warm and friendly “Merci. Bon journée!” which is exactly what we’d had. A good day!

MONDAY 

As the last day of our trip, we’d left the itinerary completely open so we could fill in the gaps for anything we’d not gotten to.

Since the sun was shining and the sky was as blue as the day is long, we decided to drive across to Saint Florent, a little coastal town at the westerly base of the Cap Corse route we’d driven the day before (but cut slightly short having spent extra time at our terrace restaurant).

Saint Florent as a seaside holiday resort town offered a stretch of beach, a marina with a broad selection of restaurants and, of course, a citadel. We figured we could easily entertain ourselves for a couple of hours with the combination of walking tour, sea-slothing and/or eating something delicious.

We easily managed all 3 in Saint Florent with a courtesy nod to culture by way of photos of the square, monument and citadel + delicious ice cream cones (from a store that had more than 50 flavours so it was very hard to choose) + a couple of hours of soaking up the soft Mediterranean sun and splashing around in the warm Mediterranean Sea.

We had seen some vineyards on the way in so fancied our chances of a wine tasting and light late lunch / charcuterie board on the way home.

Finding the wineries was very easy; they were lined up along the road through Patrimonio. Choosing was a bit of a crap-shoot since we hadn’t heard of any of them. We stopped in at a few, muddled through the obligatories with the hosts (none of whom spoke English; clearly this is not a big tourist activity) and didn’t find anything that tickled us (especially not the sweet muscat wine!) nor any with a kitchen or snacks of any sort.

By the time we got back to Bastia we were ravenous… but still had an hour to wait until any dinner restaurants opened at 18h30. We passed some time having a glass of wine on the town square before going for dinner at a grill house famed equally for their magnificent rotisserie chicken and their large portions. Parfait!

At least doing everything on foot means that each activity is equally about the journey and the destination and we soaked up our last sunset as we walked hand-in-hand along the promenade past the Old Port and the citadel for the last time.

Travelogue Corsica 2: Ajaccio

AJACCIO

29 September – 01 October 2022

We checked out of the lovely Grand President Hotel in Olbia needing to retrace our footsteps back to Corsica. We would drive to Olbia Airport to return our Mini rental car, catch the 10h40 bus to Santa Teresa at the Airport terminus and, on arrival, expected to be just after 12 midday, would need to hightail down to the port to catch our pre-booked 12h30 ferry.

Empowered by predictable and efficient public transport, we disembarked the ferry in Bonifacio just after 13h30.

We were a bit nervous as we walked along the promenade in front of all the shops and the hotel we had stayed at the week before, as we approached the parking lot, hoping and praying that our car was still there in one piece.

Hallelujah! It was still there.

Absolutely delighted, we exited the parking lot and hit the road in the direction of Ajaccio.

Since we still had the Corsican Sim card we were able to do some googling to decide on our stops along the way. Knowing we would not make it all the way through to dinner time on our early hotel breakfast alone, we decided to stop in Sartene, which had great reviews on a few sites we checked .

It was a very scenic drive as we drove inland from the coast and with the blue sea minimising behind us we became engulfed in the greenery of the mountainous terrain we were traversing.

Arriving in Sartene at around 3pm, we anticipated parking to be an issue, so we took the first available spot we saw, at the base of a steep hill at the entrance to the town, and advanced on foot. 

The reviews never really give a sense of magnitude and everything in Sartene was smaller and closer than anticipated. 500m later we were at the central Piazza Petro photographing the panorama, crudely translating the inscription on statues and looking for somewhere to offer a quick bite.

As with most piazzas, there were sidewalk cafes dotted around the edge. We were keen to get back on the road though, so not in for the long haul matching the existing patrons in their lounge chairs watching the day go by.

We thus picked the low-key take away kitchen at the entrance to the square which, with its couple of barrel tables and chalkboard offering panini and burgers, seemed like they’d be able to turn us around fast and happy.

We ordered kebab galettes – a choice made infinitely more simple since it was all they had left of the list of lunch specials on the board – and were soon chomping away happily on fat, neatly stuffed wraps, and commending ourselves on the sensible choice since the crunchy fresh garnish was the closest we’d come to veg in days!

Fuelled and motivated to complete our journey, Chris negotiated the narrow and winding road down through valleys and up around hillocks while I admired the Vistarama and remarked at the pinhead-sized towns that popped up here and there on the hillside. 

With sturdy grey stone structures hinting at a lot of history behind those walls, we wondered how those random settlements had come to be, who lived there… and whether it would be worth planning a Work From Anywhere trip to really test the ‘remote’ in remote working.

The surrounding area was so thick and green and so contoured and textured – only punctuated with brown splashes where steep rock faces broke through the forests – that I suspect that if you were looking down on this area, zoomed in from the satellite or something, it may like a head of broccoli!

Our route (The Only Route between Bonifacio and Ajaccio) wove us back to the coast and past a small town called Propriano that we had seen on reviews while we were planning our itinerary and had been a strong contender for an overnight stay. We could see the appeal of the magnificent clear blue bay with cheerful multi-coloured buildings cuddled onto its coastline and yachts bobbing around the marina, willing holidaymakers to take to the seas.

I kept looking over my shoulder and out the back window to catch a glimpse of the little bay, vowing that should we return to Corsica, we would add this to our future itinerary.

All the while, with Romesh for company, we were making headway towards our ultimate destination, Ajaccio.

It was a stark dose of reality, after being on holiday for a couple of weeks already, to get a taste of the real world again; approaching Ajaccio we got caught in the end of day traffic!  Worsened by an accident on the marina close to our final destination, movement had slowed to such a point that we were estimated to require 26 minutes to cover the last 2 km of a journey. We were tempted to leave the car (again) and walk the final distance!

Nonetheless, with nerves of steel, Chris got us to where we needed to be. Our patience was rewarded when as we were checking in to Le Dauphin, a car pulled out of the parking bay right in front of the hotel, providing us with a free parking bay that would save us €10 of paid parking per day, as well as the 200 meter walking to and from the parking lot. 

Eager to see a little of the town before it got dark, we headed straight out and directed ourselves along the water’s edge and citadel wall, through the old town and up to the Place Charles de Gaulle and its statue of Napoleon Bonaparte, who was famously born in this town. 

After a cursory wander around to get our bearings, we happened upon an Irish pub, where we could continue our quest for culture by adding a listing onto our Guinness index.

Since we had had such a filling and late lunch in Sartene, and with no compulsion to force a dinner we rather enjoyed soaking in the old town atmosphere, browsing the restaurant menus and stopping in here and there for a drink.

FRIDAY

Waking to a grey sky, we wasted no time donning our runners and doing a lap the full length of the promenade to the beach at the far end; the same section we’d first walked the previous evening. 

Ajaccio really was a picture postcard coastal city, that looked very tropical with all its tall mature palm trees along the promenade. It had a lot of old world charm with its restored and renovated pastel buildings curving along the shoreline and must have been a heavenly sight for the weary sailors coming in to port for the last few hundred years, looking for a good meal and a night on the town.

We had decided to forgo the breakfast at the hotel since experience had told us that they were all the same very continental offering with a hot drink, a cold drink, a pastry and jams. We decided instead that we would pop our heads in ear one of the many boulangeries we had seen and leave the menu in the hands of fate.

Heading up into the old town, we skipped the first bakery because there was a long queue at the door and there was no shortage of boulangeries so a wait unwarranted. We went into the second shortly thereafter and grabbed a pain au chocolat and a sugar crested brioche to get us started. 

