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Travelogue Eastern Cape 1: Hogsback

HOGSBACK

26-29 November 2020

Having last been to Hogsback for a surprise wedding – and having a truly fabulous weekend! – we jumped at the chance for a revisit with the then-bride and groom, Tim and Wendy, with whom we had shared many other travel adventures subsequent. This time to participate in The Hobbit Trail run race. It was supposed to be in April but with 2020 doing what 2020 did, Pandemic ‘n all, it had been postponed to the last weekend in November, which magically coincided with the happy couple’s 4 year wedding anniversary!

With much excitement, we headed to OR Tambo Airport and found it to be tumbleweeds compared to its usual bustle. With a life-saving Wimpy on board (it had been a mad breakfastless panic to finish off last bits of work in the morning and Covid measures meant no catering in the air) we were ready for our next adventure.

Landing in East London, Chris secured our chariot and we were soon racing off in our Toyota Corolla, blazing trails into the mountains that would be our home for the weekend.

On Tim and Wendy’s endorsement (they had stayed there before on a previous visit to Hogsback) we had booked Bredon Cottage, on the Applegarth Estate. Cosy and homely, our accommodation was equal parts immaculate and welcoming. Our lovely hosts had left a bottle of red wine for our arrival and put chocolates on the pillows. We were just short a holiday dog or two to complete the picture.

Being Tim and Wendy’s anniversary, it was a shoe-in to have dinner at The Edge, where they had been married. And their wedded bliss was perfectly paired with our dinner bliss over the oxtail-stuffed spuds and magnificent Impala shank.

With a fridge full of champers (from our ‘grocery’ shop en route) and a fireplace beckoning from our lounge, we eagerly made our way back to our cottage to enjoy our first evening in front of the fireplace, entertaining ourselves with the generous selection of retro CDs in our host’s collection.

Late November and mid-summer or not, we woke to a chilly morning, with the mist rolling lazily through the valley view from our terrace. Warm enough in the sunny spots, we basked and admired the panorama as the morning became the midday.

The only thing we’d scheduled to achieve on Friday, being pre-raceday, was to take a walk to find The Big Tree, a Hogsback sight-seeing staple which had eluded Tim and Wendy on their previous trips. Consulting a map, it seemed an easy ask with a trail that led from the Hogsback main road (which was the dirt road at the end of our driveway).

Wanting to preserve our legs, we drove to the start of the trail and then followed the existing signage to our destination. It was a taste of what lay ahead for us as the trail was a bit muddy from the cold and wet weather and we did a fair amount of slip-sliding along the path to get to the 800 year old, 36 metre high tree.

Feeling we’d achieved enough for one day, we returned to our cottage to relax for a while until heading out for the evening market at The Edge.

Being cool but clear, we went out early, with time to do the twists and turns of the Labyrinth and then stare out into the sunset at the edge of the edge with the breathtaking mountains and valleys.

The ‘market’, it turns out, was 4 trestle tables that sold baked goods, hot chocolate, gluhwein and such, so besides buying some fudge, we were quite commercially safe. And given the opportunity to try The Edge’s pizzas, which had been teasing us with the aroma of golden crisping cheese hanging in the air. Perfect carbo-loading for the sweaty Saturday that was to follow.

SATURDAY

Tim had signed up for the 38km trail run, which was way beyond our interest or ambition. He was due to start running at 8 so Chris drove him down while Wendy and I were only rousing, with plenty of time for our very-civilised 8am start.

Soon enough though, we were lined up at the start; a very respectably socially-distanced collection of milling athletes rather than the anxious cluster that is normally champing for the gun to go off.

There really was no point in hurrying though. With the slippery course that started winding steeply downhill along the narrow and muddy trail we had taken the day before to get to The Big Tree, along rickety bridges and tip-toeing on mossy stones in trickling streams, and up the mirror-image on the other side… It was a cautious and careful balancing act more than an attempt to set any records.

Breaking out of the canopy of trees on the other side, we were welcomed by what looked like an easy dusty downhill. It didn’t last long though and that downhill was matched by a very long and very steep uphill that had us puffing and panting and moving at hiking pace rather than a trail run race. The views were spectacular though and it was easy to see why this underrated race is so appreciated and evangelised by the runners who have completed it.

The last few kilometres were a bit more of a classic trail run experience, with a slightly quicker pace along paths with matted leaves that allowed for better grip and a collection of obstacles in the path that were more of a workout than a life threat.

Arriving at the finish line, we patted ourselves on the back for a job well done, coming in at 75th and 76th, which for us is a great achievement being first-time trail runners.

The event sponsors, Merrell trail running gear, did a great job of welcoming everyone as they came in, and giving out loads of spot prizes so almost everyone got something. As they said, with formal prize-givings being forbidden under Covid restriction they had had to be a bit more creative and had actually spread the sponsorship more evenly across all the participants. Having little to compare to, the smaller field of runners suited our novice skills better and we would have had a far more pressured experience if we’d had runners pushing to get past on the narrow paths.

Tim came in several hours later, sweaty, sunburnt and caked in mud. The longer trail had included a lot more challenging bits than ours – and Tim had stopped to enjoy a dip in a waterfall pond along the way. The runners in the longer races have to carry backpacks with thermal blankets, windbreakers, food and water and all sorts of other things in case they get injured and need to sustain themselves. I can’t imagine I’d have enjoyed having to do more than double the distance AND lugging a backpack!

We made our way home with intentions of refreshing ourselves and then heading out for dinner, but our spectacular view of Hogsback was so idyllic and the fireplace beckoning so we stayed home instead, clearing out the last of our supplies and recounting snippets of the epic day we’d had.

Travelogue RWC 2019: Fuji

FUJIYOSHIDA

01-04 October 2019

We flew in from Jeju Island in South Korea to meet up with our friends from home, Michele and Ian, with whom we’d be spending our last few days in Japan.

Having not visited Fuji on our previous trip to Japan in 2015, it was an easy choice to get out of the rush of the big cities for a breather for our friends after a week in Tokyo and for some slower movements for us after a whirlwind trip.

By the time our plane landed, our friends had already done the admin for our rental car, so we jumped on the rental company’s shuttle to go and collect our vehicle.

We had been quite considerably upgraded from a Mazda 5 to a Toyota, which was a very luxurious people carrier with all sorts of bells and whistles, like a neon interior light that ran around the edge of the roof and the colour of which could be changed using the panel on the roof. Who know what else that panel controlled – all the instructions were in Japanese – and we were too cautious to press and prod randomly quite yet.

It took about 2 and a half hours to get to our Airbnb rental (motorway all the way it was an easy drive but with a speed limit of 100kph it was slower going than we’re used to).

Our host, Tom, was there to meet us and delivered a painstaking hour-long tour that explained every knob and button in the house… And there were hundreds of them since the house had every possible modcon and accessory, including electric windows, jet bath, an automated toilet and a sound system that could permanently damage your ears if you cranked it to full potential!

With lots of nodding and subtle hunting, we managed to marginally expedite the tour, which concluded with a Google Earth virtual tour of the neighbourhood since we’d asked where we could get fed and watered.

Our house, although not situated in the country as we’d imagined it would be, was in a very convenient location, walking distance from a few blocks of wall-to-wall entertainment.

We headed out on foot, crossed the tracks and scanned a few of the narrow streets looking for something of interest.

We found a tiny little bar, attracted by the signage outside that broadcast its English menu and English staff acting as voluntary tour guides that were enthusiastic to share info about the area, Japanese culture etc.

We entered to find 8 stools facing the barman, who had an assortment of liquors displayed on the shelf behind him. There was a Western couple on the two far right seats and two Japanese gents on the two far left ones, leaving four in the middle for us. Perfect.

We settled in, ordered Japanese beers and sake, and tuned into the conversation the barman was having with the couple on the right (from Manchester), giving them the lowdown on what there was to do and see in the area.

Our barman, Don, was from California and had been called to Japan on short notice 3 years earlier with the opportunity to be an emergency substitute English teacher; loved the experience and wanted to stay on so partnered with a local to open this bar. He had great advice on what we could do to keep ourselves entertained.

Don ordered us pizzas from the place across the road and, with Christian playing DJ, we spent several hours in our lovely cosy pub, bonding with the stream of Japanese people that floated in and out for a stop on their pub crawl.

When it was time to close, Don walked us down to an all-night Karaoke bar where we had a nightcap and broke the wailing Japanese ballad medley with a catterwauling group rendition of Yellowcard’s song “Ocean Avenue”.

WEDNESDAY

Needless to say, Wednesday started late. Fortunately there had been a midnight mission to 7Eleven so we had supplies to make lifesaving toasted sarmies for breakfast.

It also took quite a long time for us to get ready and moving, largely fuelled by the fact that our house was so conducive to lounging about and Michele had a load of washing to do, which was an excellent reason to stay put.

Mid-afternoon we were ready to face the world.

Although the famous Chureito Pagoda was walking distance from home, we took the car as we wanted to go and see the lake from there and that was just far enough to nix any ideas of an ambitious walk. Good thing too because there are 398 steps up to the pagoda so we needed to be fresh!

The Pagoda was built in 1958 at a cost of cost 10 million Yen (mostly funded by the citizens) by the mayor of Fujiyoshida to enshrine the citizens who died in the wars since 1868 (Sino-Japanese War, Russo-Japanese War, WW1 and WW2).

It was a 5 storey traditional pagoda that looked familiar, so must be quite iconic and used quite broadly as a Japanese symbol.

Having been pre-prepped by Don, we didn’t hesitate to climb the stairs behind the pagoda to get the archetypical photo with the pagoda on the one side and Mount Fuji on the other.

Then it was on to Lake Kawaguchi, the second biggest of the Fuji Five Lakes, but the most popular and set up for tourists, with hotels and shops around the shoreline and lots of boating, sailing and other watersport activities available for hire.

We sat quietly and admired the water over and ice cold Coke, jokingly trying to convince Ian to hire a panda pedalo.

He was more interested in getting a steak. Having been very sporting about eating the local foods during our trip, which is lots of noodles, rice, soups, veg and quite low meat, we were keen to support that idea.

One of the friends we’d made at Don’s bar the night before was a butcher and had told us the name of his shop, so we hatched a plot to go an surprise him with a visit.

Onishi Butchery was just around the corner from the Lake and within a few minutes we were at the counter ordering Wagyu steaks, bacon and pork skewers. Our friend was delighted to see us and since we had no shared language between us, there was lots of smiling, giggling and photo-taking to fill the gap.

The steaks were delicious! Christian pan-fried them at high heat to sear them and then cut them into strips so we could savour the juicy flavour in small bites.

Don had warned us that everything opened quite late in our town, to tie in with people coming back from work, so he only opened his bar at around 18h30 and, for example, the ramen place opposite him only opened at 20h00, so we knew not to head out too early.

