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Europe, Northern Ireland, United Kingdom

Travelogue N.Ireland 1: Isle of Man

ISLE OF MAN

9-13 March 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SATURDAY 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pfft.

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

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

Quick, fresh and tasty, we were not disappointed! 

SUNDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MONDAY 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Corsica, Europe, France

Travelogue Corsica 3: Bastia

BASTIA

01 – 04 October 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SUNDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MONDAY 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Corsica, Europe, France

Travelogue Corsica 2: Ajaccio

AJACCIO

29 September – 01 October 2022

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

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

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

Hallelujah! It was still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FRIDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Europe, Italy, Sardinia

Travelogue Sardinia 2: Oristano to Olbia

ORISTANO TO OLBIA

25 – 29 September 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great spot for a couple of days’ downtime.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MONDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a perfect time to add vino into the mix!

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

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

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

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

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

TUESDAY 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WEDNESDAY 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Onward to Golfo Aranci.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a sweet ending to sweet trip.

Europe, Italy, Sardinia

Travelogue Sardinia 1: Cagliari to Oristano

SANTA TERESA TO ORISTANO

22-24 September 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FRIDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SATURDAY 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We arrived to a dead. Quiet. Town. 

Not. A. Soul. About.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Corsica, Europe, France

Travelogue Corsica 1: Bonifacio

BONIFACIO

19-22 September 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WEDNESDAY 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Africa, South Africa

Travelogue: Kommetjie

KOMMETJIE

14-19 July 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FRIDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SATURDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SUNDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MONDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TUESDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Europe, Germany

Travelogue Dusseldorf 1: Dusseldorf

DUSSELDORF

28 May – 02 June 2022

And just like that we were off into the world again!

After a very dry couple of years on the world travel front – thanks to the Global Pandemic – we had a windfall when Chris got invited to an international trade fair by one of his key suppliers. And the event happened to be in Dusseldorf!

What’s more, there were to be follow-up meetings in London afterwards. Not only could we tag on a visit to our Colchester contingent, but dumb luck had us there over the Queen’s Jubilee weekend with 2 bank holidays on our side.

With only a couple of weeks’ notice, there was just enough time to revive our planning savvy and start counting down the sleeps.

After some debate, we reverted to trusty old favourite, Emirates, to transport us into the world. With miles to burn (gathering dust over the Lockdown and about to expire) we got free upgrades to Business Class quick-smart, which would help get the weary bones re-accustomed to the hard life on the road (or in the sky, as it were).

Soon enough we were landing in Dusseldorf and grabbing a taxi to our hotel, Das Carls, which was perfectly located on the Carlsplatz, between the lively Old Town and the very lovely modern downtown.

Mid-afternoon by the time we arrived, we wasted no time dropping our bags, discarding our masks (not a thing in Germany, apparently) and heading out to adventure.

Being a Saturday in a notoriously festive neighbourhood, the Altstadt (Old Town) was teeming with people eating, drinking and making merry. Famed for being the longest bar in the world, it was hardly-surprisingly a popular Stag Do location. However, there were patrons of all lifestages harmoniously enjoying themselves.

We started with a choice that might be unconventional for visitors to the notoriously beer-mad Germany, but that was a classic for us. Seeing an Irish pub, we simply had to go in and get a pint to mark on our Guinness Index, which had been dormant for way too long! At 6 Euros (R104) a pint, we noted the new #19 position-holder and moved on to more traditional sightseeing.

… which might be a strong word for what was essentially going to be a multi-day pubcrawl with a lovely view.

But first we needed what every modern trip absolutely needs. A local sim card so we could see where we were going and know what we had seen.

The (Irish) barman at the Irish bar directed us to the nearest Vodaphone store he knew, which required us to walk through the Old Town and into the swanky shopping district. Quite in contrast to our charming cobbled first impression, the new part of town was shiny and glamourous – and not at all what we wanted for our first day.

We used the new sim card (which had been 15 Euros for 5GB of data) to guide us to what the internet considered to be the best brewery in town.

The Altstadt local brew is called Altbier, which we stopped to sample at one of the town’s oldest breweries, Uerige. Part-museum and entirely functional bar and restaurant, Uerige can serve hundreds of patrons; the brewery housing several public rooms (where you can book a table), cosy alcoves and private function rooms of various shapes and sizes as well as the considerable collection of patrons on the sidewalk outside and opposite the brewery.

Uerige claims the secret of its success to be its strict adherence to Reinheitsgebot, or Purity Law dating from 1516, which is still adhered to because its results are good and lasting, relying, as it does, on nature to create and maintain the flavour of the beer. Each ‘yummy droplet’ as they refer to it in their brewery is made of nothing but water, barley, wheat malt, and their Uerige yeast.

And the people lap it up, 200ml at a time, in great volumes.

We were lucky to grab a ‘table’ right outside one of serving doors. No more than a metal basket on legs, the row of these tables along the pavement on either side of the street allowed natural congregation and an easy drop-off for empty glasses. A constant stream of waiters exited the brewery with large trays carried high above the shoulder, filled with small glasses of Altbier.

One beer, one flavour, one size. Your only choice was how many and how often. The waiter fulfilled your order and marked the number of beers on your beermat, which you could settle with him when you were ready to leave. It’s a real honour system and we had to put in quite some effort to find our waiter to pay our tab when the time came.

Satisfied that we’d ticked a big box, we proceeded to the promenade at the end of the road we’d been able to see from our vantage point at the brewery.