At literally a couple of Euro, we applauded our adventure as well as our economy, as we chomped on the fresh and light baked goods.

On a good wicket and not quite sated, we thought we’d stop in at the next boulangerie, and were soon trying another local store where we ordered a ham and cheese pie. With a smooth cheese sauce filling and lumps of diced ham, the pie was light and flaky and would have been a perfect 10 if only it was heated.

Still talking about how clever we were to have found two great boulangeries, we stumbled across a third, emitting such fabulous aroma that we could not help but enter. This one had pizza sub sandwiches on crunchy French loaf (probably just called ‘loaf’ in Corsica), which we had to sample. With great restraint we ordered one to share.

By now we’d walked almost to the other end of the promenade and were approaching the docks so there was little more to see. With the weather still miserable our initial thoughts of beaching the day away were also dashed. As it started to drizzle, we sought solace in a massive Carrefour supermarket.

It was very easy to wile away an hour of grocery tourism in the store that was so big it has TWO wine sections, each a double sided aisle running the length of the store!

Chris also got to demonstrate to me all the self service checkout technology in this store that he’d experienced on his visit to Paris a few weeks prior. Such clever tech and so user friendly!

Thinking we’d out-waited the rain, we emerged from the store. We were about halfway back home when the clouds opened properly and we were absolutely drenched in a flash cloudburst! 

This time we hibernated back to our hotel and didn’t come out again until we were surer than sure that the rain had dried up.

Emerging again, we made our way up to Old Town for some sundowners, feeling perfectly justified at starting early since the sun hadn’t actually had the good grace to come out in the first place. 

We used the downtime to research dinner options; a mean feat since there were SO many restaurants to choose from. We eventually settled on one recommended by our trusty travel aid app, The Fork, and then settled in for the wait until our reservation (19h30, earlybirds special by Corsican standards) rolled around.

Committed to having anything but pizza and pasta, we enjoyed a fabulously French snails to start, with Corsican sausage bangers ‘n mash and a beef joulet for mains and a cracking bottle of local Red to wash it all down.

Travelogue Sardinia 2: Oristano to Olbia

ORISTANO TO OLBIA

25 – 29 September 2022

We awoke to pouring rain in Oristano which was a bit of a thorn in the side of our plans. We were destined to go to Alghero via the town of Bosa, mentioned more than a few times as being one of the most beautiful towns in Italy. 

As several rows of Smartie-box townhouses embedded against a steep hillside, neatly placed between a wide river at its entrance and an ancient castle overlooking the town, it was not the ideal excursion for a rainy day.

Not keen on canning the plan completely, we decided to lay low for a bit and check-out of our hotel at the latest possible time to give the rain a chance to blow over. This also gave us a lot more time to enjoy the breakfast buffet which, as per the previous we’d experienced in Sardinia so far was a gluttonous mix of charcuterie, cheeses, pastries, eggs, yoghurts, juices, cakes and puddings. Heaven for a sugar junkie like me!

Leaving at 11 (the hotel, not the buffet; I would have literally burst if I spent any longer in the breakfast room) we made our way 40km up the coast and, fortunately, seemed to drive through and ahead of the rain. By the time we got to Bosa it was grey but clear.

We started our self-guided city tour at the Bosa Marina to have a closer look at the tower at the water’s edge. Unfortunately it was closed to the public so it was just a case of going up to the tower, taking a snap and repeating the return journey back to the car to proceed to Bosa town. 

We took a walk up to the Castello Malaspina, which made a brilliant vantage point to overlook the town below. Much like what we had seen in Cagliari old town, it was a dense packed community of mostly 3-storey tall buildings very close together, winding their way down the hillside on cobbled streets.

While we had been efficient in taking the steep steps up to the castle, we opted to take a more leisurely zigzag down from the castle which proved to be an interesting activity in itself. 

We had noted that the Sardinians were generally a nation petite in stature, but were still surprised and tickled by how many of these old houses had really tiny doors – to the point that they were barely wider than my shoulders and took me up to my chin. We also commended the locals on their managing the bumpy and slippery cobblestones which were even tricky in our top-end trainers! 

We also noted that Bosa, wise to being a tourist town – clearly evidenced by the number of fellow tourists who were speaking English, French and German, had several restaurants bucking siesta conventions and serving a roaring trade of pizza, pasta and seafood.

Some of the restaurants were no more than a handful of tables; all that could fit in the narrow alleys and small apertures at their disposal. 

If Julia’s story was true about these towns being purposefully built as a labyrinth with narrow winding rows to slow down and confuse enemies, then it would have taken a highly motivated army of Lilliputians with instinctive better-than-modern-Mini GPS and Nike-level sandals to even bother with Bosa! Maybe stop in for a pizza en route to raiding the next village though…

The last leg of our journey was 60km to Alghero. We had begun an audiobook called ‘As Good As It Gets’ by a British comedian called Romesh Ranganathan and the three of us made our merry way. 

It was a very scenic drive through the countryside with parts where we climbed up and through mountain roads that gave spectacular views across the green fields and to the hint of the sea on the horizon. At other parts it was dense greenery, obscuring anything that lay beyond.

Entering Alghero it was very clearly a seaside holiday town. Double lanes on either side for the nobody-in-any-hurry cars, holiday flats lining the inland side with restaurants and shops selling holiday tack below. 

On the beach side, there was a palm tree-lined 3 or 4 metre wide smooth walkway, with demarcated bicycle lanes. Bubbles of cafés and kiosks serviced the  visitors, either seated to face the beach or spilling onto the beachsand. The sea glistened and shone, gamely gently bobbing the yachts and washing some of its crystal blues waters up the sand to give everyone something to watch.

Great spot for a couple of days’ downtime.

We had rented an apartment for our stay. Even though we were a bit early for our 4pm check in, we made our way to our neighbourhood such that we could park the car, have a walk around and worry about the admin later. 

When we arrived though, the receptionist was there and we were able to check in and offload.

We were on the opposite end of the beach to the old town, so the obvious plan was to amble our way back along the beachfront road we’d come in on, all the way to the citadel.

You’d think that by now these historic fixtures would be getting a bit like wallpaper to us… but no. The same fascination at being immersed in an open air museum! 

It helps that Alghero has many exhibits along the battlements so you can freely touch and snap catapults and cannons as you walk along the battlements. 

Of course it was thirsty work, so one must stop for an ice cold Ichnusa every now and then to keep motivated! 

The evening trade was just coming to life. We Googled to find somewhere opening at 18h30 and found a delightful rock bar cafe called L’Anfora down a side street. We were standing in their doorway when they opened…

Although the restaurants open later, there seems to be a tapas culture on this side of the island, which we assumed to be a latent Spanish influence. Assumed and applauded, that is, as we tucked into the basket of chips that was served along with our beers.

By the time we left all the tables outside the bar were full; most patrons enjoying charcuterie boards with their drinks. Perhaps that was the way to survive the fasts between meals, but in our state a few slices of cold cuts and a wedge or two of fancy cheese would not have gone far!

We moved on to dinner – again the first arrivals at the place. We’d chosen a place called El Pultal because it had a rooftop terrace. Not that it had a view of the sea or anything, but it was quite novel to be among the rooftops with the fresh air and the soundtrack of the streets below.

Ordering a simple Diavola pizza and penne Ragu (bolognaise back home), we marvelled at how the quality of the Italian process made the meal more about the dough and the pasta than the sauces. Not just a delivery mechanism for a laundry list of toppings.