It was easy to keep ourselves entertained at our house, with our big screen online TV and each other for company. Had we not committed to returning to Don for a Japanese beer-tasting, we could happily have stayed home.

But we went. And good thing too because not only had Don gotten in beer stocks especially for us, but he had also lined up a special guest star – a South African friend of his, all the way from Klerksdorp! Ian’s home town!

It was very interesting to hear his experiences, his take on Japanese life and his opinions on what was happening back home based on the news and updates he got.

We stayed probably longer than we should have, sampling 5 different Japanese beers and washing them down with regular tots of sake. Don had specially gotten a bottle of gold tequila to celebrate Ian’s birthday and was intent on making a dent on the bottle, pouring massive quadruple tots at a time for Ian.

It was wonderfully liberating to have a night like the one we had and be able to walk home afterwards. And the fresh air breathed new life into us and we cranked up the house for a bit of afterparty.

THURSDAY

Needless to say, Thursday started late – and with a fry up of the magnificent bacon we’d bought at the butchery.

Using the opportunity for a down day, we enjoyed our house, watching music videos, chatting, taking an afternoon walk around the neighbourhood and buying a vast selection of local meals from the 7Eleven so we could fill in the gaps of what we’d not yet tried in restaurants along the way on our trip.

In the evening we logged into Netflix and watched both seasons of Derry Girls in one big binge watch!

With square eyes we saw in midnight to wish Ian a happy birthday before all toddling off to bed.

We had quite an early start on Friday with our hosts needing us out by 10h00 so that they could prepare the house for the next residents who were to be arriving that afternoon.

It was good discipline for us given that that job for the day was to roadtrip down the coast through Shizuoka to Hamamatsu, which would serve as our homebase for the night while the boys went to rugby and Mich and I entertained ourselves.

By getting out earlier, we were afforded time to make a few stops on the way.

The first was the Aokigahara Forest which is dubbed ‘Suicide Forest’ because of the astounding number of people that have chosen it as the location to meet their maker.

With the forest bedded on lava from a Mount Fuji eruption, the mineral content has impacted that ecosystem such that there are only select plants, insects and animals that thrive there, making the forest quieter, eerier and even more isolated than a normal humanless forest. I imagine that sort of solitude can’t be good for someone who is already teetering on the brink.

More trees, but less sinister, at Miho Pine Grove where legend has it that a fisherman called Hakuryo happened upon a beautiful robe called “Hagoromo”. He was going to take the robe for himself when a maiden appeared and said it was her robe and she needed it to get back home. Begrudgingly the fisherman complied on condition that she show him her celestial Dance, which she did and off she went.

Emerging on the other side of the pine grove, we accessed the beach; black sand and interesting waters that graded from clear to azure to deep blue on the horizon. A picture perfect spot with sea, sand, forest and Mount Fuji (in the distance in the background) all in one shot.

The thinking had been to have a lovely lunch on the beach to drink in the scenery… But there were no restaurants along the beach so we had to make so with a little place one road in from the beach, that had a stellar online rating. The fact that it was an Italian restaurant didn’t deter us at all since a) South Africa was due to play Italy in a World Cup match that evening, b) we could have seafood pasta in keeping with the beach theme and c) it still looked, felt and sounded like a Japanese restaurant.

We were spoilt for service with 3 Japanese ladies clucking over us, desperate for us to have a good time and enjoy their food. They gave us complimentary soup starters and iced coffee for afters and the one older lady got quite enthusiastic about South Africa when she realised – from a lengthy exchange of charades – that we were there for the game. Her warcries and vigorous air-punching had the Frenchies at the table next to us in stitches.

From there it was just over and hour into Hamamatsu.

We had tactically booked a hotel directly across from the station so it would be easy for the boys to jump on a train to and from their rugby match at Ecopa Stadium, half an hour away.

Mich and I waved them off and did a reccie of the neighbourhood and then returned to our hotel for our complimentary welcome drink while game planning our own evening.

A quick Google revealed that we were in the thick of the action and the Rugby World Cup Fanpark seemed a logical place to start.

From there we needed to tick the Irish Bar box, so found ourselves at the Lord Nelson, where we were fortunate to be seated next to an American Brit who had been raised in Yokohama and spent a year in, of all places, Polokwane! He had a whole new perspective to add and, having lived in Hamamatsu for a few months, was very helpful in directing the rest of our evening.

We took his advice based on the food recommendation, knowing that the boys would be starving after the match and having not eaten since lunch. They were. And were very grateful that we’d already ordered an assortment of things – deep fried camembert, kettle fried potato crisps and a roast beef bowl – so the food came very quickly.

Our pub crawl took a turn for the worst after that though when we got stuck in our second pub, where we integrated with a very cosmopolitan cornerful of people and things went south very quickly, including Christian swapping shirts with a very chatty Japanese chap!

Travelogue RWC 2019: Jeju

JEJU

29 September – 01 October 2019

After having very nearly almost missed our flight from Busan, we were relieved to touch down on the runway in Jeju for the next leg of our trip.

Our hotel, a Ramada by Wyndham, was in the town centre of Jeju City, so it was an easy bus ride to get there. We only had large-note paper money so feared being turned away but the bus driver, taking pity on our bedraggled selves and big cases, waved us onto the bus for free instead. The wheel turned though when we got off a stop too early and had to haul ass uphill -and in the drizzling rain that had just started – to get to the Ramada sign that we could see in the distance but that seemed to not get any closer.

Having had quite a heavy weekend and with our East Coast tour starting early the next morning, we decided to play it safe with a tame dinner in our neck of the woods.

It was still lightly drizzling, which we hoped would lift for the next day, but which we knew better than to rely on the weather report for a forecast after the completely random predictions from the weekend in Busan that had seen 99% chance of rain be dry as a bone and 44% be the downpour that had come out of nowhere and drenched us.

Good fortune was on our side though and we awoke to blue skies. Well, patchy blue skies, but that would do.

We met our tour guide, Jin, who ran us through the order of events for the day, predicting rain for 15h00 and reassuring us that we’d be done with the outdoorsy stuff by then so it wouldn’t interrupt play for us.

Jin gave us a rundown on Jeju while we drove out of the city.

Geologically, Jeju Island was a shield volcano, first erupting 1.8 million years ago and continuing on and off until recent times. It was bigger than most think before they visit; 3 times the size of Seoul and almost 3 times the size of Singapore, so ideally tourists need 3 or 4 days to see the whole island.

There are 700,000 people living on Jeju and this number was growing with people coming to find a more balanced life than in the cities, like Jin himself who had moved down from Seoul. He spoke fondly of the life and culture on the island, proud that it had no beggars, no thieves and no gates. Jin called it a “cousin’s culture”, where everyone was proud of their heritage, worked to preserve it and looked out for their people – and he said it could be tough for outsiders such as himself to break into such a tight circle.

Jeju was also a self-governing province so visa-free for over 180 countries, saving the red tape for countries they term as dangerous, like Afghanistan. Otherwise they welcomed foreigners and if those foreigners purchased property for $500k or more they would get a permanent resident visa. The clearly progressive goverment was also pushing electric cars to try reduce pollution, so they subsidised up to 50% of the car’s purchase price to encourage more environmentally friendly road usage.

By this point in the story we had arrived at Manjanggul Cave, a volcanic lava tube that is 7km long, although the accessible bit is only a kilometre. Expecting it to be a narrow tunnel, it was a surprise when we took the steps underground to discover a massive cave.

The walkway had subtle lighting guiding the way, but it was still very dark because if they lit it too much then the moss would grow and ruin the cave, and the small lights could only brighten so much of the caves that were easily 3 or 4 metres wide and 5 or 6 metres high in mostly places, but also ballooned into much bigger caves periodically.

The info boards explained in layman’s terms why and how the caves and passages were formed so it was very interesting, even with no geological knowledge at all – and we could know what we were looking at with the likes of the 7.6m high lava column (formed when lava pours down from the ceiling and congeals; Jeju’s was the highest in the world) and Turtle Rock (a dried lava shelf that happens to be exactly the same shape as Jeju Island).

The caves were very cold (between 10 and 15 degrees) and dank, with water dropping from the ceiling so as much as it was a great experience, it was an equally great experience to resurface.

Jin told us that there had been citizens that had hidden in the caves during the genocide of the Jeju Uprising directly preceding the Korean War in 1948, where 10% of the population was killed in the process of trying the quash the rebels. I can’t imagine how awful that must have been!

The next excursion was a visit to the Jeju Gimnyeong Maze Park. We were provided a map and challenged to get to the bell in the centre. Constructed with over 2200 aromatic, green and very samey-samey Leyland Cypress trees, it was a fun challenge to twist and turn through the narrow leafy passages to complete the task.

Jin then took us to Woljeongri beach for a coffee stop to relax and admire the azure ocean and strip of golden sand beach. Fortunately, the weather had held so we were able to walk up and down the beach. With its fringe of shops and restaurants and idyllic waters, it was easy to see how this was described as a perfect holiday resort town.

Lunch was the next exercise and we were signed up to try the pork for which Jeju is famous; tender rashers marinated and served in a spicy basting. Jeju, however, was also infamous for another pork story, where old traditional houses used to use pigs as their sanitation systems. Outdoor toilets channelled the waste to adjacent pig pens, where the pigs would eat the matter and then of course later be eaten themselves. Quite efficient. But also very gross.

Rested and refuelled, we headed to Seongsan Ilchulbong for our hike up the crater. As a Tuff Cone Hydro volcano formed by the ocean about 5-7 thousand years ago and detached from the mainland, what has evolved and remains today was a perfect dormant crater easily accessible from the island which, after climbing the 553 stone steps to get to the top, allows spectacular panoramic views of the island, neighbouring Udo island and the ocean. Completely worth the effort.

At the bottom of the crater was a cove where the Haenyeo lady divers can be seen. These (mostly old) ladies are known for diving for conches and abalones without any equipment. They sell their hauls and supply the restaurant in the cove, which I suspect must be some of the freshest seafood you’ll ever have the pleasure of eating.

Hot and sticky from our walk, we were surprised with a bonus stop that hadn’t been described on the itinerary; a lesson in aromatherapy massage.

We were led through very pretty and perfectly manicured gardens to a very Zen looking and sounding room which had rows and rows of golden basins sunk into the floor. Jin sat us down in an area facing a wall of glass window overlooking the gardens.

We were told to put our feet into the basins which were half-filled with scorching hot water. We could add a little cold, but were told to try and tolerate as hot as possible.

The water already had rosemary drops in it (so it smelt delicious since I only associate rosemary with roast chicken) and Jin squeezed in some rose and peppermint oils. The aroma off the hot water was heavenly!