Built on the Rhine embankment, the promenade stretches almost 2km along the river. Only built in 1990, it features contemporary requirements that allow enjoyment of the sunsets and river breezes in a row of bars and restaurants along (and on!) the water’s edge, with wide tracks for exclusive bicycle and pedestrian use respectively. Several stretches have grassy banks, where stretchers and deck chairs are brought out in good weather.

In the background, the historical square and the museums provide an equally pretty backdrop and great photo opps in all directions.

We walked up and down to get a lay of the land and marked off things we’d like to do and see over the next few days. With an unusually long stay (for us, 5 nights) and having booked a walking tour for Sunday, there was no rush to preview so we decide that it was time to sample the local fare instead.

With pork and potatoes being the order of the day (everywhere!) we were spoilt for choice. We defaulted to a place called Ham Ham because it was the first to catch our eye (next door to the Irish restaurant), had a rotisserie in the window with several rows of sizzling pork roasts of all varieties and because one of our favourite restaurants on our previous trip to Leon in Spain was Jamon Jamon, so it felt like a homage to that.

With a pint of Warsteiner to wash down our meal, we were soon tucking into roast pork and schnitzel with yummy bratkartoffeln (roasted potato slices). What a delight!

Even though it was well into the night by this point, the sun was still high in the sky. Bushed from our travels and satisfied with our first outing, we called it a day and returned, through the Old Town, to our hotel.

SUNDAY

Our hotel restaurant only served breakfast… but did a good job of it. Open from 7-11am, there was no rush to get up or to get down to the restaurant, so we took advantage of the clear and crisp morning to take a run to stretch the long haul of the previous days out of our legs.

Since we were in Dusseldorf for Christian’s Trade Fair, we used our on-foot opportunity to find the exhibition grounds. We found it; almost 5km straight down the river, with promenade all the way, it couldn’t have been easier to get to. And also was confirmed as far enough to warrant a taxi rather than attempting to walk it in work gear and get all sweat!

Having worked up an appetite, we were very ready for Das Carl’s spread. Expecting a lacklustre continental breakfast, we were pleasantly surprised by the wide selection of meats, cheese, breads, eggs and a small hot selection of bacon, sausages and meatballs. To my great joy there was also a sweet section and I fell in love with the melt-in-your-mouth fresh ring doughnuts stuffed with custard.

By the time we were showered and dressed, it was time to get to our 12h30 walking tour. We met our tourguide, a Welshman named Michael, at Heinrich Heine Platz.

We were a bit early thanks to skilfully navigating our way there from our experience of the reccie the previous day, so we took a walk up and down glitzy Konigsallee, a grand boulevard with all the biggest names in fashion that you can think of. None of the shop windows had prices on any of the items, so you just know they must cost a fortune!

Michael welcomed our mixed bag group of travellers from Spain, Poland, Ukraine, Greece and us. He’d been living in Dusseldorf for 16 years, was a professional musician and had been running a fairly successful music school which had been wiped out by the pandemic. He warned us that he was relatively new to guiding and begged our forgiveness of his known weakness for dates (and his hangover from too much altbier the night before).

He walked us through the Old Town, recounting interesting stories and fumbling through dates (that didn’t really matter) so that by the end it felt like we had a reasonable idea of what was what.

It was hard to believe that Düsseldorf was so heavily bombed during WWII. Most of the city was destroyed and more than a third of the population killed by the weeks of incessant air raids. The Old Town has been beautifully restored though and of course, the newer part of the city established in grand style.

Michael also clarified Dusselfdorf’s claim as the world’s longest bar. Allegedly in olden times, drinking in the streets was frowned upon so the long row of side-by-side pubs had a bar counter that stretched between establishments and allowed customers to move between each bar using doors within the pub. Whether the tale is fact or fiction is irrelevant, with around 300 pubs and clubs within the half a square kilometre radius, it’s easy enough to allow the title even with a lot of poetic licence.

As is typical, it had been drizzling on and off throughout the tour but, credit to his performance (and our travel brollies), it didn’t dampen the experience at all.

Needing to whet our whistle after the long tour, we tried one of the other classic public houses, the Haubrauerei Zum Schlussel. Again, with the standing patrons on the pavement outside, but this time with a high cocktail table.

Wanting to get the authentic longest bar experience, we bounced from pub to pub, resting longer at some that appealed more than others, most notably a rock bar called Auberge that was playing an excellent playlist befitting a Sunday afternoon.

Cautious with a workday the next day and getting too much of a good thing too soon, we soaked up the beer with a hearty early supper at Schweine Janes, which Michael had recommended as best known for its pork buns. Ratified by the pork rotisserie in its window, we tucked into a massive fresh chewy bun, stuffed with slabs of juicy roast pork and creamy mayo. Not a veggie in sight.

MONDAY

Having a lot of Sunday to work off before being entitled to another hotel breakfast feast, we ran through the Old Town and then onto the beautiful Konigsallee. Almost devoid of people, the glass windows of the label-brand shops that lined the street seemed even bigger and shinier and the window-shopping at pace made both experiences more enjoyable.

Both of us were working an as-usual Monday so our run and breakfast needed to be done by 08h30 so that we could kick off our “Work From Anywhere” workday as if we were at our desk at home or hotdesk at the office. Fortunately, the hotel internet was solid and stable and we had both the benefit of a desk in our suite as well as almost exclusive free reign of the hotel since the other guests were presumably all out and about, enjoying their holiday or fulfilling their work commitments.

