Around The World: Post Script

On January 16, 2024January 16, 2024 By Sharon TickleIn Travel4 Comments

Our decision to return home early proved fortuitous on three fronts. My actual dagnosis of Shingles was confirmed by my GP on arrival.

There never was any colitis – it was all neuralgia pain from an intercostal nerve. The blisters that eventually tracked from my spine to my belly button were and still are spectacular. I should have had more pisco sours and delicious Chilean wine to dull the pain!

Of course it was too late to treat with an anti-viral medication (that ameliorates but does not cure) however a course of prednisone has helped manage the pain and burning of the lesions.

Added to that Stuart’s dry cough, which he thought was caused by crumbs in his throat, was actually covid19. That first symptom appeared at Santiago Airport and by the time we arrived home – a 46 hour journey – he had full blown respiratory covid and therefore went straight into isolation at home. I tested negative and remained so. He has made a full recovery under my excellent care. We would have had to cancel all our Mendoza excursions.

Finally, we watched in dismay as Argentina’s new anarcho-capitalist President deregulated the currency such that it devalued by 50 per cent, instituted cutbacks and imposed austerity measures causing mass protests. We were glad not to be in Argentina at such a time.

We delayed our 43rd wedding anniversary celebration a week so that we could actually sit down for a meal at the same table.

What I learned from this travel experience is that patients need firm, informed health advocates. The pain made me too quick to accept what the four doctors I saw said (Costa Rica paramedic, Chile A&E x2, and a telemedicine video-call to a GP in Australia). Not one of them actually did a full examination or history. If they had asked me to lift my shirt and turn around they would likely have seen the beginnings of the lesions near my spine. Shingles is frequently misdiagnosed, so much so it should be top of a physician’s mind.

Case in point: I was so distracted by discomfort on the day Stuart did his big excursion that I mistakenly dosed myself with eye drops instead of the colitis medication! Only realised when I had emptied the bottle….

Of course we have not been put off travel. On the contrary, now that the holidays are over we are in the thick of planning Euro 2024 starting in Edinburgh in early February!

We had family stay from Xmas well into the New Year – huge fun had by all.

Around The World Part Five: Patagonia

On December 19, 2023December 19, 2023 By Sharon TickleIn Patagonia, Travel1 Comment

By Stuart Elliott

Ever since I saw a Michael Palin documentary of his train journey through mountainous areas of South America, I have wanted to emulate his amazing adventures. Back in 2013 we motorcycled sections of the Pan American Highway and up into the Peruvian Andes on dirt roads. That week- long trip only whetted my appetite. Ever since I have wanted to return to ride through Patagonia.

Much talk, but no action later, and fleeting contact on a motorcycle 6 months ago with an out of control truck in the Italian Alps, life has moved on. The great two week 2000 km Patagonia motorcycle adventure morphed into a five night stay at Weskar Lodge in Puerto Natales in Chile with a series of tours by mini van, boat and foot.

Intrepid Pan American tourers staying at our lodge.

Dogs chasing bikes are one of the biggest hazards.

Day 1 saw us exploring downtown Puerto Natales; a small town on the edge of the Fjord Ultima Esperanza (Fjord of Last Hope). Some Iberian explorer dude, (Editor’s note: Magellan – Stuart is too dismissive) a couple of centuries ago, was hoping to open up a trade route by finding a passage to avoid sailing around Cape Horn. He anticipated a mutiny if he failed to find the passage. This was his last hope! He failed, but fortunately for him did find it soon after, narrowly avoiding going for his ultimo short walk on a plank and a cold swim.

The town exists on tourism, and whilst the view across the fjord is pretty, the town is not particularly so; consisting of old very draughty looking wood and fibro structures mixed in with higher tech modern constructions. A kind of Wild West town meets Norwegian fishing village.

Next day Sharon continued to be unwell, it’s blowing a gale, cold and the only tour option, we are not already booked on, is horse riding. Sharon is allergic to nags so we opt to rest and visit the pharmacy again.

Day 3 starts at 04.30 with a visit to the local recently built hospital emergency department. Blood tests are required but not until after our tour to the Torres del Paine Park is due to start. Sadly Sharon opts to stay, revisit the hospital and walk to the super expensive Singular Hotel, which looks like a converted factory, which is not surprising because that’s what it was, and nothing has changed externally. Inside it has become luxe with a minimum stay of 3 nights full board costing US$3600.

I do the tour by van and foot, accompanied by the lovely and very well educated women, M and A from San Francisco who were Stamford University colleagues until A retired. Esplendido! We listened attentively to our well-informed and entertaining guide, Simon, for ten hours and fifteen minutes. I manage to recall about one percent of his discourse. Apparently the average is ten percent. That would be right. Hence lots of photos follow with few captions. Highlights were…
-3 condors on a distant peak. -Herd of running guanaco. -Sundry birds of prey.
-The towers of Torres del Paine. -The Lago Gray waterfall.
-The caves, Cueva del Milodon, 200 m deep, 80 wide and 20 high with artefacts from 10k years ago.
-The blue iceberg floating in the Lago Gray.

Torres del Pain tour plus Milodon Cave and Extinct Giant sloth.

I consumed Sharon’s untouched packed lunch for dinner. It’s been two days since she last ate. The hotel bar is doing a roaring trade in Sprite, and mint tea to keep up her blood sugar level.

Weskar Lodge is an easy 1.5k walk into town. Comfy, great views and caring staff. Room 23 is a good one.

Much time then spent working out how to cancel our Mendoza trip to return home early.

The following day Sharon was determined to not miss out, so despite the piercing pain in her abdomen, and with a hot water bottle strapped to her stomach, we both motor sailed up the last hope fjord in search of a glacier in Bernardo O’Higgins Park. We were well rewarded. Balmaceda Glacier was clearly visible from the boat. Then, after a short walk from a jetty we ended up 150 m or so from the tongue of hanging Serrano Glacier. Whilst admiring the beauty of the delicate local flora there was a sudden almighty cracking noise as a part of the glacier shifted into a more comfortable position. This happened twice within a few minutes.

May 21 Tour Company’s Steel Motor Catamaran day trip up the Last Hope Fiord. The ice in the whisky is glacial of course!

A four course lunch accompanied by Chilean wine (soup and water for Sharon) was enjoyed at Estancia Perales followed by a short cruise home.

The next day we awoke to a wind free blue sky day but medical issues and slothfulness ensured that we aborted the planned eight hour trek up to the base of the Torres del Paines. Instead we strolled into town for yet another visit to the pharmacist, Colona tea room and an excellent lunch (soup again for Sharon) at Santollo Restaurant. Later we had a delightful and chatty final dinner with Merger and Aquisitions. Hopefully one or both of these interesting women will visit us in Broken Head.

Colona Tea Room, Wild Cafe and Santolla are all recommended plus a typical Puerto Natales free range dog on the highway.

We departed the following morning into a clear blue sky hoping this would not be our ultima vieja to this beautiful part of our world.

The start of the slow journey home. Bit pi$$ed off as they took our hand luggage and put in the hold because the first lot of passengers had too much stuff!

PS This is the final blog of this trip. I would like to put on the record how grateful I am that Stuart really stepped up to help me when I was in pain. As I am sure many of you know, pain can be overwhelming. It leaves little to no room for anything else. My condition was actually colitis caused by Shingles, the rash only appeared later. Being vaccinated clearly does not stop the virus popping out again if you have had Chickenpox. Clearly I got overstressed at some point in the journey.

Around The World Part Three: San José, Costa Rica

On December 9, 2023December 16, 2023 By Sharon TickleIn Costa Rica, San José, Travel5 Comments

Never write drunk. That’s a rule I set myself in 2011 and I’ve stuck to it ‘til now, but as we seem to be addicted to Costa Rica’s Imperial beer there are few meals not accompanied by an alcoholic beverage. Don’t panic, I won’t publish pi$$ed. One round of two-for-one happy hour mojitos tonight was my limit. Hemmingway would scoff!

We’re close to the end of our Costa Rica ‘taster’ tour which is well worth celebrating. Let’s go back ten days to where it started, San José.

As an introduction to Central American travel we are now spoilt for life. The San José international airport is new, clean and efficient. Large video screens remind visitors of local laws prohibiting selfies with animals. Public toilets are spotless and whilst drivers tend to the Italian style we only witnessed two minor bingles. Oh, and you can drink the water straight from the tap!

Our airport metered taxi ride got stuck in traffic so it was a slow trip to La Sabana Hotel and Suites close to La Sabana green space but usually it’s less than thirty minutes.

La Sabana Hotel and Suites is a little pearl of a family-owned budget hotel run on the simple premise of ‘the customer comes first’. All staff, apart from the pool guy, are women and seem to have permanent smiles on their faces. We never found any hotel in Costa Rica that came close to La Sabana for amenities and service.

Xmas decorations were already up December 1.

We had two nights before we joined our G Adventures tour group in another hotel (which shall be nameless) a block away. Ample time to see some of the top sights of San José starting with the Central Market.

Of the many markets I have visited none has quite the odd jumble of vendors in narrow alleys as this one. Fresh flowers next to a pet/animal shop with cages of tiny brown mice, guinea pigs, rabbits etc….next to a fresh meat stall next to a souvenir stall.

Security staff seemed to be stationed at every corner and most were actually not looking at their phones.

We stopped at one of several cafes for our second excellent Costa Rican coffee of the day and watched familes tucking into brunch and fancy fruit smoothies.

This cafe had customers queued around the block.

The National Theatre of Costa Rica is a piece of architecture Costa Ricans are rightfully proud of. We bought a ticket on site for the first tour of the day which was led by actor-tour guide Andrés.

With his movie star looks and toned physique Andrés should have been starring in a telenovela instead of educating English-speaking tourists.

Built during 1891 – 1897 when the country’s population was only 20,000 to plans by an Italian architect and overseen by an Italian engineer, this neo-classical style 1,140 seat theatre has been the venue of most of the significant cultural and political moments in Costa Rica’s modern history. It is the main venue for ballet, classical music and visiting dignitaries and every new President of Costa Rica celebrates their election there.

It houses the most marble classical statues and gold leaf roccoco relief features I have seen since Vienna.

The Alma Cafe inside the foyer is open to the public and serves home-grown traditional drip coffee. Stuart recommends their pecan tart.

Costa Rica’s National Art Museum is housed in the repurposed original airport buildings. It has free entry to its two floors of exibits.

The permanent exhibit by Adrián Arguedas Ruano is not to my taste, but the temporary exhibit of Flora Saénz Langlois’ fantastical feminised, lush nature paintings were interesting. Her work has the flavour of a ‘happy Frida’.

Now it was time to leave the sophistication of San José and join the 14 other ‘Costa Rica Quest’ travellers to head north in search of the country’s famous wildlife and natural beauty.

Iberika restaurant across the road from La Sabana serves delicious Spanish tapas and raciones.

We were fascinated with the electrical and telecomms wiring.

Mountain Highs in Queenstown and Arrowtown, New Zealand

On April 25, 2023April 25, 2023 By Sharon TickleIn New Zealand2 Comments

We bookended our Alps to Ocean cycle tour with two nights in Queenstown and three in Arrowtown.

Stuart planned this entire trip starting from the premise that we had frequent flyer points about to expire. New Zealand was presented as one of the few destination options. Oh, and by the way, a cycling buddy did this amazing off road tour in the south island….

He softened me up by booking luxe accommodation in the hope that I would be less cranky when the going got tough on the bike. It worked.

Hilton Resort and Spa on Lake Wakatipu at quiet Frankton is a water taxi ride from the buzz of Queenstown.

Lakefront of the Hilton with a great view of planes taking off!

We spent our free full day hiking the Tiki Trail to the summit of the gondola ride then down again marveling at kamikaze downhill MTBers and laissez faire parents letting tiny drivers loose on the luge run. Oh, and I nearly forgot the tandem paragliders leaping off the summit. So many ways to maim or kill yourself!

The paraglider is the tiny orange crescent.

View from the deck of the gondola station

Queenstown was pumping with international tourists, a strong bounce back from the pandemic.

The pub in the Hilton had an impressive display of skis but none as historic as Stuart’s first pair with their leather straps!

Arrowtown felt like a just reward after the rigours of nearly a week in the saddle. Here Stuart went all out with an accomodation and F&B package at Millbrook Resort. Known for hosting PGA tournaments, the sprawling resort sits in a stunning location on the outskirts of town.

Privately owned by several generations of a wealthy Japanese family, the culinary highlight was dinner at their Kobe Restaurant (once we had been reseated away from the grill bench where the chef was continuously frying hunks of steak).

Our apartment had an unimpeded view of the Remarkables and golfers wading through the rough looking for errant balls.

Same view with a powdering of overnight snow.

Swapping wheels for putting one foot in front of the other we hiked the Sawpit Gully Trail and part of Big Hill.

Autumn colours were at their peak

Our stay coincided with the Mora Autumn Festival offering everything from rubber duckie races to live music events.

We were very content to lunch on our balcony, swim, take a yoga class and soak in an outdoor hot tub.

Since we couldn’t fly back to Brisbane directly from Queenstown (I told you it was busy) we’re overnighting in Christchurch. Somehow I don’t think it will be long before Stuart mounts another argument for a trip to the land of the long white cloud once those FF points build up again.

Next time though Stuart will remember to apply for permission to enter New Zealand BEFORE he tries to check in at the airport. The mad scramble that ensued was no fun for anyone. Only the kindness of Qantas staff saved him from the ignominy of being left behind while I did this trip solo. His actual electronic approval only arrived on day three after arrival. Either that or he finally gets an Australian passport!

Alps To Ocean (A2O) Mountain Bike Tour, Otago and Canterbury, New Zealand.

On April 24, 2023April 24, 2023 By Sharon TickleIn Mountain Biking, New Zealand, Uncategorized3 Comments

The irony of the situation is not lost on me. I’m stationary in a van towing a trailer in a very long queue of traffic on the Mt Cook to Queenstown road. The driver and I have just been advised that the single vehicle traffic accident up ahead could take another two hours to clear as they need a second helicopter to airlift injured people to Christchurch Hospital and we still have thirty minutes more to reach a remote alpine station to overnight. And if we don’t make the salmon pickup there will be no fish for dinner!