Jin guided us through a series of breathing exercises, through nose-only first then deep breaths through mouth only, to use the scents to open up sinuses and chest. Then we were given salts to use to scrub feet, lower legs and then hands, ending off with a pat dry and rubbing rosemary moisturising oils into the bits we’d just exfoliated, while Jin drizzled a few drops of peppermint and rosemary oil on the top of our shoulders and back of the neck.

With feet glowing and shoulders buzzing, it seemed a shame to have to put socks and shoes back on to return to the bus pausing for commemorative photos in the pretty gardens en route.

Our last stop for the afternoon was the small village of traditional Jeju style houses. In an effort to preserve the heritage, the goverment pays for the repair of the houses so there are still people living in them to provide a living museum of sorts.

We saw the infamous pig-cleaning toilet setup (!!) and Jin showed us other adaptions that the Jeju people have had to make to adapt to their environment, eg with the island being very windy, they have to tie the thatched roof down with rope. Bearing in mind Jeju was expecting its 6th typhoon for the year on Wednesday (no doubt “44% chance of…”), the government must have been shelling out pretty consistently to keep repairing these relatively fragile constructions, so good on them for their continued commitment.

With the tour done and so much seen, we were herded to the bus to try and get ahead of the dreaded rush hour traffic on our return to town. The driver put foot to get us there, as the rain started. Jin’s prediction had been off by a couple of hours, lucky for us.

It was tough choice to decide what to have for our last supper in South Korea, but we settled on Chicken & Beer as a sure winner. We consulted Google Maps and got to a very traditional (and by traditional I mean ‘no English menu’) restaurant. It took some charades and a translator app for us to muddle and order through, but we got the Soju and Cass right away so there was some wriggle room with the rest.

We needn’t have feared; we were served a massive platter of chicken – some crumbed and deep fried and some in a sticky sweet chilli sauce – with all sorts of side dishes. The kind of feast you need to just dive into sans reservations and then wet-wipe yourself back to presentable afterwards. Which we did.

Since the rain had started coming down harder while we were eating, we were compelled to get another bottle of Soju to wait out the storm and soak in our last night.

Travelogue RWC 2019: Busan

BUSAN

27-29 September 2019

We very nearly really didn’t get to Busan. First we got to the subway station in Seoul,  where we knew that tickets are a cash-only sale and we knew we didn’t have enough cash, but we assumed there would be a cash machine there.

There was not.

No mind, we took the escalators back up to ground level and went into our trusty 7Eleven, but the ATM didn’t accept VISA cards (?!) so we went into the shopping mall that occupied the first few floors below the hotel we’d been staying in. No ATM machine.

So we split up, me with the suitcases at the top of the subway station escalators so that Christian could move quickly to find the nearest cash machine.

Well, I still don’t really know where it was because on his return Christian was beyond reasonable conversation, having had a frustrating experience finding an English- and Visa-friendly ATM.

But he had. And we were on our way again.

Confidently we punched in Incheon International Airport Terminal 2 – reasoning that we’d landed at Terminal 1 on our flight in from Japan, so 2 was likely to be Domestic – and again we were on our merry way.

It was only when the train pulled up at Gimpo Airport (another airport entirely, that hadn’t occurred to us at all) a few stops later that we even questioned if we were going to the right airport.

With the train doors opening at Gimpo we scrambled to find the plastic sleeve with all our booking info and there it was “Departure: Seoul (Gimpo)”. We’d spotted it in the nick of time so we hurtled toward the train door to get out at this correct station.

Thank heavens both airports are on the same subway line or we’d have found out too late and missed our flight!

Our hosts in Busan, Ji and Neo, had at least had the foresight to prepare us for what to expect and how to get to them, so it was simple to exit the Arrivals Hall and find the Limousine Bus office to get our tickets to the Bexco stop, where we’d arranged to meet them.

With 10 minutes in hand, there was just enough time to grab a quick sarmie from the 7Eleven for padkos on the bus.

Pulling into Busan, we were met with terrible traffic. But it was just after 17h00 on a Friday evening so it was probably to be expected wherever you were in the world.

We had no sooner got all our selves and our bags off the bus than we heard a hooter and presto! There were our friends come to meet us!

Ji was driving but Neo jumped out and loaded our things and us into their people carrier. There were 3 juniors in the back, 2 of whom we’d only met when they were babies (and were now tweens) and a new baby (already 8 years old) that we’d never met.

There was much excitement as we shared stories of where we’d been and what we’d been doing for the almost 10 years since we’d last seen each other – but besides the physical human evidence that time had passed, it felt like no time had passed between us at all. Good friends just pick up where they’ve left off.

We were staying at a B&B around the corner from the Binedell clan, so as not to get underfoot with the existing schedules that were already being relaxed and stretched for our benefit. First stop was thus logically to drop off our bags so that the admin was done and we could relax and go with the flow for the rest of the evening.

When it had come time to book, the B&B had already been quite full with a group of athletes having block booked all the suites with Western beds so we were allocated a Korean bed room.

On check-in we discovered that this meant a laminate square room with stack of thin mattresses and pillows in the corner, a washing machine fitted onto the wall of the room (genius) and leaving shoes at the door so as to only be barefoot in the living / sleeping space. We’re always all for trying the local things, so were delighted with our digs for the weekend.

Back in the car we climbed the hill with its twists and turns to get to the Binedell’s apartment block. Completely converse to our suburban living at home, their suburb was a collection of high rise blocks with spacious family living apartments. Being on the bottom floor, they had the best of the garden view and none of the admin of maintaining it.

We settled around the dining room table – having barely taken a breath between stories since the meeting at the bus stop – and enjoyed a welcome drink, Neo’s favourite Somaek which is a mix of Soju (South Korea’s speciality, a clear, colourless distilled liquor) and beer. Soju is a bit sweet so gives the beer a good edge.

We had a few of those, while Ji made some dumplings for nibbles and we chatted about anything and everything. We caught up on shared friends – now spread all over the planet – reminisced about old times, reviewed the present and guessed at the future, and learnt a lot about Korean culture and food.

For dinner we took a walk down to a local restaurant where we feasted Korean barbecue style. Platters of thinly sliced and rolled raw meat (we had beef and pork) were delivered to the table to be self-cooked on the gas skillet bedded in the middle of the table, and there was a buffet of sides to either also cook on the grill or add to the juicy meaty bits raw for crunch. And of course rice.

It was a wonderfully social way to eat with the best of both in that the first bites are ready in minutes and the rest of the eating process could be drawn out over a couple of hours, to allow lots of conversation and laughs and more drinks and more laughs.

We’d been seated at a long table at the end of the restaurant and collapsible doors had been drawn to give us a private dining room, but there kids were out of sight as soon as they’d eaten, preferring to entertain themselves in the lounge rather than have their style cramped by us old people.

The walk home to the Binedell’s apartment was welcome, as it is always great to get some fresh air and the blood flowing to move dinner and clear the head.

And a very good tactical move too, to have a pause before we got home for nightcaps and then headed out again for Round 2.

As Neo had told us, the South Korean night out generally has a few stops, eating and drinking along the way. We had technically had 2 stops already with the welcome drinks and dinner, so were compelled by custom to have a nightcap (or 2). Ji had volunteered to be on kid-watch duty so Neo was tasked with accompanying us to our neck of the woods, where there were several night spots – mostly 24 hours – right behind our B&B.

We got ourselves a booth in a cosy little restaurant/bar where most tables were still eating even though it was well past midnight, and ordered a jug of beer.

Fortunately Neo let us off the Soju on this last episode but nonetheless, the beer was enough to end play for the day.

We walked back to our B&B and giggled as we figured out our room and made up our beds. When I initially lay down I thought the mattress was bloody uncomfortable… Until I discovered that Christian had laid them upside down so the discomfort was from the sticky little bubbles that are supposed to grip the floor and were now gripping my sweaty flesh.

More giggles and a remake later, we were asleep immediately.

Neo had said that Soju is a kind drink on the next morning and I hadn’t believed him… Until I woke up nine hours later, fresh as a daisy. Not sure if it’s the Korean bed or the Soju that should get the credit, but I was super grateful.

SATURDATY

Christian was a bit more the worse for wear, but it didn’t last for long, thanks to a great shower, doorstop of toast and glass of Coke in the B&B’s kitchen… And Neo (with Xuri, the littlest, in tow) arriving with ‘regmaker’ beers!

We’d made the arrangements the previous night, than since Ji had to fetch and carry kids to Saturday morning school commitments, Neo was going to make his way to us and we would then head towards the beach and meet Ji and the kids somewhere there.

It took us so long to get ourselves together though, that we ended up just sitting on the deck outside the CU convenience store downstairs and waiting for Ji to pick us up.

The whole party reunited, we drove to Haeundae Beach. The traffic was again something terrible and by the time we arrived, the clouds had rolled in and it was raining. Not ideal beach weather at all.

We diverted to the food stalls market and started nibbling inside a seafood stall where I finally got to try the snack we’d seen everywhere but didn’t know what it was. It looked like a skewered wavy length of stiff dough and seemed to be served in a cup of something we’d assumed to be dipping sauce. Turned out that it was called Eomukgok and it was actually ground and compacted fish and the stuff in the cup was a hearty fishy broth. Really delicious. And a great accompaniment to the selection of tempura that complemented the spongy fish with battered crunchiness.

We’d hoped our snacking would see us through the rain but, alas, as we made our way down the food stall alley the rain got worse not better and by the time we circled back to the beach itself for our pictures, it was bucketing down and we got soaked!

Rationalising that we were actually more interested in each other’s company than braving the elements for the view, we retreated back to the Binedell’s apartment, stopping for a few supplies en route.

It was a great decision. The kids could get on with what they wanted to do, we could yack and yack, Neo could pour a steady stream of drinks, Ji sorted an endless flow of nibbles and by the time it came to nachos (middle child Xander’s request), I was even grabbing a session in Ji’s full body massage chair! We had had a brilliant evening, totally chilled and doing what we do best; making memories with good mates.

With intentions of an earlier start to make the most of what we hoped to be a sunny Sunday, we maintained better decorum and decided to forego the Last Rounds pub crawl of the previous night and grabbed a taxi back to the B&B at around midnight.

SUNDAY

We awoke on Sunday morning to a patchy sky that was encouragingly blue in places and decided to back optimism, wear shorts and embark on the tourist trail we’d originally intended for the weekend.

Ji, Neo and Xuri fetched us and we started with a visit to Yonggungsa Temple.

The rain from the previous day could still be felt in the air and it was hot and humid. But it wasn’t raining, so we counted our blessings (in an appropriate location to be doing so).

The walk to the temple runs through a food market and we recognised some of the things from the day before, but discovered some all-new marvels that took some explaining too.

The temple itself was old and beautiful, set right on shoreline but on the rock cliffs so with magnificent views of the ocean below. Signage said that this was the most beautiful temple in South Korea and with limited comparisons and the spectacular setting, it was hard to argue with that.