It was a treat to sit in the empty dining room that had bay windows along 2 sides, and people-watch the activities in the Carlsplatz open-air market across the road while listening in to squads debating what to do about challenges they were facing with this, that and the other.

Taking no advantage, we put in a full work day and it was almost 6pm by the time we were finished what we needed to do.

The sun was still high in the sky though, so we still had a good few hours to use for our own adventuring.

With a curiously high Japanese population in Dusseldorf (almost 10% of the population), the Japanese Quarter has become very popular with locals and tourists alike, offering all sorts of Far Eastern cuisine.

Barely a kilometre or so from our hotel, we enjoyed the walk to exorcise the workday and – believe it or not – try and work up an appetite since our breakfast feast was still going the distance!

Having been to Japan twice, we were well versed in the various types of dishes and look for our favourite by far, tonkatsu! A perfect compromise with our commitment to an authentic German experience, tonkatsu is a breaded pork steak served with all the traditionally Japanese trimmings. This restaurant also had served it with a bowl of sesame seeds with mortar and pestle to grind out the flavours, mix with tonkatsu sauce and use it to dunk the already delicious pork cutlets into even more deliciousness. Again, not a veggie in sight.

It was a simple pleasure to be able to walk home after our meal. And quite difficult to resist stopping off en route since it was still light and bright. But with the Dusseldorf Trade Fair the next day, we needed to get a good night’s sleep to make the most of the primary reason for the trip.

TUESDAY

Now in the habit of a morning trot before breakfast, we ran through the Old Town and along the promenade. Taking the bridge to the West, we crossed over to Oberkassel, a well-to-do suburb on the other side of the Rhine. We ran along the far riverbank and then crossed back to our side using the East bridge. A wonderful crisp easy-pace run that gave us the 5km and 30 mins we needed to dive into the buffet guilt-free.

We were ready well in time to grab an Uber to the Trade Fair for opening.

Christian had made several appointments in advance while I was going to have a gander at some of the stands that were relevant to my industry to see if there were any nuggets that I could take home to change our world.

The show was in the Messe Dusseldorf complex, well-established in the world of exhibitions. There were hundreds of exhibitors spread across 2 giant halls. Everything to do with retail, both brick-and-mortar and online. Security, point of sale solutions, safes, software, analytics… you name it, there was someone that did it and wanted to tell you all about it.

I left Christian to his business and did a wander round, asking questions and gathering business cards where I felt there might be a connection to my world of work. A lot of the stands had quite impressive swag to draw the best leads, but it wasn’t worth having to endure superfluous banter so I came away with a mere 2 pens and a cup of ice-cream for my troubles.

A couple of hours was all I needed so when I’d seen all I wanted to see, I walked back to the hotel. It was a beautiful day and a treat to be out in the sunshine and fresh air in the middle of the day, let alone walking along the Rhine!

Back at my desk to resume my usual schedule, the afternoon flew by and soon Christian was knocking at the door back from his full day at the Fair. He was pleased with what he’d accomplished and eager to send the topline feedback home to the team that had deployed him on this mission.

By the time he was done it was past 7pm, although you wouldn’t tell it by the light of day. And, not in the slightest bit hungry yet, I was starting to think that my appetite was aligning to my Circadian rhythms because my belly clearly didn’t know when dinnertime was anymore!

We decided to walk along the promenade to have a sundowner at the Dusseldorf Tower, from where you could apparently get a panoramic view that stretched as far as neighbouring city, Cologne, on a clear day. And today was a clear day.

Ambling along the wide walkway, we soaked in the sunshine and atmosphere on our trundle to the Tower.

On arrival, we were disappointed to find that it was closed for a private party. Bummer. No mind, we still had another evening to have another go at it.

Tired from a long day and with another ahead of us, we opted for a cheap and cheerful dinner rather than a lengthy sit-down. We’d noticed a few chippies that were very popular and gave the Wurtsmeister a go. With a footlong hotdog, a tub of currywurst and chips (drenched in mayo) to share, we were eating in minutes, soaking up the atmosphere of the Old Town at our standing table outside.

Weird as it was to go home in the daylight – and to attempt sleep as it was only just getting dark, the day caught up with us and we were soon recharging our body batteries in preparation for our last day in Dusseldorf.

WEDNESDAY

Old hat at our Dusseldorf routine by now, we sped through our run, buffet and preparation routine and were ready well in time to start our work commitments for the day.

Christian had an even more jam-packed schedule for his second day at the Trade Fair, so packed himself off into an Uber to get cracking. I popped a Do Not Disturb sign on our door and settled in for my morning meetings.

Having taken leave for the Thursday and Friday, it was a busy day handling the usual routine as well as preparing for the time off and monthly reporting due early the next week.

The day went by in a flash and soon Chris was knocking on the door, very pleased with another productive day of meetings, both planned and opportune.

It had been drizzling on and off all afternoon but had turned into a lovely evening. We headed out of Das Carls Hotel for our last outing in Dusseldorf, opting to start with a last-blast pint of pils at Auberge before having dinner at another of Michael’s recommendations, known for their schnitzels.

With the sun still up and the sky clear and blue, there were still loads of people on the promenade when we’d finished dinner so, paradoxically compared to the running order at home, we decided to go for a sundowner. We had yet to tick the Dusseldorf Tower off our list and welcomed the walk along the river to settle our dinner and enjoy the moderate weather.