Where, you might ask, are my eight companions on this six-day mountain bike tour? After the initial 8km track from Aoraki Mt Cook Village to an airfield they took off by helicopter to cross the Tasman River and continue on the A2O track while Gary (driver/guide/cook/bottle washer/trouble shooter extraordinaire) and I drove the long way round.

I’ve done my share of helicopter flights and have no intention of taking any more if given the choice, so when presented with the itinerary fait accompli by the instigator of this trip – Stuart – I opted for what appeared to be the safer route.

I learn later that the flipped and pancaked camper van up the slope on the wrong side of the road produced one critical and one seriously injured patient whose subsequent conditions were not reported. This was the second campervan accident in this region within 24 hours. The first produced three fatalities.

All of my fellow travellers and the e-bikes (airlifted in a crate by cable) made it without incident to Braemar Station except for one rider who took an inadvertent ice melt bath during a creek crossing.

The heli drop point with Aoraki Mt Cook in the background

Admittedly they were accompanied by young Mick, the extra support rider injected into the tour for the tricky bits. Mick is a star MTB-er and mechanic with a calm manner, an ideal man for the job.

I subsequently saw the aftermath of two more catastrophic road accidents cementing my opinion that country New Zealand is a dangerous place to drive!

View from our cottage at Braemar Station

But back to the cycle tour.

New Zealand’s longest and arguably most varied of the Great Rides at 310km, the A2O is well established with good signage and facilities along the way. The Great Rides app is an excellent resource if you don’t have the support of a local company like Escape By Cycle doing the transfers and managing luggage, meals and all the logistics.

Our group completed the route with five overnight stops.

As far as degree of difficulty goes, the tracks are mostly graded 2 and 3 and wonderfully scenic, but there are sections that can challenge all but the very experienced off road rider. Deep gravel, sand, rocky steep uphills, and down, blind corners, wet leaf litter, corrugations, pebbly stream crossings, sharp zigzags, and single track with steep drop offs are some of them.

Thankfully the sections on sealed roads were all on quiet roads and everyone wore high vis gear.

Worst for me were the cyclists riding the wrong way round. It’s in the title – ‘Alps to Ocean’ with an overall drop of 750 metres. Why would people choose to ride uphill? It’s like sailing against the Tradewinds when circumnavigating. Bloody minded. But that’s what some organised groups and individuals do. I had several close encounters on the vertigo inducing single track Lake Benmore section that nearly literally tipped me over the edge.

Weather is another big factor in the enjoyment of any ride. Ours was the final ride of the season and we were lucky to have mostly still, sunny late April autumn weather. Some mornings started cool (5 degrees C) and foggy, however by our morning coffee stop (supplied by Gary) we were peeling off layers. By lunch it was up to 18 degrees C. Snow is forecast for next week!

Aslan’s Camp on the right as seen in ‘Lord of the Rings’

Our other good fortune was in the composition of our group of Aussies and Kiwis (with German, French and English nationalities included). We were four married couples and a solo man aged from 60 to 71 with fitness levels ranging from weekend cyclist to super cycle fit. Still, no one was left behind and everyone was encouraging and supportive.

Accommodation was good quality. Dinner was either catered in-house (produced by hosts or by Gary and Mick at Braemar) or Gary drove us to a nearby restaurant.

Highlights were the in-room washer-drier machines mid-week at Sierra Motel (we worked up quite a sweat despite our power boosters), the wood-fired hot tubs at Omarama and wine tasting on the deck of the River T winery at Kurow overlooking the vines.

I may forget parts of the ride, but I will never forget the smart, strong and funny Kiwi hostesses we met. Tania who runs the Pink Glider Diner near Omarama should have her own youtube comedy channel. Her gag involving a pillow and clingfilm is not rated for this blog so I can’t repeat it but it left me in stitches. Similarly, Kate at Waitaki Braids Hotel in Kurnow and Blanche at The Old School in Enfield demonstrated the plucky South Island spirit that has enabled them to establish and run successful businesses through trying times.

Freshly baked scones for our morning coffee provided by Kate

I’ll leave the last words to Stuart who is never short of something to say.

Guest Blogger, Stuart Elliott:

But not with such eloquence! My highlights had nothing to do with washing machines.

The scenery.

The self satisfaction of reaching the end of each day’s ride hot, tired, but in one piece.

The exhilaration of fast, sometimes stupidly fast, descents on rocky single tracks with everything rattling and shaking including my teeth.

I would do it again, but only if guaranteed good weather! Any takers?

Coral Princess Cruising: Tickle Family Style

On August 5, 2022August 5, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Travel4 Comments

In my eleven years of travel blogging I’ve never had an experience quite like this.

My priority readership is my parents, especially Mum, who enjoys keeping track of my adventures via print and photos. This time, however, I’m the third wheel, accompanying Mum and Dad on their holiday, cruising the Queensland coast on the good ship Coral Princess.

My parents embraced cruising holidays twenty years ago, first on smaller European river cruises then on larger vessels around the Pacific, so much so that they are platinum level members of Carnival’s Princess cruising program. They even took a container ship from Brisbane to Kobe, Japan, when they visited us in 1990.

Now aged 92 and 93 respectively, they see no reason to stop. For my father especially, life is best lived on the water. He’s a third generation boating man, i.e. men who built their own boats. His father and grandfather built as per tradition in wood. Dad built his hull in ferro-cement. Only ocasional medical episodes and the COVID19 pandemic have interfered with Mum and Dad’s enjoyment of messing about on the ocean.

This time however, the media hype around the rate of COVID19 infections on the exact same cruise the previous week to the one they’d booked gave them pause. Quadruple covid-vaccinated though they are, they dreaded spending a week locked in a cabin because they’d caught covid.

One week before the cruise I suggested that if I came too we could perhaps manage the covid risks a bit better together. They enthusiastically agreed, especially as it meant they would get to see family in Cairns. I waited until 48 hours before embarkation to pay for my cabin opposite theirs to ensure we were all well enough to proceed (I had just been in Melbourne caring for our son Cam and his family who were all ill with COVID19).

The ship still had plenty of inside cabins available. Guests numbered only 1300, well below capacity, which is 2000.

For this to work, and to meet the cruise contract requirement, we all had to test negative to COVID19 within 24 hours of embarkation. Thankfully we all did.

The Coral Princess moored off Port Douglas

Our weeklong circular itinerary took us from Brisbane northwards stopping in at Airlie Beach (southern gateway to the Whitsunday Isles and the Great Barrier Reef), up to Cairns (to spend the day with my sister Jo and her daughter Jess and family), then on to Port Douglas (the marina is home port for some stunning yachts, real eye candy for us!), followed by a circumnavigation of the weather station on tiny Willis Island (which is in in international waters allowing the ship to sell goods and alcohol duty free), and finally a rhumb line straight back to the port of Brisbane.

Ship’s chart of our voyage with way points

Airlie Beach marina – great for lap swimming

Dad wanted to ride the Cairns Eye, so we did!

Leaving Cairns Inlet – pilot’s vessel in foreground

It’s day 6 and I’m writing this in the ship’s quiet library, level eight starboard forward, in a comfy chair with a panoramic view of blue on blue, Willis Island in our wake. We’ve had mixed weather, but nothing to interfere with going ashore, or our enjoyment of the ship’s amenities.

Mum and Dad have a well honed routine that involves leisurely dining, reading, sudoku, crosswords, cards, movies, a daily nap and much time spent on their balcony island-spotting and watching for wildlife in air and sea. On day two Mum sighted whales off the starboard bow. Two young whales entertained us with much fluke slapping. Off Willis hundreds of gannets, gulls and other sea birds wheeled noisily around the ship. Large pods of dolphins visit to play in our bow wave.

The table service dining room food was generally very good – Dad’s seafood dish

I’ve been busy joining dance classes (line dancing and zumba), indoor cycling and walking and swimming, watching the evening live shows, as well as working my way through a long list of movies.

The final night show ‘Bayou’ took us to Louisiana

Staff make or break the cruising experience. Eight hundred crew tend to this ship and our needs and desires. All are polite and professional, however the restaurant staff are exceptional.

Kindness personified, our regular dinner waiter, Roy, from the Philippines, addresses my parents as Sir Don and Lady Margaret and sprints to pull their chairs back for them to sit down and to stand.

The restaurant manager, Hector, from Mexico, turns the kitchen inside out to produce interesting vegan meals for me, and serenaded us one evening with his favourite Whitney Houston power ballad, “Iiiiiii, will always love youuuuuuu”. His great grandfather was an opera singer. Hector’s got chops!

What have I discovered about my parents that I didn’t know before?

Funny little insights, like the fact that in any situation where Mum isn’t sure which way she should turn, she’ll always turn right. And keep turning right…..And that Dad had never ever had a martini before this cruise. This was quickly rectified. He ordered,”The 007, shaken, not stirred”.

Cocktail hour and meals give us the opportunity to wander down memory lane. I’ve heard hilarious and heartbreaking anecdotes about their lives and those of relatives, close friends and ancestors, none of which I can repeat here. I’ll keep them as family treasures.

Overwhelmingly this week confirmed to me that my parents’ ability to find humour in almost every situation and to never dwell on the things that don’t go quite the way you expect or hope they will, is truly admirable.

On the flip side, two things they aren’t ready to tolerate are; relinquishing their independence and the ability to move under their own steam, no matter how much of a struggle that is at times, or how long it takes. We should all be so courageous.

It’s cocktail o’clock and I’ve promised to hand this draft over to Mum for her editing so here goes!

Editor, Margaret says, “We are so pleased she is here. Especially as we sit here in Crooners’ Bar, Don with his Mai Tai and Sharon with her 007!” (Margaret is on ice water!)

PS I have to confess to a small hiccup in my cruise planning. With access to our digital profiles pre-cruise I thought it would be nice for Mum and Dad to ‘celebrate’ their wedding anniversary during the cruise as we haven’t been able to do that as a family since their 60th and they’ve now chalked up 68 years of marriage – last April 24th. A lifetime achievement if ever there was one!

I registered their ‘anniversary’ for the sunday of the cruise and expected they’d enjoy a low key surprise at dinner, a special dessert maybe and a staff rendition of ‘Happy Anniversary’?

Nada, nothing happened. Of course they had no idea, but I was disappointed for them and enquired at guest services next morning. Someone jn the restaurant had dropped the ball, profuse apologies all round.

Still, I reasoned, Mum and Dad don’t know so no harm done.

Next night we went to dinner as usual and everyone, from the maitre d’ to our server, apologised grovellingly for forgetting their special day and were full of ideas for making it up to them. Mum and Dad caught on fast and begrudgingly accepted dinner and drinks at the la di da specialty restaurant, Sabatini, which had previously refused them a booking, citing overbooking for the duration of the cruise.

I assume we’ve now sorted the anniversary stuff, but when they return to their room after dinner, the bed is covered in rose petals and there are a pair of kissing swans (made of white bath towels) on each of their twin beds. Mother is mortified by the rose petals, less so by the swans….

I wasn’t allowed to photograph the rose petals 🤣

Right, I think that really must be it. BUT, next morning in the lifts the digital poster reads ‘Happy Anniversary Margaret and Don”. All we can do is laugh and hope nothing untoward happens at Sabatini’s. Thankfully we get off lightly with a special chocolate dessert and no singing. Whew!

Beware good intentions.

PPS Mum and Dad wanted to note here how diligent fellow passengers and crew were about COVID protocols – 99% of people wore masks correctly and hand hygiene was phenomenal. We are so grateful.

Postscript to our 14-week Plague Journey: Coming Home

On April 4, 2022April 4, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Travel, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Lest you think we’ve been sprinkled with pixie dust such that nothing goes wrong, our return trip should set your mind at rest.

Taxi to Waverley Station, Edinburgh, then train to Manchester. So far so good. I bought express passes to fast track us through the airport security line for carry-on and body scan security checks as local news reported up to six hour delays at Manchester Airport. This tactic was a waste of money as A) a business class ticket affords you that perk anyway and B) there was no great queue to enter the security check. The queue was the other side of the body scan. Every single tray of check in items was being diverted by a very zealous young woman for further inspection. We were three deep with no social distancing waiting to be quizzed on the contents of our bags. My sin – did you know shoe polish in a tin is a liquid? (Ok, you are wondering why I need shoe polish on board, well it lives in my backpack since my black ankle boots are on high rotation with my sneakers and I cannot abide dirty boots).

By the time I was released (Stuart had been rechecked earlier for absolutely nothing at all) I was a glass of champagne behind him. Since the flight was delayed thirty minutes, because so many passengers were still in the security area, I managed to catch up.

On board glass of champagne to toast Dan Steven’s virtuoso performance in ‘I’m Your Man’ – my second viewing.

Dubai was a $hitshow as we now had a tight connection. An Emirates staffer gathered up the Sydney passengers and frog marched us on a short cut to the gate (what happened to the elderly and families with small children?).

On board we readied ourselves for departure which didn’t come. Finally an announcement by the captain. There is an issue with two pump indicators that the crew cannot rectify. We must wait for engineers to come on boad to try to fix them. Sigh of relief it’s finally fixed, but we are now an hour late leaving.

As we approach Sydney Airport a rain squall hits and we enter a holding pattern in the hope that it passes by. The captain decides to go for it as we are close to the 11:30pm curfew for Sydney Airport, but 150 metres from touchdown (I got this detail from a nerdy fellow passenger later) he aborts the landing as a strong wind gust lifts the tail threatening land us nose first.

Stuart accurately predicts – we are going to Melbourne. We land at 1am.

There follows a long and tedious process of baggage collection, customs and immigration and queuing to be allocated a hotel room downtown for the night. As we have experienced before with Emirates, there is no effort to triage passengers according to need. The priority passengers are first class and business. They hadn’t even started allocating economy passengers (whose line was all the way back to the escalator) by the time we were heading to our taxi at 2:30am.

I saw parents desperately trying to get babies to sleep walking around the terminal and exhausted elderly and infirm standing in a queue with the prospect of getting to their room at dawn.