On the way out I stopped in the food market to get a snack for us. I choose a flat octopus which the lady quickly heated up on a flat grill, like a toasted sandwich press and chopped into slices. It was delicious!

Continuing the eating tour, we drove to Songjeong Beach where Neo ordered Korokke while we admired the beach and then we had our senses delighted with deep fried crab croquettes.

We drove down the coast past Haeundae Beach that we’d visited the day before and on to Gwangalli Beach, where we parked the car and went for actual lunch.

We ticked off another new meal box with Korean Fried Chicken (KFC); mountains of crunchy chicken wings, sticky chicken pieces and tender juicy breaded chicken pieces that looked like they came from a monster bird!

We left lunch a little later than we should have and instead of being able to enjoy our drive across the Gwangan Bridge, we had already started to worry a bit about missing our bus to the airport. Our fate was sealed when we ran into more traffic and we resigned ourselves to the fact that we’d missed the 15h17 bus, and that we would catch the next one at 15h47, which would be very very tight for our 17h05 flight, especially bearing in mind the bus would have to beat the same traffic to get there.

Then the bus was late.

Arriving close to 14h00, it was a nailbiter all the way to the airport, with Ji madly researching on her phone and calling the airline to say the bus had been late, and sending us maps of the terminal so that we knew what to expect when we got there.

Our hearts sank as we watched the big red digital clock numbers at the front of the bus tick over. 16h20… 16h30… 16h40… The airline website had said gates close 20 minutes before the flight so when 16h45 ticked past, we’d all but lost hope.

But in a last little burst for freedom, the bus seemed to pop out of the confines of the city and made up incredible distance in the last few minutes.

At 16h49 the bus pulled up in front of the terminal. By the time it came to a complete stop, I was pressed against the doors, passports in hand.

I sprinted across the airport and up to the check-in desk, thrusting our passports at the lady, wordlessly panting. She reviewed the passports, typed something into her terminal and asked me where my other passenger and bags were.

Miraculously, Christian caught up with me just then, with our suitcases. The lady checked us in and told us it was too late to check the baggage so we’d have to take it with us.

She escorted us as we three dashed at madman’s pace across the terminal and all the way to the boarding gate to ensure we got on the plane.

All was indeed well that ended well and we were off to Jeju.

What an excellent weekend it had been in Busan and thanks to the rainy weather on Saturday, we still had a full day’s unused itinerary to use as an excuse to come back and visit our lovely hosts again!

Travelogue RWC 2019: Seoul

SEOUL

24-27 September 2019

While we were in the neighbourhood (relatively speaking, having been in Japan), we thought we’d take the opportunity to hop over to visit South Korea.

We had booked the flight from Sapporo to Seoul several months before so were dismayed when we got an email notification a couple of weeks before travel that the flight was cancelled. It worked out for the best though because we found another flight on another airline at around the same sort of timing – and for half the price!

Once on the plane we surmised the cancellation was owing to not meeting minimum numbers because our new flight was not even half full. Their loss; we had a very comfortable 3 hour flight with our new hosts on Jin Airlines.

It was very exciting approaching Seoul with an aerial view. It was awesome for most cities to come to life after the amount of 2 dimensional planning we put into our trips, but Seoul looked especially surreal from the air with its massive bodies of water and long snaking causeways carrying the tiny little cars inching across them. Or maybe that was just the airport; it remained to be seen.

From our pre-trip research, we knew that public transport would easily get us to our hotel, the Holiday Inn Hongdae, which we’d booked expressly for its location directly above the train station on the line that ran straight from the airport without requiring any connections.

Although the Info desk did a hard sell on the M-Pass, an all-inclusive travel card exclusively for tourists, some quick mental maths decided for us that doing single tickets as we went would be a more economical option.

With no such thing as ticket offices, we were on our own with the self-help ticket machines. Fortunately, there were instruction in English and our destination was easy to spot so we were soon on our way into Seoul.

The hotel was as easy to find as it had promised online, but the ‘no view’ description of the standard room we’d booked wasn’t quite as accurate. Turned out that we did have a view… Of the elevator lobby on our floor! We had a (spacious and gorgeous) interior room with a window facing across the atrium and onto the lifts and passage so not only did we have a view, but so did the other people of the 16th floor have a view of us! Or they would have had, had we chosen to keep the blinds and curtains open.

We had pre-booked a 2 day tour, not wanting to risk missing anything on our short hop through such a massive city. The first day was to be a City Tour and the second a trip to the Demilitarised Zone (DMZ) separating North and South Korea. With our tour guide doing the heavy-lifting, there was no pressure on us to do anything of consequence on our first night so we decided to explore home base.

Since we were in the heart of the Hongdik University area, there was lots to do and flocks of students already out and about doing it.

Across from our hotel was a pedestrian street lined with bars and restaurants shouting out who knows what from busy lightboxes covered in Korean hieroglyphs. Through the middle ran a long strip of park, where countless young people were gathered in little groups sharing a pizza, a picnic or a laugh. A very relaxed atmosphere; chilling and enjoying the evening.

We were hungry and ready for dinner, but deciding between all the options was quite overwhelming. On the one hand we’d intended not to fall back on western / chain food. On the other, having no idea what the Korean writing meant, it was near impossible to figure out what the traditional stuff was that was on offer or how much anything costed.

We ended up doing a full circuit to the end of the pedestrian area and back before settling on a place almost across the road from our hotel, with our choice based purely on what we (thought we) could decode from the bright pictures on the lightbox outside.

We had dakgalbi; a spicy chicken stir fry mixed with cabbage, carrots and thick fingers of udon noodles and served at the table in a skillet which is placed on the element fixed on the table top. A thick vein of grated cheese ran through the middle of the stir fry and to be stirred in as it melts in order to blend as you eat. Stringy mozzarella is no mean feat with chopsticks, I can tell you! We ordered Level 2 of 4 on the spicy scale and it was HOT. Definitely not for sissies!

Very pleased with ourselves for sticking to our traditional guns, we did an after dinner walk around the other side of our hood, which looked a lot sleazier, with more neon and what looked suspiciously like strip clubs. It wasn’t entirely a surprise since this neighbourhood had a reputation for clubbing and, clearly, other nocturnal activities.

We weren’t getting sucked in though since we had an early start, with our guide picking us up from our hotel at 08h15 the following morning.

Early start or no early start, we were determined to make time for a hearty breakfast at the hotel. We were expecting a continental and local combination but were surprised and delighted to find bacon, eggs and sausages, over and above the predictable local fare.

With full bellies, we met with our tour guide, Stella, who took us to our bus. We were the second of five stops to gather our group for the tour; the usual motley collection of Brits, Aussies, an American and us.

Our induction to the tour was Jogyesa Temple built during the Joseon dynasty in 1395 and refurbished in 1910. Stella told us a bit about it, most of which we missed acclimating to her accent but the gist seemed to be about praying to a specific one of the three massive golden Buddha’s depending on what you were asking for. She also told us that with big movement to Christianity and bigger movement to atheism, Buddhism in general was shrinking in South Korea.

From there we needed to zoot over to the Gyeongbokgung Palace (“the palace greatly blessed by heaven”), which was completed in 1395, but deconstructed and rebuilt several times after Japanese invasions. Being the first royal palace built in the Joseon Dynasty, it was where their 500 year history began and was the grandest of the 5 remaining palaces in Seoul.

The rush for us to get there was to view the changing of the guards, which was a spirited affair with a large band procession leading and timing a procession of guards wielding flags and weapons. All dressed in brightly coloured tunics, they certainly presented a very different representation of authority than their camo-clad modern counterparts.

Following the formal proceedings, Stella lead us through the palace gates towards the Royal residence and only when she started her narration did she realise we were short a group member. We’d lost Sanjeev. Among hordes of people. After being told that we had to stick together because it was so easy to get separated.

Stella flapped around panicking and rattling rapidfire Korean into her phone to who knows whom while the rest of us swapped stories, took photos and DID NOT MOVE, as we’d been emphatically instructed by Stella several times.

Sanjeev found us again quite by chance, was quite sheepish at having caused the fuss and we were without a further word about it and living the Dynasty life of concubines and heirs and quirks that come along with the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

The next excursion caught us quite by surprise since it wasn’t listed on the tour we’d booked. We were taken to a Hanbok store and dressed up in traditional outfits. I got a rather fetching poofy white satin number with big bright purple flowers and Christian chose for himself, quite by accident, a King’s outfit with regal blue jacket with silver embroidery.

Once dressed, we were turned past hair and accessories for clips and costume shoes before being presented to the photographer for couples and groups shots. Not something we would have opted to do, but made for some fun memorable pics and we had a laugh with our tour mates.

… which made for better company and more conversation at the group lunch where we enjoyed traditional Korean Barbecue, beers and Soju.

Back in civvies, we were taken to Bukchon Hanok Village; one of the last bastions of traditional Hanok houses from the Joseon period. Retaining the old city appearance and being in such short supply, the houses sell for millions of Dollars, even though the residents are not allowed to alter the appearance of their houses and often have to park their fancy cars outside the suburb and walk to their house.

The tour ended off a climb (in the bus) up the hill so we could get a spectacular panoramic view of Seoul. It was indescribably massive. On the one side was sprawling suburban living creeping up the side of a mountain; on the other was a sea of skyscrapers as far as the eye could see.

While city blocks seem to be step-repeated, as if a big 3D Lego stamp had made its way across the horizon. We had noticed on the ground that the skyscraper buildings were clustered, to the point that a collection of identical buildings would have massive numbers painted on the side so you could tell them apart. Presumably this was what happened when a country (re)built itself with the astonishing efficiency that South Korea had.

The bus had to drop some of our our mates in Myeong Dong; a famous shopping and street food area, so Stella gave us a half hour to explore before resuming the drop-off circuit. So so so many stores selling make up and cosmetics; quite overwhelming with all the special offers and sampling… But a Mecca if that was what you were after!

We were exhausted when we got back to hotel; so much so that I dropped off into a little nap before heading out again.

Our intended mission for the evening had been to find us an Irish pub to log on the Guinness Index, but Google Maps was playing up and not showing walking routes, wanting us to catch a complicated combination of trains to get just down the road (!), so we were unable to find the first one we pegged and gave up on the plan in favour of a dinner on the main drag in Hongdae instead.

THURSDAY

On Thursday morning, Miss June, as she introduced herself, met us at our hotel promptly at 10h00, as planned. We joined the bus with its existing 8 other passengers and Christian was immediately barnacled by a surveyor from London who – as Christian expressed to me in Afrikaans – he was afraid would never stop talking or asking arbitrary questions.

Fortunately Miss June (eventually) clamped on her headset and started the narration for the tour, much to Surveyor’s disappointment.

Miss June told us that Korea was liberated from 35 years of Japanese occupation in 1945 at the end of the Second World War when the Russians came down from the North and the Americans came up from the South, slicing the country in half at the 38th parallel.