To our dismay, we were turned away from the Tower for not having masks with us! Having taken days to undo the habit that had been entrenched with our mandatory mask-wearing laws at home, it was bitterly ironic that when we finally shook the habit, we were called on it! Clearly it was not meant to be.

We settled instead for a pint of Warsteiner at the café at the base of the Tower and did very little but watch the sunbathers, the men throwing frisbees back and forth, the dog-walkers, the wedding party taking their photos, the cyclists whizzing past, the joggers puffing and panting and all the other shapes and sizes that were making the most of another lovely day in Dusseldorf.

Africa, South Africa

Travelogue W.Cape 2: Robertson to Hermanus

WESTERN CAPE PART 2
November 2021

Tuesday began with a lovely venture through the vineyards and around the little dam on the Rijk farm. Incredible to start a day with the sun peeking over the mountains, the fresh smell of the dewy vineyards and the sound of absolutely nothing all around. And then a multi-course breakfast to boot!

With 105km to cover for the day, we drove through the town of Worcester and then used Michell’s Pass to descend into Ceres. Nothing caught our eye, so it was little more than a drive around town and then back over the pass to regain our route to Robertson.

Robertson is one of the bigger towns that we stayed in, and we had booked a garden room in Gubas Hoek Guesthouse in one of the established suburbs. It was very easy to find and we were pleased with our choice, taking time to rest and regroup on our patio after dropping our bags.

Even though spoilt for options in this rich wine-tasting country, we had narrowed our choices to the Top 2 we wanted to visit, thinking we would trade blitzing around the area for quality time to sit and enjoy. 

First was Van Loveren, which has been in the Robertson Valley since 1937, as a small farm gifted to Hennie Retief by his father and re-named after his wife’s ancestor, Christiena Van Loveren, who had come to South Africa in 1699 so establishing her family’s local lineage. From its humble beginnings and over 3 generations it has grown into South Africa’s leading family-owned winery. 

Known equally for consistency, innovation and award-winning wines, our host at the guesthouse also shared that the farm is very aggressive in securing the best from the region, either through buying the best grapes to be produced under the Van Loveren brand or under the up-and-coming winefarm’s own name but within the Van Loveren stable.

It’s impossible to miss the Van Loveren farm, famously marked with the rows of red Canna plants that line the road alongside all of the estate’s vineyards. Today the empire is run by the 3rd generation, Hennie’s grandchildren, four cousins who very fortunately happen to be a farmer, a winemaker, a lawyer and an accountant. They introduced the equally popular spin-off brand, Four Cousins, in 2000.

We thoroughly enjoyed the 2 sampling flights we ordered; a Cheese & Wine combo with 3 reds and 2 whites as well as a Taste of Africa Pinotage pairing with biltong, wors, dark chocolate and chocolate-coated coffee beans. A real sensory delight that prompted us to plan dinner at the Four Cousins restaurant that evening to see what else they had in store for us.

After quite a story and a tough act to follow, we headed off to Graham Beck. A far younger story, Graham Beck only bought his farm in 1983, with the ambition of making a world-class winery with a sparkling wine flagship. Fortunately, Robertson with its perfect climate and soil proved ideal for cultivating Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, two of the three Cap Classique varieties. Today, Graham Beck Cap Classique sparkling wines are one of the country’s finest as well as being a contender in the international wine arena.

From the looks of things and the fondness with which our wine-tasting hostess spoke, Graham (who passed away in 2010 at the age of 80) seemed equal parts liked and admired. His successes as an entrepreneur and pioneer on top of his dedication as a philanthropist earned him respect; his appreciation for the finer things in life are clearly represented in the elegant tasting room, where we sat perched on high stools at the tasting bar, with a painting of Graham and his pack of hounds keeping an eye on us.

We signed up for the Non Vintage Collection Tasting (for me, 4 for R65, wines blended from multiple years) and the Vintage Tasting Collection (R100, grapes blended from a single year) for Chris. The Vintage ones are “aged with extended lees contact (whatever that is) creating single-vintage bubblies more complex in style”, which basically means they are fancier, more expensive and we hadn’t tried them before.

The hostess poured us generous samples of each, into big crystal glasses. They were shaped like red wine glasses rather than champagne flutes which we thought was odd, so she poured us a comparative sample in a flute to demonstrate the difference. Remarkably, the sparkling wines smelt and even tasted quite different – and much better when served in the large rounded open glass.

All in all, I liked the Bliss Nectar Rose and Chris liked the Ultra Brut Vintage, so we joined the Club, ordered a few bottles of each and between the entertaining hostess, the generous tastings, the Black Friday special, free delivery and the waiving of the tasting fee because we had made a purchase, we had had a great time and got a pretty sweet deal.

Quite pleased with our afternoon and quite sure that our double-bill was enough for one day, we returned to the guesthouse to drop off the car and head to Four Cousins on foot.

It was still quite early so we detoured past a lively place called Bourbon Street that advertised Guinness on tap, so we thought we’d sneak in for a cheeky pint to add to the Guinness Index. At R43 it earned a #51 and since we posted it on Facebook right then and there and with a photo of ourselves, the owner saw our post and came over to thank us for the support, giving Christian a Guinness Cap and braces for our efforts!

