All posts by cl@rks

Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 4: Saint Pierre

SAINT PIERRE

02 – 03 January 2019

Following the windy-windy route from Cilaos back to the coast, you’d never guess it was only 45 km; it was a good hour and a half’s drive. You can only imagine how remote the Cirque must have been before that route was formalised – in 1927 if my French correctly translated the info at Roche Marveilleuse – and tarred!

Saint Pierre was quite the opposite. A vibey beachtown with actual congestion along the beachfront, as everyone inched along eagle-eyeing for a parking space. With the row of shops, snackbars, restaurants and holiday flats and everyone in swimwear, it was reminiscent of the Durban of yesteryear, before it got all the fancy promenades.

Our hotel was right on the beach. Like, *right* on the beach, to the point that our ground level suite’s round windows were like portholes. Our neighbour was the hotel’s snack bar, whose equivalent portholes were serving hatches to their customers on the beach side.

We were hot from the drive so wasted no time putting on our swimmers and sampling the view. The hotel provided beach chairs and umbrellas and we were soon set up on the other side of our bedroom window.

The sea in Saint Pierre wasn’t as blue nor the water as warm as what we’d experienced this far, but it was popular. Safety was a big issue in the sea on Réunion beaches with both strong currents and sharks a real concern. The water in the ocean lagoon was about thigh-high for a couple of hundred metres before shallowing further on a reef bank, so relatively immune to both hazards.

We left a full beach behind when we decided on a change of scenery for sundowners and took a long walk down past the marina to the fishermen’s village.

Not much was open – either too early for the dinner setting or closed for the holidays – but there is always somewhere to get a cold Dodo and the little slice of golden sand at La Petite Plage was as good a place as any to watch the sun melt into the sea.

I’d been quite disappointed at the poor show in the fishing village, hoping for a nice fish ‘n chips. It was not to be. What we did find though, was a buffet-style dinner that had all sorts of seafood and Creole dishes so we loaded up on salmon, magret (duck; both hot and cold), jambon, mussels… And… And… And… A veritable feast!

THURSDAY

In advance of our trip up the volcano the next day, Thursday’s mission was to see the effects of the volcano from the beach road. We would be roadtripping around the Southern bit of the island (also, interestingly, the southernmost tip of the EU).

We had planned to brunch on our first stop, Saint Joseph, which was a bit of a disappointment as a rather functional and light industrial little town with a disproportionate representation of mechanics shops, tyre dealerships and, oddly, banks.

That didn’t stop us grabbing a quick burger though, drawn in by an “extra extra bacon” sign and free WiFi. Not pretty in the conventional sense, but attractive enough!

We made up for our utilitarian meal experience with our first real taste of sightseeing, at Cap Mechant.

As a young volcano that regularly erupts (more than 200 times in the last 350 years), Réunion is literally still growing and the Route des Laves – the road that runs across where the lava flows from the volcano to the sea – bears testament to the awesome power of nature when it has an agenda.

Cap Mechant, at the start of the Route des Laves, is a cove where waves crash against storeys-high black lava cliffs formed by the lava castings over several eruptions. The resultant seaview effect, along with signage warning of sharks and sure-death currents is quite dramatic – in stark contrast to the clifftop where we were walking, where, presumably from the minerals from the lava, the grass was bright green and as flat and fine as a golf green!

Back on the road, our next 2 stops were intended to be Saint Philippe, a speck of a town, and then blink-and-miss-it Le Tremblet. Neither worth stopping at, we soldiered through to the last stop, Coulee de Lave 2007, which required veering around a traffic circle of sorts formed around a tree in the middle of this national road (vindicating our assessment of the previous two towns being easily missable).

The Coulee on the other hand was not a landmark easily missed, with the hardened lava cutting a long grey strip from as high as you could see (the customary afternoon clouds had rolled in, obscuring wherever the top was) right down into the ocean. The rich, thick forests on either side created stark contrast, as did the bright green saplings that had finally pushed their way through. Like at Cap Mechant, the new greenery seemed brighter than the rest, either fed by the lava’s nutrients or just an optical illusion against the dull terrain.

The end of the road for the day’s adventure, turning around and getting back to Saint Pierre was a much quicker affair since we’d only covered 46km in total, which was less than an hour on the national (tree-free) road.

Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 3: Cilaos

CILAOS

01-02 January 2019

Our host in Saint Gilles had mercifully already offered unprompted for us to check out as late as we’d like on 1 Jan. Maybe considerate of us wanting a later start on New Year’s Day and very possibly because of the roaring soiree he knew he was throwing in the driveway of our hotel on New Year’s Eve.

Either way, it was great to see in 2019 in a relaxed fashion and it was with sadness we said goodbye to the bungalow that had been a good home to us for the preceding 4 nights.

Having slept through breakfast time, our plan had adjusted to heading straight for lunch at L’Etang Sale des Bains, a black sand beach 30km down the coast.

Another odd set-up, the beach was a narrow crescent of black sand that framed the harbour. There was no waterfront to speak of, with houses up to the shore. But the local folks seemed to be enjoying the cool waters on the baking hot day and there were more than a few heads bobbing in the shallow crystal-clear waters.

Town consisted of a strip of road parallel to the beach; we drove to the end and then made our way back on foot perusing menus of the few places that were open until we found one we liked and went in.

We’d chosen a traditional Creole restaurant to suit the auspicious occasion of first meal of the year, with a chicken curry to represent standard practice and a Galette (savoury pancake with creamy chicken and mushroom) for something new and exotic.

From L’Etang we had to follow the coast down to Saint Louis and then head inland and up into the mountain to get to our night in the forest at Cirque De Cilaos. This drive was only about 32km, but took about an hour and a half because of the narrow and winding roads.

Our destination was very pretty. A bit grey and much cooler, the quaint little town of Cilaos is nestled in the dormant crater of a volcano from yesteryear so has beautiful mountains cupping the town on all sides with a fluffy cloud lid closing it off from the rest of the world.

We found our accommodation with relative ease (read: we circled the block a few times but it was impossible to get lost in such a small town) and were shown to our suite, which was in the middle of the ground floor of a double-storey chalet block.

With our neighbour on the left hand side singing loudly along to his favourite French radio hits and the neighbours on the right hand side animatedly discussing in German what they were planning to make for dinner (spaghetti bolognaise was winning), it was an easy call to hit the streets to see what their was to see.

Our landlady had shown us a laminated map on our desk so it was simple to find the main road in town. And with almost everything closed (being New Year’s Day) it was very easy to navigate and move around without other traffic to contend with. We completed our loop with a To Do list of return-to destinations for the next day.

Our landlady had also made a reservation for us for dinner at the only restaurant in town that was open and serving, which made that decision that much easier too. Sticking to the path of least resistance, we followed the menu’s Speciality section’s advice and had a goat masala and a lamb Creole dish, washed down with ice-cold Dodo beers. Yum!

WEDNESDAY

The quest for this little break-away was to experience the forest and mountain on the ground in the form of a hike.

Being the destination’s premium tourist offering, there was even hiking trail information in our room and we had earmarked the “short” 2 hour route from Cilaos to Roche Marveilleuse as the one for us because yes, it was the shortest, but it also seemed to offer the best return in the form of a spectacular viewing deck with panoramic views of the setting with Cilaos in the valley below.

However, unable to find the start of the trail, we unintentionally ended up driving to the Roche! Being early (it was probably not even 09h30 by this point), the sky was still clear and blue and the views were brilliant.

Not wanting to forego the hiking experience completely, we did one of the smaller trails around the Roche. Called ‘Les Botanique’, it was largely wasted on us as we didn’t stop to read any of the (French only) detailed signs that explained the floral wonder of our surrounds. We also finished in half the recommended time – about 20 minutes – so thought we’d try out another.

Of course on the second one we got lost and ended up circling back on ourselves a bit… But the result was 1h10 of hiking in total, which seemed like a valiant effort.

The clouds had already rolled in by the time we got back to Roche Marveilleuse and we thanked our lucky stars that we’d started early enough to see the magnificent view. We were also seemingly the only people going back into town, while hikers streamed onto the trails. We were grateful to have had the route to ourselves – and sorry for these adventurers who would miss what we’d seen now that the daily clouds had rolled in.

Starving from our walk, we stopped at a Boulangerie to get some take away nibbly bits, and feasted on quiche and cheese puffs and pain au chocolat while we packed up our things.

With everything in the car, we headed out on foot again to tick off the last activity; a visit to the local winery, Chai de Cilaos, which was no more than a couple of hundred metres away. But it was closed so we made do with rounding the block to the Marche Couvert (market) and bought a bottle of the local red there instead.

Bidding our landlady farewell, we drove out of town to the Cascades. While also a hiking trail, we’d had quite enough walking for the day and so took to the narrow and winding roads to get a look at the waterfalls and stop at a few of the roadside viewpoints.

The landscape is at such scale with its features so exaggerated that it doesn’t do justice to describe it in words.

Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 2: Saint-Gilles

SAINT-GILLES

28 Dec 2018 – 01 Jan 2019

As far as roadtripping goes, we’d thought Ireland took the cake for Country With Most Manageable Drive Time Between Cool Things. Reunion was going to give that a run for its money when Day 1 was the transfer from the capital, St Denis, to beach town, Saint-Gilles, totalling 43km… Including passing through 3 little towns en route!

That said, it can still be a white-knuckle experience thanks to the left-hand drive car, driving on the wrong side of the road and quite narrow roads at that. Even the main N1 and N2 are narrower than we’re used to. But it seems like a solution is in sight based on the mammoth bridge / fly-over that’s in the making in the ocean close the shore running more or less from St Denis to La Possession.