We are all promised Emirates will fly us to Sydney at 9pm the next evening. Since we will therefore miss our scheduled flight Sydney-Ballina it’s of no use to us. Instead we call our son and daughter-in-law in Melbourne when we wake and arrange to stay with them for two nights of hide and seek, trampolining and bedtime stories with our granddaughters.

I also managed a quick lunch with my hotshot ABC national radio producer sister, Maria Tickle.

I rebooked our Ballina flight because it appeared, despite the local flooding, that the airport was operating, however the night before I got a text message cancelling it due to ‘weather’.

Ballina flooding had receded by the time we got home but Lake Ainsworth is over the path

Using Jetstar’s instant messaging service I rerouted us to Gold Coast Airport. Thus a taxi, one more flight, a bus and a taxi got us home to Gypsy Hill in only seven and a half hours, the same time it takes to fly to Singapore 😂.

Early morning Gypsy Hill

The point I want to make in recounting this is that many people have said how intrepid we were to have embarked on such a long trip at this point in the pandemic. In fact, at no time did the pandemic affect our travel plans. Bad weather, equipment failure and human mismanagement – the bugbears of travellers since time immemorial – caused our only setbacks.

So dear friends and family, dust off your passports and your luggage, pack your patience and shine your boots. It’s time to travel again!

Plague Journey Part 14: Farewell to Scotland

On March 27, 2022March 27, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Edinburgh, Scotland, St Andrews2 Comments

Week 13, our final week in Europe has arrived. This is (hopefully) the last instalment of the Plague Travel Journal 2021-2022.

My 66th birthday was earlier this week. My gift to myself, with the cooperation of Tristan and Jenny, was a family weekend away in St Andrews. Two nights at the Fairmont Hotel proved perfectly relaxing for both big and little people; Scottish spring sunshine, beaches, eating out, heated indoor swimming pool and a vast buffet breakfast (Ms E couldn’t believe she could go back as many times as she liked to choose her own food). We were surrounded by golf courses but none of us golf.

Looking back at St Andrews from the beach by the sailing club

The beach at Elie was endlessly diverting

When the maître d’ on duty at breakfast, Luis from Malaga, saw two birthday cards on our table he asked whose birthday it was. Next minute he was back carrying a cupcake with a candle in it and another larger candle in a glass which he placed in front of me. He pulled out a lighter and lit the larger candle, a firework. It immediately shot flames a foot high and burned for twenty seconds. I just had time to grab the cards before they caught fire. I was impressed that Ms E didn’t scream and dive under the table.

Glasgow’s famous son featured in the hotel art (still waiting to find out the artist’s name)

The only tiny disappointment on the weekend was England losing to France in the Six Nations Rugby tournament (despite recent performances Stuart had high hopes of a win).

Another highlight of this final stint in Scotland was three nights in South Queensferry walking the coast through the Dalmeny Estate and a train trip to Kirkcaldy with a walk back over the Firth of Forth 1964 bridge. The small Kirkcaldy gallery had some interesting modernist pieces.

View from South Queensferry coastal path

Dan Mach’s coathanger sculpture of his father

Portrait of Malcolm Robertson by Ian D Wilkie

The rest of this week we’ve been staying in a serviced apartment, named after straw hatmaker Mrs Lumsden, beside the Palace of Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, and opposite Parliament House. The Physic Garden, full of medicinal plants abuts the entry. Stuart booked this accommodation. As usual his budget is well above mine. It’s a fifteen minute walk to Tristan and Jenny’s flat whence they have relocated while their house renovation is under way.

The complex of nine apartments, called Abbey Strand Residences, is part of the Cheval Group. As it was built 500 years ago as courtiers’ residences I wondered if it might still be part of Queen Elizabeth II’s estate. It’s rather opaque but it appears the freehold is owned by the Crown, however it has been leased. Judging from the publicly available corporate information it is currently in the hospitality portfolio of the ruler of the Emirate of Dubai.

Stuart stretching outside while waiting for Tris to collect us. A passerby called out ‘Are you OK friend?’ thinking he was on the verge of collapsing. 😂

Abbey Strand Apartments from the Physic Garden

Interestingly the receptionist, Peter from Hungary, is also the concierge and housekeeper. How he manages all these roles is a marvel of time management. Peter is always immaculate and unflappable even after cleaning nine apartments.

In researching the building I discovered the meaning behind the brass S embedded as a kind of marker amongst the cobbles of Abbey Strand. The S stands for sanctuary.

When Holyrood was a functioning abbey (the abbey ruins are behind the current palace building) debtors from all over the world could take sanctuary from the debtors’ prison within the five-mile boundary of the abbey. One such was Comte D’Artois, the namesake of another Cheval apartment, who, with his mistress, fled the French Revolution to Edinburgh in 1792. The count went on to a six-year reign as Louis X, King of France.

But back to the quotidian. We spent Daddy Day (otherwise known as Tuesday) with Tristan and Ms E in the walled garden of their home relocating two trees. Their garage will be converted into a studio apartment and the hard landscaping will expand the footprint so one birch and one plum had to migrate. Ms E and I had a lovely time cooking up ‘stews’ in the outdoor play kitchen, walking by the canal and drawing while the men dug and shovelled.

The pandemic is still raging through Britain. In Scotland one in eleven people currently have Covid19. We continue to dodge and weave, masking at every opportunity. If we receive a negative PCR next Monday – required by the Australian Government to board our flight on Tuesday to Australia – it will be a minor miracle. A negative pre-flight test (cost £99 per person) is required until April 17, just too late for us. Tristan and his family had covid while we were in Spain and we’ve obviously been in contact with it, but thus far the RATs have been negative.

Today is day 31 of the illegal, brutal, criminal, inhumane Russian invasion of Ukraine. Putin’s default sick strategy to strangle and destroy Ukrainian cities and towns along with any living creature in them is now clear. Equally clear are the strategic alliances with and against Russia, the sole aggressor in this war.

Avoiding the pub we took our aperitif in the garden

When the war has ended there will be an accounting, both public and private, of pro-Putin governments and individuals which will haunt generations to come. Of that I am sure.

Solidarity with Ukraine in a Princes Street souvenir shop

It saddens me deeply to farewell our British family, especially at such a challenging time. When we left here two years ago we had no idea we were entering a global pandemic. This time we leave Europe in the midst of a humanitarian and refugee crisis and on the verge of full blown war. Never in my secure, privileged lifetime has the future appeared so uncertain. May the men, and they are overwhelmingly men, in charge make good decisions for the well-being of all of us and the planet!

We’re returning to a weather warning for heavy rainfall and more flooding in the Northern Rivers region of New South Wales. After so many years of drought this long wet spell is unprecedented. We expect weeds as high as an elephant’s eye on Gypsy Hill!

Thank you for joining us in this trip, see you on the other side.🤞

Plague Journey Part Thirteen: A Self-Indulgent SKI Holiday in the Dolomites, Italy

On March 11, 2022March 11, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Dolomites, Dolomitisuperski, Downhill Skiing, Skiing4 Comments

(SKI = Spending the Kids’ Inheritance)

By Stuart Elliott

It is impossible to describe how beautiful this UNESCO-listed part of the world is, so I will leave the job to the photos and videos. But before I do…..the Dolomites are immovable and yet very moving, unchangeable and yet their reflection is constantly changing. A mountain face which starts the day grey like any other transforms into shades of orange and pink as the day unfolds.

Sunsets are stunning – view from our bedroom window

The long piste was the Women’s downhill race piste in the Selva Gardena World Cup

Porta Vescovo to Arabba

What a stark and embarrassing contrast to what is happening in Ukraine. Some people here are clearly concerned for Ukraine, and its brave people, whilst others describe it as “annoying” (presumably for disrupting their holiday plans).

We arrived in La Villa from Venice by bus via the 1956 and 2026winter Olympic venue of Cortina, which is part of the 1200 km skiable area of the eastern Dolomites; a very scenic and relaxing journey, especially when compared to the first time we arrived at night by rental car without a proper map and pre-sat nav; but that’s another story.

Our hotel, the Cristallo Alta Badia, is over the top luxury. Thinking this might be our last ever ski trip, given my ageing body, I booked a room at the 4 star S Cristallo, complete with health spa and heated outdoor pool, but we were then given a free upgrade to a 50 m2 suite as this is our third stay here. Sharon calls it the James Bond Suite as it has a curtained, round bed, deep bath, white leather couches, an infra-red sauna and a view of the mountain above La Villa. We have 12 days of indulgence and needless to say are loving it.

Another shot from our bedroom window – never gets old

Spa and pool time!

The snow conditions are perfect, due to the extraordinary snow-making and grooming of the Dolomiti Superski engineers and operators. Daytime temps on the mountain are on the low side for this time of year, between zero to minus 11 degrees Celsius. We’ve skied most days but have also enjoyed walking to mountain restaurants. There’s been barely a cloud and the pistes are uncrowded.

Looking down Marmolada piste, the longest run in the Dolomites

That’s Stu in the red jacket (apologies – hand held iphone video)

Lifts are busy mid-morning, but mask police are effective. There are, of course, people who think they are so special that they are above the law. Interestingly there are no medical exceptions to mask wearing in Italy. Getting a Green Pass on our ski pass was easy enough. We bought the multi-day pass at the ticket office, they checked our vaccination certificates showing that by the time we will complete our stay it would still be less than 180 days since our booster, then validated the passes for the full duration.

The daily aprés ski visit to the spa is almost as good as the skiing. We swim (outdoor with view of the mountains of course), Turkish bathe, sauna and lie on infra-red and/or water beds to soothe weary muscles.

The only problems have been…

– The superlative quality of the food in mountain restaurants, but more particularly at the Cristallo, resulting in severe overindulgence, which even the daily five hours of full on skiing cannot offset.

The Friday night dessert buffet (this is only one third of what’s on offer)

‘My Everything’

– The little accident I had when putting on my skis whilst standing on the crest of a hill (not the recommended way to do it) after removing them to walk across the road to continue on a piste. I took off unaware that one of my skis was unattached until the attached ski ran over it. I went arse over ski. I landed on the exact same part of my body that made contact with the pavement the week before whilst riding a bike in Jerez! The result was a spine resembling Robin Hood´s bow. Nothing that a rest day and stretching plus copious quantities of alcohol, pain killers and anti-inflammatories couldn’t improve, if not fix.

– Leaving…..

We are so used to putting masks on and off we think we just might continue wearing them and avoid all coronoviruses.

Editor’s notes:

I think there are a few more ski trips in the old boy yet. He is only 70 after all! Maybe not at Hotel Cristallo though.

I’ve been reflecting (whilst on chairlifts and in bubbles) on two aspects of skiing, trust and respect. Trust because so much about downhill skiing relies on trust. Hurtling along at high speed you have to trust the manufacturers who created the equipment and the rental company you rent skis from. (Our boots we take with us, they are many years old.) Then when dangling in the air you have to trust the engineers who build and maintain the lift system.

More importantly though you have to trust your brain-body (especially eyes and proprioreceptors) to sense, respond and move in counter intuitive ways that allow you to ski safely and enjoyably. Incredibly this happens even as we age. At 66 (this month) I am skiing better than I ever have before. I credit our week hiking in the Alpujarras and two weeks flamenco dancing plus yoga (thank you Claire for your continuing zoom classes from Byron Bay) for this. Clearly it was ideal training as my rheumatoid arthritic body, and especially my feet, are the best they have ever been.

And respect? Well, there is personal respect, as in respecting our limits and not pushing beyond them by skiing tired or impaired. I don’t drink at lunch any more. But more important than that is respect for other skiers. Everyone wants to have a great skiing/boarding holiday and go home intact, however many don’t. Every day we would hear and/or see up to six blood wagons rescuing people. Yesterday we witnessed two helicopter evacuations. Sure, people have heart attacks and strokes skiing, as the do everywhere, but most of the serious injuries are caused by collisions, often as a result of skiing out of control. The two medivacs yesterday appeared to have been collisions.

Case in point, the German guy who sits at the table next to us at dinner. He fell on a slope and while he was down someone ran into him damaging his knee. His skiing ended right there. The other guy was fine.

Skiers/boarders should have to sign a pledge when they buy their ski pass, vowing to ski within their limits according to the conditions and to be respectful of others on the slopes. And parents should have to sign as being responsible for their children. Too many times I’ve seen out of control kids bomb down a slope. It’s not cute or fun, it’s poor parenting and disrespectful. End of rant.

Medivac Colfusco – the patient is in the cluster on the righthand piste

Incoming patient – different incident

Plague Journey Part Twelve: Venice Carnevale

On March 7, 2022March 7, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Carnevale, Venice2 Comments

Arriving in Venice at night in winter is magical, but arriving at night at the tail end of Carnevale is like walking onto a high budget historical film set. Glowing canalside lamps throw luminescence across the water, and domed and arched buildings with inviting terraces lure you onto the street and over footbridges to drink prosecco and eat sweets at 10:30pm as though its the most natural thing in the world.

We kept returning to this bar, the staff are lovely

Handsome, perfumed couples in 18th century evening wear with fine bosoms and well turned stockinged ankles on display, walk hand in hand home from their private parties that seem to go all day. This is a city that seduces all the senses.

These are not paid actors, they just get a kick out of Carnevale!

Just a few friends out for a stroll.

On the final day of Carnevale there were pirates and punks and all sorts!

No matter how many times I come to Venice (I’ve lost count) I marvel all over again that such an impossibly beautiful, cultured, clever, surprising and enduring city should exist.

Normally you wouldn’t be able to move in San Marco Square

The long pause of covid without tourists was hard on the economy but seems to have given the authorities an opportunity to rethink tourism. I hope the proposed ten euro fee for tourists to enter the city (unless you are a resident or worker or other legitimate visitor) is quickly implemented. They need the money and the locals need fewer selfie takers clogging up their bridges.

A word on covid management. As a country that suffered hardest and earliest in the pandemic it’s no surprise Italy takes public health measures seriously. A woman trying to board our flight was rejected for the medical mask she was wearing and told to go and purchase an FFP2 mask and then she would be allowed to board. Ninety five per cent of people wear their mask properly all the time when indoors except when eating and drinking.