We were still talking about it when we took the long walk back along the beach to get home. The beachfront was still busy, with people just arriving for their evening’s entertainment. We again wondered if we were better off squeezing a secret mealtime in during siesta so that we could integrate… or if we’d like it too much and that would create havoc for our schedule when we got home!

MONDAY

We had the luxury of a leisurely start to the day before donning our runners and putting takkie to tar to run the same loop we’d ambled the night before, and fill in the photo album gaps where we’d been unable to get good snaps because it was too busy.

Even though we set off after 9, we had the place to ourselves. Besides a few cafes lapping up the tourist breakfast trade, the seaside was still sleeping and we were able to clock 7.5km or so with photo stops in well under an hour.

Not that there was any rush. With a lazy day ahead, we weighed up our options on things to do and decided to hunt down a seafood lunch and then do a bit of wine tasting.

Reassured from our Sardinian experience thus far that there was no such thing as a bad beach, we decided on the closest out-of-town, Spaggia del Lazzaretto with a restaurant called La Torre that had good reviews.

We only had 6km to drive, which was a win since we were nothing short of literally starving. 

Paying the very least passable amount of homage to the majestic ocean, we moved briskly to a seaside table in the restaurant and, with necessity being the red-headed step child of intention, we poked like Neanderthals at the menu so that the waitress was clear about our predestined spaghetti vongole and calamari platter order. Getting a strawberry granita (grown-up Slush Puppy) for an additional fingerpoint was an unexpected win.

The lunch was delicious and plentiful. We debated the latter. Just because we were full, should it really be described as plentiful? we certainly would have gotten more or paid less at home. Was that a quality / standard of living / forex rate debate? Or were we adjusting; getting indoctrinated? Would we start making micro meals in the middle of the night when we got home?! 

Clearly a week into the holiday we were decompressing and our contextual barometer was calling the shots on what should be blown out of proportion!

What a perfect time to add vino into the mix!

We tootled down the road to a wine farm called Sella & Musca (named after the attorney and engineer who had founded it in 1899). Although the wine tasting and tour for 3pm had already been fully booked, we’d decided to wing it with an unannounced arrival, figuring our lack of Italian would both be a good reason and a good excuse not to bother with the tour.

Turns out that our hosts were as chilled as their wine, and we were able to take up a table on the terrace and sample their sparkling brut and rosé options.

We were so delighted with our experience that we thought we’d pair it with the other farm a few kilometres down the road. It was not to be, however, since we found on arrival that they are not open on Mondays. Oh well.

With the sun still reasonably high in the sky, we returned to our own home Beach for a dip in the sea before opening our own bottle of Red that we’d had to excuse-buy in Bonifacio.

Despite Chris having to pull some quite fancy moves to remove the cork with the broken opener in our apartment, we were soon(ish) sipping on an absolute quaffer, enjoying the last of the afternoon sun, overlooking our swimming pool and (one of us at least) catching up on a bit of traveloguing.

TUESDAY 

Being a driving day, we had had the foresight to plan an in-home breakfast. Sourcing from the large supermarket in front of our holiday apartment block, we had intended a simple ‘eggs on toast’ sort of formula.

Procuring the two requisite items had triggered some grocery tourism though and we found ourselves engrossed in how different even the staples were from our choices at home. 

There was an entire aisle – both sides, from end to end  of the shop – of pasta options of every conceivable shape, size, colour and dietary requirement! More biscuits than you can imagine, with the vast majority looking like butter cookies / shortbread rather than the rainbow we are presented at home. 

By contrast, the eggs were tricky to find because the display was a small stack of a single brand in two sizes plus a free range option, where the Sardinians would be shell-shocked by the wall of options they’d be faced with if they shopped in South Africa.

While browsing we spotted a rotisserie chicken at the deli which completely outshone the eggs idea and would make for a splendid sarmie.

Filling sorted, we now needed bread of some sort. From the bounty of choices, the most odd was a loaf of 12 slices, packed as 3 side-by-side rows of 4, rather than the conventional straight loaf. There was a long row of baskets with rolls made on-site; easily a dozen or more options of round white rolls. We poked and prodded a few and picked a bag of 3 buns, each big enough to cover my hand with fingers extended.

Breaking our West to East coast journey with a stop in Sassaria (which we figured must be important since it’s the city after which the province we’d been in for the past few day is named), we set off. 

We barely had time for a chapter of our Romesh audiobook before the 32km had whizzed by (relatively speaking, with a 70km speed limit most of the way).

On arrival, we underwent the now-expected exercise of finding an available parking bay somewhere we were allowed to park. Opting for a residential area, which we rationalised was only reserved for resident’s overnight parking pleasure since they would surely be out at work during the day, we parked and set off on foot to see the sites of Sassaria.

We were just arriving at the Palace – stated as ‘Open’ on Google Maps – when suddenly the clouds opened. Stepping into the foyer, thinking we’d miss the cloud burst by taking the tour, our hopes were dashed when the security guard told us the guide would only be arriving at 12 and there was no entry until then.

He did give us a tourist map and we asked many unnecessary questions, didn’t vaguely attempt to prompt the gaps in his English, and showed great enthusiasm for his engagement just to sustain our place in the foyer while the rain pelted down.

Too late to turn back to the car (where we had a brolly and a raincoat, I might add) and drenched already, we darted from side to side across the narrow streets in the old town as we made our way toward the other palace the guard had suggested. 

It had all but stopped raining by the time we sought solace in a shop doorway across from our desired destination. No more than a few minutes later, when the rain had abated, we set off to take our walking tour and get slightly bedraggled photographs along the way.

Perhaps it was just our literally dampened enthusiasm, but Sassaria didn’t manage to hold our attention. 

We were very happy to keep on moving and get to Olbia, where we would be spending the next two nights.

Accommodation in Olbia had been quite expensive, with no clear low-end options, so we’d thrown caution to the wind a bit committing to the Grand President Hotel right on the Marina and at the base of the main drag. With free breakfast and free parking, the total cost evened our with some of the budget options that would potentially leave us logistically scrambling on arrival.

WEDNESDAY 

Having had a marathon session at the hotel buffet (how can you not when it includes everything from starters to desserts?!), we headed out to find somewhere pretty to work off our breakfast.

Chris negotiated the 11 short kilometres to get us to Porto Rotondo, where we easily found parking for the car (hooray!) and headed out on foot to explore a bit.

We walked down to the marina which was deserted, hardly a surprise these days since it was barely midday and nothing happens until the sun is overhead. We admired some of the more impressive yachts and the jetskis that were parked at the quayside.

Following the signs, we visited a few of the local beaches, with 5 or 6 options a few hundred metres from each other on various sides of the small peninsula. But, as per What Julia had told us on our tour in Cagliari, the wind is a make or break for a beach experience – and we found the current gusty weather to be quite impractical for stopping to sit on any of the beaches. We made do with the on-the-go scenery since even when the sea was choppy, the view was spectacular.

Opting to return to the car on the inland route we passed through the charming hamlet of Porto Rotondo, which had some delightfully modern appeal. 

There was a new church (in stark contrast to all the centuries-old ones we’d seen so far), as well as the wide pedestrian walkway that runs through the town which has been embedded with modern artworks including steel fish and whales that playfully guide you along the route.

With the usual smattering of pizza and pasta places to service the holidaymakers, Porto Rotando also offers wine tasting…which might have caught our attention if the threatening rain hadn’t been rushing our road trip or, conversely, had in fact come to fruition.

It didn’t rain though so good sense said to us that it was best to get our sightseeing done while the going was still good.

Onward to Golfo Aranci.