We were delighted at our first sightings of the next few days’ home as we rounded a bend and there it was! The sunny seaside town of Saint-Gilles. Picture-perfect and every cliche in place as we took in the main road with its restaurants, shops, patisseries and boulangeries. Like a little French Margate.

Our digs were even more of a delight when we discovered that we’d been assigned a little standalone bungalow, complete with our own stoep, a dressing room (they called it a second bedroom) and, best of all, aircon.

Our host, Jacques, welcomed us in his very best English, which was a translator app that he spoke into in French, then pushed a button and it returned the translated equivalent in a posh English accent. Well, in Polynesian the first time, but that was easily remedied with a setting adjustment and a giggle.

Jacques (and his English Lady) told us where to find the best local amenities – everything was close by – and recommended a few must-do places. He also advised, by way of itinerary-planning that we have a local beach, a beach 1km down the coast, a beach 1km up the coast and another beach 6km up the coast.

As soon as he was gone, we put on our swimmers and headed for the beach down the coast, L’Ermitage.

We didn’t economise on the walk to the beach, checking a few of the recommended locations en route, taking a wander past the harbour so we could see where our Plongee (dive) shop was and generally enjoying the no-need-to-hurry-anywhereness of it all.

The beach itself was a bit disappointing. Quite gravelly sand and with a coral reef starting virtually from the shore, lots of rocks and stony bits to contend with on your way into the water. The water itself though was Azure blue, crystal-clear and bath-warm, so once we were in we were quite happy to bob around and, obviously, being South Africans, watch our bag on the shore.

We also people-watched and based on the lack of shore front accommodation (holiday or otherwise), the smattering of tents and the generous allocation of picnic tables under the trees just off the beachsand as well as the general demographic, we reasoned that this must be a locals’ beach. We hadn’t gone far enough along it to get to Saint-Gilles’ only 5* resort and we’re curious to see what that was like. Another day.

For now it was time to get home for a sundowner, which was a couple of Phoenix beers we acquired from the hole-in-the-wall bottle store at the end of our road, creatively named Night Shop since it was only open (all) nights.

We pored over the tourist maps and books that Jacques had left for us and plotted our next few days. We also debated dinner since we weren’t wildly hungry, but had to eat.

We headed into town with no particular intention and wandered past a double-storey cafe that caught our eye so we stopped and had a fantastic seafood wrap and chips, sitting on the top storey to admire the view of Roches Noires, the local beach Jacques had described as up the coast.

SATURDAY

Allocated as our day of exploring by car, Saturday started with a visit to the famous beachfront market in neighbouring Saint Paul. Mostly fresh produce and souvenirs, the market makes for an excellent breakfast-on-the-go, snacking as stalls catch your interest.

We were barely into the market before we had a bag of assorted samoosas to work through – pizza, smoked cheese and curried fish fillings among our favourites. We sampled the fresh strawberries and nibbled on some sweet pork strips as we marvelled at the unfamiliar tropical fruits and how different ordinary veg like onions and bananas looked.

Without any specific shopping to do (and we had no intention of cooking on this holiday, despite our bungalow being fully equipped), the market is a quick excursion, so we rounded off the outing with a quick whip around St Paul’s centre; a neat grid of a couple of narrow roads in either direction.

Hot and sweaty and ironically motivated to get back into the car (for the aircon), we began our drive up to Maido, the highest point on the island.

Only 29km away, but an hour’s drive because of the narrow and winding roads to get there, we could not have picked a worse time to do the excursion. Having read of its sometimes freakish microclimate, we didn’t believe it until it happened to us. Having left blue skies and 30+ degrees behind us, we had pouring rain halfway up the mountain and finally arrived at the top as the last of the cloudcover swallowed what we’d read to be the spectacular view! The mist was unbelievable, billowing like it was being generated by a smoke machine. And, insult to injury, it was 17 degrees, according to the car’s thermometer.

Determined not to waste the drive up, we wandered around the “view” points, in our shorts and flipflops, in contrast to our counterparts passing through the spot from the many hiking trails in the area, all appropriately attired with hiking boots, anoraks and most with those multi-functional wrap things that can be headbands or scarfs depending how you wrap them.

True as Bob, on the way down we passed through the same belting rain and we’re greeted with the same blue skies sunny day at the bottom again. Odd.

Fortunately, even a failed excursion isn’t enough to dampen spirits and the West Coast of Reunion is much like our beloved Eastern Cape coast in that there’s always something else worth doing. So we set the car toward Boucan Canot (the “6km up the coast” beach that Jacques had told us about) to see what we could see.

And what we saw was a holiday-makers paradise. Waterfront of restaurants and cafés, facing golden sands and warm waters.

The red flag was up, restricting swimming to the area of ocean cordoned off with orange buoys. Being such a proverbial drop in the ocean on the busy beach, it made for quite a concentration of bobbing heads. But the vibe was good and it was a great cool-off for a couple of hours after a day’s sightseeing.

Back in our own neck of the woods, we dropped off our car and walked down to Roches Noires for sundowners and to test it as a possible location for our New Years Eve festivities. We were nice and early so got a primely located table right at the water’s edge.

Sipping on ice cold local Fisher beers, we watched as the sun went from being low in the blue sky to turning the horizon orange before slipping away completely. A very nice way indeed to spend a(nother) couple of hours doing nothing!

With evening upon us, we headed back up to the main drag and tried a few spots closer to home. We managed to tick off another destination on our Guinness Index, at Chez Nous where they serve 33cl bottles for a hefty €6. Not for sissies either; it is brewed under licence in Mauritius and is weighty 7.5% alcohol!

SUNDAY

With our dive booked for 1pm that afternoon, we wanted a light and easy morning so took a drive 16km down the coast to St Leu to get a spot of breakfast.

We were getting accustomed to the roads and subjected to the slightest of traffic since we were based at the far end of Saint-Gilles, closest to the direction we were headed for the day.

Arriving in St Leu we drove down the high street to get a lay of the land and then circled back to the start of the town to repeat the exercise on foot, walking along the beach and back through the town.

There were cafes dotted along the beachfront and we stopped at one of the huts, Les Filaos, to get some breakfast.

Breakfast had had us very confused. There seemed to be no “eggs and bacon” style plated options; rather, breakfast was a visit to the Boulangerie for some fresh crusty bread or a pastry or two. We had even tried to order a sandwich to fit in with the crusty bread theme and were told it was too early.

Fortunately, Les Filaos seemed a bit more relaxed and gave us a sandwich (a massive baguette slathered with creamy butter and layered with lovely ham) – hardly surprising since they were serving other patrons beers and Chardonnays and it was barely 10am.

Wonderful setting for a breakfast and we engulfed the view as much as our crusty brunch.

To balance our rebellion with local custom, we visited a Boulangerie in town and got a pain au Chocolat to nibble on as we walked through the little town and back to the car.

With everything so close together, our urban time management kept getting us ahead of schedule and the time we’d budgeted to drive home, drop off the car and walk to the Marina was way more than we needed an ended up at the dive shop almost an hour early. We were offered coffees while we waited (in that heat!) but opted to take a wander around the quay to the beach and back instead.

Back at the shop we had a heart-stopping moment when the dive shop couldn’t find my PADI accreditation on line… Which would have meant I would not have been able to dive! But they found me on the website and it turned out to be a Case of The Missing Initial and all that had started questionably was well.

We were required to set up our own gear so it was fortunate that Christian had so recently completed his dive course and was still fresh on the “what goes where”. The dive master checked out gear, assigned us as buddies and paired us with Jerome and Anais as his group. He also briefed us that we would be doing the Canyon route up and down the natural dales in the coral.

The boat travelled no more than a couple of hundred metres out and we plunged into the blue blue sea. We were to be exploring the far side of the coral reef just off the shore where we’d been complaining about the coral underfoot on the L’Hermitage beach on our first day’s exploring.

The water was crystal clear and like a bath so an absolute pleasure to dive in. We could see everything – lots of coral, bright fish, octopus and 3 sting rays! – and were light on oxygen, not needing as much to keep warm. We did 48 minutes at around 18-20 metres under water.

By the time we were back on pier, we were starving so it was a quick wash of the gear (no helpers to do that for you here!) and we were off like a shot to the Sandwicherie on the corner of our road.

La Salsa Du Pain had been sending wafts of freshly baked bread up to us since we’d arrived and was always busy, so was a Must Do on our itinerary. This was the perfect opportunity.

We walked the short way around – amazing how much smaller this town was, now that we had a proper lay of the land! – and ordered a tuna sandwich because, well, it was the only thing we recognised from what was left in the display.

As dumb luck would have it, it was delicious. As all sandwiches we’d experienced, it was a massive baguette loaded with creamy filling and crunchy garnish. Oh, and the reason it was so busy wasn’t actually the life-changing baked goods, it was the betting window it shared a space with. As we were trying to find a peaceful spot to engulf our breaded bliss, there were locals peering round us trying to grab snatches of the Trots on the screen behind us!

Not really the dulcet sundowner experience we had in mind as the setting to our reverie of the day’s memorable events. So we trotted ourselves up our driveway and enjoyed home-sweet-home on our cosy little deck.

Heading our for dinner we tried the main square. With a row of restaurants that had been quite shut in the off-hours we’d passed them, our curiosity was piqued. Hardly surprisingly, we were drawn to the pizza/pasta restaurant and it felt double serendipitous that we were offered a table in the busy restaurant while we reviewed the menu at the door with Google Translate.