Before WWII Korea was a unified country and all the factories and plants were in the North, so when the country split all the infrastructure was in the North and they had a better economy than the South, which had been rural and farming land.

The Korean War then broke out in 1950 with the North invading the South; with Western support the war was brought to a close in 3 years, but at a massive price. From the Korean war 70% of the South’s capital, Seoul, was destroyed as was so much of Pyeoungyang that the Americans said there was nothing left to bomb.

Miss June told us that there was no physical border between North and South, but a 2 km limit line is observed on either side of an imaginary line and NOBODY moves in that No Man’s Land.

We also learned that all the water we could see from the air was the Han River, which was visible from more or less anywhere in Seoul – and was protected by barbed, electric fences and armed guard towers because it flowed down from North Korea so needed to be defended against any spies coming from the neighbour. Defection is less of a concern with only 30 thousand people having successfully defected, mostly to the China side because the South Korean border is so heavily armed.

In places you can see North Korea from the bus, beyond the defences and across the river. The other side is noticeably browner and less vegetated which our guide told us was because only 15% of North Koreans had electricity and were forced to cut down trees for warmth and cooking.

There were ghost town villages on the other bank, where the Northern authorities wouldn’t let people live because it was too easy to escape when the river was so shallow in low tide. Understandable especially now that the tables had turned and the North Koreans were starving and malnourished. Or so the South Koreans were told.

Conversely, our guide shared a heartwarming story about how her parents’ generation sacrificed so her generation could be educated and rebuild their country. Her mom even wore the same single pair of shoes for over ten years to save to pay for their schooling. Now her generation is spending considerable energy instilling in the younger generation why unifying Korea would be a great thing since the younger people don’t feel the loss of relatives and friends trapped across the border and have all the creature comforts that their successful society provides.

By now we’d reached our first stop where we alighted to view the Unification Bridge, built over the Imjin River which runs into the Han. Although in perfect working order, the bridge stands unused since nobody is allowed to cross the border. The bullet-ridden train exhibit on our side of the bank bears not-so-subtle inference as to the consequences.

There was a community of around 200 people that lived within the Imjin line on the Southern side, which was technically under the United Nations Command and those people didn’t do conscription (21 months) or pay tax.

The bus took us to Dorsan Station; a fully decked out train station, all ready to go for a train service that would connect South Korea all the way through to the UK… When and if unification would allow for it. Miss June spoke so optimistically about the possibilities that it was hard to tell if it was wishful thinking or if it was something these people believe that they can will to happen.

In the foyer of the station there was a collection of several framed photos of the North and South Korean Presidents meeting, smiling and shaking hands – wives in tow, like it was a social – as if there might be possibility of such connection. But the display seemed so contrived that again it was hard to decide if I was viewing with Western cynicism or if this was a show being put on to string the hopefuls along.

From the station we entered the Demilitarised Zone, our bus climbing slowly up the hill to get us to the Dora observation point.

Using the fixed binoculars, we could see across the border to the abandoned factory complexes and surrounding residential towns, and beyond to the third largest city in North Korea.

The factories had until 2016 been a collaborative project where 700 South Koreans would commute in and out to the factory to work alongside their Northern colleagues, producing all sorts of things. The Northern workers welcomed the income and the Southern manufacturers provided the materials and utilities and gained from the cheap labour. Finished goods were taken back across the border and dispatched from a control centre that now too lies dark and lifeless.

Now that the collaboration has been stopped, the factory complex lay dormant, the feeder villages have been abandoned and the horizon was dark after dusk since the Southerners were no longer providing electricity to the area.

Miss June said that sometimes you could see soldiers moving around, but we saw nothing.

The bus then took us to the 3rd Tunnel, so named since it was one of the 4 tunnels that the South Koreans discovered that the North Koreans had been digging, ostensibly looking for coal (they had even painted the inside of the tunnels black as ruse clues of coal) but practically preparing for an invasion. With all 4 tunnels pointed toward Seoul and each enabling 30,000 armed soldiers to pass through within an hour, it would irrefutably have been a devastating surprise attack.

We caught a little trolley down into the tunnel and were able to walk all the way to the barricade that was established at the limit line.

In times gone by, these barricades had 24 hour armed guards stationed to detect any signs of North Koreans crashing through but fortunately for those poor sods, technology enabled camera surveillance to save the soldiers the immense discomfort of long and boring shifts in the dark and dank dead-end passage.

We ended the tour with a quick stop at the Unification Village, to see how normally the local people go on with their lives, within the limits of the DMZ. Conveniently, their tax free status allows for slightly relaxed rates on supplies, snacks and souvenirs.

On the return journey, Miss June helped us to map out the rest of our evening. First priority was a visit to the old town wall at Dongdaemun and then down to Gangnam which was bloody miles from anything but just had to be done.

The bus dropped us off with some of the other passengers near the palace so we could jump on the subway to get to the city wall.

Now wise to the ways of the subway, it was more a case of finding exact change than navigating the route and we were soon off in the direction of the Dongdaemun Cultural Centre.

At the tourist desk they armed us with a map of the area and a wall passport in case we were ambitious enough to want to walk the whole city wall (a fortress maybe 19km long, built around Seoul at the very beginning of the Joseon Dynasty), gathering collectors stamps at the ancient gates we would pass through.

We did not, and so we made our way to the nearest gate, got our snaps, walked a section of wall up the hill to admire the view… And then retraced our footsteps, ticking the To Do List and moving on to Gangnam.

A collection of connections later we emerged in Gangnam at sunset. And clearly the end of the workday. The station was heaving, the pavements full of dressed to impress people and the road full – of more than its fair share of fancy luxury vehicles.

The neon was soon to own the night and so we threaded our way through the pedestrians to seek sanctum in a traditional Irish pub to wait out the chaos… And earn an eye-watering #2 on our Guinness Index!!

During our sundowner, we researched what traditional meal we were yet to try and ended up making our way back to the main drag for dinner, to have boiled beef bowls of broth at Bonga that were served steaming to us at the table. So hot that they had to be delivered on a trolley. Very dramatic indeed. And delicious.

The streets were still full of life, with most shops still open until 22h00, but we were a good hour away from our lovely Hongdae homebase so worth catching our ride back sooner rather than later.

The subway was still heaving and showing no signs of letting up. Amazing nightlife for an arbitrary Thursday night in September!

Travelogue RWC 2019: Sapporo

SAPPORO

22-24 September 2019

We had quite an early start from Yokohama (by holiday standards) so had packed and laid our clothes out the night before to save us time in the morning.

But, having slept with the blinds open, we were awake earlier than we needed to be so were up and out well ahead of schedule.

We were delighted to find our Uber app worked in Japan so we hailed a car to take us to the airport and were soon in a lovely Toyota people-carrier (with a driver in a suit and tie nogal!) headed for Yokohama station.

The ticket-buying process can be quite traumatic, with the foreignness of the rail system compounded by scant instruction in English but once we knew what train to catch, it was pretty simple. And the Japanese are very civilised, lining up in neat rows as marked on the platform and waiting for passengers to disembark before approaching the train, unlike most countries where boarding passengers act like they’re storming the Bastille.

Once at the airport it was quite easy to find our way as it was (unintentional) good fortune that we’d chosen to fly with the most popular carrier so their signage was *everywhere*.

The queue took forever – not what we’d have expected from our experience with Japanese efficiency – but of course the queue waited quietly and shuffled forward a little as each check in was completed, and the lady at the check in desk was super polite with lots of smiling and head-bowing. It really feeds your Zen when everyone around you is being so nice and understanding.

We whipped through security and grabbed a sarmie from Starbucks before jumping on our flight, lucky to get a spare seat next to me so I could stretch out for a nap.

Even though we’d left 10 minutes behind schedule, we landed on time and had the good sense to not even attempt the self-help train ticket machine, so were on the platform mere minutes later as the train pulled in to take us to Sapporo. Where, again, we’d had the good sense to choose our hotel exclusively based on its proximity to the main station.

It was a wise call and despite a short awkward minute where a Japanese policemen – who didn’t speak a word of English – did his very best to give us – who didn’t speak a word of Japanese – directions. Fortunately “out of East gate, turn right and go straight until you see it” is manageable under those circumstances and we were soon on our way into the direction the man had pointed us. It was the right direction, which was a bonus.

The Richmond Hotel was another lovely one, with a snug but ample room and more complimentary toiletries than most people have in the average bathroom cupboard, including a gift bag with treatment face mask and toner sachets.

That would be for later though, because Sapporo beckoned. And the hotel also provided as standard a complimentary smart phone that was docked in the room and preloaded with all sorts of local content and had a free internet-connected SIM.

A quick search revealed that, coincidentally, the Rugby World Cup had overlapped with the Sapporo Autumn Fest so we were in for a treat. And we wouldn’t be doing the same magnitude of mileage on foot that we had the previous day because all the action was literally in our road.

We finally had use for our jumpers because it was noticeably nippier in the North Island than it had been on the Tokyo coast, so we suited up and headed out.

We wandered down a few blocks not really knowing what we were looking for … and couldn’t miss it.

One of the city’s major landmarks is the TV tower which, as you can imagine, stands tall and has flashing lights and whatnot making it a pretty perfect landmark! And a couple of blocks from home, so even more useful!

Besides being useful and big and tall, it was also hosting a German Beer Fest as part of the Food Fair and based on the aromas, it was doing quite a convincing job of all the sausages that were being served.

We weren’t to be deterred though – it seemed very wrong for our first experience of the Sapporo Food Festival to be German sausages and beer, when this was the home of the classic Sapporo beer and ramen noodles! – and resumed our walk to Odori Park.

At the start of the long central park strip was the World Cup Fan Park. The Namibia vs Italy game was on so there was already cheer and merriment and had we known this was the landmark for the quite unrelated Autumn Fest, we’d have had a much more confident start.

Beyond the Fan Park were blocks and blocks of festival, with food and drink stalls set around each side of each block of the park, making for a train of food festival magic, with all sorts of traditional fare, local delicacies and (apparently) a selection of the best of Japanese fare. All in one place.

You can imagine how busy it was.

But still, “busy” is a relative term in Japan. There were orderly queues in front of each stand, people splayed (neatly) on the lawns and not a piece of litter anywhere. Despite the fact that, confoundingly, there were no bins to be seen anywhere. I’m assuming that being the disciplined society that they are, they hold onto their garbage until they spot the blue-moon set of 4 recycling bins and then sort and deposit.

We grabbed a Wagyu beef and potato croquette at a sideline stall that miraculously had no queue and savoured the deliciousness while surveying the other stalls in the area. Reckoning that it was peak time, being Sunday, we adjusted our plans to skip the sampling at the festival in favour of moving the next night’s dinner plans up one.