With 5 beautiful beaches around the bay, this would have made for a glorious day of beach-hopping if it was sunny. Each with its own merits, we could have easily spent a whole day shifting from one to the next, sipping and snacking on delights from the kiosks as we slothed.

In the wind, it was nowhere near as much fun, so we reminded ourselves of how much we had already seen and done in Sardinia and how there was nothing wrong with having a down day to just relax.

With that we returned to the hotel for a lazy afternoon; a marathon sitting of Friends, fuelled by the complimentary cakes biscuits and sweets from the hotel bar and a cappuccino station in our room. 

Our last spurt of ambition was to take a walk up the main pedestrian shopping street to find somewhere for dinner. Walking the full length and back we decided that there was nowhere better than the brilliant restaurant we had visited the night before, so with plan in hand we were able to hibernate back to our room with a clear plan and to countdown until our last supper.

A couple of hours later we headed to the restaurant, where we were again surrounded by tourists since it was way too early for any self-respecting Sardinian to be having their evening meal.

Despite being sorely tempted to reorder the exact same meals as the evening before (they had been that good!), we complimented our previous evening’s selection with the alternatives we’d tussled with, reasoning that if we were not going to be exciting in our variety of restaurant, we were at least going to show some variety in our order.

We languished in the extravagance of ordering a pizza to share as a starter when the main courses should have been enough to sate the largest of appetite, and then still, being our last night, had no choice but to end off with a dessert. Our last unticked box was one of Julia’s recommendations – a deep fried pastry filled with cheese and covered with warm honey.

What a sweet ending to sweet trip.

Travelogue Sardinia 1: Cagliari to Oristano

SANTA TERESA TO ORISTANO

22-24 September 2022

This holiday had begun as a roadtrip intended to circumnavigate Corsica, but quickly expanded to include Sardinia when we realised that the two islands are joined by a 50 minute ferry between Bonifacio and Santa Teresa.

Our enthusiasm was channeled into mapping a route that would allow us to see most of the two destinations in a reasonable amount of time, resulting in a fast-paced action-packed 2 week itinerary crafted on a one-day-on-one-day-off driving strategy. Day 1 in Sardinia would thus be covering the long snaking 300km-odd backward S, which would take around 3 hours with 110kmph max speed limit.

Never did we consider that our single-minded roadtrip was actually across two countries and it was only when we collected the car in Bastia that it dawned on us that we were contracted in France… and on reading the documents not endorsed to take the car to Italy and, more importantly, not insured if we left the country. 

We had wrestled with the decision on whether to take our chances or, if not, what to do with the car we had. Our itinerary was to travel the length of Sardinia on our first day, thinking we’d get the big drive (3 hours from the ferry port in the north to the capital, Cagliari, in the south) behind us and enjoy the return journey at a more leisurely pace. This meant very real risk upfront in unknown territory.

It was only on the morning we were due to leave Corsica that the decision made itself. The risk was too high to abscond to Italy with the French car. We would leave it in our hotel parking in Bonifacio and get another rental in Sardinia. We jumped online and booked a car in the ferry port town on the other side, Santa Teresa.

Confident we had made the right choice, we slipped back into our gameplan; fresh pastries and crusty footlong sandwiches from the artisanal bakery next to our hotel.

With a backpack full of baked goodies, we walked to the ferry at the end of the promenade, checked in, boarded and were off to Sardinia to start our Italian episode.

When the ferry arrived in Santa Teresa we were able to use the offline Google Maps we’d saved in advance of the trip to direct us to the car rental agent, only a few hundred metres away in the tiny town.

The wind was taken out of our sails when we presented a South African drivers licence and were told that Italian law required an International Drivers Permit and he was expecting a hard copy original with some sort of official stamp. An absolutely outdated bureaucratic convention! But a showstopper nonetheless. 

The chap at the store was sort of helpful, Googling the phone number for the South African Consulate in Rome in case we wished to seek their help (!) and letting me use his phone to go online to clarify the rules and seek alternatives. 

We tried the two other rental agents in the vicinity; one held the same opinion about the IDP and the other wasn’t concerned, but didn’t have a car available until the next day.

We weighed up our options. Spend the night in Santa Teresa to get the car the next day? Or catch a bus to the nearest big town, Olbia, where there would be more options? 

We chose the latter and found out that there was a bus to Olbia Airport leaving from the Santa Teresa bus terminus at 2, which was an hour’s wait… but not terrible with a beer garden adjacent where we bought refreshments and sponged some poor soul’s internet (who has an open network from their phone?!) to keep ourselves entertained – and procure an online IDP to have a first line of approach should we be asked to present something at the next place.

The bus ride wasn’t terrible. Very comfortable coach and a bargain at €4 for the hour and a half ride. We even contemplated staying on the coach all the way to Cagliari and just using busses for the remainder of the Sardinian chapter… until the man sitting in the seat in front of ours got up, swaggered to the front, garbled something at the driver, swivelled towards the door and then proceeded to violently projectile vomit what looked suspiciously like Alfredo sauce (from the unsettlingly distinct ham and mushroom pieces) into the lap of the lady sitting in the front row!

There was much excitement as the bus was stopped, Alfredo was ejected and the poor lady mopped down with wet wipes and tissues from pitying passengers.

Fortunately there was not much left of our journey because the waft of Alfredo’s recent ex-lunch wasn’t great.

Olbia Airport had a generous selection of car hire options. The first, Sixt, had no qualms about renting us one – no IDP required – and we were soon zooting off in a spanky black Mini Cooper.

We plugged our destination into the Mini’s dashboard nav and let the lady lead us out of Olbia and onto the open road. She took us over a windy-windy mountainous route, which was slower going than the National roads but very pretty scenery that was not that different to parts of home, truth be told. The golden plains punctuated with dark green bushes and trees and backdropped with blue grey mountains could probably be mistaken for the likes of a Van Reenen’s Pass back home. It is remarkable though that there is so much of Sardinia still uninhabited and undeveloped considering its size.

Thankfully the Mini was a pleasurable drive because at times the twists and turns, blind corners and narrow roads felt like a video game. Would have been a nightmare for poor Alfredo.

We arrived into a bustling Cagliari evening. The roads were very busy and it was tricky to navigate according to the GPS lady’s instructions when she very clearly didn’t have a handle on the congestion or the impatient drivers hooting as they manically changed lanes.

Fortunately our hotel was only one road in from the main marine parade, so easier than it could have been if we were deeply bedded in the city. 

We found a parking quite close to the hotel which seemed too good to be true… and it was. On checking in our concierge told us that the parkings in the Marine district require a permit so we’d have to move. I agreed to finalise the check in and move to the room while Chris moved the car.

Almost an hour later Chris arrived back at the hotel, after an unsuccessful mission and with the car back in the same too-good-to-be-true parking bay.

We returned to the concierge to seek advice on options and he produced a magnetic parking card for the pay parking bays a mere 200m from the hotel, available at €8 a day fee. Why had he not offered this to us before?!

We parked the car and walked into the Marina district to get some dinner. I had spent my waiting time doing some Google research on where to go, so at least we had a single-minded purpose. And a reservation waiting.

We were warmly greeted on arrival at White Rock and, having done my online research of the menu, it was an easy ordering process. 

The food was delicious and we enjoyed our pasta and steak dinner, washed down with local Ichnusa beer and entertained by Attila, a teacup dog in a teeny-tiny puffer jacket who kept trying to escape his parents to join our table. 