We had a fabulous breakfast pizza (yay for something being bacon and eggs, even if it was dinnertime) and a salmon lemony with homemade tagliatelle. Yum!

MONDAY

As our last full day in Saint-Gilles, we had a lot of experience and research behind our plan for the day. And it was perfect. Another blue-skies-sunny-day (which is all this island paradise seems to have, unless you’re trekking up to Maido) and snorkelling at La Salle Les Bains.

Rated to be the best snorkelling on the island, all you had to do was put on mask and snorkel and fall into the sea because the coral started about a metre in and the water was, obviously, crystal clear.

Jacques had given us snorkelling and beach gear, so we drove the 13km down the coast to La Salle Les Baines plage, followed Google Maps to a Sandwicherie, ordered a Poulet baguette and Hot Dog Gratiné like pro’s, stuck our brollie in the sand and flopped in the water with our snorkels like we owned the place.

It was everything the reviews described. What makes an average swimming experience is quite something else when it comes to snorkelling. The rocky bed becomes the view, the shallow waters become the vantage point and the stillness becomes the playground for the wildlife. We saw loads of fish and I really wish I knew more about our underwater friends to make this account more interesting; needless to say, there were big ones and small ones, stripy ones and spotty ones, and a small shoal of big silvery white fish with whom I attempted to school, but they weren’t having any of it.

It was a baking hot day (same as every day) so we were grateful to have our borrowed brollie to huddle under so we could prolong the doing-nothingness on the golden sands without being chased away by the sun.

Aware that it was New Year’s Eve and we hadn’t booked anywhere (everywhere was fancy multi-core set menus that cost a mint) we headed home to get showered and changed to opportunistically grab a sundowner somewhere and see where the night would take us.

We started at trusty Roche Noire and finally succumbed to the rooftop bar, La Nouvelle Vague, overlooking it all, which Christian had resisted thus far based on its direct exposure to the setting sun, which clearly was as a direct result of it being the best vantage point by far to see that very setting sun. We played musical chairs so much trying to trade off the sun and the sunset that even the barman teased us about getting our value for money!

Oddly, at 6 on the dot he booted everyone out and closed up shop. Lots of places were already closed, which struck us as very strange for a New Year’s Eve in a beach holiday town. Still spoilt for choice, we made a night of it with a circuit of the town, stopping in whenever took our fancy and had the most unexpectedly magnificent dinner to round off 2018; a proper steaky mouthful of a cheese ‘n bacon burger at a biker-themed bar called Burger 66.

Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 1: Saint Denis

SAINT DENIS

27-28 December 2018

It had seemed an unnaturally long wait between booking the trip to Reunion (an island paradise French protectorate in the Indian Ocean) in the middle of the year and getting to the end of the year to actually go on the trip. But, finally, it was time.

Slipping through a blissfully traffic-free Joburg like a hot knife through butter, we were soon scoffing roast lunch (even though we’d had Christmas roast leftovers for breakfast) at the airport lounge in anticipation of our afternoon flight.

Flying Air Mauritius was a slightly different experience to what we’d become used to. For one thing, we got assigned a window and middle seat which we were unable to change (and didn’t please Christian, being a confirmed Aisle Man) and the entertainment was managed centrally through those tiny screens hanging from the overhead lockers.

The entertainment programme was quite peculiar. Almost immediately after take-off, a random episode from random seasons of 3 random sitcoms were flighted – without announcement – one after the other. Then nothing for an hour and a half or so. Then a full-length movie started around about the time we started our descent, so I’ll never know what actually happened at the wedding that all the characters were communing to attend.

We had a quick hour and a bit to pass in transit in Mauritius and were soon being welcomed into the next plane to do the hop to Reunion’s capital, St Denis.

Although we’d been fed proper meal service on our first flight, the time difference pushing us 2 hours into the future played tricks on the appetite and we were hoping for a snack on the Reunion flight.

It was not to be and the hospitality was just a mini juice carton. Although, as Christian said, the flight is so quick that if it was full they’d struggle to get around with the juice boxes even!

We disembarked in Saint Denis to a curtain of humidity; a balmy 28 degrees at 11pm. Getting our bags was simple since it was a 2-conveyor baggage collection and only 1 was moving, so we envisaged a simple induction to Reunion life.

It was also not to be.

We joined the queue outside the airport, waiting for a taxi. But every time a taxi minibus arrived, a pert lady with a clipboard and laminated-photo-on-a-lanyard authority ushered other people in and sent them on their way.

Several reiterations later, we questioned the process and she revealed that she was with an airline other than Air Mauritius and part of their service was to transfer their passengers to their destination. And we were to wait.

We are not great at waiting.

We crossed the road to the strip of tourist operator windows, where one lonely sole was still operating, hoping he could arrange an on-the-spot transfer. He could not.

We waited and waited, as the airline queue grew smaller but taxis became fewer and further between and tried without success to use the airport free WiFi to hunt down the how and who of airport transfers. All the websites gave local phone numbers, which didn’t help us since neither of us have roaming and there was nowhere open at the airport to buy a local SIM card.

Eventually we returned to the kiosk to ask the chap to call a city cab. He tried two vendors and, having no success, took pity on us and offered to drive us to our hotel on his way home. Hooray for friendly locals!

We were on the road 10 minutes later and he dropped us at Central Hotel, which was a lot more “basic” than it had appeared in the pics online. Thankfully we’d upgraded to the en suite room or we would have had no space to put our single suitcase!

Nonetheless, the bed was comfortable and the aircon welcome and we got a great night’s sleep in St Denis to prepare us for our first day of adventure.

Which had to begin with procuring a local SIM card!

FRIDAY

Emerging from the hotel, we discovered we were on the less salubrious side of St Denis… But, being a small town, still less than a couple of hundred metres away from the market (and upmarket) action.

We followed our road right up into the main shopping area; a seamless mix of local charm and international label brands. Everything very French, including our snacky cheese and ham samoosas to fill the gap as we shopped.

We took a short (and sweaty) wander around, bought a local SIM card and walked down to the big, beautiful and very blue ocean before heading back to our hotel to check out and get a taxi back to the airport to pick up our rental car.

The St Denis airport turned out to be our less-than-lucky place when our car rental company told us that there was a 2 hour wait for our car.

Fortunately, we had our spanking new local SIM at the ready so we did a quick Google Maps search that revealed a very lovely lunch spot less than 300m away – a wheelable distance even for our heavy suitcase.

What a find! Le P’tit Gillot turned out to be the restaurant and pub at the local Tennis Club and you would never have told it neighboured the airport with the frame of tropical trees and mountain backdrop. We got one of the last tables on the terrace and window-shopped lunch options from surrounding tables, which was much less taxing than translating the entirely French menu.

We bypassed the hamburgers and whatnot and shared two dishes of authentic fare – the Rougail Saucisses (pork sausages in a rich bredie) and Emince Poulet Aux Champignon (a sort of chicken stroganoff teeming with little button mushrooms). Massive portions and rich, delicious sauces. If this was anything to go by, we were going to like eating our way around Reunion!

And we had – thanks to the map of the island our Good Samaritan kiosk guy from the night before had given us – worked out over lunch the optimal route we planned to take in our week-long circumnavigation of Reunion.

We trundled back to the airport on the off chance that our car was ready early. It was not.

The airport did however have the World’s Best Fans, with blades that were easily 3m long, so it wasn’t terrible having a sit in the breezy Arrivals Hall for a last half hour before we could get on our way.

We were issued a sporty 6-speed Fiesta and before you could say “turn on the aircon”, we were zooting out of the St Denis airport on Day 1’s roadtrip mission: 43km to Saint Gilles.

Europe, Netherlands

Travelogue: Maastricht (Pink Pop)