Being in the hub of the city, it was an easy walk to Ramen Alley which, as the name suggests, is a narrow and dark walkway with nothing but ramen restaurants on either side. Maybe 30 or so of them.

We looked at the pictorial menus at the doors and peered in to see our options. All the restaurants were tiny, maybe 9 square metres and seated no more than a dozen people. The majority of the restaurant was the kitchen, where the chef has a raised section with his frying station and boiling pots facing the customers and his sink behind him. We sat at the corner of the stooled L-shape counter and he leaned over to pass the food down to us.

We shared prawn dumplings to start and then Christian had a spicy miso ramen with pork and I had soy sauce ramen with beef. Both were really tasty – and took forever to eat with chopsticks!

In keeping with traditional things, we used the Ireland vs Scotland game as an opportunity to visit an Irish pub and lucked upon the oldest Irish pub in Hokkaido, called Brian’s Brew, and forked out a princely sum for an on-tap Guinness that scored a #4 on our Guinness Index!

Fortunately the local Sapporo Classic was decent – and way more economical – as we ended up staying for the England vs Tonga game as well. The locals were passionately supporting Tonga and many, for who knows what reason, even had supporters shirts and accessories so it seemed as though it might be a regular thing.

MONDAY

We woke up to a cold and rainy Monday… So we rolled over and went back to sleep, welcoming the excuse to rest.

Surfacing later, we easily navigated the streets back to the (one of many) McDonald’s we’d earmarked for breakfast (which was now probably best classified as lunch) the share the Tsukimi beef burger combo (bacon, egg and melted cheese) and the teriyaki chicken combo. Even the McD’s was neat and orderly and everyone threw away their rubbish and left the tables clean. Amazing.

Disappointed to find that the Asahi and Sapporo breweries were both closed on Mondays and not prepared to do the food festival in Odori Park in the rain, we wandered along the blocks-long covered pedestrian shopping avenue, popping into shops of interest, poring over peculiar things of interest.

When we thought we’d run out of mall, we followed a sign that said “underground walkway”, thinking it was an alternate pedestrian crossing at the busy intersection. It was not. It was the gateway into an entire underground city!

We spent another couple of hours browsing and tasting samples and trying things on and – miraculously, after spending the most part of the day shopping – only walked away with an fashionable raincoat jacket for me.

It was still pouring with rain so we returned to the hotel to get off our feet for an hour’s downtime before dinner, which we’d already decided (after the kind of lengthy discussion you only have on a rainy day shopping excursion) was to be tonkatsu (crumbed and deep fried meat).

There were several tonkatsu restaurants in easy reach from the hotel so we relied on online resources to guide our choice and were very happy with our deep fried feast, served as a set meal with a soup and bowl of rice.

TUESDAY

Tuesday morning greeted us with bright sunshine and blue skies which is bloody typical when there was no time to enjoy it, with our flight to Seoul requiring us to be at the airport by 09h00!

Still, it was a blessing to be able to shimmy to the station at ground level which was much quicker than the alternate underground route we’d mapped the day before in case we had to avoid making the haul with baggage to the station in the rain.

We’d also had the good sense to buy return tickets to the airport when we arrived in Sapporo so we could dash straight to the platform and ended up catching one train earlier than the one we’d planned.

Of course this meant we got to the airport too early to check in… But that’s never a problem when there’s a food court!

We stuffed ourselves with udon noodles and potato croquettes and then ambled back towards the check in gate.

New Chitose is pretty entertaining for an Airport. There’s a working chocolate factory where you can watch through the window as the chocolate is mixed and swirled and paletted into moulds and then turned out, packaged and sold in the adjacent shop.

There’s a massive kids passage full of play areas and games and a fun restaurant – and lots and lots of Hello Kitty!

And there’s lots of sampling of delicious Hokkaido specialities, so we bounced from store to store, tasting different flavours of cheesecake, layered biscuits, custard tarts… And… And…

… And it was almost a relief when we had to get to our boarding gate for the flight to Seoul.

Travelogue RWC 2019: Yokohama

YOKOHAMA

20-22 September 2019

Always up for a travel adventure, I heartily agreed with Christian’s suggestion of attending the Rugby World Cup 2019 since it was to be held in Japan.

Having been to Japan 4 years earlier, we decided to split the trip into the key bits we hadn’t seen on the previous trip, with an add-on hop to South Korea, to which neither of us had been before.

With the rugby ticket lottery so far in advance, our travel arrangements being made months before and a lot (more than usual) going on on the home front, the trip kind of snuck up and it was quite surreal arriving at the airport for our departure.

We had been squirreling Skywards Miles hoping to upgrade our flights for the long haul to Japan, but there was no chance; the flights were full to bursting. The first leg (Joburg to Dubai) was not so bad in a big new airbus, but it was a bit of a squeeze in the 777 on the second leg (Dubai to Tokyo).

On the brightside though, the menu reflected that our holiday had truly begun, with a salmon teriyaki for breakfast and sweet and sour perch with fragrant Japanese rice for lunch. Even the drinks trolley had switched tea for green tea.

The plane was packed with rugby fans – lots of Saffas and a collection from all over the UK – so the fact that Emirates (excuse the term) flights matches live was a massive hit. And the plane very soon ran dry of its beer stocks and a great deal of its single-serving bottles of hard tack, mixed with a splash of cola in very impractical little plastic cups. I wish I’d taken a photo from the back because I’d imagine that it’s pretty rare that almost an entire planeful of people watch the same thing when there are over 2500 content options to choose from!

We cleared customs just before midnight and were glad we’d booked a driver to take us to the hotel. He was ready and waiting for us and obliged our request to wait while we got a SIM card with a smile and a head bow.

The Sakuragitcho Washington Hotel was a little tricky to find, but after circling the block we were deposited at the front doorstep. Reception was on the 20th floor and we were soon checked in to our 15th floor room… And out the door to get ourselves welcome drinks from the 7-11 on the ground floor, which we enjoyed while surveying the harbour across the road.

SATURDAY

After our very late night, we had a bit of a lie-in on Saturday morning. Our pre-scoping of Yokohama had revealed very little tourist value so the rationale was to renew energy levels at the expense of sightseeing time.

A peep out the window revealed a grey and overcast day. It was little surprise as the weather forecast – which I’d consulted for packing planning purposes – had been “20 degrees and raining” for the day.

Decked in jeans with hoodies and rain ponchos in our backpack, we hit the streets.

And didn’t even get to our trusty 7Eleven downstairs before Christian turned backs and traded jeans for shorts. Their 20 and our 20 are clearly very different. The coastal mugginess added a blanket of warmth – and if the rain stayed away, it would be perfect!

Our first impression of Yokohama by day was how clean it was. Every road was spotless, without as much as a cigarette butt or a stray plastic wrapper flapping in a gutter. Even with all these filthy foreigners in their town, Yokohama had sustained its pristine Japanese orderliness. They’ve got it so right.

Moving down the street revealed the magnitude of this skyrise city. Our hotel, at 20 floors, was dwarfed by our neighbours! And the vast number of massive blocks and shops along the street front alluded to a live-work-play apartment lifestyle.

We took a turn past the Rugby World Cup Fan Park, which was already buzzing with activity. We passed several people also in Springbok jerseys and did the obligatory head nod and ‘howzit’, expressing kinship like we all knew each other.

First stop was Chinatown for lunch. It might sound off for our first excursion in Japan to not be a local venture, but this Chinatown is credited as being one of the best in the world. Plus, it was the farthest point from the stadium relative to our hotel, so made practical sense too.

We wandered up and down the narrow streets, adorned with patterned buildings, decorated with gold trim and bright red lanterns, and completed with street-level food stalls, boiling, steaming and frying all sorts of deliciousness.

Our first course choice was an easy one. A delicate Peking duck parcel, like a tiny schwarma. It oozed flavour and the duck was tender and juicy with a crisp crisp skin. For main course we chose to sit in a restaurant because the streets were so full – and they had an English menu. We had pork mince noodles (essentially a salty sticky spag Bol) and a chicken stir fry.

By contrast, our walking tour took us to Motomachi with its structured streets and elegant grey buildings, skirted with the world’s top label brand stores.

There happened to be a ‘Charming Sale’ on for the weekend so the pedestrian walk was heaving with people amped to get their bargains. And the many restaurant snack hatches had queues of people waiting patiently for their turn to be served.

With severe baggage restrictions on our internal flights, we resisted the urge to investigate any of the stores or their sales and moved along swiftly to the Landmark Tower, from where there are supposed to be magnificent views of the city and beyond.

Being a grey day though, there was small promise of being able to see anything, so we just went to the mezzanine viewing level which had pretty good near-sight views of the harbour.

We were now perfectly positioned to jump on the metro at Queen’s Square to head through to the stadium, giving ourselves lots of time to get there based on the warnings that the trains get crammed and the security process into the stadium was bound to be beyond thorough.

With precious little English instruction to guide us, we managed the 2 train combination to get to the stadium and were in our seats (nosebleeds, riiiight at the back) with an hour to spare before start of play.

Christian enjoyed watching the players warm up, while I used the opportunity to write this travelogue.

The game was sold out so the stands were packed with spirited rivals, making for lots of pre-game chanting and warcries. Even for the uncommitted rugby fan (nudge nudge, wink wink), there was going to be plenty of energy and entertainment value both on and off the field to make for a memorable event.

We managed to work out way down to much better seats early in the first half so had a brilliant view of the field, along with 63647 other people. Our team, nothing if not consistent, started strong but then made some rookie mistakes, conceding 2 tries and losing the game.

After the game we made our way back towards home and stopped in at a metal bar called Thrashzone that served a wide selection of craft beers.

As the only Westerners in the tiny bar (with a capacity of maybe 40 or 50 people), we were fortunate to seat ourselves next to an English-speaker who had been a pro snowboarder in Canada for 10 years before returning home to Japan. He told us a bit about Japan and asked lots of questions about South Africa. We were the perfect ambassadors on the wonders of our country (consistency of rugby play aside).

It had been a long time since lunch and we had an early start in the morning so we made our way back to the hotel and grabbed a heat-and-eat meal from our trusty 7Eleven.

It was clearly quite late for dinner so we were limited in what was left and each chose a spaghetti meal; Christian’s with chicken and mine with shrimp.

Our pasta meals were heated in a minute and a half and, admirably, were still steaming when we got up to our room – and were surprisingly delicious. Easily on par with some of the Italian restaurant chains at home.

We wolfed them down while watching a completely unfathomable Japanese game show and then called it a night, leaving the blinds open to wake us for our next day’s adventure, taking us to Sapporo.

Travelogue French Riviera 5: Nice

NICE

19 – 22 June 2019

Deciding upfront that we’d get all our roadtripping done and then homebase the final stage of the journey from Nice gave us the freedom to stay in the Old Town which with it’s windy narrow cobbled streets would be a nightmare to navigate in and out of.