The Italian Government was quick to set up the online passenger tracking system that requires you to declare your covid vaccination status etc. before you can fly to Italy (similar to Spain’s but not as user friendly). They also sorted out their Green Pass, the vaccination pass you need to be served in restaurants, bars and cafes, see a show and to enter museums. If you are not from the EU they check your vaccination certificate (you need three approved vaccinations and the third must not be more than 180 days ago). Even at a tiny, backstreet pizza restaurant in Venice where we were eating outside the waiter looked very carefully at our certificates before he would take our order.

It was actually a happy accident that we were in Venice at all. Stuart was responsible for booking this part of the trip, traveling from Spain to Italy with the ultimate destination the Dolomites for snow skiing. He wanted a two-night stopover in Bologna, a city we’ve only ever seen in passing, but somehow booked a flight from Barcelona to Venice Marco Polo instead. He very sheepishly admitted his error however I was delighted. Bologna can wait.

Maybe because tourist numbers are still down we managed to get into Santa Chiara Hotel which is handily located by the bus and train stations and also right on a canal intersection with footbridge into Venice proper. Our room had a tantalising view down the Grand Canal and gift wrapped toilet paper.

And so many Murano chandeliers in the common areas of the hotel

Since we’ve seen the usual Venice sights we decided to simply walk, eat and drink in the ambience and beauty for the two nights we were there. Following Francesca’s advice we caught the boat to San Lazzaro Island and back just to be on the water and to enjoy the view of Venice from the lagoon.

I had planned to indulge in a gondola ride but instead sent that money to Ukraine. The two-euro cross canal trip did just fine.

And since no trip to Venice is complete without Vivaldi we went to a glorious concert by Interpreti Veneziani in lovely Chiesa San Vidal in Campo San Stefano. The eight-piece group comprised five violins, a cello, double bass and harpsichord. They took turns leading and playing short solos that showcased their individual, very impressive talents.

Our bus to Cortina and thence to La Villa wasn’t until 2:30pm, plenty of time for a leisurely aperitivo and lunch at Roma Restaurant, the only canalside restaurant with terrace in Venice not in a private hotel. This fact was told to me proudly by our waiter, Oscar, who became my new best friend over an Aperol Spritz while Stuart was off trying to find a Baroque church.

Sitting in the sun, water lapping by my feet, chatting with Oscar whilst watching the boats go by will be my happiest memory of Venice. I adore all the boats, from the black lacquer and gilt gondolas to the water ambulances and highly varnished wooden speed boats. I even love the freight and septic tank boats because of how skilled their operators are. I watched a nonchalant water taxi skipper talking on his phone while idling very close to some pylons. I assume he was on a call to a customer. Without even looking at the pylons he put the engine in gear, ended the call, put the mobile in his pocket and gunned it, missing a pylon by a centimetre.

Emergency first responders.

All this while we’ve been monitoring Putin’s criminal war on Ukraine and the devastation of the floods in Australia. Both have gone from bad to worse with no end of suffering in sight. Money, moral support and peace and climate change activism are all we can offer at this stage. May a just peace prevail soon! Stay safe everyone. #solidaritywithukraine

Stuart will write the Dolomiti ski report as usual.

Plague Journey Part Eleven: Festival de Jerez XXVI and Andalusia

On March 2, 2022March 2, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Andalusia, Cadiz, Flamenco, Flamenco Festival, Jerez de la Frontera1 Comment

We undertook this trip knowing our common enemy was covid and took steps to mitigate that ongoing risk. To date omicron has hit Tristan, Jenny and Ms E in Edinburgh, who are recovering well. Touch wood not us – yet.

What we did not expect was that a single psychopathic, homicidal, fratricidal man would declare war on and invade all of Ukraine and in so doing pit Russia against most of the rest of the world. We are watching in horror at what Putin is inflicting on a peaceful democratic nation of 40 million people.

Added to that monstrosity is news that a wet weather system stuck over South Eastern Queensland and Northern New South Wales (where our home and many family and friends are) is drowning people in their homes and inundating large swathes of city and country. This brings back bad memories of the 2011 and 1974 floods, both events swamped my then homes. We are starting to wonder what else 2022 will be remembered for.

We’re sure Gypsy Hill is okay, but good friends in Byron Bay are going to check on it for us just in case.

We are keeping calm and carrying on with Plan A, but ready to change tack at any time.

Channeling the brilliant, fearless Lola Flores

Our ten days in Jerez de la Frontera for week one of the two-week 26th Festival de Jerez has, unsurprisingly, been the highlight of the journey thus far for me. The Australian lock-in kept me away last year and I vowed I would be back in class and in the flamenco venues this year come hell or high water….

Week one has been ‘Jerez Lite’ since attendance numbers are understandably down, with fewer classes and shows and audience numbers at about 50-60 per cent, apart from the blockbusters in week one of Rocío Molina and Farruquito.

Stuart is with me. As many of you know, Stuart’s appetite for flamenco is satisfied with one performance a year so he attended one Villamarta Theatre show, Manuela Carpio’s Jerezano extravaganza, and was happy with that. He will reveal his ‘off festival’ adventures below.

My aisle seat (no20) for the week was in Principal row one with no one behind!

I registered for Manual Betanzos’ Tangos de Malaga class (nivel basico), which was at capacity. Two hours and twenty intense minutes a day for seven days straight is sufficient. I knew Manuel would deliver an enjoyable learning experience and he did. I got such joy from being in his presence while he developed the piece with his usual wonderful collaborators, Manuel Soto (singer) and Javier Ibañez (guitarist) – see below.

We were fortunate to be in Sala Paul auditorium which was converted to a dance studio. It was a comparatively huge, airy space for 26 dancers and two musicians. The reason we had that venue became clear on day one when a video cameraman set up towards the front of the room. The Festival and Manuel had arranged to post the entirety of the classes online for students all over the world to follow. Oddly they didn’t check that was okay with us.

No matter I reasoned, I am hiding behind a pillar in row three on the far side next to the open door (to lower my possible viral load).

All went well for the first two days as we worked through the various pieces of the choreography. Day three however Manuel asked me to do the material up to that point solo with the musicians. I baulked and begged to ‘do it another day’ hoping like hell that day would never come. Unfortunately the day came on day six. I could not refuse again and risk my friendship with Manuel. Time to grow some cajones.

By then we had learnt a entrance, escorbilla (crescendoing footwork) with a cierre (closure), a letre (verse of dance with remates), the falseta (lyrical piece to guitar only) and the tangos de malaga upbeat ending. Manuel set up the space as you would for tablao. I was required to begin from a seated position on stage facing the camera and the rest of the class (audience) to do an improvised salida and dance the first letra, finish gracefully and invite a second dancer to continue and retake my seat. Easy peasy right? Well, actually no when the guitarist plays something quite different and the singer does a long vocal warm up…. I crashed and burned.

Manuel explained where I went wrong and I had a do over. This time I listened more attentatively and made it through. That was the longest minute and a half of my life and probably the first and last time I will perform with live accompaniment. All of it, failure and success, were captured and broadcast for the viewing pleasure of who knows who, where?!

Here are some stills I screenshot from the time limited video the class was emailed.

What did I learn? That flamenco performance is truly a non-verbal dialogue between musicians and dancer. Success comes from internalising the rhythm, knowing that piece of music thoroughly, in all its possible permutations, and having an instant vocabulary of dance pataitas and remates (little pieces of choreography) such that you, the dancer, can adapt to change on the run as necessary. It’s not only bulerias that are dynamic. Watching Manuel dance so naturally and vary his choreography depending on what the musicians did was eye-opening.

Four other dancers of all levels, were also asked to solo and they did brilliantly. I cried watching them. Face masks are wonderful for hiding emotions.

And so to the shows. I only went to the eight Villamarta shows (and part of a Tabanco Cruz Viejo tablao) as I didn’t want to leave Stu on his own all the time.

Maria Moreno (not THE Maria Moreno) at El Tabanco Cruz Viejo

Rather than critique all of them (some did not rate very highly with me) I will just note that the most satisfying solo show was Maria Moreno’s while the best group show was Manuela Carpio and her big flamenco puro line up which included Pepe Torres, Gema Moneo and Antonio Canales.

Manuela Carpio’s Fin de Fiesta

Rocío Molina was crazily brilliant, stratospherically creative and difficult technically, but it was Rocío plus one brilliant young guitarist Yerai Cortés. I appreciate her enormously, but without voice flamenco is an unsatisfying meal for me.

And the crowd went wild…

Farruquito’s show was too loud with way too much flute and quite repetitive. Again, Pepe Torres was a highlight, Karime Amaya not so much. Yes, it was a thrill to see father and son dancing – ten-year-old Juan El Moreno nearly upstaged his dad – but Farruquito is becoming more and more like Johnny Depp, worshipped for his aura and complicated history rather than what he actually delivers.

Father and Son Fin de Fiesta

Unsurprisingly Jerez has not come through the pandemic unscathed. The orange trees are already blossoming, scenting the air and the number of storks in the towers of the churches is healthy, but cafes, bars and restaurants have closed or changed. The cafes that have stayed open have expanded into outdoor public spaces, I imagine for reasons of public health. Happily the Villamarta Theatre bar has reopened. It is a more upmarket cocktail and tapas bar whilst the market cafe has become a fancy cocktails and cakes bar. Gallo Azul is still closed and Tabanco El Pasaje has gone posh with laminated menus and a sectioned off paid seating area for the tablao shows. Thankfully they still chalk up the tab on the wooden bench and a glass of fino is 1 euro 20.

Rather more concerning is what is happening to the cobbled streets of the old town. The council is having the waterpipes replaced. Streets and plazas are being dug up by machines and instead of conserving the cobbles and replacing them they just put down a base of sand and concrete such that beautiful, historic roads are now an ugly patchwork of concrete with a ribbon of stones here and there.

Finally, the most important element of the Jerez experience, as always, is the reunions with friends from all over the world. While many were missing this year it was even sweeter to see those who could make it to share hugs and hear stories of what has been happening in their lives these past two years. Overwhelmingly they have weathered the pandemic with grace and humour, in many cases redesigning and redefining their careers and life goals.

A rare treat to reunite with these two, Sebastian and Andrés

Our final breakfast – with Francesca and Tania

Our dear Italian friend, Francesca, was there for the week too and stayed with us for the first three nights. She’d decided to have a thorough holiday so didn’t sign up for classes. This meant she was free to join Stuart in some tourism.

Stuart’s Adventures:

Nothing entertaining other than my headfirst dive over the handlebars of my rental bike. I failed to notice a step in the middle of a ramp. For a couple of seconds I lay on the dirt wondering why nothing really hurt, then next second a gorgeous looking tanned young lady was at my side pulling the bike off me. Meanwhile her citroen was stationary in the middle of the roundabout with traffic backing up. She was unconvinced I was not significantly injured and it was all I could do to get her to return to her car without transporting me to the hospital.

Other than that I:

Completed my journey minus some skin to a coastal bird sanctuary;

Explored by bike the port town of El Puerto de Santa Maria with Francesca and again solo. I am happy to report that not all of southern Spain is splattered with high rise beach apartments;

Bussed it to the coastal sherry town of Sanlucar de Barameda with Francesca for a fantastic fish lunch on the beach;

Sanlucar De Barameda (from whence Columbus set sail)

Sherry tasted at Osborne Bodega – 5 standard glasses later I needed a rest under a tree to sober up;

Shivered watching Sharon swimming in the Atlantic Ocean;

Ate, drank and walked too much;

Plotted next year’s travel. Top secret, can’t reveal anything yet.

Back to Sharon: We’d made sure to have a free day before we flew on to Venice. No trip to Andalusia is complete without a visit to Cádiz. Carnival was under way, minus the singing groups parading through the streets. A stroll and coffee in Barrio Santa Maria, a swim at La Caleta followed by a beer in the sunshine then lunch at the Parador de Cádiz overlooking the Atlantic were the perfect way to spend the day before returning to Jerez for dinner with dear friends and Farruquito’s show called, you guessed it, “Farruquito”!

Time has moved on and it is one week since the murderer Putin invaded Ukraine. The death toll is rising as he advances, but the tide is against Russia. No matter how long it takes, the demigogue will not win because he has underestimated us. Paraphrasing an old idiom, and as Rocío demonstrated on stage, we the people, in solidarity with Ukraine, CAN dance and chew gum at the same time.

Plague Journey -BONUS- Malaga by Bicycle

On February 19, 2022February 20, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Cycling, Malaga2 Comments

By Estuart Elliott (his name in Spanish 😂)

What I like, no love, about Malaga – in no special order of course – is:

The WINE – I’ve drunk a lot; not because I am a dipsomaniac, although maybe I am a little bit, but because it is so good. Not had a bad glass; only one I didn’t care for, but that doesn’t mean it was bad. Even their dark rosé is dry ( I normally reject any rosé that isn’t pale pink and promise the aromas of Provence – what a snob, and an uneducated one at that!)

The PEOPLE – I’ve no idea what they are saying most of the time but they seem charming and are very helpful. There are also many gorgeous looking people. I guess that comes from mixing southern Euro and Arabic blood. Either way it’s an impressive result and great for people watching, for which I had muchos tiempo.

Top spot for people watching rooftop bar of The Marriott

The EATING – I love the way I can have lunch at 3 pm and make it last till 6. And then it’s only really curtailed by my inability to continue consuming endless mouthwatering wines and food. What’s more you don’t have to eat meat and 3 veg. A little bit of this and a little of that is perfect.

The LIFESTYLE – Is sooo relaxed, as epitomised by the attitude to eating.

The FOOD – maybe unlike central Spain, the fish is fresh from the port and there is lots of it.

The WEATHER in February – chilly early but 15 deg C thereafter. Sun everyday for six days except some cloud on day one up the mountain. Not too many other destinations sport this kind of weather in late winter.

The CYCLING – Ah yes that is what I am here for! A little scary in town at first until I figured out the chaotic system. Bicycles do get priority and cars are generally tolerant. The problem is the intermittent cycle lanes which chop and change from one side of the street to the other. They are also narrow and are shared (illegally) by electric scooters. Apart from that I had a brilliant time.