MAASTRICHT

14 – 17 June 2018

Another great night’s sleep in Amsterdam had us up and out at the requisite time to meet our growing group (Kieron joining us from SA and Harry from London) at Central Station at 11h00 to catch the train to Maastricht.
Yet again, Burger King saved our bacon and restored good humour for the train ride that was taking us to our music festival. And after a two hour train ride through the pretty Dutch countryside, we arrived at Maastricht Station for the second part of our trip.
Neil had booked us into a hotel right across the road from the Station so it was easy as pie to get there and checked in. Kaboom Hotel was new and neat and had functional and fun decor. Perfect for our stay!
We wasted no time getting moving: Back across the road to see how to get to Landgraaf, where the festival was actually being held. Instinctively splitting into teams, we (sort of) efficiently sorted train tickets, cash (oddly, lots of places in Netherlands only accept Maestro cards, which none of us had) and a bargain Heineken festival kit comprising waterproof backpack cooler + 10 beers for €10 with a couple of Amstels for good measure.
Soon on the train to Heerlen, we opted for the bicycle cabin with the flipdown chairs along the walls that face each other so we could pass the short hop with a giddy round of a drinking game called Fives that requires little more than being able to make a fist / open your hand at will and to correctly predict – in multiples of five – the total number of digits being shown by the people participating in the round.
We organically absorbed a Laurel and Hardy pair of Dutchmen who happened to be sitting in a couple of seats amidst our rough circle and who had earned themselves one of our Amstels for what looked like a passing interest in our game. On arrival, assuming that they knew where they were going, we followed them to the bus stop… Only to find we had another train to catch.
Back to the platform and on board the next train, we had a forty minute journey to get us to the correct stop.
The Landgraaf station was very busy. The shuttle buses (free, included in our ticket) didn’t seem to be operating so quite a queue had formed at the bus stop. We gave it a 10 minute wait but then, super eager to get started, just walked to the venue instead. It wasn’t that far – maybe a K and a half – and gave us time to see the sleepy town surrounds and suppose what the locals thought of this annual thrall. The last stretch up to the main entrance was lined with banners from previous years. Anyone who’s anyone has played! And that’s a lot of anyones seeing as next year will be the 50th Pink Pop festival!
The festival grounds were MASSIVE and a bit overwhelming all at once. The whole festival was cashless so we started with making an investment in the green plastic squares currency (called Munten) printed in sheets with serrations so that you could easily break off whole or half tokens. One token got you a small beer or a tiny wine, served in plastic cups on paper trays of 6 servings.
With a welcome beer in hand, we decided to acclimate with a base close to the main stage, so found a table in a long open marquis with rows and rows (and rows and rows) of tables and benches opposite a long line of bar and food trucks.
Cleverly, the festival incentivised recycling by offering a token for every 50 cups or 25 trays returned. With the rate that beers were going down, it was a very manageable proposition. And resulted in a remarkably clean and tidy beer garden.
Our warm up served us well and we were in fine fettle for our first true festival performance, Snow Patrol.
We worked our way to a central position between the massive banks of speakers that fed the music to the back of the field, ensuring that the anticipated 60,000+ capacity could all hear what they came for. We had a good view, both of the stage and on the big screens flanking it on either side and it was an enjoyable performance in the afternoon sun.
Our much-debated pickle was whether to dash from the main stage to the smaller stage adjacent to see The Offspring and then dash back to the main stage for the night’s headliner – and main reason for our trek in the first place – Pearl Jam. Now, with some firsthand experience, it was clear that there would be no ‘dashing’ and manoeuvring the crowd and keeping our merry band together seemed a highly unlikely combination.
Kieron and Harry braved it while the remaining 5 of us put the time between acts to good use, topping up with supplies, visiting the (astoundingly clean and dry) portable toilets and strategising on how to best immerse ourselves in the crowd for the best position closest to the stage.
The last objective was the least successful. The Dutch are a very organised concert audience. They assume position and do not, under any circumstances, move from their spot. They are also very (very, very) tall.
Despite only managing intermittent glimpses at the actual bodies on stage, the performance was unbelievable. Eddie Vedder has a magnificent voice and the quality of both sound and visuals was so flawless that the experience wasn’t hindered by lack of line of sight. Eddie also related an anecdote about playing Pink Pop in 1992 where he’d climbed onto the video cameraman’s boom and launched himself from there into his adoring fans, crowdsurfing across the audience and back to the stage. We later realised he was wearing the very same T-shirt he’d worn that night, which is an amazingly sentimental touch!
Minds officially blown, we shuffled back to the train station with the tens of thousands of people that weren’t camping and needed to get back to wherever they’d come from. It took a good couple of hours to get back to Maastricht, by which time we’d dissected the day and the performances and all aspirations of an afterparty had dissolved.
Saturday morning was a leisurely start and since there were no early bands that anyone particularly wanted to see, we took a walk through Maastricht’s cobblestone shopping streets to get to Vrijthof Square, the centre of Old Town, known for its beauty, being lined with trees and a variety of quaint restaurants and pavement cafes.
A solid feeding under our belts made a world of difference and set us on our merry way for Day 2 of festivalling, which was a much easier mission to repeat seeing as we already had our train passes and knew where to get the Heineken coolers (we got a few).
This time we managed to catch the shuttle transfer and were soon entering the festival grounds. We repeated the easy start at the beer tent – and even bumped into our Laurel and Hardy duo from the previous day, making us feel right at home!
We worked our way onto the field for a band called Nothing But Thieves (a name we collectively had a mission remembering so they were mostly referred to as Barking at Cars or similar) and managed to get separated, which was a bit scary with so so SO many people. Fortunately, with some navigation on WhatsApp we got reunited, so all’s well that ends well.
A bit more ambitious than the previous day, with both the confidence of having better bearings and less pressure from the lineup, we bounced off to one of the other stages to see A Perfect Circle, bought merchandise, ate pasta, chilled in the pretty little cider garden, saw some of Noel Gallagher‘s set (shame, his solo career seems to be a bit watery and he only really got a rise with the Oasis songs he now covers) and were soon on our way to see the evening’s main event, Foo Fighters.
The concert was a bit self-indulgent with the singer and drummer swapping places for songs, lengthy drum solos with the drum podium elevating into the air and Dave Grohl calling people up on stage. Not my favourite at the best of times, it was a particularly gruelling task to deal with all the ad-libbing and showmanship.
We left just before the end to get ahead of the madding crowds, which made a world of difference to the length and comfort of our commute.
Motivated to rise only because of check out time, we left our lovely hotel to catch the midday train back to Amsterdam, opting to picnic on the couple of hours’ journey on the train to allow more time at our destination.
Arriving in Amsterdam, we stowed our luggage at the Central Station lockers and did a flash tour around the city centre, stopping for a traditional waffle (finally!) and ending up at a Mexican restaurant, of all things, serendipitously as the Mexico vs Germany World Cup match was on.
A last lunch, a farewell Heineken, some cards for old times sake and the group disbanded as first Kieron and Harry headed for the airport and then, an hour or so later, so did we.
What a rockstar getaway!
Europe, Netherlands