A very wise call.

Strategically, we’d committed to return Noddy Car to the rental place (at Nice Airport) later in the afternoon in order to give us time to check in at our apartment and drop off our suitcase en route. It was quite a harrowing journey, getting the one ways sussed and breathing in to squeeze through the skinny alleys with the odd tourist darting into a doorway or plastering themselves to a wall to avoid our wing mirrors.

We only found out when we arrived that our host doesn’t live in Nice, so we had an hour and a half to kill before collecting our keys and, worried that we wouldn’t get the return journey to the airport done in this slot, put it to good use with a 3 course lunch!

Our apartment was ideally placed, half a block in from a busy piazza with restaurants spilling into the square to provide a sea of checkered tablecloths and umbrellas offering shade and fabulous food to scores of people.

We found a table right on the edge, sat next to each other and people-watched as the waiter brought us plates of delicious local Niçoise specialities. The duck in creamy mushroom sauce stole the show for me!

Our apartment was tiny (by home standards) but immaculate, clearly recently renovated and light and airy with the massive old school shuttered windows that looked down into the cobbled streets below and the Irish Bar across the street.

We didn’t have much time to revel in it though, with our car return deadline looming. Fortunately, the Nice Airport is close to town and we were there around 15 minutes later, including the nail-biting exit from Old Town and a pretty scenic drive.

It was easy enough to catch a train back and alighting at the central station gave us a chance to see another portion of Nice.

In stark contract to the cobbled charm of the Old Town, new Nice is grand! Beautiful old and elegant buildings line a long, wide shopping high street with all the designer labels you can imagine showcased in the ground floor of the street fronts; two or three storeys above them bearing tall, elegant windows, filigree balconies and finely decorated cornices.

At the far end, a massive stage was in process of being set up on the square and the stage was already busy with a collection of musicians doing soundcheck – and entertaining passing shoppers in the process. As we drew closer, we saw this was the annual Fete de la Musique celebration plan, with a free concert scheduled for the night of the 21st June. Looked like it was going to be huge!

Our walk took us back through our old town whose high street counterpart was filled with chairs and tables from restaurants displaying menu boards, seafood showcases or using live music to lure you in.

We resisted for the time being in order to pass through to the promenade to see the beach. A heavenly crescent that looked like the Copa Cabana except without the stripey pavements and with grey smooth pebbles instead of golden beach sand.

6pm but with the sun still holding its place in the sky, the beach was still occupied with sunbathers and the pavements busy with joggers, family strollers and tourists.

The perfect time for a sundowner, so we hit the high street and found ourselves a comfortable spot with live music and crazy happy hour specials that run from 5 to 9!

Having saturated with culture at our extended lunch, we took the opportunity to squeeze in a curry dinner. Consulting The Fork app (that we’d discovered and loved on a previous trip to Italy), we chose a curry den called Le Bombay Palace around the corner in the Old Port and since it shared its name with our local curry den at home, we figured it kismet and definitely worth the research.

Quite different presentation (and portions!) compared to what we’re used to. And definitely a different view, overlooking the multi-storey yachts moored on the other side of the road in stark contrast to the parking lot at our All Saints Shopping Centre!

THURSDAY

We’d pre-booked a free walking tour meeting at the square where we’d seen the stage set up.

We had no trouble finding our way back (amazing how much more you take in when you’ve walked a route as opposed to driving it!) and no trouble finding our guide, marked with the red umbrella and surrounded by the easily 50 other tour group members.

We were introduced to our guide, Isabella from Argentina, and thankfully spared the chore of introductions to each and every group member.

Isabella started the tour with some of the vital statistics: Nice is a city of 350000 inhabitants (5th biggest in France) and enjoys more than 5 million tourists (making it the second biggest after Paris) and more than 300 days of sunshine per year which, along with the high concentration of museums, is why it gets so many tourists.

Nice had quite a patchwork history between the major empires. It was founded in 350 BC by Greeks en route home from Marseilles, and originally named after Nike (the Greek word for Victory). It was a thriving port town until a neighbouring city, Saminello, burned to the ground and all the people moved to Nice so it became quite a big city quite quickly.

Nice was part of the Savoy Empire – with its capital in Turin – until the 19th century. It was bounced back and forth between Savoy and France for 500 years until Italy became a country in 1860 and a referendum was held in Nice to see if the people wanted to be French or Italian. They decided to be French. It was a bit of subterfuge though because it was actually already predetermined as an exchange between Italy and Napoleon III who supported Italy against Austrian invasion.

In the middle of our tour we heard a loud bang. Isabella calmed us and recounted the story of one Sir Thomas Coventry, who came to Nice in 1860, travelling with his wife who was a terrible timekeeper. Since this was affecting the serving of his noontime meal, he asked the city’s permission to set off the canon at midday, as was customary in his home town. The city allowed it – and liked the idea so much that they made it law to let off the midday canon each day. It is now a firework rather than a canon, and has been set off by the same chap for the past 27 years. He’s looking to retire now, so possible job vacancy for someone who is punctual, reliable and never leaves the city.

We emerged on the beachfront, where Isabella explained that it’s a pebble beach, apparently, because of the stones that are washed through from the Paillon River. She also revealed that the Promenade des Anglais is so called because the English paid for the construction of the walk for the comfort of the hordes of Brits that flocked to Nice in winter to seek sunshine and wanted a nice place to walk along the seaside.

Just like we were doing.

We walked to the end of the Promenade but instead of rounding the cape to take us down to the port where we’d been the previous night, we were taken up to the citadel where we had the most spectacular views of the long beautiful stretch of beach, the magnificent azure sea and the infinity of blue sky and sunshine that has made this coastal town so famous for so long.

Isabella also pointed out on the other side, while we were overlooking the port, what lay beyond and how easy it was to get there… Which is when we hatched a plot to go and see the neighbouring village and its sandy beach.

We departed the tour group and made our way back down the hill to the port where we had no trouble finding the bus stop, and no more than a minute or two wait before handing over our €1.50 fare and moving on to Villefranche-sur-Mer.

On arrival we were delighted – and very surprised – to find an OPEN tourist office. The chap at the desk was very helpful, providing us with a one pager easy simple map and circling the things we needed to do and see. He was emphatic that the citadel was the way to start, so that’s what we did.

Villefranche-sur-Mer was founded in 1295 by Charles II of Anjou, Count of Provence. It fell into the hands of the Duke of Savoy for 5 centuries and was returned to France in 1860. It has an impressive stone fortress ordered by Emmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy in 1557 to defend the old town which is open and free to visit, and which houses a number of exhibits and displays telling the story of the citadel, the town and its people.

Obediently following our map, we wound down the hill through the Old Town. It’s built into a hill so the town is a network of staircases with some quite ingenious uses of the space.

After an easy amble we were deposited at the beachfront. Short on real estate and big on appeal, the beach was crammed, so we retired to a cafe across the road and had a lovely cold beer while we rested our weary selves.

Refreshed, we trotted back up the hill to the station to grab a train back to Nice and our homebase, now old hat to us with all our comings and goings, was a doddle to navigate so we were soon back in our ‘Hood.

I had been angling for a rotisserie chicken for days after seeing them served all over the place so we picked one up from the local butchery on the way home and savaged it with lovely fresh baguettes by way of an early supper while we prepared to head out for the evening.

The Nice lifestyle so suits us when we can get the day’s action out of the way, have dinner early and then still have a couple of hours to sundowner after we’ve been fed. We put the sunlight to best use, visiting a few of the pubs in the market strip, enjoying their live entertainment.

As it so happened, it was the FIFA Women’s World Cup being hosted in France over the period we were there and there was much excitement in the Old Town over a few key games that were being played that evening. Big screens were front and centre, and some of the live acts on bricks temporarily while the focus shifted.

We shifted to Paddy’s Pub (in the same road as our apartment, so very much on the way home) to watch the second half of the USA vs Sweden match that was getting a lot of attention.

The pub was lively with American supporters, we logged our Guinness Index and from our vantage point at the bar we kept an eye on the Irish folk dancing troupe that continued business-as-usual in the back room, twisting and twiddling along to the accordion playing their traditional songs.

FRIDAY

We had pre-booked our tour to Monaco for Friday, which left gave us a deadline for getting up and out. So far from what we’d experienced, mornings were a leisurely start on the Cote d’Azur, so getting up and out at 9.30 felt like quite some pressure all considering.

It had been a long time since the rotisserie feast the night before though, which helped with motivation to get fed before a strenuous few hours of walking tour.

See: Travelogue French Riviera 4: Monaco.

We had been watching the set-up of the concert on the Place Massena (the main town square) with eager anticipation as the days had gone by and tonight was the night! … So on our return from Monaco, we went past the Place to see what was going on.

By now fencing had been put up around the entire area to restrict access and implement strict security controls – and there was a bit of a frenzy with people arriving and streaming into the gates.

Quite relaxed about the whole affair, we took the ticket that the poor promotions chap was madly tearing out of his book and that we needed to present to the security heavy to get into the gate, but ended up not going in, thinking a shower and change into flip-flops would make for a far better start to the evening.

We went home, showered and changed, headed to the market and got absorbed into trying some yummy local dishes, with no rush to get to the concert because there were La Fete de la Musique things going on everywhere already.

Good thing too because when we finally headed over – at maybe 9 or 9.30 – things were only then really starting to get going.

It was superbly organised and we had no trouble flashing our tickets to get in, the security was super efficient and there were no queues at either the bars or the porta-loos, even though there were easily 20,000 people there (our tickets were numbers 16125 and 16126).

We didn’t recognise any of the artists, but they must have been big names in France because everyone around us knew the words, the moves and sang heartily and danced merrily along to the hip hop chap and his band of neon-tracksuited dancers, the songstrel that belted out her radio tune, the aging rocker who growled his song at us, the McDreamy crooner in his leather jackets, the works!

We didn’t stay until anywhere near the end and were delighted to be able to had our tickets over to 2 very optimistic faces in the sea of optimistic faces at the gates hoping for exactly such an opportunity.

Getting closer to home, Old Town was a chaotic wash of activity. There were serving stations set up outside of pubs and bands set up in the street. We even accidentally collided with a street carnivals drumming squad as we swam upstream of their procession! It was great fun and we saw a lot of great acts (and of course, quite a few less good ones).

By the time we circled around to our road, we feared we’d never get any sleep because there bands were packing up for the night, DJs were setting up. And one such street party was right under our kitchen window! All in the name of a good time though and, kudos to the French, they seem to be far more restrained than most nations. Despite all the festivities, there were very few drunkards ruining anyone else’s experience. Just lots of energy and celebration. A wonderful thing to be a part of.

We’d had such a great (and long) day that even with the party going on right outside our window, when we eventually went home, shut the double glazeds and retired, both of us were asleep before heads hit the pillows.