Malaga is surrounded by mountains and I have been up them all! One 60 km ride involved a 950 m climb. The descent through the dusty scrub covered hillsides was both picturesque and exhilarating. The climb up not so much. Most of my adventures were on paved country lanes but there was also an off road day on fire trails through the pine forest; the smells reminiscent of Provence.

Now before finishing on cycling I have to admit that I was mainly riding an ebike! I wouldn’t say I am convinced they are the way to travel, but they certainly do give a physical and importantly psychological boost up the steeper inclines.

The BIKE2MALAGA company – This helpful group of bike mad individuals advised on routes and provided interesting guides; yes actual people. The bikes were recent models and well maintained. I would definitely recommend them.

The CITY – The historical centre is similar to Seville’s but with a Mediterranean flare. One can spend hours wandering around absorbing the atmosphere; and I did.

The CULTURE – Not my speciality, but I had a very interesting and enjoyable historical tour of the Alcazar, complete with a view into Antonio Bandaras’ Malaga apartment. Sorry Sharon he didn’t make an appearance with or without clothes on so no photo. The unfinished, since 500 years ago, cathedral is very impressive on the outside but less so inside.

The RESTAURANTS – Are everywhere, but why go past the ones attached to the fresh produce market where you can choose what you eat from the counter, and have it cooked as you like?

The BEACHES – Well this is not Byron Bay that’s for sure; but on the other hand it does have many beach side bars and restaurants. I rode 90 minutes east (yes Brian / John east), along the coast to Rincon de la Victoria, and enjoyed my lengthy coffee and lunch stops whilst watching the kite surfers. The latter, as well as the former activities, I will definitely be doing in my next life. That is after I have learnt to swim and someone has perfected lightweight shark proof suits.

THE LANGUAGE – Having a reasonable understanding of French allows some comprehension of written Spanish. Sadly spoken Spanish is something else. It’s the accent of course, nothing to do with my lack of knowledge. And there was no excuse for my greeting to the bloke I was about to sit next to on the train when, instead of saying Hola, I said Ole. Unsurprisingly he didn’t reply. He just moved a little further away.

The HOT TIP – Make a visit before the Chinese tourists and cruise ships return en masse.

Plague Journey Part Ten: Madrid

On February 17, 2022February 17, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Flamenco, Madrid, solo travel4 Comments

I have swapped Mairena, population 194 for greater Madrid, population 6.8 million. Thanks to COVID the streets are not swollen with tourists so it’s easier to dodge the dog shit. Fact: there’s an average of 1.31 dogs per Spanish household and they all poop on the footpaths and in the plazas.

Madrid’s holding the line on omicron with an overall vaccination rate of 81.5%, 402 new cases yesterday (down from 1200 the day before) and 16 deaths yesterday. They’ve lost 27,437 citizens since the pandemic began. Women in their 90s have been especially vulnerable. Too many beloved abuelas…

Stuart stayed in Malaga to cycle and get fit for skiing while I prepare my body, especially my feet, for Festival de Jerez and see as many shows as I can, wearing a mask at all times of course Mum.

I confess I haven’t pulled on flamenco shoes for eight months, since Simone Pope stopped zooming her flamenco dance from Brisbane. She was allowed to teach face to face again, however the Queensland-New South Wales border stayed closed for months locking me out. I got lazy and then deconstructed my practice studio as it’s being rented out along with the rest of our property while we are away.

Enough excuses. I am back at Centro de Arte Flamenco y Danza Española Amor de Dios for daily class with Lola Mayo.Alegrias basico Monday, Wednesday and Friday and Seguiriya-Solea on Tuesdays and Thursday. Lola’s husband, Basilio Garcia, of the whimsical moustache, plays guitar and Pepe ‘El Bocadillo’ sings for the advanced class with his eyes closedwhich is fine by me as it means he can’t see me murdering his seguiriya.

Older (66 next month!) and wiser and with my rheumatoid arthritis still under control, an hour a day in shoes plus my own yoga practice and walking is all I need or want right now. That plus ibuprofen thirty minutes before I hit the floor for the first two days.

Amore de Dios above Mercado de Antón Martín

Note the yellow line to direct pedestrian flow

I chose a spacious apartment on Calle Lope de Vega. Félix Lope de Vega y Carpio 1562-1635 was a randy, prolific poet, playwright and novelist whose 16-year-old wife Isabel becomes ‘Belisa’ in his poems and a play, as well as the name of a cocktail bar around the corner from here. I walk to the studio, Atocha train station, Antón Martín market, hammam, and of course all the flamenco venues I want to frequent. I just happen to be in the heart of Barrio de las Letras in the crossant-shaped section of Madrid called Huertas and Santa Ana. Cervantes is buried in my street and his arch rival Lope de Vega’s house museum is in Cervantes street around the corner. Whilst it’s mostly men of letters who are honoured here, I did spot Elena Fortúna’s (Maria de la Encarnación Gertrudis Jacoba Aragoneses y de Urquijo) plaque on Calle Huertas. Though successful with her long-running series of ‘Celia’ books (1929-1987) told through the hopeful eyes of a seven-year-old child, Encarnación’s own family life was tragic.

Calle Lope de Vega – there’s always a pharmacy within 100 metres

That said, these streets carry so much accumulated grief and loss I have to consciously search for the bright spots. Just walking down Calle Santa Isabel I noticed embedded in the pavement outside number 41 this plaque.

Fermín’s memorial is one of 31 throughout central Madrid, all remembering Madrileños who suffered and died as result of being sent to Nazi concentration camps. Fermín was an aspiring footballer and a ‘fighter for the disadvantaged’, according to El Diario, when he went into exile in France. He was interned in occupied Salzburg and sent to Mauthausen in northern Austria at the age of 23. He was alive when US soldiers liberated the camp of 85,000 people in 1945 but was so sick he later died in hospital. His whereabouts are unknown despite his family searching for his remains up to today. A moment’s silence for Fermín and his family.

I’m loving spreading out into two bedrooms, lounge and a well equipped kitchen, and best of all a washing machine! My landlords are very solicitous. After a day they asked if I had everything I needed. I said it would be perfect except I don’t have a toaster. Twelve hours later Marcia was at the door with a toaster.

The bed at Las Chimeneas was a standard Spanish matrimonio, made for short, skinny mountain people. Stuart’s feet hung over the end and we woke each other up turning over. Here my bedroom is a quiet cave as I am on the ground floor at the back facing into a glassed private courtyard, perfect for drying clothes. No street noise or rowdy neighbours. Bliss.

My only problem has been the three key system that gets me in and out of this place. I managed okay the first two times,feeling like a skilled safecracker opening the tricky front door and not dropping the keys through the bottomless grill immediately inside, but last night I almost came undone. WhenI got back late (no, not drunk, not even close) I couldn’t for the life of me open the door to the apartment with the other two keys. At the third failed attempt I took a deep breath and tried to figure out what I’d done wrong. Yep, I had been using the wrong key in the wrong lock. They fitted perfectly but didn’t turn so I’d convinced myself something else was the matter.

At home we don’t have a house key, our one external door has a combination lock, and in any case we barely need to lock the house, so carrying three unfamiliar keys for a self locking door is stressful to me.

Madrid is familiar after so many visits. I don’t feel the need to go and and see or do anything in particular. Wandering until I find a sunny spot at a cafe I’ll easily while away an hour people watching and reading. My companion author on this trip as been Mary Lee Settle and her ‘Spanish Recognitions: The Road to the Present’ courtesy of a lucky book swap with Anne the night before we left England.

Mary Lee, an American established writer of fiction and non-fiction, left her third husband at home and drove solo all over Spain in a small rented car at the age of 82 with the vague aim of finding St Theresa, St John of the Cross and Lorca. She zig zags through histories, cultures and provinces trying to understand how modern Spain came to be. Her prose can be stunning and very funny. Here she is on the jewel of Granada, “If you cannot relearn wonder again at the Alhambra, you might as well stay home and die”.

The book was published in 2004. Mary Lee died in 2005, aged 87. She was writing up to the day she popped her clogs.

Reading Mary Lee has made me a little braver. Last year I enrolled in six months of intermediate level Spanish through a Brisbane university via zoom and determined to use it at every opportunity. On my first night here I found Taberna La Dolores, the most interesting looking, most vibrant tapas bar on my street, marched in and claimed the last free table. When the waiter asked me accusingly if I was going to eat (sub text,’You’d better order big or give up that table mujer’) I replied in Spanish that I’d have a couple of tapas dishes and a glass of white wine thank you very much hombre. Order received and understood we got along then very well.

And today, sitting at a cafe in the sun just outside the entry to Plaza Mayor I conversed pleasantly with the waiter in Spanish. When he’d brought my order he turned to the young man who’d sat down at the next table and asked him in English what he’d like to have. The guy protested that he was Spanish and could very well order in Spanish! Aaah, small victories to be savoured.

St Valentine’s day came and went. Two sweet encounters: a couple celebrating their love with lunch in the sunshine, one handsome young man gave another handsome young man a single red rose and a kiss. And I walked by a mum holding a huge, shiny red, heart-shaped balloon just out of reach of her delighted toddler who kept jumping up to touch it.

Some notes on the shows I saw, and didn’t see – alas, Casa Patas is closed for the month of February. I hope it reopens as planned in March.

Watching a movie here is a definite for my next visit!

Corral de La Moreria 19:30hrs 13/2/2022 49 euros included one drink: The incomparable Gaditano sensations, Eduardo Guerrero and Maria Moreno dancing, Samara Montañez and Ana Polanco singing and Pino Losada on guitar. All wonderful! I just wish the punters would turn off their mobiles when told.

By chance I bumped into Eduardo, whom I have been encountering in class and on stage for the past five years or so, arriving at the venue and wished him luck for his two shows that evening. He was sweet and invited me to meet after the show. My experience has been that getting to know your heroes up close and personal is not always advisable and I’m too old to be a groupie, so I bowed out. How he manages to project such strength, danger and energy within the confines of that 4×6 metre stage is a mystery. His playfulness is infectious. He tried to crack up the singers who teetered on the verge of corpsing. As always his costumes were impeccable, only designer rags for Edu.

Maria is such a joy, especially seeing her up close (my seat was four metres away from the stage). She danced cantiñas in a pale pink silk and tulle bata de cola with an exquisite cream embroidered manton. Duende came out of the blue, as it does, when after completing a section of fast, tricky footwork Maria stopped a moment dead centre front of stage with her skirts bunched up in her arms, cracked a broad smile and giggled. Just for a couple of seconds. Then she launched into the next passage of poised, elegant movement. She truly lights up the room.

Next morning I was in the women’s change room at Amor de Dios, wasting time before my 11am class, when a casually dressed, one might even say scruffy, plain looking woman walked in and plonked her gear on the bench and started whipping off her clothes. I did a double take (rude to stare when she had her boobs out) to confirm it really was her. ‘Are you Maria Moreno?’ I asked timidly. ‘Si!’ She answered with a smile. Golden opportunity to tell her how much I enjoyed her performance the night before and several other times over the years since I first saw her dance with Farruquito and that I was looking forward to seeing her in Jerez (she’ll be onstage in the Villamarta Theatre on 21 February). I asked if she was teaching that day. ‘No, I am rehearsing.’ What I would give to be a fly on the wall of her practice studio……

Cardomomo, 19:30hrs 15/2/2022 49 euros included one drink: Karime Amaya, Nazaret Regis and Pablo Fraile dancing, Antonio de Manuela ‘El Cancun’ and Laura Abadia singing, David Jimenez on guitar and Felipe Maya and Antonio Jimemez on percussion and palmas.

I had high expectations of Karime Amaya and yes, she was good in her Alegrias with super strong footwork and Nazaret Regis also performed an enjoyable Tientos, but it was Pablo Fraile’s Seguiriya that I loved. Andrés Peña will kill me for saying this but Pablo reminded me of a younger Andrés. Very sincere, unfussy, great soniquete and feeling. Oh, and he is gorgeous.

The guitar was lovely, but too loud. ‘El Cancun’ played a supporting role whilst Laura Abadia solo’d her Tangos with great gusto. Photography and video were allowed so you can see for yourself.

Pablo Fraile

Karime Amaya

Laura Abadia

Fin de Fiesta

Finally, another serendipitous encounter. Sunbathing in Plaza de Santa Ana I noticed a poster for flamenco on the wall of Teatro Español. It advertised a free photographic exhibition of 70 works by the Barcelona photographer known as Colita, Isabel Steva. Now 81, Colita has been photographing flamenco for 60 years. Black and white portraits of everyone from Carmen Amaya to Antonio Gades to Miguel Poveda to gypsy children on the street are there to drink in. Nothing is staged, everything is of the moment. How did I not know this incredible woman exists?! The exhibition runs to April 22.

Calderón Theatre, 20hrs 16/2/2022, ticket price 49 euro for a stall seat nine rows from the stage: “A Chorus Line”, a Spanish language version co-produced and co-directed by Antonio Banderas. The show started its run in Malaga last year in the theatre Banderas founded, with Banderas in the role of the choreographer, Zach. Banderas has since handed his boater on to others. Tonight it was Manuel Bandera (no relation). I hadn’t seen the musical since the Drury Lane, London, production in 1977. It’s hardly aged at all. Most of the choreography holds up, especially when danced by a young black guy, Daniel Délyon (“Richie”) who was the standout dance talent, while the actress who played Puerta Rican ‘Diana’ (Estabalitz Ruiz) has an amazing voice and presence.

La Carmela Tablao, 21:00hrs (actually started at 21:30hrs), 17/202022, 45 euro including drink. It’s a long thin cellar room with two chairs each side below La Carmela restaurant. The cast was: Lola Mayo (my teacher and the reason for going that night), two male dancers, Pol Vaquero from Cordoba and Juan Andrés Maya from Granada, guitarists Basilio Garvia and Juan Jimenez, singers Pepe ‘El Bocadillo’ and Juán José Amador with Lucky Losada on Cajon.

At least Pol and Juan Jóse were having fun

Ole Pol!!!