Travelogue: Amsterdam

TRAVELOGUE AMSTERDAM

13-15 June 2018
As all trips tend to, this one started with a mad race to the airport. Having recently started a new job, I wanted to leave the office as late as possible to try and still get in a full day. We’d logisticked the plan to suit, packing yawning dogs into the car so they could be dropped off at their grandparents by 6am and I’d get dropped off at the office by half past.
Managing a breakneck day, I hailed an Uber at 4pm to take me to the Sandton Gautrain Station and was very lucky to have been just ahead of and in the opposite direction to the rush hour traffic. The Gautrain did me no favours, rejecting my card as expired from lack of use and requiring me to buy a new one for my journey.
Still, even with all that, I arrived at the airport only shortly after Christian who had meanwhile driven from his conference venue (conveniently in close proximity to the airport) and dropped our car with the valet parking people.
It was very strange arriving at the airport with nothing but my handbag… But a welcome relief to check in our suitcase – well in time – and head to the Emirates Lounge for an exhale and a snack before our flight.
We were exhausted so managed to get quite a bit of sleep on both flights and arrived in Amsterdam ready and raring to meet our friends.
The trip had been inspired by Tim and Wendy (commonly collectively referred to as ‘Twendy’); lifelong fans of Pearl Jam, the band who we’d all travelled to see at the popular Pink Pop Festival. Twendy had come earlier to catch a Pearl Jam concert in Amsterdam on the Tuesday night as well, but we were happy with a couple of nights to sightsee Amsterdam and then the weekend at the Festival.
We had booked Airbnb accommodation near to Twendy’s in Prinsengracht Street, on the outskirts of the city centre. A short train ride and a brisk 20 minute walk from Central Station later, we were in our digs to drop our bags and turn out again to get to the designated meeting place.
Twendy’s dropped pin guided us straight down the canal to the Ellis burger bar cafe restaurant nestled against a busy (with bicycle traffic) intersection. We were delighted to see them and spent a couple of hours catching up on what they’d seen and done and had yet to see and do, washing down quality burgers with cold Heinekens.
Making the most of our proximity to our investments, we went past Twendy’s first and then via the grocery store to get some Heinekens and Grolsch for sundowners on our roof terrace. It was hardly the summer we’re used to, struggling to maintain 20 degrees Celsius, but it was a very pleasant evening and a big novelty to be drinking Dutch beer in Amsterdam.
Twendy had booked tickets to another concert that evening so we walked them to their venue – since everything was new, everything was an adventure – and then caught a tram to the notorious Red Light District.
I still had the Rick Steves app on my phone from our Italy tour the year before, so we used his easy-to-follow route and narrative to guide us. Funny enough, when we were stopped outside a church, a family pulled up next to us and, hearing the voice from our speakerphone, excitedly said to us “Rick Steves! Rick Steves!” pointing at their earphones and phones.
On concluding the walk, we used the opportunity to visit one of the many Irish bars to log on our Guinness Index. We settled in a bar called Slainte and earned made it famous at a fairly respectable #15.
Shortly after we arrived we spotted a chap wandering around the pub, clearly looking for his people. On a hunch, I asked if he was Neil, Twendy’s friend who lives in Amsterdam. He was!
By the time Twendy joined us, we were old friends with Neil and we all enjoyed a catch up – and celebrating the turn of midnight into the 40th birthday of a lady with whom Twendy had made friends on the bus between the concert venue and the pub.
Shattered from our long journey and enthusiastic arrival celebrations, we only managed a couple before calling it a night and wandering back to our apartment.
We’d pre-booked a walking City Tour (through Sandemans, the same company as the one we’d recently done in Dublin). When we’d booked, 10h30 seemed like a very reasonable start time and we’d had dreams of a lovely fry-up to start our day. It was not to be, when we first fluttered eyelids at 09h45!
Fortunately, we’d had some experience with the city now – and it’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do – so it was simple enough to navigate to Dam Square where the tour was starting (and for Christian to nip into Burger King for us to get their first order of the day).
We met with our guide, Sam; an American actor who’d done stints on both Broadway and the West End in London and was now permanently based in Amsterdam. We went through the usual ‘meet the group’ routine and then headed off on the tour.
Starting the tour in front of the memorial in  Dam Square commemorating WW2’s fallen soldiers, Sam told us that the city formed over the river Amstel in 1100 and joked that only such an old city could have something called ‘New Church‘ that was 600 years old! He also shared that Justin Bieber had recently bought the most expensive property in Amsterdam, overlooking the Square – there goes the neighbourhood!
We walked across to the Old Church, which was built in 1306. Amsterdam was the largest trading city of the world back then and where the Central Station is now was a massive harbour with ships from all around the world. These brought hordes of sailors, so the church started the prostitution business to protect the virtue of the ‘nice’ ladies and pimped to benefit from the massive money the industry generated – and absolved the prostitutes’ sins when they confessed to them on a daily basis, even allowing them to pay (literally) for their sins in advance!
Legalisation of sex work was only formalised in the year 2000 (very progressive, being the first and only country to do so). Previously it’d fallen under ‘gedogen‘ (not legal, but not enforced) because it was good for business, didn’t harm anyone else and was done (relatively) discreetly. The legalisation was to make the industry safe, protect the prostitutes and stop the child abduction rings. It’s now the city’s safest place, with response times as quick as under a minute when panic buttons are pressed.
We walked along Zeedijk Road – the highest point in Amsterdam, at 1.6m above sea level. With more than 30% under sea level, it’s felt that this is part of the reason for the city’s history of tolerance and brotherhood. Because everyone had a common enemy; the sea.
Sam stopped us outside the old gate to the city. An important building that had also housed the Guilds, among them Rembrandt van Rijn who had been contracted to paint the surgical procedures being conducted in the top of the same building in the 1600s. He was only 26 and became a very wealthy man in his lifetime (rare among the classic painters) from his signature portrait painting.
Next up was a building in the University of Holland, housed in what was the headquarters of the Dutch East India company from 1606. Sounds like a business well ahead of its time, modernising the industry with fleet sailing to mitigate risk while harvesting and trading spices, gold, cotton etc AND introducing the investment/stocks model for a continuous stream of money to plough into taking over the world, as a global mega-power colonising in every direction with such gems as New Amsterdam (now New York), New Zealand and Cape Town. The only Dutch protectorates left are the 5 islands in the Caribbean, which Sam quipped is to give the Dutch somewhere warm to holiday.
We took the midtour break in a bar in a building that used to be a convent. You could see evidence of some of its former purpose in odd elements like a lingering pew and a small staircase up to an altar-like podium with austere gilded cross backdrop. Quite a contrast of past and present!
Our tour had circled round and we were back in Dam Square, this time on the opposite end, outside the Royal Palace. The story goes that Napoleon sent his brother Louis to rule the Dutch. He didn’t do very well and Napoleon took Holland back from him within 3 years. But even in that short time old Louis had made some monumental changes, like introducing street numbers and surnames.
Sam pointed out that Amsterdam, being built on swampland, wanted to make the most of their land so they taxed homes according to their road frontage. This is how the narrowest house in Amsterdam – a red brick building only 1.8m wide, coincidentally adjacent to the widest bridge in Amsterdam – came into being. Ironically, the house is inhabited by a couple over 6 feet tall with 2 large dogs!
The houses have pulley hooks attached to the top of the house and the fronts generally lean forward a bit, so that (back in the day) stocks and wares and (even today) bulk furnishings can be hoisted into the house. Some of the houses have sunk in their foundations so also lean to the left or right, leaving rows of houses looking like multicoloured teeth in dire need of braces!
These houses line the 165 canals in Amsterdam. French Hugenot Protestants came to Amsterdam looking for religious tolerance and work and ended up digging these concentric semi-circular canals to bring goods to the merchants’ houses. So, essentially, the city is 190 islands connected by 1200 bridges.
The tour ended at the Anne Frank House. Although voted by the Dutch as one of their most famous and beloved, Anne was actually German (born in Frankfurt); her family had moved to avoid Nazi persecution (Amsterdam was among the safest places in Europe) and the house was actually her dad’s business building until 1942, when they were forced to seek solace so went into hiding. Two years they spent, holed up in that tiny attic with windows boarded up and separated from the business by a sliding book case. Eight people, in complete silence all day while the business ran in the rest of the house.
It’s a really poignant story that this teenager kept such a vivid account or their story and ended up perishing with her mother and sister in a concentration camp, leaving behind only her father, who retrieved her diary – a gift he’d given her for her 13th birthday, in fact – and made her documented dreams of becoming a revered author come true posthumously.
Sam recommended a traditional Dutch restaurant for lunch, so we messaged our friends to meet us there in a couple of hours and took a brisk walk to the Rijks Museum for a cultural whirwhind whip around to see some Vincent Van Gogh and Rembrandt Van Rijn masterpieces on home soil. Very impressive. Especially Van Rijn, whose The Night Watch is truly breathtaking.
The museum was a bit further than we anticipated so we were a bit late to meet at Cafe Sonneveld for our traditional lunch. No mind though, the restaurant was very quick to serve up our ‘stamppot’ and we were soon enthralled in the meatballs and mash style meal.
The plan for the afternoon was to rent a boat and see the city from the water… But it had started to rain, so we took an hour out to sit in a coffee shop and play cards (which was a very fun excursion of sorts in itself).
It didn’t rain for long, so we were soon back on course, with a full cooler, a picnic of snacky things and a playlist of the main contenders at the impending festival to complement the trip. It was pretty chilly and the rain had obviously scared off other potential boaters, so we had the canals largely to ourselves, which was wonderful and a couple of hours later we’d seen more of Amsterdam than I’m sure most see in their entire stay!
Our body clocks must’ve been quite confused by the dark coming so late (you can’t really say from the sun staying up so late when there was no appearance of the sun to speak of), so when we went to Foodhallen for dinner, we somehow missed it completely. The venue is a warehouse of food stalls of all varieties – from pizza to seafood to Mexican to frozen yoghurt – but they had all closed (at 10pm sharp) before we’d made our minds up… So we just went to one of Neil’s favourite restaurants, Rotisserie, instead for massive, juicy burgers.
It’s always good to walk home from the pub after such long day/night outings – and it was much easier this time, since we had a better lay of the land and a trip to Maastricht the next day to look forward to.
Africa, Tanzania

Travelogue: Zanzibar

ZANZIBAR

26 April – 1 May 2018

A lot of planning had gone into our long weekend flit to the little island of Zanzibar in the Indian Ocean. Since the purpose of the trip was to participate in our besties’ knot-tying, there were also all the pre-event events to plan and enjoy alongside the usual travel logistics. Having met some new faces along the way who would be in tow on our island adventure, the prospects looked promising for an unforgettable experience.

In the same adventurous spirit, we cast aside our usually unwavering support for our beloved Emirates in favour of the far quicker Kenya Airways routing. This however meant that we were due to depart ORT at 01h00 on Thursday morning (gulp), which we rationalised as quite efficient since it would give us enough time to do leisurely prep after work, drop the dogs off at their respective grandparents and get to the airport for 22h00.

The thought process was solid (and the airport wait very civilised in the lounge with free wi-fi to stream telly on the tablet), but Kenya Airlines threw us a curve-ball, keeping us waiting queued at the gate for 45 minutes. Hardly what you need at that hour! Boarding well after 1, we were shattered and had no trouble drifting off to one of the handful of average movie titles on the entertainment system.

The upside was that our transfer time in Nairobi was cut to almost nothing and we literally only had time to walk through the terminal from our arrival gate to the boarding gate for the Zanzibar hop, stopping only to pick up an extortionately-priced chewy sandwich to bridge us from the distant memory of last night’s dinner at home to lunchtime when we would eventually arrive at our resort.

The thought process was solid (and the airport wait very civilised in the lounge with free wi-fi to stream telly on the tablet), but Kenya Airlines threw us a curve-ball, keeping us waiting queued at the gate for 45 minutes. Hardly what you need at that hour! Boarding well after 1, we were shattered and had no trouble drifting off to one of the handful of average movie titles on the entertainment system.

The upside was that our transfer time in Nairobi was cut to almost nothing and we literally only had time to walk through the terminal from our arrival gate to the boarding gate for the Zanzibar hop, stopping only to pick up an extortionately-priced chewy sandwich to bridge us from the distant memory of last night’s dinner at home to lunchtime when we would eventually arrive at our resort.

The short 1h20 flight was in partnership with Precision Air, on a small plane with less than 100 seats. Having also been slightly delayed, the pilot apologised for the inconvenience and made it up to us by circling close to Mount Kilimanjaro giving us up-close views of the rugged mountainside and reach-out-and-touch-it-close views of the snowy peak. Now that we’ve seen it, we can happily add summiting Kili onto the bucket list… And strike it off.

Having consulted quite a few weather apps – sort of like continuing to shake a Magic 8 Ball until you get the answer you want – I’d had concerns that we were in for a wet weekend. To our delight, we landed in a sunny Zanzibar – and Christian started sweating almost as soon as the plane door opened on the 30 degree humidity.

I broke into a bit of a cold sweat myself when a very serious lady stopped me as we were entering the airport terminal, demanding my Yellow Fever Certificate; which of course I didn’t have, on me or otherwise. I had instant mental pictures of being detained in this hotbox of a departure hall and sent on the return journey home.

All overreaction of course, but a tired mind is a overly fertile imagination ground! Christian – always the sensible one – provided passports and details that we’d come from South Africa and only ever-so-briefly flitted through Nairobi. All was well and we were waved through to Passport Control.