He’d been so nice about it that we decided to continue to support the place for dinner and never made it to Four Cousins in the end…

WEDNESDAY

Tuesday’s indulgences had left a mark on Wednesday morning. We had a fantastic continental breakfast at our guesthouse and were on the road just after 11 which made our first stop, Weltevrede Wine Farm, impractically early to get back on the horse. Consequently, we just took a wander around the gardens, admired the vineyards, exchanged pleasantries with the hostess and returned safely and soundly sober to the car.

With no wine-tasting and only 64km to Swellendam, we arrived earlier than expected, so pulled into the Drosdty Museum. An open air museum consisting of several historic buildings, we walked across the lawn to find ourselves in the original Drostdy, built by the Dutch East India Company in 1747 as the residence and offices of the Landdrost of Swellendam. Outbuildings housed slaves, domestic animals and there was a wagon-house. It has served as a museum since 1939, with a fine collection of late 18th and early 19th century Cape furniture.

The second building was the town’s old jail, with a tradesmen’s yard in the back with little cottages housing exhibitions of a variety of artisans’ and craftmen’s tools and equipment.

The 3rd building was a house called Mayville, which was built around 1853 and was a blend of Cape Dutch and Cape Georgian detail. Furnished to represent the lifestyle of Swellendam’s middle class at the end of the last century, you can view each room to see what life was like for the average family back then. The garden was laid out in formal Victorian lines with a scattering of benches should you wish to proverbially stop to literally smell the collection of heritage roses.

The last building, Zanddrift, was an old Cape Dutch farmhouse that was relocated from Bonnievale and now served as a restaurant. A quick Google revealed it to be high-brow fine dining, so we would be giving it a skip and happy to admire from the outside.

Now in time for check-in, we drove (literally) around the corner to find our B&B, Berg View Guesthouse, so-named for its location on Berg Street, in turn so-named for its position perpendicular to the base of a very big and beautiful mountain.

Our guesthouse was charming, our host even more so and our welcome further warmed by the news that we’d been upgraded! Our home for the night was a tastefully-decorated cottage overlooking Berg Street, complete with a comfy couch on the stoep so we could admire the mountain and watch the day go by, if we were those sort of people.

Of course we are not, so we had no sooner dropped bags than we were off again on foot to go and explore the little town of Swellendam. 

A more picture-perfect town you have not seen! The walk down the main drag was like a slice straight out of time; easy to observe many of the more than 50 heritage sites in this small town. Most notable was a massive imposing church, largely unsurprisingly an NG Kerk. Swellendam is immaculate and seems like everyone in the whole town has recently painted everything all at the same time.

Completing a big loop and back at our cottage, we worked our way through the dinner option recommendations on the laminated card our host had provided as part of the Welcome pack. She had said that several of the restaurants were very popular and required booking ahead to avoid disappointment. On calling our first choice to make a reservation, we were very sad to find out that they had not survived the hospitality industry challenges of the past year and had closed at the end of November. We were a day too late!

We ended up at a gem though. Decorated as a beach-side restaurant, complete with sea-sand floors and whitewashed tables and benches, The Garden Shack offered a simple menu of seafood classics with a few chef’s specials. Advised that they were famous for their sushi, we ordered salmon California Rolls to start (something we seldom do) and could see what all the fuss was about. Very light and packed with salmon, we thoroughly enjoyed every bit. 

More along our usual lines, we packed in a hefty mains combo of crumbed calamari, battered hake and creamy mussels all washed down with a delightful Bonnievale Rose. Full to bursting we wished we could enjoy a walk home to settle the belly, but alas it had been threatening rain when we left home so we had driven.

THURSDAY

Getting very used to the B&B lifestyle, we pulled up a chair at the main house dining table just in time to be served the Full English breakfast we’d ordered when we checked in. With all the trimmings, juice and a pot of tea, we were better prepared for a nap than a 110km roadtrip!

Nonetheless, we packed the car and waved goodbye to pretty little Swellendam and were soon admiring the change of scenery as mountains became vineyards (is there anywhere in the Western Cape that doesn’t grow grapes?!), then the considerably less pretty Bredasdorp, and finally we got first glimpse of the sea.

The night’s stop was L’Agulhas coastal village and holiday resort, chosen for its claim-to-fame as the southernmost tip of Africa. Since we hadn’t stopped on our drive, we were a bit early for check-in so we went straight to the local sights.

The Cape Agulhas Lighthouse was first lit on 1 March 1849 to warn sailors of the treacherous Agulhas Reef, is the second oldest working lighthouse in South Africa and is the starting point for the walkway that takes you down to the monument that marks the southernmost point. The monument includes a marker that shows the meeting point of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans and has a 30m map of Africa that shows the direction of the compass, has indicative 3D topography and includes several African landmarks. Well done Agulhas National Park; well worth a visit!

With the culture portion of the tour concluded, we could set about finding lunch in the enclave of restaurants along the seaside. We chose the highest ranked on Google and were not sorry with our very fresh and crispy favourite, Calamari + Hake + Chips combo at L’Agulhas Seafoods.

We were once again very pleased with our choice of accommodation, the very lovely Tides’ Song. Our host gave us the guided tour through our brand-new spick-and-span apartment, right on the beach. They had really put in the effort to make us feel at home, providing a loaf of fresh bread (still warm) and a couple of beers in the fridge. 

No time for that though, we had to go to Struisbaai to meet Parrie the Manta Ray. Only 6km down the drag, we were very soon in Struisbaai Harbour. A beautiful natural harbour in an old fishing village, its little wonder that this is where Parrie has chosen to take residence. Having viewed videos on the internet, it seemed beyond belief that such as unusual creature would be so unfettered by the comings and goings of this working harbour, but true’s nuts, there he was.