The show, and it was quite a show, called ‘En Memoria’ ran for well over two hours. It was directed by Maya who clearly has aspirations for a bigger theatrical venue. I should have known from the smoke machine which was running when I arrived and not switched off until after the first number. And from the dais built in the middle of the runway with acoustic boards running to the stage. And from the over loud recorded music for Maya’s ‘dramatic’ entrance. He entered wearing a long cape and a lot of makeup and glitter hair gel. He had to work hard to get me on board after that. He is an accomplished dancer but takes himself far too seriously. To jump to the end. Just when I thought we had seen everything; fabulous alegria by Vaquero and Lola’s seguiriya (including some recognisable chore), Maya came back and finished a very long piece that started with very loud baston on the dais with three interminable anguished stanzas of a poem by who knows who? I would have been so much happier with a regular tablao format minus cajon showcasing the musicians and dance.

I want to end on a positive note though, as this week’s experience has overwhelmingly been wonderful. I arrived from the mountains with walking legs, but leave with dancer’s feet – I am naturally walking down the street in compas, just can’t help it. Un, DOS, un, dos, TRES, cuatro, cinco, SAIS, siete, OCHO, nueve, DIEZ, un DOS, un, dos, TRES…..😷💃🏽

Plague Journey Part Nine B: Las Chimeneas, La Alpujarra, Granada, Spain

On February 13, 2022February 15, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Alpujarra, Mairena, Spain, Walking2 Comments

As Stuart noted in Part A, our entry into Spain was a doddle with our unique QR codes, not even a temperature check! Apparently we have left the pandemic behind. The only indication of it is that people wear masks almost all the time except when eating. This continues even when the mask mandate ends four days later.

We flew Barcelona to Granada, arriving at Federico García Lorca Airport at sunset. The instruction from our hosts, Emma and David Illsley, at Las Chimeneas, was that we would be met by a taxi driver called Paco at the airport and he would do our transfer. When we’d been waiting 15 minutes outside the passenger exit area I walked over to the taxi rank and enquired in my most polite Spanish if they knew a driver called Paco who drops passengers at Las Chimeneas (The Chimneys). Well ‘Yes’, they said, ‘Which Paco did we want?’ and they rattled off a number of Pacos, none of whom were present. ‘Never mind’ I said, we’ll contact our hotel.

We waited another ten minutes, this time inside to keep warm, and while I was trying to contact our hosts, Paco arrivedholding a sign for Las Chimeneas and ushered us to his van in the parking lot, some distance from the taxi rank. A couple of the drivers started talking to him and it seemed to get quite heated, however as we were inside the van I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

All became clear as we started to drive out of Granada. Paco grumpily told that me I had done the wrong thing by asking after him and it would make trouble for Las Chimeneas because taxi drivers would be calling them up and complaining that he had collected people from the airport. Also, to confuse matters further, there is a town called Las Chimeneas just outside Granada, we saw the sign for it.

Paco immediately then called David at Las Chimeneas Casa Rural and chewed his ear in angry Spanish for ten minutes.

In short, Paco was not licenced to collect passengers from Granada Airport, or anywhere in Granada in fact, so he had infuriated the registered Granada drivers. Great start!

His annoyance seemed to make him drive slower and slower, checking his mobile as he went, and it took us two hours to drive the 122k to the small pueblo blanco, Mairena, at 1,000 metres is perched on a hillside in the Alpujarra, just below the highest point of the Sierra Nevada.

Happily dinner was still being served in the guesthouse dining room and there was a roaring fire going so we warmed up and filled our bellies with good food and local red wine. All was well with the world again!

We’ve tagged onto a group of 20 Brits, many of whom have stayed here before and several who have come multiple times. They’re are on a ‘Book Week’ package, i.e. they are being entertained and informed by local resident author, Chris Stewart (originally from England). Chris, besides being a founding member of the band Genesis (according to wikipedia he is only credited with playing drums on one or possibly two songs so I don’t mention the band to him), and many other things in his chequered career, has written a string of successful memoirs of his and his wife Annie’s more than three decades rebuilding and farming their property El Valora (The Brave), about a 90 minute drive from Mairena.https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chris_Stewart_(author)

We had the option of joining a couple of group activities, but for the most part we’ve done our own independent walks and an e-cycle ride following the route advice of David, also an Englishman, who along with his wife Emma, have built and run Las Chimeneas for the past 24 years.

Our accomodation is a two-person apartment in the traditional style built into the rock of the hillside below the main buildings of Las Chimeneas. The Alpujarra is where the Muslim Spanish held out the longest after the Reconquista overwhelmed Granada in 1492AD. We could’t see it in the dark on our drive up, but as soon as the sun rose I noticed the similarity to the Berber villages and mountains of the high Atlas from our Morocco hiking trip.

Grapevine covered entry to our apartment

This kind of holiday is an ideal way to ease into Spain and get fit at the same time. We hike around four hours a day and the cycle ride circuit was an epic 70K, the last hour of which was pretty much all uphill. Evenings are a relaxed affair; stretching in the new, light, warm yoga studio, an aperitif, and the three-course dinner from 7:30pm accompanied by carefully selected music, thanks to head waiter, Andrew.

All the meals are seasonal, delicious and nutritious. Emma and David host many different yoga groups from March onwards so they are supremely experienced in catering for all food preferences.

My main course – stuffed tomato served with nut roast and broad beans

My abiding memories of the week are:

The smells! Opening the door to our apartment to be greeted by the fresh scent of Spanish laundry detergent from the towels and bed sheets that takes me straight back to my sabbatical in Seville 2011 and every visit since; rich, strong ground coffee aromas at breakfast; walking amongst sweet almond blossoms, coconut scented yellow gorse and the wild thyme that grows like a weed beside the walking tracks.

Almond blossoms come in all shades of pink and white

We walked east via Jubar to Laroles and a different route back. Not far as the crow flies, but you have to account for the many barrancas/ravines you’ll encounter, as well as places to safely cross waterfalls and streams.

Bone dry hillsides (this area is in the grip of a perpetual drought), dirt trails turning to dust under our tramping feet, with the paradox of gushing, clear water running down the concrete acequias (community operated irrigation canals) and a sudden bright green waterfall and weir.

A concrete-lined acequia, makes a good sendero del agua. The water is 75 per cent snow melt.

The only other person I saw on this hike 😂

Wide cerulean skies so clear and so blue your soul aches for how much you’ve missed them.

A small, neat, locked church on the hillside of a tiny pueblo blanco, Jubar, population 14, whose symbolism embraces the complicated Roman, Muslim, Christian and Jewish 4,000-year-old history of this place. Oh, if its walls could talk…

Jubar’s Catholic Church with a Star of David and Cross atop its tower

Quiet, bright whitewashed streets during siesta, the stillness broken by a small dog that lunges at us in the window, impotently barking, while three grey and black cats wind around car tyres and benches seeking shade.

And this cat, sunning itself in a derelict building site

Our neighbours, a toothless couple in their late 80s, who sit in the sun outside their cottage for two hours or so every afternoon cracking almonds with a hammer on the slate of their bench. They always insist I take some if I pass. They’re rough in texture, but deliciously creamy. The nuts are gathered from their own trees a little way down the hill. I would love to ask for their photo, but can’t bring myself to do it. They aren’t an exhibit, they’re just quietly living out their lives.

I was delighted to see some olive trees with their skirts newly draped. The lazy man’s harvest.

Spotted from a roadside bar at sunset: a handsome shepherd and his nonchalant dogs herding sheep down the main road, tipsy Brits talking over the tinkling bells.

Sheep herding Alpurraja style

Cycling past workers going about their business: one builder blowing the dust off his work clothes with an air gun before heading to lunch; a trio of dour women stripping and repainting the plane trees that line the road between Lauraja de Andradax and Fondon, and the curly haired female labourer whose job it was to watch a chap on a machine digging up the road – she smiled and waved at us. When I headed in the wrong direction and Stuart lost sight of me, she gestured to him to show him which way I went.

Our cycle route – it doesn’t show all the hair pin bends and ups and downs…

The e-bikes were outstanding – comfy for bottom and hands, powerful when we needed it and safe brakes

Our cycle lunch stop – Laujar de Andradax in front of the town hall

Laughter ringing across the valley as David relates an anecdote of his and Emma’s early life in Mairena as they toiled to build and rebuild Las Chimeneas. Emma collected slate from the quarry and carried it back in a backpack to split and finish steps, kitchen benches and terraces. David has a story for every recovery pause in our uphill hike. We are a motley crew, the common thread our shared language, English, and our sense of humour.

David leading and Stuart bringing up the rear

Our reward for reaching Laroles, vino blanco on the Vespa cafetaria-bar terrace

More laughter around the fire in the lounge of the main house when Chris Stewart recounts the serendipity of his journey to the Alpujarra, a place which seems to reward quixotic endeavours.

A water crossing en route to our Valor out and back hike. This is irrigation water released alternate weeks.

View from our hike down to Ugijar – much of this area has been mined over the centuries

And finally, Paella cooked confidently by Concha and Fernanda on the dappled terrace of Emma and David’s finca next to an olive grove, the rich yellow oil from the olives bringing the myriad flavours to life.

I leave you with Concha’s recipe for seafood paella (quantities adjusted for four people) as I observed her cook it on a sunny day in February 2022.

Use a large frypan if you don’t have a paella pan.

Blitz two large, ripe tomatoes to a pulp and set aside, then rinse the blender to use again.

Blend half a cup of olive oil, a handfull of parsley, a pinch of saffron and three garlic cloves to make an amazing green oil. Set aside.

Put in the pan four tablespoons of olive oil (don’t stint or it won’t taste as good), half a finely chopped onion, two chopped garlic cloves, a half teaspoon of salt and a good pinch of black pepper. Cook over a medium flame until the onion has softened.

Add two cups of cut up calamare/squid and cook through. (The seafood van comes three times a week to Mairena bringing fresh fish from the coast. The squid used in this dish was caught that day.)

Start to add chopped up fresh, seasonal vegetables cooking each for a couple of minutes – Concha used green beans, red peppers, carrots (apparently this is controversial), and at the last, wedges of artichoke hearts that had been sitting in a bag with cut up lemons.

Emma explaining the finer points of local paella

Add the prepared tomato pulp and stir through.

Squeeze over the juice of a quarter of a lemon, plus four tablespoons of the green oil. Keep the rest to use another time as a dip with bread or in a salad dressing or drizzle over any grilled vegetables at other meals. Keeps a week in the fridge.

At this point you will need to pour in four cups of liquid. Concha used the strained liquid from boiling the tiny shelfish that she adds at the last, but you could use the strained water from the cooked mussels or low salt vegetable stock or just water.

Then add two cups of Bomba brand rice (if you can get it) or arborio rice (as for risotto).

Cook stirring frequently for 15 to 20 mins at a fast boil until the rice is al dente and the liquid almost all absorbed.

Throw in a bunch of knotted parsley and stir it through.

Add whatever other fish you like, Concha used raw large prawns in their shells, cooked mussels and the tiny shellfish. Quantities to suit yourself. Cook another five minutes to warm through the cooked fish and pink up the prawns.

Serve with a quarter of a lemon on each plate to squeeze over and a well chilled, dry white wine.

For a vegan version just leave out the seafood elements and add two cups of broad beans or peas to boost the protein content. ¡Disfrutar!

Our heartfelt thanks to Emma and David, Concha, Fernanda, Andrew, Antonio ‘La Alta’ and Antonio ‘El Zorro’, Beatrice and Julia (the masseuse) for their generous hospitality, kindness and a stupendous introduction to the Alpujarra. And to our fellow travellers, thank you for sharing your stories. The Stockholm effect of the Pandemic on the British is palpable. It’s wonderful to see people, especially solo women, venture out again and reclaim their right to travel.

Left to right: Antonio ‘El Alto’, Concha, Emma & David

Plague Journey Part Nine A: Las Chimeneas, La Alpujarra, Granada, Spain

On February 12, 2022February 15, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Spain3 Comments

I never thought I’d have to wrestle Stuart for blogging rights, but here we are, side by side, sat up in bed (it’s cold at night in the Alpujarra in early February and we’ve run out of kindling for the fire) arguing about who gets to write this instalment. A compromise is reached. He’ll write the first part and I’ll do the second.

By Stuart Elliott: ‘To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive’ is attributed to Robert Louis Stevenson, but I beg to differ.

06.00 the alarm rings- Sharon leaps out of bed; Stuart groans ‘Ah we there yet?”

07.00 there is no sign of the Sixt car rental return depot at Heathrow.

07.15 the ‘Terminal 3’ depot is eventually found in the basement of the Sofitel somewhere near Terminal 5. No problem; an explanation relating, of course, to Covid, is provided, but no apology.

07.30 we arrive at Terminal 3 and find ourselves amongst a civilised number of fellow travellers.

07.40 we find a BA self check-in robot thing which duly spits out the baggage labels. At this point Stuart freaks out on account of previous encounters with self check-in procedures, involving self adhesive labels with minds of their own. Murphy should have written another law along the lines of ‘if you believe something will happen it most certainly will’. So true to form the label ended up attached to the wrong end of the baggage, upside down and back to front. So now I am still in the baggage hall really stressed out imagining I will never see my gear ever again and meanwhile Sharon has her perfectly labelled baggage winging it’s way to Barcelona and is about to board the plane.

08.00 Sharon decides she ought to wait for the old man (me) and we successfully and jointly negotiate an uncrowded security control. Woohoo we are on our way.

08.15 Sharon decides (yes again) that she has to have breakfast at Nero. No matter that we have been subscribing for the past 2 years to a travel lounge service (which provides breakfast free of charge and importantly free of too many people coughing and breathing all over one).

08.45 We finally find the aforementioned lounge only to be told we can’t come in without finding a membership number and password. These are of course available, but not before backpacks have been opened, iPad found, internets connected and secret numbers extracted from screens. Happily Sharon decides to sit down and wait whilst Stuart clumsily provides the required digital data. By the time we get to sit down with my 8 kg of carry on baggage (mainly ski boots ) plus allowable back pack, ski jacket etc. I am hot, bothered and stressed and wondering why I am doing this.

09.30 time to board. This goes without a hitch, apart from the lovely fellow travellers who think they are too special to wear their masks over their noses and the hitting of my head on the overhead lockers nearly requiring medical attention. (Why are they called overhead? – there is nothing overhead about them when you are standing in the aisle being pinned against your seat by impatient passengers).