FRIDAY

Vowing to leave the car in place all day, we planned our schedule to allow a generous allocation of time to the hotel buffet breakfast (included in our room rate) before dashing off to meet for the walking tour we’d booked for 10am.

Our guide, Julia, was ready and waiting and we were soon off to hear all about Cagliari as we walked through the 4 districts that the tour covered.

We started at the Saint Rémy Bastion; an impressive facade that we couldn’t help but notice on our arrival. Although in 1700s neo-classical styling, the bastion had been nearly destroyed in World War II so the current structure we were seeing was a rebuild that was intended to match the original as closely as possible. (Along with much of the city which was heavily bombed as as part of the Allies’ strategy against Mussolini).

We were given free time to wander the large open terrace, admiring the panoramic view of Cagliari and the natural beauty of its surroundings, before moving to the next district, Castello, entering through Lions Gate.

We walked through the narrow streets (for ventilation and protection, according to Julia) listening to anecdotes about Sardinian history and culture. Being in the middle of the Mediterranean, it had been valuable to the stronger nations, resulting in defeat and rule by the Pisans (wanting to make Cagliari a mini Pisa), Spaniards for 300 years until the Italians took over in the 1700s. 

The story is summed up in their national flag which has a white background, a Red Cross (like a + sign) and the silhouette of 4 Moors facing west (Spain). This is to represent how St George helped the King of Aragon to defeat his 4 Moorish enemies, each wearing an earring to symbolise them as savages and with their eyes closed to symbolise how they were blind to Christianity.  In more modern times the flag has been updated slightly, with the heads facing east (Italy), the eyes opened and the earring removed as a sort of acknowledgment that they may be seen as racist in the new world.

The woke world we live in is a far cry from the brutal history Cagliari has seen. The Elephant Tower with its 13th century inscription at the gate, still bearing the coats of arms of the families that united to create the fortress to protect their families. The lengths they had to go to! Layers of hand-smithed metal gates on primitive but effective pullies to keep invaders out. With a wooden interior scaffolding on the interior of the gates so that if they did succumb to their enemies, it would be easy to quickly burn to the ground.

Later, during the Spanish rule, the wooden interior of the gate was enclosed to make a prison. It was renowned for being one of the most brutal and intended for the cries and howls of its prisoners to warn the citizens what would become of them if they didn’t play by the rules. 

The Castello also had a curfew. It was only inhabited by Spanish soldiers; the Sardinians who worked in the bastion had to be out by the time the gates were closed at 8pm. Those who missed the curfew were unceremoniously thrown over the high boundary wall, to fall to their death below.

Once the tour was over, we walked to some of the further sites not included in the group route to visit the likes of the archeological museum and the Roman amphitheatre which is still in remarkable condition seeing as it’s more than 2000 years old!

Done with the culture part of the day, we planned to pass a relaxing afternoon at the beach. We had asked Julia for a recommendation on which beach to visit since Sardinia is known equally for the quantity and quality of its beaches.

She shared that while most of the beaches are breathtaking, Cagliari is windy so it’s best to choose according to where the wind conditions are most favourable. Fortunately there is an app for that, so she logged into her MayBay app and checked a few places – they even have a web cam so you’re not just relying on stats – and suggested Poetto, which we could access on foot, by car or on a selection of busses.

We walked the 5 or so kilometres to the beach seeing as we were in no hurry and all the sights were new to us anyway. 

The beach was gorgeous! Blue blue sea, golden sand and only a hint of a breeze which was welcome in the brilliant sunshine. We thoroughly enjoyed a couple of hours of swimming and sitting. 

Doing nothing can be thirsty work though, so we hoofed back to the hotel to get cleaned up for a sundowner and some dinner. 

We marked off the Guinness Index (R107.95 each) at an Irish Pub called Old Square and then had dinner in one of the very many restaurants in Medina, sharing a pizza – we’d been hankering after all day – and a stuffed pasta local favourite that Julia had recommended that we try.

SATURDAY 

Based on Julia’s advice, we made a slight detour on our plan for the day – a 107km drive north to Oristano on the west coast – to latch on a visit to Pula and Nora due 37km further south. 

The significance was twofold: an archeological site with ancient city remains and the destination for an annual pilgrimage in May in honour of St Efisius who was martyred in Roman times and still emotes devotees to walk from Cagliari to the church in Nora where he is laid to rest. So devout are his followers that the pilgrimage even happened through World War II when Sardinia was being bombed!

We checked out of our hotel, Chris liberated the car and used some very poetic licence to drive up to the door of the hotel to collect me and our heavy suitcase and then we were off!

We followed the blue blue ocean along the coast and, despite a few red herrings from our onboard GPS, had little trouble finding our way.

Nora was founded by the Phoenicians in around the 8th century BC on the Capo du Pula. The shelter of the cape allowed safe sea landing no matter which winds were blowing. Based on the gustiness of our ‘not windy’ visit, this must have been a make or break back then.

The Romans arrived around the 2nd Century BC and built their settlement on the foundations of the Phoenician settlement. It was only around the 2nd Century AD that the Romans invested more heavily in the area, building the big fancy houses they are famous for as well as a temple, forum etc. 

The Vandals made their way to Nora in the 5th Century AD and ransacked the city, which prompted the inhabitants to disperse into smaller agrarian groups. By the 8th century AD, further continual raiding by the Saracen pirates made the area completely impractical and it was abandoned once the few remaining inhabitants moved inland for their own safety.

Not much of the Phoenician town still exists, but the Roman remains built over the original town offer an interesting wander through time, with quite a lot of buildings still distinct and tangible finishes like floor tiles still clearly visible and in remarkable condition, bearing in mind how long they’ve been there and exposed to the elements.

Easy to see why early settlers chose the place – beside the access, the shelter of the cove etc etc, the beach is beautiful. Even old St Efisius didn’t do too badly to have this as his final resting place (although, arguably, not being martyred in the first place would have been a bigger win).

Back in the car, we abandoned Mini’s phantom roads and followed the signs to Oristano. 

We arrived to a dead. Quiet. Town. 

Not. A. Soul. About.

Even the Spar was closed. Looked like their siesta was from 2-5.

We checked in at our hotel, prepared to lay low for a bit until things woke up. We checked the Tourist Office hours and coincided our re-emergence with their opening.

Oristano is small and we were staying centrally so it was only a few blocks to the Office and we soon had a simple walking tour map in hand and a worthwhile mission to keep us entertained. It was easy to get epic photos of everything with so few people about!

One of the sights is The Tower; clearly one of the ancient city wall entrances. Besides finding signs of life at the cafe on its piazza, there were sound rigging people setting up some pretty impressive gear. Looked like Oristano was preparing to party!

We did some people watching and pre-sundowners for a bit before the munchies set in. Googling didn’t help the situation, revealing that almost everything only opened around 8. It wasn’t even 6 yet! How do these people survive waiting that long for dinner? Especially since everything had been closed all afternoon.  When was lunch?!

We circled the route we’d been on earlier, rationalising that the busier touristy roads were more likely to wake up first. It was slim pickings but we were drawn in by a cocktail-bar-cafe called Lola Mundo, playing The Cure and advertising sandwiches.

Happy for the snack to keep us going, we ordered. My toasted cheese, ham and mushroom was delicious… but a mere morsel as one slice of bread folded in half and served as a single toasted triangle. Clearly Sardinia is not for the South African appetite! (Although, granted, the people of Sardinia are generally petitely proportioned).

While enjoying the playlist, piazza and free wifi, some research of the area produced result of an Irish bar a mere 120m from us. It seemed rude not to poke a nose in!