And again, kudos to the French, when we got up and headed out for our last breakfast the next morning, everything was already cleaned up. Besides the odd bit of bunting still strung between street poles, you’d never tell that the city had hosted a bash at all – let alone of that magnitude – the night before.

What a hero of a town. And what a memorable night. Totally worth planning a repeat visit around.

Travelogue French Riviera 4: Monaco

MONACO

21 June 2019

Hopping across from Nice to Monaco is very simple with buses and trains that run regularly and inexpensively, but since we were short on time (only having allocated a day for the flit across the border), we opted for a guided walking tour to make the most of the experience.

We booked online, paid our 20 Euro (that included the return train ticket) and met our guide outside the Nice train station at 10.20 as instructed. We were allocated to Lily, an exchange intern from Slovakia, who was delighted that we were a small group of only 10 people.

It was soon easy to see why as shoulder season leading into summer, the trains were already packed on the obviously popular route. We managed to cluster ourselves in the open area by the doorway and a little up the stairs (it was a double-decker train) so it must be a proper mission with a big group to try and keep everyone together.

Lily used the time to acquaint with the group – parents and 2 teenage boys from Germany, a couple from Italy, a couple from Guam and us.

Alighting in Monaco, the opulence hits you even as you walk to the escalators to the exit; a massive glass window that overlooks a harbour of glimmering yachts. With not a soul among them, it was quite stark contrast to our sardine-can transfer!

In outlining our route for the day, Lily described to us how small the little principality of Monaco is. It is the 2nd smallest country in the world (behind the Vatican) at 2 square kilometres, has 38000 people and a third of their population are millionaires (largely because it’s a tax haven). The people and language are known as Monagasque but, seeing as the locals make up only around 20% of the total population, French is also widely spoken and, being part of the Eurozone, the Euro is the currency.

Our walking tour started with a trundle down through Monte Carlo down to the world famous casino.

In the 1860s Charles III hatched a plan to open a casino to save Monaco from bankruptcy. His original casino failed because it was in an awkward location that had no feeder roads, no support facilities and no marketing. But a new casino – the one that is now so famous – was built in a better location, had the most luxurious hotel and cafe to support it and investment was made into both marketing it and establishing easy transport options to make transferring to and from the casino effortless from key European destinations. Finally, the area was renamed from The Caves de Monte Carlo (Mountain of Charles) to be suitably grand and – voila! – the rest as they say is history.

The iconic building and setting seem so familiar, having seen them in movies like James Bond Golden Eye and in the scenic shots during the Monaco Grand Prix, which has been an event synonymous with Monaco since its inception in 1929.

Winding in and around Monaco, the GP sees the drivers negotiate the 3km circuit 78 times, through narrow city roads, a tunnel and a hair-raising hairpin bend. Many experienced drivers have become croppers on the grueling course and a couple have ended up skidding off the road and into the water!

By now we’d walked away from the casino and we’re making our way along the harbour as Lily told the story. It was quite an experience to be IN the story, walking and talking among the iconic landmarks and decadent setting.

We stopped at The Church of Sainte Devote, probably most famous for being the first corner of the Monaco GP track, but also tribute to the patron saint of Monaco, who was a young Corsican woman martyred in the 300s for her devotion to Catholicism. Her body was ordered to be burnt but was saved by some Christians who sent it off on a boat headed for Africa such that it could be fittingly buried. The boat hit a massive storm in the Mediterranean and apparently a white dove flew from within her corpse body and guided the boat to safety on the Monaco shore. The white dove was assumed to be her spirit and confirmation that she was a saint.

So, the fisherman that found her built a church in which to bury her, which was has been maintained and enhanced by various benefactors over the centuries and which was restored and renovated after being damaged by bombings in the Second World War. She also gets a celebration day on 27 January, which is a massive deal for the Monegasque and involves the Prince setting a boat alight in the harbour in commemoration.

Sounds like a tall story. And like travelling with a white dove might be a good back up plan if you don’t have medical insurance.

Lily deposited us at the local market with information on local delicacies and which stalls were best for what. Armed with that knowledge, we entered the market and bee-lined for the Barbagiuans. Little pastry pockets with finely chopped chard, rice, egg, cheese and ham. Very nice, but only tickled the appetite so we followed with socca, which is a sort of crepe made from chickpea. Nice enough, but a bit boring. So we rounded off with a massive tuna baguette to share, to ensure we had enough sustenance to see us through the afternoon.

The tour then took us up to the palace, where the flag was up indicating the Royals were in town. This palace has been the Grimaldi homestead since Francesco Grimaldi seized it in the 13th century after he led a sneaky mission to infiltrate the previous owners by having himself and his band of merry men dress as monks, knowing that the deeply Catholic residents would open up and welcome them in. They were given food, shelter and ultimately the keys to the kingdom, when they slayed the previous owners and declared it Grimaldi Palace. Not quite the romanticism of a white dove, but effective nonetheless.

Also possibly why most of the stories focus on the more recent Royals. The fairytale story of Rainier and the aptly-named Grace, his Hollywood Princess, and her tragic untimely death after a car accident with her daughter, Stephanie.

And Albert and his African bride, who he met at the Olympics and with whom he has twins, providing an heir prince to take over the throne after him. Although, with Prince Rainier having reigned for 56 years, perhaps little Jacques has quite a ways to go before that becomes a thing for him to have to do.

We got the most wonderful panoramic pictures from the palace, as a perfect vantage point. Being such a small country, it’s possible to see France in both directions and even Italy in the distance because it’s so close to the border.

Our tour concluded at the Oceanographic Museum. Since our train tickets were open, we didn’t need to return with the group, and we were motivated to see all there was to see. Lily was kind enough to get a city map out to help us to plan the rest of our afternoon’s solo adventuring.

We decided to walk back to the beach, which we figured must be perfect seeing as it was constructed as part of a land reclamation project.

We took an alternate route to the one we’d walked up, right down along the water at the harbour. Those yachts are even more impressive up close. And so few occupied. It’s unfathomable how it makes sense to spend so much buying and maintaining these boats, let alone docking them in Monaco, which must cost a fortune.

The path also took us through the Japanese Gardens; a very Zen and lush little enclave, with beautifully manicured beds and a pond with bridges on which tourists were posing.

Not far beyond was the beach. We bought our way into a private section, investing in a small granita (glorified Slush Puppy) in return for the lounger and shade, which was welcomed after spending all day in the sun.

Ready to return, we walked up through the shopping district, which meant we had seen most of Monaco in our day trip!

While Monaco is very opulent and impressive, its limited size and positioning within the bowl of mountain make it feel more like Hong Kong than France. Nice for a day, but nicer to be returning to Nice.

Travelogue French Riviera 3: Antibes

ANTIBES

19 June 2019

Where we were staying, Juan Les Pins, was essentially the beach suburb of one of the famous towns on the Cote d’Azur, Antibes.

We’d left our city tour of Antibes until the last day since it was up the coast toward Nice so we figured it would be the first hop of the next stage in our roadtrip which was to take us in that direction.

Since in real-life Antibes was less than 2km away and we were so close to the station, it now made more sense to take the one stop on the train rather than battle (and pay through the nose) for parking in Antibes.

We navigated the train service easily – even managing to grab a curry poulet baguette at the legendary Juan Les Pins train station coffee shop in the process – and were soon (really really soon) stepping into the Antibes sunshine and making our way down to the Place Charles De Gaulle for the walking tour we’d booked.

Our guide, Cederic, was already there along with 2 other tourists, a Mom and daughter combo from Norwich. Minutes later we were joined by a student from Colombia and a woman from Las Vegas who was already flustered from leaving her sunglasses in her Uber. With her dramatic entrance and so very American accent, if this was an Agatha Christie murder mystery character intro, you just know Hercule Poirot would discount her immediately for falling short on the requirements for strategic villainy.

Cederic was born and raised in Antibes and it was clear that his love for his home town ran deeply and sincerely. He shared enthusiastically the long history of the own from its formation in 5C BC – then called Antipolis the Greek for “facing the town” – and its historical significance in production of wine, ceramics and oil.

Nice was in the neighbouring Kingdom of Savoy and Antibes was the door to France and the military town protecting her border. Until 1860 when the border moved up to Menton, which gave relief to Antibes and allowed removal of the landside walls so that the now-cramped city could expand, including the addition of the seaside suburb of Juan Les Pins.

Cederic delighted in sharing with us the old-world mysticism and magic. First at the Chapelle Saint Bernardin with its unusual fully painted ceilings and walls, gallery, and massive wooden door that inexplicably wasn’t damaged in a fire that burns most of the church to the ground.

We wound through the old town and he marvelled at the regeneration of old town, the creation of pedestrian-only areas, commitment to artisanal shops and refusal of chain stores of any sort and the recreation of the town’s old bandstand that would serve as the social meeting point it had in day’s gone by.

His favourite part of the tour was an Absinthe store which had a vintage display in the window that he used to explain how the locals used to drink wine almost exclusively because of so much bacteria in the water. And then, when a bad crop made wine too expensive, they turned to absinthe!

Absinthe, when prepared in the traditional manner, is served as 2cl in bottom of tumbler, with a slotted teaspoon over the top of the glass through which cold water is dropped until all the sugar is melted; the perfect ratio being about 5:1.

We sampled and it was indeed really refreshing – and not as manic as some of the crazy absinthe we’ve sampled elsewhere in Europe. Van Gogh was notoriously a big fan of the stuff… but he mixed using cognac instead of water, so it’s no wonder he went crackers. And he and his Bohemian friends ruined the fun for everyone, since absinthe got banned based on reputation, in the early 1900s.

Left with some ‘free time’ to wander around the fruit and veg Marché, we sampled with reckless abandon, appreciating the French’s ability to cure meat and mature cheese, wondering why there wasn’t representation of wine ‘degustation’ from a nation that had visibly displayed no need for planes to fly overhead for daily indulgences to be partaken.

Apparently the Marché is all edibles in the morning and then arts and crafts in the afternoon, blending in live music as the sun goes down. It all sounds quite lively, as Cederic described it – and ultimately culminated as the best evening experience in Antibes, the piano lounge under the Absinthe place we’d been at earlier. Only open on weekends, the lounge is allegedly unmissable.

It was impossible to miss the artistic influence in Antibes. Picasso moved to Antibes, bought the Grimaldi Chateau as his residence and workshop and produced countless works of art there and it remains today a museum dedicated to the legendary artist.

Understandably. The setting is picture perfect, as we moved from quaint narrow and winding ancient roads, adorned with draping grapevines and curtains of Bougainvillea, onto the seafront with the stark contrast of green to blue, from the natural tones of yesteryear to modern shiny yachts. All inspirational in their own way.

We walked along the seafront to the marina and then parted ways with the group, us finding our way back up the hill to the train station to head back to Juan Les Pins to claim our car and conclude our roadtrip.