Walking along the jetty, we didn’t have long to wait before seeing the dark shadow through the turquoise water. He floats about and comes right up the shoreline, skirting along the ramp where the boats enter the water. I walked around to get better pics and he was largely unfettered by me looming over him and was even game to flap his sides a bit. I’m sure it was more a case of him not noticing me than posing for the camera, but still. How awesome!

Having ticked all the boxes, we returned to our house for a bit of down-time. The view and the setting caught our attention though, so we were soon taking a long walk along the seaside, working our way back to the enclave of restaurants to find ourselves a sundowner. We found a tiny little pub with no more than 12 stools at the back of the Zuidste Kaap restaurant and had a couple of pints of the local craft brew, Saggy Stone, shooting the breeze with a local about all the appeals of small-town life.

FRIDAY

Our plan was to book-end our trip with reunions on either side. Today was the Kennedys turn. With the coastal strip all Agulhas National Park, we would be winding our way back inland for the 128km to Hermanus, stopping in Napier and Gansbaai to break the journey.

Not much to report about Napier, but Gansbaai was a little more substantial so we did a loop around the town and stopped in at the harbour for a fresh seafood lunch (the slappest slap chips you ever did have!) and then were on our way.

Hermanus seems to have grown a lot since I was last there, some 5 or 6 years ago (or it could just be the angle of approach since the last visit was also just an overnight pitstop). We met Nic at the Old Harbour Brewery where he works and were treated to a quick tour of the brewhouse and a couple of pints at the on-site pub, catching up on who had been doing what and how we’d managed the last couple of years.

We then went past the Kennedy home – brand-new, they had only moved in 3 weeks prior! – to collect Lizzie. 

Hermanus is a very active small town with all sorts of events and activities throughout the year. We were coinciding our visit with an Art Appreciation initiative called Artwalk where on the first Friday of each month the town’s 11 art galleries stayed open until 8pm and displayed hundreds of artworks pegged in clear slips on washing lines inside and outside their galleries. 

Browsers can collect any pieces they are interested in and deposit R100 per artwork they’d like to buy into the marked glass jars, to be donated to charity. According to Lizzie – an artist by trade and by nature – you could pick up real bargains, by well-known or up-and-coming artists or even by amateurs to whom you may not normally be exposed.

I happened upon one of Lizzie’s pieces outside the last gallery we happened to visit, so I bought it as a commemoration of our holiday and a small karmic token of all we’d been fortunate to see and do in the last week.

We rounded off the visit to the village with dinner at Fisherman’s Cottage. It was very festive with a marquee tent in the square and a live trio belting out classics. The Kennedys know a lot of people in town, so we had quite a few locals stop by our table for a drink and an introduction. 

It seemed fitting to have a final fish and chips on the last night of our holiday. Beautifully prepared, the chips were fried masterpieces and the massive piece of Hake like a meringue the way it crunched on the outside and then melted in your mouth! 

SATURDAY

The last day of holiday can be depressing when it’s all about packing and leaving so it was welcome to have a last excursion to see us off. 

Nic works a Saturday Market so we popped in to have a breakfast with him. There were so many delicious aromas coming from the food court that we were pleased to be in tow of locals to guide our choice and I was soon sipping on the most amazing hot chocolate while waiting on my French toast and mountain of free-range bacon.

Bellies full, we hit the road, with loads of time in hand so we could take the more scenic coastal road through Betties, Pringle and Gordon’s Bays back to Cape Town for our flight. 

Europe, United Kingdom

Travelogue Dusseldorf 2: Colchester

COLCHESTER

02 – 05 June 2022

Christian had been invited to meetings with clients in London after the Dusseldorf Trade Fair. The dates happened to coincide with Queen’s Jubilee long weekend (2 bank holidays in the UK) and we were able to take that Thursday and Friday as leave between the work commitments in order to maximise the time with our friends in Colchester before having to go to London to resume the work agenda.

Barely an hour’s hop from Dusseldorf to London, there wasn’t much time to do anything besides find space for the in-flight hospitality, which (hardly surprisingly for a morning flight departing from Germany) was a platter of cold meats, cheese, butter and bread.

We had booked a car to take us from Heathrow to the train station and Alex had booked our tickets to Colchester online in advance, all to streamline the planes, trains and automobiles required to traverse London – with our 4-seasons-sized luggage – to get to our friends.

For once, everything went more than according to plan and we found ourselves at the train station with an hour to spare, which was a nice change to the usual breakneck high-pressure bolting we’ve been known to do to both catch and miss trains in the past.

The train was very civilised; not too busy, clean and new, with free wifi, so it was a comfortable commute out of the throng of London and evaluating what we could see of the towns at each stop along the journey.

Alex was waiting for us on the platform when we arrived in Colchester Town; fortunately, with a car that could accommodate our massive suitcases.

We were greeted with much excitement, a run down of the plans that had been pencilled for us and a check-in on whether there were any special requests from our side on activities for the coming couple of days.

Our hosts had done a fabulous job of creating shared contribution to our entertainment plan. While we would be staying at Robbie’s house, Alex and Luke were responsible for picking us up and feeding us Thursday’s dinner, Johnnie and Lisa would be hosting Friday’s feast and everyone would join us at Robbie’s for a feeding on Saturday afternoon.