Old Town Birreria sure had committed to Guinness. Not only was there painted signage on the outside of the building and the usual assortment of beer mats, coasters and other branded goodies on the bar itself, Old Town had literal Guinness murals on the walls! Although we’d marked Sardinia on the Guinness Index already, this kind of commitment had to be rewarded.

Our good karma was rewarded with a large tower of complimentary French fries served with our pints, as a sort of Tapas.

Wandering back to The Tower we discovered that the riggers had been setting up a free open air concert, by the looks of things hosted by local radio station Sintony.

There was a chap with a mixing desk and three others playing violins and a cello at the top of the tower, with digital screens at the bottom, around which a generous crowd had gathered to enjoy the show.

Young and old were having a merry old time in the vibrant piazza. How fortunate we were to have been in the right place at the right time!

Travelogue Corsica 1: Bonifacio

BONIFACIO

19-22 September 2022

After a couple of years of lockdown keeping our feet on the ground, we were both eager and anxious to get back to our formerly regular adventures in the world.

Being a bit out of practice, it took the prompt of a business trip for Chris to get us plotting and planning again.

He had some work to do in Paris and London at the beginning of September so the thinking was that it would be ideal to tag a couple of weeks leisure travel onto that. We’d been working on our French on the Duolingo app throughout lockdown so the French connection prompted us to consider Corsica, a French island to the south of the Côté d’Azur.

Engulfed in the zeal of holiday planning, Sardinia (an Italian island) was soon latched onto the itinerary when we realised that the two islands were connected by a short ferry ride. A two-for-one road trip? Yes please! 

This now required at least a two week stay; impractical as an extension on Chris’s business trip which was already 10 days. But too good to put off for much longer, so pegged for September nonetheless. Chris would just have to go and come back, only to go again.

Tickets were booked, routes planned and hotels reserved. All systems go.

It was quite a trek to get there: drive to OR Tambo airport, 8 hour flight to Dubai, 3 long hours from midnight to 3am (thank heavens for free lounge access!) in Dubai Airport for our connecting 6 hour flight to Paris, with 3 hours to get our luggage, cross terminals and catch our 2 hour connecting EasyJet flight to Bastia, in the north of Corsica.

But then we were there. Picking up our little Fiat 500 to hit the open road!

Bravely, we had made the decision upfront to suck up the driving on the first day while we were in motion anyway, so to speak, which meant that first order of business was to drive the length of Corsica to our first home for the holiday, Bonifacio.

Although traversing Corsica was little more than 150km and a single road, it was national road at best so speed limit varied from 70kmph (mostly) to 110kmph (best case) and 50kmph through the towns dotted along the route. 

Even though we were tired, the drive was still enjoyable. It was easy to see how Corsica is fondly dubbed L’Ile Beauté (the beautiful island) as we moved through fields and hills and tropical vegetation, with the azure ocean popping up on our left every now and then. We also passed a few vineyards offering tastings and sales rooms and noted to visit a few on our return journey, when we had more time.

On the outskirts of Bonifacio, you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in Cappadocia in Turkey. The road we were travelling on seemed as if snaking through a valley that it had outgrown and consequently there were cave-like single garages cut into the high walls of sandy-coloured rock, presumably to service the shops opposite or unseen residences above.

We would need to have a closer look later; for now the mission was to get to our destination while still light.

Bonifacio took us a bit by surprise as we rounded a corner and were met with a marina heaving with fancy yachts and catamarans, twinkling lights along the promenade from the row of waterfront bars and restaurants servicing their sunset trade and big, brown and ancient citadel standing proudly on the hilltop backdrop, filling the horizon as it had for as long as it had.

Of course we took a wrong turn and ended up in the citadel itself, holding our breath as our tiny Fiat 500 squeezed along the tight roads never meant for cars and wheezed up the steep hills that one can’t imagine having to do daily without a car!

At the tippedy-top of the hill and suspecting our hotel to be down below on the promenade, we quit the confusing GPS, negotiated the twists, turns and tourists on instinct alone and sought solace in the parking lot of the Spar we’d noted on our way in. 

The security man, knowing exactly how precious parking real estate was on the cramped peninsula, was wise to our game and rattled off some French that was clearly “Oi! Customers Only!” or similar.

Tag-teaming the mission, I slipped into the Spar to buy <anything> while Chris set off on foot to find our hotel.

The upside of the cramped town was that nothing was far, so he was soon back with a hotel room key, a simple touristy illustrated map and a parking card for a lot nearby, circled on the map. 

I had bought a simple bottle of red wine purely for the label which illustrated in pretty watercolour that it was from our current locale. From the entire aisle of local wines, not a one had a screw top lid so it was very possible this souvenir may make it home for tasting if we couldn’t get it opened!

Our hotel, the Best Western Hotel du Roy d’Aragon, was no more than 100m from our Spar parking lot base station; located conveniently at the near end of the marina and at the base of the (steep) road that led up to the citadel.

We checked in and wasted no time getting out to get our bearings while it was still light. We were able to get a few sunset pics in and survey the meal options. 

As much as we had planned to have a local favourite for our welcome meal, we succumbed when a man with a large pizza box passed us and the delicious aroma emanating from the box drew us to the place a few doors up where he must have bought it. The allure of the melting cheese gave us the courage to negotiate a menu and an order in French, which we decided made the entire experience perfectly authentic. 

Despite the economical proportions of our hotel room (in stark contrast to the price!) we slept like the dead after a very long travel to get to this wonderful destination.

WEDNESDAY 

We had chosen our hotel for a combination of the location (rated 9.9! Fabulous!) and free parking (reviewed as a must across booking sites and, if anything, was understated since parking was so scarce and so so expensive), but hadn’t extended to the inclusive breakfast feeling that any continental couldn’t justify the charge.

Although the foyer smelt good enough to eat as we left for our morning run (combining exercise and sightseeing, some sweaty photos indeed!) we didn’t regret our choice as we sized up the numerous bakeries and supermarkets on our route.

Feeling justified, we grabbed a fresh pain au chocolat on our way back in to snack on while we were making ourselves presentable for the day. 

Hopped up on sugar, we decided to take a walk to the beaches to the north of the town. We’d spotted the signage on our run so knew where to go.

We negotiated the pebbly path in our flip-flops and trekked to the farthest beach first, Plage de Paraguan; a cove with a spongy beach of sodden leaves – unusual but not unpleasant – underfoot. The water was streaks of colour from transparent to turquoise to a deep navy blue and was cool and welcoming to our journeyed feet.

There were only 2 other couples on the beach and a few small boats bobbing close to the inlet of the cove. 

Rested and refreshed, we turned to make our way back, skipping the second beach and stopping and the beach closest to town, La Plage Cayenne.

With little more than a sliver of light soft sand, we went straight into the water which was again worthy of a postcard with the depth of shades of blue and smooth as glass. 

Having worked up an appetite, we returned to the marina and settled on a Croque Monsieur for lunch. Essentially a toasted sarmie with ham on the inside and cheese and creamy sauce melted on the outside, what was not to love?!

We had been propositioned a cruise as we passed through the marina for our beach walk earlier. Now, at 2pm, with nothing but time on our hands, a cruise seemed like a swell idea.

Negotiating the ticket purchase in French (not necessary but well done us anyway!), we were soon aboard the bateau and headed off to sea.

Our prior exploration of the citadel and our beach walk added to the tour since we were able to match the view of the land with the mirrored view we’d experienced from the land. The boat also took us into a few caves, with the bluest of blue waters. Hard to get decent photos though, with all the other passengers having the same agenda.