11.45 spectacular view of the snow covered Pyrenees as we approach Barcelona.

12:15 Touch down. We are in Spain!

12.30 Lovely chat with border security and through we go. Stuart wonders why we weren’t interviewed re our health forms laboriously filled out earlier.

12.35 We are interviewed, by Spanish health officials. Sharon smiles and sails through without presenting any documentation. Stuart of course has to present forms and certificates which he had only 2 minutes earlier squirrelled away in his backpack. Following close examination of each vaccine type Stuart is granted entry. Now we really have arrived.

Six days later I can state that it is definitely better to arrive than to travel, no matter how hopefully, but in any case whatever you do, travel lightly, be organised and give yourself plenty of time.

Suitably chilled after a week of sunshine.

Plague Journey Part Eight: Five Counties in 7 days (Dorset, Hampshire, Sussex, Berkshire and Buckinghamshire)

On February 7, 2022February 7, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

I’ve had my share of surreal moments travelling. Once, very jetlagged and seated at a cafe in Oslo Airport, I was startled and confused to see the heads and torsos of uniformed air crew whizzing past at high speed. When I stood up to investigate I saw they were zipping along on scooters. SAS was an early adopter of urban commuter scooting.

Last week, similarly, I had trouble believing what I was seeing. Standing at the second highest point of the South Downs in Sussex I squinted to make out what was approaching at high speed. The vision resolved into a man furiously pedalling a bicycle with a small black and white puppy in a basket on the handlebars. I happened to have my phone out to capture the Downs panorama so was able to video him sailing by.

This past week we’ve touched on five counties, starting with Dorset to lunch with niece Sally and her family in Blandford Forum. We always stay at the The Crown in town and enjoy wandering across and along the river looking for otters. None spotted this time.

A bemused Stuart in The Crown dining room wondering why there are paparazzi at breakfast

Next stop was niece Rosie and her family in Colden Common, Hampshire. This is where Stu and I went our separate ways briefly, Stuart to his brother James and sister-in-law Sue in Devon and me with Rosie to help out with adorable 11-week old Baby W, for three nights. Rosie and Neil are coping brilliantly and it was very special to be able to take William out in his pram and do a proper country walk along the River Itchen with Rosie.

Enviable real estate if a bit flood prone

Stu rejoined me and we moved on to Sussex to stay at The Griffin Inn, Fletching, and walk the South Downs Way. This was our third visit to the Inn, a local institution voted best pub food in 2020.

I’d booked the room without carefully checking room size. Once we’d struggled up two flights of narrow stairs and realised Stuart would not be able to get both himself and his suitcase into the room at the same time we requested an upgrade. We were accommodated in a very posh ground floor suite (at substantial extra cost). The room was named after dashing Brigadier Gerald Thubron and his beautiful wife, Eve Thubron, local luminaries.

It’s a little unfair to single out hotel staff, everybody has bad days, but we did have two experiences at breakfast that could be written into a sit-com. Breakfast one was progressing uneventfully when I requested some sourdough toast. Long minutes passed and none came. Suddenly we heard loud scraping from the direction of the kitchen. I was thinking, ‘Surely that’s not my toast’. Sure enough a plate of semi-burnt toast was plonked jn front of me. I couldn’t control my mirth thinking how FT Basilesque the scenario was.

Next morning we arrived to find the restaurant in darkness. Five minutes later the waitress burst through the door apologising profusely, ‘I was stuck behind a tractor’. I think that one should join, ‘The dog ate my homework’ pantheon of obscure and unlikely excuses.

Our first day walking went very well. Great weather and easy wayfinding.

Day two not so much. Stuart was in charge of navigating but it wasn’t entirely his fault we never actually found the South Downs Way path as the woman living next to the car park told us the bridleway would join up with the South Downs Way. It did but only on our final soggy, boggy descent from a copper beech wood.

No matter, we found pretty St Andrew’s church with its Commonwealth war graves and stained glass windows.

A bonus was Virginia and Leonard Woolfe’s final home, Monk’s House in Rodmell. A rudimentary farmhouse without running water or electricity when they bought it in 1919, expansions and improvements made it into a lovely, welcoming home. Now a National Trust property, Virginia’s writing studio – the very same ‘room of ones’s own’ is still at the bottom of the garden. Of course it was closed for the winter.

We could see the River Ouse on our walks and I visualised Virginia filling her coat pockets with flint stones from the fields and wading in….Bipolar Disorder is a cruel beast.

Stuart arranged to meet uni friend Roger for lunch at a country pub Roger selected, The Gun, in Horam. This was another gastro pub vying for ´favourite pub lunch’.

On our final day in the English countryside we drove up to Berkshire to see other friends from Surrey University days, Mike and Carole. Carole was busy grandmothering but Mike was released to take us to lunch at his local, The Pot Kiln. Two hours wasn’t long enough to catch up on all the news from the past five years.

For our last two nights before flying to Spain we returned to generous hosts, Anne and Charles, in Penn and the comforts of perfect toast, home cooking, comfy bed, printer, washing machine and space to spread out. In return I managed to break their irreplaceable Grohe toothbrush holder. What are friends for….

Anne led us on a forest and common walk through the woods bordering their house. We encountered russet oak leaf covered paths, friendly dogs and their owners and poignant individual memorial plaques at the base of beech trees marking the short lives of local teenagers and men from the district who were killed in WWII.

We are thirty minutes from Barcelona, flying over snow covered mountains, so I’m feeling quietly confident that we are actually going to be in Spain very soon. Spain’s COVID-related public health regulations, requirements and processes for tourist entry are not especially onerous if one is fully vaccinated. We have obtained our personal, unique QR codes online so entry should be straight forward. I even remembered to stock up on lateral flow tests as the packed flamenco classes in Jerez are going to test my immunity to the max! 🤞

Plague Journey Part Seven: The Yorkshire Dales

On January 30, 2022January 30, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

This week we scratched a seven-year travel itch. Seven years ago we stayed at the Cow and Calf at Ilkley, hiked over snowy moors and caught up with Yorkshire friends we made in the early 80s when we all lived in California. This part of the world is spectacular and very special.

This time we stayed three nights in the tiny village of Burnsall at The Red Lion pub on the Wharfe River. But first we had to drive there. Stuart was on the car rental contract as named driver since he was going to leave me at our niece Rosie’s to help out with Baby W while he spent a couple of days with his brother, James.

The pub’s beer garden on the Wharfe River

View from the other side of Burnsall Bridge

We chose to spend ‘Daddy Day’ with Tristan and Ms E and didn’t leave Edinburgh until mid-afternoon. By the time we hit the Yorkshire Dales it was dark and raining. High dry stone walls started to close in on us on both sides. Large agricultural vehicles approached at speed and Stuart started quietly freaking out. With his night blindness kicking in his tactic for coping was to locate a car in front and follow as closely as possible, no matter what speed they were travelling. At one point I gripped the sides of my seat with both feet pressed into the floor so hard I started to cramp up. Only shouting persuaded Stu to slow down. We thus proceeded at a much slower pace on the single lane roads scanning for oncoming lights. I have never been happier to arrive at our destination.

Now imagine this road on a dark, wet night

The weather we ordered arrived next day – cold, fine days.

Day One: Grassington loop, 5 miles

The picturesque village of Grassington, especially the pub, the Devonshire Arms, rebranded as the Drover’s Arms, provided the backdrop to the most recent production of the TV series, ‘All Creatures Great and Small’ which started screening in 2020. It’s been the perfect evening entertainment for us this week.

We set off on our hike following the Dales Way signs. On this occasion we had no map, just some notes from a walking site.

Grassington and the only other walkers we saw

Some of the stone stiles were clearly built for slim people. What do more generously proportioned walkers do?

At an unsigned fork in the trail we dropped down into Grass Wood, an eery place of deep moss and lichen. This wood is intensively managed, mounds of branches cleared from the forest floor are piled every few yards. When we stumbled across a pre-historic settlement we realised we weren’t on the trail we were meant to follow. Since we had a fair idea of where the river was, (which would take us back to Grassington), we carried on down.

The Wharfe River winds along Wharfedale with private trout pools, grey herons and other water birds.

No trout to see in winter but it must be amazing when they run

We were back at The Devonshire in time for lunch in front of the fireplace.

The ‘Drovers’ Arms’ nook where ‘James Herriot’ drank

Linda and Colin suggested The Craven Arms in Appletreewick for dinner. We had a brilliant catch up. Linda and Colin have experienced our family pandemic situation in reverse. Their son Nick, Tristan’s classmate in the mother and bub exercise group I taught, has settled in Perth with his young family and Linda and Colin were desperate to see them. Their exemption allowing them to enter and hotel quarantine in Perth arrived the day before. Much to celebrate!

Independently owned, the Craven Arms has become our favourite pub of the trip thus far. We returned for dinner on our final night. The covid mask mandate finished the same day and locals were celebrating three deep at the bar.

Day Two: Buckden loop via Buckden Pike and the Polish War Memorial, 7 miles

This trail passes through land managed by the National Trust and open farmland. It’s classed as challenging as it climbs up and over the fell, peaking at 702 metres, before dropping down to the Wharfe River valley.

The track starts off stony but soon gives way to mud then boggy peat and grasses. I left my bulky new hiking boots in Edinburgh as I swapped them for flamenco shoes. I’m travelling light for this leg, I resigned myself to soggy, cold feet in my trainers.

The strong wind at our backs helped push us uphill passing Belted Galloway cattle with their fetching broad white stripe down the middle.

702 metres

At the crest on a row of large flagstones laid by National Trust we passed a group of three fully kitted out hikers who warned us about deeper bogs and thick snow on the other side. Great!

After paying our respects at the Polish War Memorial to the five Polish airmen who perished when their Wellington Bomber crashed on the summit during a snowstorm in 1942, we picked our way down through a wide bog. The fifth and final walker we saw that day was a lone 50ish woman struggling uphill. We greeted each other and she shared that she’d cried her way uphill. She said she’d been ‘poorly’ and this hike was a personal challenge. We assured her she was near the summit and encouraged her to push on saying we’d see her back at Buckden.

Polish War Memorial – 1 out of the 6 airmen survived

Once out of the bog it was easy walking downhill on grass amongst grazing sheep. The vistas were breathtaking. Civilisation seemed very remote up there.

The path took us into the quaintly named Starbotton and past the Fox and Horses where the beer called to us and we answered.

The final two miles followed the river back to Buckden. We passed the same lone woman hiker and cheered her success. The Buck Inn’s kitchen was already closed so we hot footed it back to the Fox and Horses for lunch and unsurprisingly the woman, Sarah, (we now properly introduced ourselves), was installed in front of the fire awaiting her hot soup.

We didn’t ask Sarah any more about her health challenges as we chatted about other things, but it was clear that it had been major as she was a seasoned walker. Brava Sarah!

Footbridge over The Wharfe River, Starbotton

Now we are en route to High Wycombe in Buckinghamshire to Anne and Charles to celebrate Charles’ birthday and to watch Ash Barty play the Australian Open Women’s tennis final.

PS Ash made her dream a reality winning her first Australian Open with a gutsy performance. All Australia is rejoicing with her. What’s more my tennis hero, Rafael Nadal, has just won the biggest comeback championship match of his life! OLEEEEE RAFAAAAA!!!!!

Plague Journey Part Six: The Scottish Borders

On January 24, 2022January 24, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

We’re six weeks into our 14-week trip and the wheels haven’t fallen off ~ yet. We don’t normally spend so much time together at home as we are both out and about separately and have a house and land to roam. Sharing a small, unfamiliar hotel room most of the time is testing. Trying not to wake the other person with creaking floorboards and bumping into furniture at night just to take a wee being a case in point. Right now it’s 5am and I’ve been awake an hour. I couldn’t lie there staring at the back of my eyelids any longer so I’m sat by the bed swathed in a blanket to block the glare of the ipad. Sometimes I wake to find Stu reading in the bathroom with the door closed. He is a considerate man.

And always the first thought of the day is, ‘Do I have any covid symptoms?´ Is my slightly sore throat just from sleeping with my mouth open or is this the day the RAT comes up with two red lines jnstead of one? Omicron has crested in the UK overall and the NHS pulled back from the brink (again). Jenny, Tristan and Ms E are well and have escaped it so far too. Small mercies.

Last week’s getaway (from Edinburgh) was to the Scottish Boarders. Stuart researched, planned and booked our excursion but it would be too much to expect him to write about it. His brief dissertation on the winter dress code of the Edinburghian is as much as you’ll get from him until we hit the snow.

Kelso, 65 minutes south of Edinburgh was our base for four nights. We had the luxury of a comfortable apartment on the town’s impressive market square with the ruins of Kelso Abbey behind us.

Looking across the Tweed River to Kelso town

Fly fishers in the famous Junction Pool where the Tweed and Teviot Rivers meet

Our stay coincided with a cold snap, bright blue skies with hoar frosts and black ice on the roads. Perfect for walking and cycling to see the other three abbeys and historical landmarks in the region. Serious broad acre agriculture is still the mainstay of the Scottish Borders. Much of the rolling hills are cultivated or have livestock grazing, but there are still forests aplenty as one can see from the famous Scott’s View where national treasure and local hero, Sir Walter Scott, stopped his carriage to drink in the panorama.

The Elliott branch of Stuart’s family tree traces back to the borders. The story goes that they were reivers, border raiders who rustled sheep from whomever they could until the practice was stamped out in the early 17th century. Whatever slight embarrassment this might attach to the Elliott name was dispelled by the beauty of the Borders. It’s our new favourite place in Scotland.

Disappointingly all the stately homes and castles close during the winter (October to late March or April) including the largest, Floors Castle. We did manage lunch in Floors unprepossessing cafe and a walk around the walled garden and greenhouse, however with everything cut back to canes and bare earth, except for the parterre garden hedges, it’s barely worth the three pound entry fee. The best view of the castle is from Kelso bridge, the lovely stone, arched bridge that became the template for Waterloo Bridge, London.