We were taken to drop off our bags at Robbie’s before driving round to Alex’s new place. Just around the corner from the place she’d lived at on our last visit, the new spot was in Lieutenant House, the extensively refurbished officers’ mess of the old Edwardian army barracks. Best of both worlds with new and modern interior juxtaposing the historical building and surrounds.

Although there is much evidence of being a military town in more recent history, Colchester was first an ancient Iron Age settlement, once ruled by Cuneobelin ‘King of the Britons’. Following the Roman Invasion in AD43, a city was established on the site of Camulodunum and designated the Roman capital of Britannia by Emperor Claudius. Its destruction at the hands of Boudicca is well-documented, but the Roman settlement rose up again and the remains of several buildings from this period can still be seen on a trip to the town.

Roman Colchester probably had a population of 10-12,000. That seems small in today’s world but in those days England had a tiny population so, by Roman standards, Colchester was a large and important town. Particularly so because of its position near the sea.

As far as we know Colchester’s status as a Colonia, awarded by the Emperor Claudius, has never been revoked, however Colchester has been long classified as a town… until 2022 when it was awarded official city status as part of The Queen’s Platinum Jubilee celebrations.

It was a lovely sunny day so we were able to lounge on the terrace – with Gary, Alex’s long-legged hounddog, naturally taking the best seat in the house and us arranging ourselves around him – catching up and catching rays before a leisurely lasagne early supper.

There were several festivities planned in town for Jubilee Weekend, so we decided to make the most of the pleasant evening and take a wander down to our first excursion; to the Colchester Arts Centre to attend the 35th Annual Ale and Cider Festival. The location was a converted church and we were briefed upfront that the standard practice is for guests to utilise the church’s graveyard as one would normally relax in a back garden, using the larger tombs as tables and benches.

With over 160 ales, ciders, Belgian beers, English wines, soft drinks and snacks on offer, and open from 12 noon to 11pm each day, we could have been there all weekend!

The countless kegs were arranged along the back and side walls with several servers talking the festival-goers through the options outlined in the printed menus. We had bought punchcards at the entrance, so it was quick and easy to order and start ticking off the options that intrigued us.

More in it for the novelty than the flavours, we tested some real very crafty craft beers that we would normally only order over our proverbial dead bodies… but since we were socialising in a literal graveyard, it seemed as close to those circumstances as we were going to get. It was a lively old time, sharing a laugh and comparing notes on beer samples with some of Alex and Luke’s friends.

Once we’d finished our punchcards, we took a walk into Colchester town to a pub called 3 Wise Monkeys, where we were able to get more conventional options.

Shortly, Robbie joined us. He’d been in Glasgow overnight watching a football match and had just arrived back on the train. And as if that reunion wasn’t joyous enough, soon thereafter Johnnie arrived!

It was quite novel to finish up at the pub and be able to walk home, stretching some of the tastings out in the fresh night air. Everything in Colchester seems such a manageable distance apart too.

FRIDAY

Alex had pre-booked us into a 9am Bootcamp class with her. Chris and I weren’t quite sure what to expect – and he feared the worst, thinking it would be quite prancy and aerobic. Nothing of the sort, we were split into teams of 3 and rotated running across the field carrying a sandbag, hoisting weights, lifting and dropping medicine balls… all while the teammate tasked with setting the timing for each activity had to do endless ‘burpies’ (drop to the floor, do a push-up, jump up again sort of thing). It was hard work! But fun.

Alex then dropped us back at Robbie’s house so we could change, grab a bacon sarmie and head back out again for another outdoorsy activity; walking down the river to a little neighbouring village called Wivenhoe. The inspiration was to give Gary a walk, the motivation was the beautiful blue sky and sunny weather, which was a blessing for these parts that couldn’t be squandered.

We set off as a merry group, chatting as we walked and admired the scenery. And telling Gary quite often what a Good Boy He Was.

The walk to Wivenhoe earned us a pint in the lovely Rose & Crown on the riverfront. It was too hot to sit with Gary at the exposed tables in the front, so we found ourselves a shady spot in the secret beergarden at the back.

With an impending feast at Johnnie’s in just a couple of hours, we resisted eating at the pub even though there was the most heavenly aroma of fish and chips lingering on the air.

Good thing too because it real wasn’t long before we’d caught the train back and walked over to Johnnie’s house, which was literally around the block.

Ever the decadent host, Johnnie had decided on a multi-course carnivorous adventure explaining to his wife, Lisa (who had yet to meet us) “Souf Effricans love their meat”.

Ensconced outside the shed in the back of their wonderfully full and green garden, Johnnie lit a Weber to smoke a massive tomahawk steak which was cut into thick and juicy strips for starter samples.

Johnnie had built a DIY pizza oven over lockdown, in which a wood fire was kindled to start off the Korean ribs. They were finished off in the oven – alongside a rather large leg of lamb – and the pizza oven then used to painstakingly manage baking several flatbreads, which Alex had made from scratch at home and carefully wrapped in brown paper to prevent them sticking together.

The food, the weather and the company made for a truly memorable afternoon (even with the bottle of Killepitsch Jagermeister-lookalike we’d brought from Dusseldorf).

SATURDAY

The Queen’s Jubilee weekend having given us the 2 bonus public holidays meant that by the time Saturday rolled around, we felt like we’d already had a full weekend. What a treat!

We had committed to do a Parkrun on Saturday morning to sweat out a bit of the indulgent Friday feasting. Showing mercy, Alex and Luke drove us through to Mersea Island which was a flatter course along the water’s edge which should make the 5km track a little easier to manage under the circumstances (a brutal combination of the Bootcamp stiffness and the party effects).