The perspective of the citadel from the open sea side showed it to be even more impressive than that on the side of the marina. I’d love to share the dimensions and history that our tour guide narrated as we sailed, but I think it would be close to fiction with my limited French and the story I patched together from the intermittent words I knew.

Arriving back at the marina with renewed interest in the citadel from some of the things we’d seen from our ocean-side vantage point, we headed up the hill.

Instead of entering the citadel on the right, we took the pathway to the left which provided a close-up view of the high craggy limestone cliffs and hints of the caves etched into their base.

Touristing being thirsty work, we celebrated our accomplishments with a couple of cold cans of Pietra from a little Spar (there really is a friendly one wherever you are) and a large bag of Bolognaise flavour crisps, inhaling the carbs after a very active day and enjoying the pause on a bench overlooking the sea.

We slowed the pace considerably, ambling through the rest of the citadel, all the way to the cemetery at the end, and then wound our way slowly back down to the now-familiar Bar du Quai at end of the promenade that ran in front of our hotel. 

With an hour or so to kill before our intended dinner time, we took a breather on the promenade to do some people-watching and then procured some local tinnies which we enjoyed at the end of one of the jetties; dangling our feet off the edge, basking in the last slice of sunlight and the shadow of the opulent luxury yachts (and super yachts and mega-super yachts) marvelling on how The Other Half live.

Quite by contrast, we’d nailed our dinner choice quite early on as modest but mouthwatering kebab galettes. Life was still pretty awesome for This Half as were chomped away on the delicious wraps washed down with ice-cold Serena lager.

Travelogue: Kommetjie

KOMMETJIE

14-19 July 2022

Our friend Candy had signed up for a website where you get to house and pet sit in exchange for free accommodation. Although the website offers homes across the globe, Candy had specifically looked for a South African beach destination to get her feet wet, as it were. She had secured a prime booking in Kommetjie (on the peninsula to the south of Cape Town) for two months over July and August – and we had promised to join her to keep her company.

The perfect opportunity to join her in Kommetjie arose when Christian was nominated at work to host customers at an international rugby match to be played at Cape Town Stadium in the middle of July. As a relatively last-minute plan and with the surcharge in local flights, we were grateful that lockdown had established ”work from home” practices as the new normal, such that we were able to travel down on the red-eye flight on Thursday morning and book the last flight home on Tuesday night, making for a lovely long weekend.

Never a dull moment, I realised as we got to OR Tambo airport at stupid o’clock in the morning that I had shuffled laptop bags and hand bags to be travel-efficient and consequently had no identification with me! Taking a chance, we checked in for the flight anyway and went through security. 

It was a tense 20 minutes wait in the lounge, but fortunately I was allowed onto the flight by showing a certified copy of my ID that was stored in my cloud drive and could be accessed on my phone. Thank heavens for the Cloud!

We arrived in Cape Town to a grey and chilly day. Candy had helped us arrange a driver to collect us and he was waiting for us as we entered the airport terminal. Gordon led us to the van and while he loaded our suitcase, Chris climbed in the passenger seat and I took a row in the back for myself.

Unfortunately I did not get to see much of the view to our home for the weekend because I had a meeting scheduled for 9 o’clock. Luckily with mobile technology I was able to log into the meeting on my laptop, and perform business as usual.

Arriving at the house, I animatedly mouthed my “hello” to our friend and host, and settled at an outside table to seamlessly continue my meeting.

Half an hour later, with the call successfully completed, I was able to do a proper greeting and get a guided tour of our home for the weekend.

How lucky we were! Our digs was a delightful mix of old world charm, with an extended wing that made for more modern and spacious living quarters. Christian later did some online research about our house, which revealed that it was one of the original four homes built in Kommetjie by the first settlers in the early 1900s. Our house was built for the Seeliger family and you could still see their original modest square home, distinct for the stonework on the outside (which was now swallowed in the back half by the plastered walls of the add-on extension).

The morning was a game of musical chairs as the three of us moved from workspace to workspace as we required quiet, chargers, company etc.

Part of the requirement for Candy’s petsit was to look after the owners’ two dogs and three cats. This included walking the dogs twice a day, so I joined in a midday walk to break the day and get an on-the-ground sense of our setting.

With the house being right on the beach, we could either turn right out the front door into the little town or left out the front door and were immediately on the sandy shore of the beach.

Turning right we walked parallel to the beach and Candy pointed out landmarks of interest. Since she had spent many years there when her son was a baby, it was a very rich walking tour of the town and her personal history in it.

Reaching the lighthouse at the end of the main road we did a hairpin and joined the wooden boardwalk that ran along the length of Kommetjie beach. The dogs, so used to this trail, were allowed off the leash and left to wander freely on the rocks and sands on either side of the path. There were many locals doing the same and it was wonderful to see how peacefully all the animals and people shared this beautiful space.

What a treat to get such a good break in the middle of a workday. The fresh sea air did wonders to prepare me for the afternoon!

We three all completed a very productive afternoon, with colleagues none the wiser that we were not sitting at a desk in an office in a building in Joburg. 

Chris had suggested in advance that our welcome dinner should be a traditional fish and chips since we were at the coast. Candy, knowing the area so well, lined up a short driving tour of the coast for us to end up in Kalk Bay for dinner at the legendary Kalky’s.

Arriving to wild seals spontaneously putting on a show on the quayside in an effort to get some fish treats off the fisherman, we knew this was a legitimate once in a lifetime experience.

Kalky’s is a very humble order-at-the-window type eatery… But we could see what all the fuss was about when our generous portion of  crunchy hake and slap chips arrived.

Being a school night (and having been up since before dawn), we returned to our home to light the fire in the cozy lounge and enjoy a welcome glass of wine with an endless conversation with a good friend who had so much to tell us about our new location. 

FRIDAY

We were all working on Friday, so it was another seamless game of musical chairs all through the workday. There was the farmstyle 10-seater wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, the large antique desk in the lounge next to the fireplace and under the window overlooking the pool and the sea beyond, or the sunroom off the pool deck which married the weather-proofing of being indoors with the scenic advantage of being all glass on 2 sides. The wifi was strong throughout the property, so with a laptop and headset, you could choose the perfect spot to suit your moment.

Again I took time out to go walk the dogs in the middle of the day and again wished that it could be a daily thing! 

Concluding our day at our very reasonable 16h00, we took a drive up to Noordhoek  for sundowners at Cape Point Vineyard, which had been recommended to us by friends who had recently, coincidentally, moved to Kommetjie (which is quite a coincidence being such a tiny enclave), and had happened  to visit the Vineyard that afternoon.

Great recommendation! With super views of the on-site lake, the town beyond and the sea as its backdrop, we would not have had opportunity for anything like this if we were at home on this day. We took the barman’s recommendation and bought a bottle of their white wine speciality, which we paired with crayfish samoosas – and great conversation, as we giggled about good times and discussed all the things we wanted to do with the weekend.

Candy also had the inside track that there was a free wine tasting every Friday evening at a place called Furny’s, so that was a natural second stop on our tour. We got there at the tail-end of the tasting, but still sampled 3 or 4 local harvests, settling on our favourite and treating ourselves to a bottle of the same to wash down a portion of the arancini balls which Candy had had previously and praised so highly that we couldn’t not.

Having head nibbles at both of our sundowner venues, we had thwarted our own dinner intention, but we still popped in at Jake’s anyway to round off our trip to Noordhoek. 