Our driver (arranged through the resort) was ready and waiting for us, as promised, so we gave him our Jiffy baggage (our suitcase had been shrunk wrapped to within an inch of its life at ORT, as a mandatory service by the airline) and jumped into the back of our car, a quarter century (or more) old Camry with 286 thousand K’s on the clock and a furry dashboard to boot!

Our driver was congenial enough and pointed out a few things along the way through Stone Town and on the surprisingly well maintained dual carriageway beyond, admirably patching together his limited English for a comprehensible story, but not stretching quite far enough to be able to effectively field questions, which made for a stilted one-way conversation.

He did share with us that there had been immense flooding a few weeks prior, which gave me hope that somehow I’d caught weather forecast flashbacks or lazy climatologists had been assuming the status quo. The blue-sky clear day gave no indication that it planned to burst banks this weekend. Fingers crossed.

We passed through 4 seemingly pointless roadblocks en route to the resort. Each time our driver was beckoned to pull over, which he dutifully did, and had an obligatory rapid-fire exchange (that made us feel like we were in trouble) before we were sent on our way. Maybe it was the fashion police querying the furry dashboard!

An hour and a bit of journey time later and we arrived at Michamvi Sunset Bay Resort and were greeted at the open-air reception by Shirley, who gave a quick run through of the order of things and showed us to our room.

We had a lovely spacious ground floor suite facing the volleyball court and the sea beyond. Our block of four had Michele and Ian above us, Milly adjacent to them and Anna and Marina due to be our neighbours the next day. Very cosy set-up.

We had no trouble finding our friends, with their conversation and Mich’s laugh carrying from the bar, where they had already settled for the afternoon.

With planes having already flown overhead (we know because we were in one of them), there was no hesitation ordering the first beer for the day, which doubled as a cultural experience since it was a local Kilimanjaro lager. Ice cold and very refreshing.

Less refreshing and more bracing was the first shooter of the day which followed soon after, prompting us to order lunch with haste, to get a good lining of the communal stomach to aid stamina for what promised to be a vigorous welcome party.

The food at the resort was wonderful and a fresh and flavourful fish wrap and a light and creamy chicken coconut curry made up for the spartan (and awful) food on our journey.

A handful of people had already arrived, and we met everyone as they wandered into our afternoon, positioned almost cinema-style in a row of deckchairs in the bar facing the ocean, using the lovely seascape as our panoramic TV and whiling away the time as day became sunset became evening.

Conveniently, dinner was a set menu to be served around the swimming pool. Our selections had to be logged by 4pm to aid kitchen logistics – and a blessing that our group wasn’t faced with complicated ordering procedure by the time dinner rolled around.

The food was again fantastic and our Kingfish main course so outstanding that we contemplated a weekend of pescatarianism to take full advantage.

Retiring to the bar again after our meal just revived the party rather than retiring it and the drinks flowed and friendships formed.

FRIDAY

After a very necessary, very long sleep, we surfaced just after 09h00 to catch the tail-end of the breakfast service. Served on a thatched deck on the beach, we soaked up the night before with hearty omelettes, cold meats and cheese, fruit, juice, the works! … And then went back to our room to have a lie down while everything digested.

The resort was quiet with the majority of our posse having gone on an organised tour of the island. We’d decided in advance not to go, rationalising that a day of leisure was a rarer pleasure than any excursion could be.

We took a lovely long stroll the length of the beach off to the right to see what was around the corner of our cove. But it remains a mystery as cove corners are never a simple ‘approach and peek around’ situation and we gave up before we’d rounded the long bend that the ‘corner’ actually was.

It was lightly tinkling with rain by the time we got back, which was the perfect excuse to shower and lounge and only properly present ourselves at around midday.

Shortly thereafter Anna and Marina arrived and we found Milly, who had also not gone on the tour. We chatted and caught up on who had been doing what since we last saw each other and then the four of us checked out some of the free snorkeling gear to take an explore in our waters.

Turns out that the equipment was completely unnecessary since a) the water was crystal clear so you can see the seabed from above the water and b) there was nothing to see in the water except the seabed. Still, it was nice to have a bit of a paddle about – and have a story to tell about an otherwise eventless day!

Achievement behind us, we retreated to the sea-facing loungers and read and relaxed and allowed the day to pass around us.

At around sunset, Anna reignited our ambition by suggesting a game of beach volleyball. What began as a relatively level playing field of Christian versus the two of us girls took a turn for the worse for us when Ed teamed up to balance the numbers. We had a short but sweaty burst of activity before retiring to the pool.

By then the other guests who were staying at neighbouring resorts had started to arrive for the official Welcome Dinner, so we changed into our ‘dress’ shorts and flops and met at the bar to greet the newcomers and compare notes.

Dinner was served none too soon and we were ushered to the Sea Breeze deck (where breakfast had been served) and seated at 2 long tables from where we could help ourselves from the buffet and grill. A feast that made for a good lining of the stomach for what turned into a rather long night, propping up the Sunset Bar and attempting to dry the island of Kilimanjaro lager, which we’d been told was subject to a shortage in supply. I’m sure they could hear us from the mainland, laughing and singing well into the early hours.

SATURDAY

Our late and festive night made getting up early that much more difficult, with the itinerary requiring a 07h30 departure for the girls to get going for the bachelorette, which was a swimming-with-dolphins and pamper combo. The boys were heading off on a booze cruise excursion, only due to leave at 11h00.

We jumped into our transport, picked up the other ladies from their respective resorts and crossed the island to catch a boat that would take us to where the scout boats had told us where the dolphins were.

We found a school of 7 and plopped into the water. Floating on the surface face-down allowed for a wonderous experience, with the dolphins writhing and playing below us, often no more than arm’s length away! They seemed completely casual about our presence in their world and carried on about their business, mostly gliding along at a pace we could follow but easily making space with a few graceful kicks of their tail.

Each time they’d throw us off their trail, we’d get back into the boat, find them again and then drop back into the water to watch some more. It was a fantastic experience. Truly once in a lifetime.

Returning to the resort, our breakfast deck became home base to the pamper party, with private rooms allocated for massages and mani/pedi sessions and henna tattooing in the communal area. Very social and a wonderful opportunity to get to know each other – and see the boys sail past and up the coast towards Upendo where we’d be meeting them at sunset.

Our journey to Upendo was less glam, thanks to the state that the rains had left on the (I suspect already bumpy) dirt roads between the two resorts.

It was a very cool spot for sundowners. A chic lounge bar right on the beach (obviously) with a menu of some impressive seafood – and curries, which we couldn’t resist.

Everyone was bushed from the long day on top of the long previous night, so it was a relatively restrained session, topped by some very civilised tea and coffee nightcaps on Anna and Marina’s patio on our return to Michamvi.

SUNDAY

Being wedding-eve, intentionally no plans had been made for The Day of Rest, except dinner. Our friend Sarah arrived from England so Mich and Ian took her on a roadtrip to the other resorts to catch up with the long-lost friends she’s not seen in the 3 years since she emigrated. This left the rest of us to laze on loungers, nap, read, watch the sea and – for the more ambitious among us – walk on the beach or wallow in the water.

At 17h30 we met in the Reception to catch our taxi to The Rock restaurant, a single small building covering the entire surface of a little island just off the beach in front of Upendo, where we’d been the night before. And when I say “just off the coast of”, I really mean it.

With the tide in, we used a dhow to get from the shore to the steps up to the restaurant. But with the dhow lengthwise between the two points, we boarded at the back were pushed a couple of metres at most and then alighted from the front of the boat.

Apparently the boat ride is more a precaution than a necessity because of the spiky sea urchins that can really ruin your dinner plans if you step on one!

We again enjoyed our food immensely, ordering Tambi which was described at the Zanzibari take on pasta (thin angelhair strands with fish and coconut cream sauce). And we couldn’t resist ordering Kingfish again, as our newest-found local favourite.

Aside from the food, a visit to The Rock is a must for anyone in the area thanks to its spectacular sunsets views from the terrace that infinities the ocean into the disappearing sun, transitioning the yellows and reds into blues and purples that make every photo a winner!

With our new arrival and new friends now old pals, we undid all the good our restful day had done us and had a solid innings in the bar on our return to Michamvi.

MONDAY

Sleeping in as late as possible – surfacing at 09h25 to catch breakfast before it started closing down at 09h30 – we were at least a little rested in anticipation of The Big Day.

The girls were required in Michele’s room at midday to start with the primping and preening. As is probably quite customary, the boys had much looser and more leisurely arrangements, really only needing to swap casual shorts and t-shirts for smart shorts and shirt since it was a barefoot event a few steps from our quarters.

Unfortunately it pelted with rain all morning and while it did ease up a bit over the course of the afternoon, it was too risky to bank on doing the wedding ceremony on the sand as had been intended, so the decision was made to move the set-up indoors. The hand-plaited palm arch and all the chairs were moved to the bar deck, which seemed sort of fitting with the amount of time we’d spent there over the preceding few days.

Our planning worked out perfectly though and our bride’s party of 3 was all glamourous and ready to go just after 4.

The walk-on song started and we wound our way (barefoot) along the paths from the room into the bar, down the aisle and to the front where the groom and groomsmen were waiting. Our friend Cheese was ready and raring to officiate the ceremony.

It was a short and sweet service, rounded off by the happy couple reading a promise to each other that they’d crafted in lieu of vows. Then we moved to the beach (a few steps away) to take the bridal party pics. Even though it was drizzling lightly on and off, nothing could dampen spirits – or the view as a backdrop for some fantastic pics.

The resort team had done a magnificent job of transforming the Seabreeze deck into a romantic reception, with the tables in a big L around that mirrored a matching L buffet and grill station on the other side. They had framed the room with candles in paper bags which gave the room a soft and warm glow, setting the mood just right.