Helped a lot by the weather no doubt (grey and overcast, but clear, and cooler than the previous days) we all ran really well, most setting Personal Best times, which was quite an achievement! … That earned us a Full English breakfast at a local restaurant.

Driven back to Robbie’s, we had time to shower, relax and watch a bit of telly (lots of coverage of the Jubilee festivities in London) before heading out to get last minute supplies for our reciprocal hosting duties later that afternoon, where Robbie had promised everyone roast chicken and chips.

We took the scenic route to the shops, ending off in Castle Park with its Roman ruins and War memorial statues. SO much history in this town-recently-turned-city!

By now the sun had come out and it was another beautiful day, which could not be wasted on chores alone, so we grabbed a cheeky pint at The Castle Inn pub for time to absorb our surroundings. This included spotting that they did a Sunday Roast and, always being a meal ahead in the planning stakes, we immediately mentally committed to return the next day for our final meal before needing to leave for London.

Robbie’s house had a courtyard garden, which we took advantage of on our return home, setting up at the table outside so we could easily man the kitchen as well as bask in outdoortime opportunity.

The remainder of the group trickled in, and, being such engaged eaters, each stopped to peek at the stove, stir a thing, sample, add a something, offer some sage advice, sample again. It was wonderful and the kitchen smelt like heaven.

Robbie had recently bought an airfryer, so even I was able to contribute, offering to man the chips and showcase the wonderment of this modern domestic miracle machine. I cheated a bit, splitting the bag of oven chips into batches, pre-cooking and seasoning each batch and then throwing them all in together as the more sophisticated bits of the meal were nearing readiness.

Robbie had outdone himself! Prosciutto and green asparagus starters, followed by the golden roasted quarter chicken legs with bright green steamed broccoli stems and TWO sauces; a traditional bread sauce (which was a childhood favourite of his that none of us knew about) and a heavenly white wine and mushroom sauce.

We ate, we laughed, we shared stories, we debated the playlist, we drank, we laughed, we ate some more. What a brilliant day!

Once the others had all left, Chris, Robbie and I turned on the telly to watch the Jubilee Concert being held outside Buckingham Palace. We had tuned in quite well into the show and were greeted with Rod Stewart belting out “Sweet Caroline”. Not his song. How odd.

That was not the last surprise in the eclectic collection of performers, young and old, classic and contemporary, British and international. No clear golden thread of who or how these artists had found themselves on this line-up, interspersed with speeches by Prince Charles, Prince William, an Attenborough and the likes.

The lights show, projected onto and above the Palace, was truly spectacular in quality and pure magnitude and we wondered how they could have practiced it without giving the game away.

It was soon lights out for us; having had a very long and very full weekend.

SUNDAY

Sadly, Sunday was our time to leave Colchester. We held true on our last hurrah being the traditional Roast at The Castle Inn and were seated at a big table at the window (the weather had turned and it was most certainly indoor conditions) by 11h30, ready and raring to go.

We had the most delicious plate of roast lamb and ALL the trimmings; Yorkshire puddings, 3 veg, roast potatoes, sage and onion stuffing…  and 2 large gravy boats provided without even having to ask. If we lived in Colchester, this is where you would find us every Sunday for sure.

Alex and Luke drove us down to the Colchester train station for our 1pm train that would see us in London within an hour.

With a train strike on the go and heavy luggage in tow, we didn’t hesitate to grab a cab to get us to our hotel, the Dorsett in Shepherd’s Bush.

We had made arrangements to go and visit friends of ours from South Africa for Sunday sundowners at a Jubilee street party in their road in Hampton Hill. Although only a few miles away, it was still a good half hour in an Uber so we headed straight out so we’d be able to make the most of our time.

They were delighted to see us! We spent a couple of quality hours at their kitchen table, catching up on the 5 or so years it had been since we saw them last (when we’d done a flyby visit past their old house in Twickenham on our way out of the previous UK flit), before testing out their street party.

Good on the UK government; they had encouraged citizens to celebrate Jubilee in style by not only closing off portions of the roads that applied, but also providing an allowance to be spent on party requirements like food, marquees, equipment etc! It was such a great opportunity for neighbours to get to know each other, and very patriotic with Union Jack bunting and party favours.

Such a pity it was a Sunday and this was a work trip, because we had to be sensible and return back to our hotel at a reasonable time in order to accommodate the Monday workday – a particularly early start since the UK was an hour behind South African time, so we’d be logging on at 7am to keep in sync.

MONDAY

Largely uneventful as a working day, I had logged in and been glued to my laptop all day while Christ went off in a taxi (thanks to the train strike) to his work appointments. He did have a very successful day and returned with gushing stories about the sites he’d seen and how many innovation ideas he would be able to return home.

We were supposed to have met Faye for an after-work drink and a catch-up, but with us in West London and her in East London and a train strike to contend with, the logistics would be so cumbersome to get from A to B that we might as well not have been in the same city at all.

With no commitments, we decided to rather take a walk around our neighbourhood and find a curry house to enjoy the last meal of our trip. We lucked upon the Rajput and had a(nother) very large meal with a BYO bottle of red from the convenience store next door.

Again, we revelled in the opportunity to walk off our meal on the way back to the hotel. So much so that we bypassed our door to do a lap around the Shepherd’s Bush Green across the road.