Last stop on the way home was to Fishermans Garden, which was a few hundred meters from home and which we had passed on each of our dog walks, so definitely warranted poking a head in to see what it was all about.

Lovely to end each day with a few logs in the fireplace (which looks like it had been built with the original house) and quickly warmed up our space’, while we sipped on a bottle of Pinotage procured from the Vineyard on our way out earlier that evening. 

We were treated to some unexpected entertainment, when 3 otters took to our pool. They frolicked in and out the water and poked a curious nose through the bannister that separated the stoep from the pool. They looked like they were having a whale of a time!

SATURDAY

Christian was meeting his colleagues early in the afternoon so we had the morning to ourselves. We started the day with a run around our now-familiar neighborhood, of course with the dogs.  Running through town we went past the lighthouse and circled back for a hair-raising trail and a bit of a rockclimb down to the beach. The dogs were definitely more agile than we were, and their tails were wagging enthusiastically at their adventure.

Having worked up an appetite, we made our way over Chapman’s Peak to Hout Bay for another fish and chips meal at Fish on The Rocks. When in Rome!

The meal was massive, delicious and fresh. Again the battered hake was melt-in-the-mouth, and so well-complemented by the calamari rings. 

It was time for Christian to head off on his mission, which left Candy and I the afternoon to wander around the Hout Bay market on the harbour front, and then return to Kalk Bay to windowshop along the high Street, which was some thing we had decided to do when we had visited there on the first evening.

Candy was looking for a mirror for a DIY project as well as an antique backgammon set, so at least we had a purpose to our mission.

Popping our heads into any store that may produce the goods, we managed to come right with finding the perfect mirror in one of the many antique stores.  We had certainly sampled a fair slice of history in the stores we had visited!

Very pleased with ourselves, we celebrated with a cocktail at local landmark, The Brass Bell. Already filling up with patrons preparing to watch the rugby there, we were reminded that we had made arrangements for our friends who had just moved down to meet at our house to watch the game.

Fortunately nothing on this peninsula is very far away so we were back at home in good time to get the game on the telly before our friends arrived.

Kim and Brett were very excited to see us, not just as a reunion with me and to meet Candy, but also to get a look at our house, since apparently our road is a highlight of the small town and we were especially spoiled being the home directly on the beach front.

I can’t say we watched much of the rugby as the conversation flowed, with stories of back home and this new hometown for our friends.

After hours of stellar company, we made plans to continue the conversation at lunch together the next day and said our good nights. Not much later Christian returned from his day at the rugby,  which sounds like it had been quite spectacular at the stadium, and he had done another good job hosting his clients.

SUNDAY

We took another direction for more sightseeing, and made our way to Simon’s town, another enclave nestled against the shore, that had served as a naval base for more than a century

Our visit began with the Simon’s Town Navy Museum; not something I ordinarily would have thought I would enjoy but the exhibits we’re very easy to browse without too much intense reading or concentration, so it was quite some thing to take in so much history of ships that had been based or passed through this little town over time,

It was another beautiful day in the Cape, so our next excursion, a walk along the promenade to visit the penguins, was just perfect. The wooden walkway has a mesh fence on the beach side, and the penguins seem quite nonplussed at the steady flow of humans gawking at them, cooing at their babies and snapping photos of these flightless birds nesting, napping and posing.

By now it was time to meet Kim and Brett at a restaurant called Camels Rock in our neighboring town, Scarborough. 

Known for its hippie eccentricity, Scarborough was a mix of down to earth setting and rapidly-escalating property prices. Camels Rock represented this juxtaposition with a top class menu generously sprinkled with vegan-friendly options, in a simple courtyard setting with a stage for live music.

After a delicious meal (the curry menu on the specials board distracted us from a hat trick of fish and chips), we avoided the threat of the live jazz band – jazz being Christian‘s worst ever! – by putting in a visit to see Kim and Brett’s new home in Kommetjie.

Since the town is so old, we were told that many of the houses are fix-me-uppers or armadillo’s tails with extension after extension leaving a disjointed combination of living and sleeping rooms. Their home however had been purchased, renovated and flipped, so they were fortunate to acquire a modern, airy and spacious home without any of the inconvenience that renovations always require.

With both of them working from home and each having their own dedicated workspace, it was easy to see how they could trade the big city for their new location with a park on one side and the beach on the other side. The New World certainly accommodated promoting lifestyle without sacrificing any commercial ambitions.

Sad that the weekend was over, but pleased that we would still have work-from-anywhere for another day,  we closed the weekend in our cozy lounge, with our fire going, and our otters again happily frolicking in our pool.

MONDAY

We had been told that the weather in Kommetjie could be unpredictable and had anticipated a grey and rainy winter’s weekend. However, we had been treated to magnificent weather throughout. While a little chilly, which is to be expected in the very middle of winter, the sun had shone and we had every opportunity to enjoy our stay and all it had to offer.

It was a treat to get a run along the beach before starting work,  where I was based at the large wooden desk in the lounge and able to peer through the window at the rolling sea while listening in on my meetings and largely being a productive individual.

We had made arrangements with Brett to accompany him to town at 17h30 for the Kommetjie running club, which had an established trail that went up the mountain to the looking points and then down the other side through the town along the beach front and then meet at a dedicated spot, where we were told they would be a cooler box filled with beers waiting. Since Kommetjie is so small, nothing is very far away and Brett ran from his place to ours to pick us up for the run, which started just across the road from Fisherman’s Garden. 

The running group was a very loose arrangement with people starting as and when they were ready and running at their own pace. I sense that Brett was humoring us since he is very fit and an experienced runner, and now had localised knowledge of the area in this trail. He ran at a pace slow enough that we could continually ask questions, take pictures of the beautiful sunset and comments on our surroundings so it was more of a tour than just a run .

The trail took us almost past their house, so Kim joined us for the last section of the run – and of course the celebratory beers, which were exactly where they were anticipated to be.

For our last meal in our holiday town, we had agreed to try the Green Room, one of the three restaurants in what could only generously be described as the middle of town (which is essentially a handful of businesses around a traffic circle).

It was a good suggestion and we enjoyed a fiesta from the Mexican section of the menu. Washed down by the local shipwreck lager.

Sadly, being a school night, we had to throttle our capacity for having a good time. We treasured the novelty of being able to walk home, not just because it was safe to do so but also because we knew the place like locals by this time.

TUESDAY

It was bittersweet to take our little holiday dogs for a last morning walk  before starting the workday. Again we were treated to fair weather and fresh air which is a pretty good way to start a day.

With work eating up the whole morning we saw little of each other, now old hands at finding our preferred spots to execute our various work requirements .

Candy kindly was driving us back into Cape Town to the airport so we left at around 13h00 so that she could do the return journey without having to take on the traffic returning from the city to these small coastal towns which now had burgeoning commuter traffic.

With plenty of time to spare, we were able to relax in the lounge, grab some lunch, tune into afternoon meetings and countdown the last bit of our holiday before returning home.

It would have been too easy to seamlessly close the book. Arriving at the beginning of the queue to board the plane, I was refused entry  based on a digital copy of my identification! Panic!

With some heated interrogation, I ascertained that they would accept a print-out of my digital copy, and so began the hunt for a shop that would be prepared to print out my ID for me. 

Although it only took a few minutes, the queue had been processed so quickly that by this point Christian was standing at the entrance to the plane and negotiating as to whether they were leaving without us (which would require taking our luggage off the plane) or wait for me and my print out. Fortunately, the decision never needed to be made as the luggage shop had printed my copy. I went tearing onto the plane at the very last minute. What a nailbiter!