The formalities were minimal with basic housekeeping. I read messages and well wishes from those who had been unable to join us, Ian gave  short speech and a quick and Christian gave a light toast.

The food was again spectacular and we were spoilt with lobster, prawns, kingfish and tender beef skewers, partnered with starches and an array of exotic salads and sauces. We ate ourselves silly, which fuelled a very long and exuberant party well into the night.

MONDAY

Fortunately there was little to do since we’d compensated for our early start (well, relatively early, needing to be up at 07h00 to leave before 08h00 to get to the airport) by packing the day before.

Our taxi was mercifully early avoiding the potential for any stress clock-watching while obsessing over the potential for missing our flight. He did stop twice on our journey though; once to fill up with petrol (you’d think he’d have done that in preparation since this was a pre-booked transfer) and the other a quick nip to a shop (a side-of-the-road tuckshop window style spaza) for who knows what. And of course we were stopped by police twice.

Nonetheless, everything was Hakuna Matata when we arrived at the airport in time for our check in and we were grateful to only have 20 minutes wait for our flight to start the journey home.

It’d been a wonderful trip, but a restful day of snoozing on the plane would not go amiss!

PS: the only downside to the trip was that there was not a whiff of a Guinness so we were unable to add a new country to our Guinness Index.

Europe

Travelogue Ireland 2: Kilkenny

KILKENNY

18-19 November 2017

We woke to a grey but dry morning in Dublin (winning!) and walked through the town to the Avis office to fetch the car we’d rented for our roadtrip.

Dublin is a very easy city to navigate (once you’ve been around it once or twice, which we had thanks to the walking tour) and the crisp morning made for a great walk in the fresh air.

We drove the car back to our hotel to collect our bags and check out, and were on the road by late morning.

We had 88km to take us to the first stop, Rock of Dunamase, which took just over an hour of easy driving on the open highway.

You couldn’t miss the Rock, as a 46m outcrop protruding sharply from the mostly flat plains of the farms surrounding it. The ruins of Dunamase Castle perched on top of the Rock made for a dramatic silhouette on the skyline, less daunting as you drive round to the entrance at the back, off a country cul de sac providing access to the Castle and its neighbour, a quaint little Church complete with creepy Cemetery.

We’d downloaded an audio guide off an Irish Heritage website which talked us through the outer gates, over where the moat would have been, through where the portcullis would have been, under the Murder Hole where the defenders would have rained boiling oil or buckets of excrement on invaders and into the inner Barbican.

The first known inhabitants of this hilltop built a fort in the early 9th century but were soon pillaged by the Vikings in 842. The Castle was only built much later in the latter half of the 12th Century and became the most important fortification in Laoise (pronounced “leash”) with the Norman invasion and then was a pawn in all sorts of wheeling and dealing until it fell into ruin by the 1350s.

After our wander, we drove the 7km to the next town, Portlaoise (“port leash”) to grab some lunch.

We parked on the edge of town and ambled along the narrow high street, window shopping and enjoying the relaxed pace.

We found a warm and cosy mom ‘n pops deli (McCormack’s) and settled into the window counter to watch the day go by as we were served our shepherd’s pie and lasagne, with chips of course.

Fed and happy, we walked the remainder of the high street. Not much was open as we’d obviously caught the town between shops that shut at lunchtime and venues that opened for evening trade, but that didn’t matter because we were moving on anyway.

We only had 48km left of our day’s journey, so were in Kilkenny less than half an hour later, checking into our very homely B&B, Chaplin’s Guesthouse.

It had started to drizzle very lightly, but that didn’t deter us since Christian had remembered to pack our ‘holi-brollies’ (procured on our Baltic Cruise holiday) so we hit the streets and headed for the Castle.

Sadly, 2 wrong turns and early winter closing time left us arriving at the Castle as it was closing so, never ones to dwell on misfortune, we went to the Smithwick’s Brewery instead.

Not up for another hour of barleyhopsroastingtoasting stories, we had a wander around and felt enriched enough to hit the ‘in the field sampling’ with a clear (and educated) conscience.

Smithwick’s is situated at the tapered end of the teardrop-shaped Medieval Mile, so named because of the visible evidence in the architecture and layout of this portion of the city that Kilkenny was once the medieval capital of Ireland.

The Mile is home to 24 attractions in its narrow streetscape as a living exhibit that has visual clues like the Butter Slip, a narrow and dark walkway that cuts the teardrop in the middle to connect the outer roads and which housed the market’s butter vendors (because it is sheltered and cold) earning its name. It also has the conventional sights – town hall, city gate, cathedral – as well as a museum and a gallery for a well-rounded experience.

We started with The Hole in The Wall, a 16th Century tavern in Ireland’s oldest surviving townhouse, earning its name from the hole punched in a wall at the rear of the house to create access from the high street. Besides the anticipated exhibits, we discovered a tiny bar in the house, a rustic tavern tucked away in a little room under the stairs, with only 11 seats, and joined the 2 existing patrons and the barman for our first Kilkenny ‘Irish Cream Ale’ draught.

Our sightseeing turned into a pub crawl – directed by the recommendations of our close company at the tiny bar – starting with Hibernia Bar, an upmarket venue diagonnally across from Kilkenny Castle.

Next was Tynans Bridge House Bar, which is the perfect local’s pub with traditional decor, casual locals clearly at home around the massive wooden bar counter, dark and comfortable corners, sing-along classic soundtrack and a larger-than-life host, Liam, who joined and rejoined our table periodically like a returning old friend, quick with a story and a laugh. If we lived in Kilkenny, this is where we would be regulars, so we stayed for a few, as if we were, and logged our pints on our Guinness Index for posterity.

We rounded off the evening with Sullivan’s Taproom, which by stark contrast was a hall-like double-volume modern venue. The pizza and local red ale had been recommended on quite a few sites we’d researched on, so our choices were easily made. The food was excellent and ambiance created by the one-man-band performers who seamlessly mixed traditional Irish with more contemporary songs, so all in all a good evening was had.

As is often the case, the walk home seemed much shorter than the walk into town in the afternoon. Likely a combination of having a better sense of where the destination was, not having the drizzle to contend with and having the series of new experiences to giddily recount.

I’m sure we missed a lot of the classic Kilkenny experience by skipping most of the buildings and whatnot… but doing it our way was a lot more fun!

… Or so I thought…

SATURDAY

Christian had gone for a run while I was doing the above Travelogue, which I assumed was finished… Until he came back with stories of how awesome the day was and all the things he’d seen on his run around the town and the Castle.

Between the animated delivery and the magnificent Full Irish breakfast, it was decided to do a quick victory lap around the Medieval Mile to fill in the gaps of what we’d missed.

We packed the car and drove down to town, parking near the Hibernian pub we’d so enjoyed the night before.

Little was open, so it was easy to navigate the streets and get pics the way I like them – “post apocalyptic”, like we’re the only people in the world.

It seemed fitting to visit the churches, being a Sunday ‘n all, but unfortunately couldn’t access the one of most interest – St Francis Abbey where beer has been brewed for centuries.

We also got in a short walk around the Castle gardens before it started to drizzle, at which point we made our way to the car to get back on track with our original plan to go to Waterford.

Europe, Ireland

Travelogue Ireland 7: Galway

GALWAY

22-23 November 2017

Thanks to our intentness to work in a seafood lunch at the seaside town of Doolin, we ended up seeing what was dubbed (in its own brochure) as “the most visited natural attraction in Ireland”. I’d somehow thought that the Cliffs of Moher were further north up the coast than we were going so they hadn’t even featured in our planning but, nope, there they were. Perfectly positioned, right next to Doolin!

It was only an 80km stretch from Limerick but with single lane country roads, it took us over an hour to get there.

The entrance ticket to the Cliffs of Moher allowed access to the whole complex, combining a self-guided (outdoor) tour with an (indoor) exhibition component. We couldn’t have had worse weather for our visit, being bitterly cold and raining, so we tried the inside bit first.

The Visitor Centre’s claim to fame was its eco-friendliness, tucked into the side of the hill like a cave with a grass roof so as not to spoil the landscape and view, and using geo-thermal energy, waste water treatment and sensor lighting. The visual displays brought the Cliffs to life through audio visual exhibits and 2 short movies, one of which gave you bird’s eye view of the cliffs.

Venturing outside, we used the free downloadable audio guide to walk ourselves through the South platform and then the North and see the Cliffs that had been waiting 320 million years for us to get there.

It was far from ideal weather for viewing. The brochures spoke of how you could see this, that and the other “on a clear day” but we were lucky to even be able to see the series of jutting cliffs because it was so misty! To give context, the Cliffs are 200 odd metres high and range for about 8km over the Atlantic Ocean. They, at least, were really hard to miss – and were quite astounding in their magnitude and composition – clear day or not! But we didn’t see the puffins, the Falcons or the views of 5 counties that might have been seen under different circumstances.

We were chilled to the bone and now even more motivated to get to Doolin for lunch.

It’s a weird thing about travelling that you’ll stumble repeatedly over something you ‘have to do’ when you’re looking for something else entirely… And then when you try and retrace the referred have-to-do, it seems like all trace of the articles you’d originally read have been been removed from the internet! This was the case with Doolin. I couldn’t seem to find the article that had stuck this nugget of a town into our plan.

Fortunately though, it was a 1-horse town so we drove through it all the way to the dock at the end and then back again, and settled on the place that looked most welcoming, Gus O’Connor’s pub on Fisher Street.

Great choice. Fire on the go, so roasty-toasty inside; big smiles from the barman and waitress. A table right by the fireplace, just waiting for us… We had the most delicious seafood chowder and Atlantic salmon with Parmesan mash and all was right with the world.

Really smug at our great decision – and commending ourselves on our commitment to the authentic Wild Atlantic Way experience – we hit the road once again, headed for Galway.

In Galway, ee were again staying in a hostel, again in a private suite. This hostel, the Bunk Boutique, seemed quite upmarket with an equal split of dorm rooms and suites. Our room seemed brand-spanking new with its laminate floor, modern finishes and crisp white linens.

The hotel was conveniently located right next door to the Tourist Office, where we picked up a map and the lady on duty advised us that the daily walking tour at 11h30 would be worth our time if we could see our way clear to leaving Galway a little later than we’d planned to. With no clear plans for our last day besides getting to the airport on time (no particular rush with a 9pm flight), this seemed as good a plan as any – and with it being by far the coldest day we’d experienced in Ireland (cold enough to add another full layer of clothing!) the thought of keeping the evening’s plans minimal and indoors was of great appeal.

She also recommended that we have dinner at McDonagh’s fish and chip shop, which we’d shortlisted anyway, and which was on the other side of town (being a Medieval town, this meant a 15 minute walk at most) so gave us a goal to get there and back over the course of the evening.

Galway was a charming little city.

We crossed Eyre Square, that has been the centre of town for centuries and now was playing host to a Christmas market with scores of little wooden huts selling sweet treats, gift ideas and winter woollies. The middle had a festive display with Gingerbread house, reindeer and candy canes, and little stage that was hosting local musicians keeping everyone entertained while they shipped on Gluwein and munched on their take-away.

The other side of the Square deposited us at the top of the shopping streets; still the original Medieval pedestrian walkways with authentic facades and visible family crest headstones above shop entrances. Buskers’ music filled the air and the Christmas decorations strung overhead provided a warm glow. There was lots of activity, but the kind of busy that added energy not crowdedness.

We stopped off at a pub at the top of the street – one of the oldest in Galway, known for its ‘craic’ (good times) – to recount our day and applaud our good fortunes and great experiences, biding time for the famous fish feast that awaited us.

A product of our own anticipation, it became quite an early dinner! And was every bit the hype we’d read about. We opted for the battered cod and salmon, which arrived with a mountain of chips and mushy peas. A visible award-winner!

Doing the usual pub search both on our walk through town and on the internet over dinner, we decided to spend the evening (our last in Ireland, sob!) at Sally Long’s, the only hard rock pub in Galway.

Quite different from all the strictly traditional pubs we’d been in over the course of the week, Sally’s had a Harley in the entrance, a Last Supper mural of musical legends, a pool table and was blasting AC/DC when we arrived. It was good for a change of pace.

WEDNESDAY

Our last morning had to start the right way: FULL Irish breakfast. We got exactly that at a fantastic little restaurant called Riordan’s, which gave ALL the trimmings (mushroom, baked beans, fried potatoes etc) as well as the sausage, bacon, black and white pudding. Excellent fuel for the walking tour and to combat the icy day.

It was a far better call to defer the walking tour as although it was cold, it was clear blue skies and no rain.

We met our guide, Jerry, who walked us through the town we’d already become quite familiar with, but filled in the gaps on the who, what and how we’d gotten to the Galway we were in.

Besides the usual tales of pillage and plunder, Vikings and Cromwell, Jerry spent quite a bit of time telling us about how life changing John F Kennedy’s visit to Ireland in 1963 had been. Obviously of Irish descent and leader of the free world, his visit went beyond ‘welcomed’ and all the way to hero worship and squares and roads were renamed after him, statues and commemorative busts erected and portraits and plaques placed alongside the Pope in the churches!

Another interesting sight and anecdote was Lynch’s Window, where the local Magistrate, James Lynch, lived up to his reputation for unbending justice when he notoriously hanged his own son who had killed a merchant. This is where the term ‘lynching’ is derived from.

Jerry concluded his tour at the Spanish Arch, so named for the Spanish merchant sailors who came ashore there to peddle their wares. This was also the site where the Claddagh women would sell the fish their husbands had caught. The Claddagh lived across the river in rows of white thatched huts and only crossed for trade. They are the people from whom the traditional Claddagh rings stem. You’d recognise the design if you saw it; the band forming 2 hands on the top side that are clasping a heart with a crown on it.

Done with the tour, we jumped in the car and headed for the airport. We had plenty of time since it was a 200 odd km drive and we had over 4 hours to cover the ground.

We needed to stop to refuel so coincided it with a visit to Athenry, renowned to us because of the famous Irish ballad “Fields of Athenry“… With a killer version by The Dropkick Murphys, that we blasted as we headed on our last leg, in the direction of Dublin.

We arrived at the airport in plenty of time for our flight. A bit early, in fact, as check-in wasn’t even open yet. We made the best use of the time and got in a last Guinness for the road. Unbelievably even with the usual airport inflated prices, the pint was still cheaper than the tourist trap Temple Bar!

Sláinte Ireland. Thanks for all the good times. Hope to see you again soon!

Europe, Ireland

Travelogue Ireland 6: Limerick

LIMERICK

22 November 2017

The drive from Tralee to Limerick was only 101km and we were back on double lane highway so it went really quickly.

We routed through the little town of Adare, renowned to be one of Ireland’s prettiest towns – and we could see why. If we hadn’t just stopped for refreshments in Tralee, we’d have stopped in Adare for something just for the sake of soaking in some of the prettiness!

But we soldiered on and went to Limerick, where we’d be spending the night.

Our hotel was in a prime location, right alongside the wide River Shannon and had we had a room on the other side of the building, we would have had a view of some of the most famous sites in the town: St Mary’s Cathedral, King John’s Castle and the row of Georgian houses in between.

Even though it was still early when we arrived, it was already dark, so we took a whirl around the Medieval Quarter to get a lay of the land, but left the formal sight-seeing and picture-taking for the morning.

Not yet hungry (again) either, we made our way through the modern shopping streets on our way to the more quaint Market District.

The roads were busy with people finishing work and doing their shopping. The town’s Christmas lights and decorations were already live, combining with the dark and crisp evening to make for quite a festive feel – probably more Christmassy than we’d feel in a month’s time in sunny South Africa when it really was Christmas!

The Market District was a little quieter; being mostly restaurants and pubs, probably a bit early for its main trade. We’d consulted online for recommendations on where to try – there are way too many pubs in every Irish town to take chances! – and started at Nancy Blake’s.

We settled on the barstools in the little passage that connected the two main bar areas, but soon moved because it was too warm – hardly something we’d suspected would be said on this holiday! – from the effective fireplace in the smaller bar. We sipped on our pints and logged them on our Guinness Index.

Our second stop was quite the opposite. Flannery’s was dark and a bit chilly and lacked the warmth in both temperature and atmosphere that Nancy Blake’s had had, not helped by the indifferent bartender who was playing his own (dreary) music and smoking on the doorstep. By that point it was dinner time anyway, so we chalked it up to experience and moved on.

We pinpointed The Locke as our final destination since it was accoladed for its menu, had traditional music and dancing every night and was just across the bridge (over the mighty Shannon) from home.

We had a Limerick local serving our table, so took his advice on dinner orders and were soon enjoying a seafood pie (like a cottage pie but with a creamy fishy mix instead of mince) and a traditional Irish stew that complemented perfectly, cutting the creamy pie with its simple stocky broth.

Our dinnertime conversation was logistics-intensive. We were, not unusually, planning a meal ahead like they were going out of fashion and thus, in this spirit, planned get up and have breakfast at the very earliest possible instant (rather than lazing and languishing in bed as we’d been doing the previous days) so we could do our self-guided Limerick tour and make space for a seafood lunch when we were back on the Wild Atlantic Way. Only we could decide at dinner that we best hurry up and have an early night so we can have breakfast early enough to be hungry enough by lunch to appreciate it!

With this ‘early to bed; early to rise (for a fuller-than-Full Irish)’ in mind, we were soon headed back to our hotel, happy as little larks with our preliminary sightseeing done, a great evening behind us and another exciting day ahead of us.

We could have done with an organised walking tour of Limerick as it seemed there was more detail to the story of this city than could be cobbled together through the handful of sites and bitty historical overviews on the internet.

Unfortunately, the local walking tour guide, Declan, had a day job at the tourist office so could only accommodate during his lunch hour – and this was obviously too late as we a) had breakfast to move and b) had our own lunch plans. So, we made the most of it and did a quick loop around the Medieval Quarter on our own.

From what we could tell, the area of Limerick had been occupied since the Stone Age, succumbed to the Vikings in the 800s and 900s and then got its signatures architecture (King John’s Castle and St Mary’s Cathedral) around 1200. The Castle was sieged several times between the English/Irish issues, Cromwell and William of Orange, which was pretty typical of the 1600s which seem to be quite a tiring time in Irish history in general. All sorts of people invading and marauding and fighting battles to back and forth bits of Ireland inch by inch.

We wanted to end off our tour with the McCourt Museum, a tribute to the Frank McCourt book “Angela’s Ashes”, a copy of which my Grandpappy had given to me as a teenager. The story was an anecdotal memoir of Frank’s impoverished childhood in Limerick and the museum is said to be small but very tangible of life in the time the book was set.

Unfortunately, the museum only opened at 11 and wasn’t worth waiting almost an hour for, so we hit the road in search of the next wonderous experience.