The new Parterre Garden at Floors Castle

Our cycling expedition started in pretty Melrose, birthplace of seven aside rugby. We had visited its Cistercian Abbey the day before. It is the most interesting of all the abbeys visually and historically (the others being Kelso, Dryburgh, Melrose and Jedburgh), certainly it seemed the best preserved and had the benefit of some excellent exhibits in the adjacent museum.

The Cistercians at Melrose created a prosperous agrarian society with their own ships to transport their wool

All the abbeys are currently behind unattractive metal barriers. The official explanation is that the heritage preservation bodies are undertaking high level investigative works to determine the risk of falling masonry. It seems more likely to us that the pandemic has decimated their revenue as the sites were completely closed to the public for a year and run on skeleton staff. I wouldn’t hold my breath that they’ll reopen fully any time soon.

We rented electric bicycles from David at Willow Bikes in Melrose. With a printout of a 30 mile circuit in my pocket supplied by David I led off on a selection of mostly B roads, a shared walk-cycle path by the Tweed River and a couple of sections of the A7 that could do with a cycle lane.

Selkirk bookshop window dedicated to Robbie Burns

It really was a brilliant if slightly challenging day for me. Even with the power assist thirty miles and many hills are hard work for a non-cyclist and my gloved hands were frozen for the first hour. The coffee, cake and chat at cosy Three Hills cafe in Selkirk, an encounter with a beautiful blonde at the crest of a killer hill and seeing the spot where salmon leap were particular memories I’ll treasure. And I didn’t get us lost once!

There he goes!

The Blonde

The weir, Larinier fish pass allowing fish to swim up and downstream and two Archimedes Screws (hydro power generation) on the Tweed River

David recommended the Waterwheel Cafe for lunch – top spot

Next day it was Stuart’s turn to guide us on an out and back seven and a half mile walk from St Boswell with a short side trip to view Dryburgh Abbey. We started on a section of St Cuthbert’s Way (the 60 mile track from Melrose to Lindisfarne was named after the 7th century saint) that dips down along the Tweed River then crosses an elegant steel footbridge to climb to a viewpoint above Dryburgh Farm. A wealthy local landowner created a temple to the four muses dedicated to the 18th century Borders naturalist poet James Thomson and a larger than life statue of Scottish hero Sir William Wallace that are both accessible to the public.

We treated ourselves to an Italian dinner at The Contented Vine in Kelso. We couldn’t fault the food and service from the attentive young staff who kindly obliged with this photo memory.

Not sure why there’s a laser light on Stuart!?

The morning we returned to Edinburgh was the fourth Saturday of the month which meant it was market day. We could hear the clang of stalls being erected as we ate breakfast. Fresh and cured meat and fish, cheeses, just baked breads, cakes and some hand crafts were enticingly displayed. We claimed a rye cob and some scones and departed feeling very pleased with ourselves. Now we just need to persuade Jenny and Tristan to come back to the Borders for a weekend in March!

PS Stuart would want me to let you know that he only took the e-bike because no pedal bikes were available to rent. And he barely used the battery 😉.

Plague Journey Part Five: How to survive a Scottish winter

On January 21, 2022January 24, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Uncategorized2 Comments

By guest blogger Stuart Elliott

Hibernate.

Take a long holiday down south and preferably don’t stop just because you encounter the English Channel.

If you are female buy yourself a hot water bottle, Long Johns (or is that sexist in this enlightened age?), sheep skin slippers and a brand new duvet (or what my English mother used to call an eiderdown). Now you might think the duvet is for the bed but you would be wrong.

The duvet is worn from November 1st, when winter begins, to October 31st, when winter ends.

Yes I exaggerate but only a little.

When I write wear I do mean wear. Literally you cut a couple of holes somewhere near the top to put your arms through and a long zipper closing for the front. And voila, you have the latest fashion statement.

Did I mention that the duvet must be white if you are a foreigner or blancmange if you are a Scot. Blancmange always makes me want to heave as it reminds me of those awful boarding school dinners – yes I know some of you fellow ‘boarders’ sufferers are thinking, without any assistance from Monty Python, that I was lucky to have food at all at my school.

Anyway back to the duvet scene.

It is not only the height of fashion but very practical. Once donned in October there is no need to take it off until you start sweating.

You wear it to work, you wear it at work and you wear to bed.

It’s also the ideal outfit for football training and going to the beach. Yes, in Edinburgh we go to the beach in January when the sea temp is 9 deg C and the air temp is a balmy zero. It’s a very practical beach wrap for changing into one’s swimming attire (trunks not togs if you please).

Now of course it’s blancmange so that people can see you. It’s the Scots’ version of high viz, which is very useful what with the sky being grey, the sea being dirty grey and the buildings on the whole being well…. grey.

My editor tells me I can’t take any photos to support my observations because that would inevitably be racist, sexist and possibly ageist. I do however have an example from a well known women’s wear store pictured below.

I state this is sexist because generally the lads are not dressed in full length puffer coats. No, they prefer to show a little more leg. In fact they like to sport as much leg and arm as possible. Seemingly they don’t notice that daylight is almost non-existent and the temperature rarely exceeds the ‘feels like 2 deg C’ level, which my editor assures me is twice as warm as 1 deg C.

Meanwhile I have worn out my thermal underwear, two layers being required even in bed, and will soon need a new ski jacket.

I am considering a blancmange puffer job paired with quilted burgundy coloured pants. However apparently I would get very strange looks in a shop if I asked for ski pants, as pants in Scotland are undershorts and what I need are trousers. There again I would fit in very well walking down Princes Street. I would be just one of the lads, something some of you will know I have always aspired to but never quite attained.

But I have to admire the Scots, and not just because I have on occasion claimed to be one, for their hardiness and determination. Whilst I have always supported the union of the British Isles, I think the Scots would fare far better via home rule and I look forward to them (and Wales) rejoining the EU.

The aforementioned ski jacket (red) only removed when in a heated environment

Plague Journey Part Four: Food, glorious food and Port Appin Minibreak

On January 15, 2022February 25, 2023 By Sharon TickleIn Uncategorized10 Comments

Edinburgh became a bleak place post new year – short, grey days without the sparkle of xmas lights to brighten the evenings. Bruntsfield’s footpaths are littered with pine needles from hundreds of xmas trees dragged out to the street to be collected by the bin men (and they are all men). We observed xmas trees usefully turned into wood chip to resurface paths at Gorgie City Farm (a favourite outing of our grandaughter) and I gather from the BBC that goats will eat pine and fir trees so that’s something at least. You might know by now that Stuart and I gave up personal involvement in the whole christmas shebang a couple of decades ago.

With not a lot to occupy us (Ms E is at nursery three days a week while Tristan and Jenny are working) we’ve been eating our way around Edinburgh. Top cafes in Bruntsfield are plant-based Seeds for the Soul, Maki & Ramen and Glow, whilst top restaurants are Tempo Perso Italian and Montpeliers. Several formerly popular local places, like Three Birds aren’t operating due to covid-induced staff shortages or financial problems.

Surprisingly some young entrpreneurs are taking a punt on the hospitality sector bouncing back by opening new restaurants. Tantra opened downtown in October. Saturday night it was doing reasonable trade, albeit most customers appeared to be on a date so maybe it wasn’t representative. Splashy cocktails, cleavage and holding of hands across the table were much in evidence.

The menu is modern Indian meets molecular. I was curious about a vegan ‘exploding’ starter with four flavour sensations. Turned out to be dry ice and five test tubes of salsas. Tasty but the ‘basket’ was better and our baked aubergine dish better again.

Come Sunday we were ready for a family outing to Dalkeith Country Park and adventure playground. It’s a 25 minute drive south-east from central Edinburgh. Despite freezing conditions (we had to retreat to the van to eat our picnic lunch) and copious amounts of mud we all enjoyed the grounds, the fort and the hot chocolate!

Tristan and I reverted to 8 years of age

Unfortunately Ms E’s latest cold collected from nursery has gone straight to her chest again and she is rather unwell, as is Jenny (Stuart is the only one to have avoided the virus thus far). It’s not covid, just one of the many winter viruses doing the rounds. Still, it confirmed us in our decision to head west for a few days. We normally travel by rail in Scotland but the omicron wave has wrought havoc with train scheduling. We collected a rather smart Audi from Sixt instead. Stuart is driving as we don’t anticipate we’ll need to be on the road at night. It’s allowed me to shoot some atmospheric video out the car window and for both of us to listen to the drama unfolding at number 10 Downing Street and Parliament in real time courtesy of the BBC. Bad boy Boris has finally pushed the Novak Djokovic Australian immigration drama off the air waves, well for the moment.

Port Appin was our destination however as we were passing Falkirk we detoured to see the Kelpies in Helix Park. I was awestruck by them when I visited in the summer of 2019. Stuart was less impressed but cheered up by the hot soup in the visitor centre.

This will give you an idea of their scale – they’re 30 metres high

Passing through Callander, a favourite of ours

Aaaah, the serenity…

You can’t gauge how high these from this photo but I estimate 200 metres

Ok, it’s ‘Autumn’, not ‘Winter’ but it still sounded cool

You can just make out a disused rail bridge

The forecast was pretty dire for the three days of our minibreak but we rationalised that if the rain didn’t let up we had a choice of three fireplaces in our hotel to bunker down in front of. Stuart took the advice of brother, James, and niece, Rosie, and booked us into the historic Pierhouse right by the ferry jetty in tiny Port Appin. It’s the sister hotel of highly regarded Three Chimneys on Skye and The Machrie Hotel and Golf Links on Islay. The restaurant specialises in local seafood but they provided me with a small vegan menu.

The pedestrian ferry is a stone’s throw from the Pierhouse Ferry Bar

We’re very comfortable and well fed and watered (medicinal whisky for my cold) but slightly disappointed that everything hereabouts, bar the tiny general store, is closed. The Airds, the other posh hotel in Port Appin, is shut temporarily due to covid. At least the pedestrian ferry to Lismore Island is running – to a reduced winter timetable – and we’ve managed to secure bicycles (mountain bike for cycle fit Stuart and electric for me) and picnic provisions for an excursion.

On a walk around the headland we marvelled at the hand sanitiser by every gate

Privately owned Castle Stalker just down the road from the Pierhouse

With no other lunch options we drove into Oban. Last time we were here, to embark on our Hebridean Isles sailing trip https://sharontickle.wordpress.com/2018/05/24/a-date-with-irene-sailing-the-inner-hebrides-scotland/ the sky was blue and the town was buzzing. Mid-winter and mid-covid Oban is a sad place. Quite a lot of shops are boarded up or empty.

The forecast for our cycle trip was for cloud but no rain. Maybe they don’t count the constant Scotch mist as rain. You end up soaked nonetheless and it’s a salty mist straight off the sea. Ten minutes on the ferry and then you’re in crofter country. Sheep, cattle, birds, a few horses, two sheep dogs and practically nothing else. In total we saw two cars, one other cyclist and a couple from our hotel got off our return ferry. That was the sum total of visitors. If you’re looking for solitude go to Lismore in winter.

Our cycle route north to south with a side trip to see the car ferry port for Oban

Comparisons are odious but I’m going to anyway. Lismore is a small farming and holiday island just as Ile de Brehat in Brittany is, but there the resemblance ends. I’ve seen Ile de Brehat on a gloomy day (I have sailed there once and returned by car and ferry https://sharontickle.wordpress.com/2013/07/19/ships-log-provident-3/ ) but it’s not bleak like Lismore. Many of the houses are unloved and unkempt and once you pass the turn to the Oban car ferry the road south becomes very sketchy. We passed a primary school, small store and a heritage centre with cafe (closed).

According to a history and culture display in Port Appin The Clearances began on the mainland and on Lismore in 1775 and in the early 19th century resulted in mass emigration mostly to the Carolinas in the USA, but also to Nova Scotia, Cape Breton Island and later Australia and New Zealand. Maybe some of the wonderful musicians we enjoyed on Cape Breton came from here.

Our favourite part of the ride was where a loch borders the road with a stream exiting the loch and running under the bitumen.

Apologies for my croaky voice, day three of a cold

Kelp is abundant and the water crystal clear

The mist started to get heavier after nine miles when we were about a mile from the southern tip. We had 45 minutes to get to the last ferry before the ferrymen took their lunch break leaving us out in the wet for two more hours. We decided to make a dash for it and went hell for leather straight back to the pier arriving with twenty minutes to spare. We looked like drowned rats drinking our warming whisky by the Pierhouse fire on our return and our picnic was much more enjoyable in the room with a bottle of Chilean pinot noir.

Stuart ate his body weight in seafood – this was his fish pie

Pierhouse’s version of chocolate mousse was also a big hit

Looking ahead, Stuart has sworn an oath to deliver the next blog post (he should have written this one but reneged) so you can expect an eccentric Englishman’s take on our perambulations thus far.

Plague Journey Part Three: Edinburgh Hogmanay and 2022 Begins

On January 4, 2022January 4, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Uncategorized1 Comment

Edinburgh’s official Hogmanay celebrations were cancelled. Skyrocketing Omicron case numbers shot the fireworks down. Even with the extra control measures community transmission is on a steep upward curve. No data has been available since December 31 but the expectation is that they are doubling every three days.

Our New Year’s Eve was spent quietly at Jenny and Tristan’s home in Bruntsfield, the only excitement Tristan’s enthusiastic fire dancing (he was a dedicated fire twirler in his youth) on the Leamington Lift Bridge (by the canal) and in their garden. Ms E wisely retreated to her bedroom and watched from the window.

Tristan the pyromaniac

Our NYE dinner table with Evie’s hand decorated personalised placemats

The weather continues mostly wet and cold, but not as brisk as normal. Snow is forecast. I may need to break out my ski pants!

Our excursion to Portobello on New Year’s day for the traditional ‘Loony Dook’ cold water immersion and Gullane Beach was bracing. The women braved the North Sea, the men watched and photographed. In another Portobello tradition we ate our body weight of the largest pizza I’ve ever seen. Delicious!

Another dry day found us at Cramond where Ms E was engrossed in beachcombing and drawing in the sand. The adults ran interference with the very many badly behaved dogs tearing around the beach.

We’ve been trying to walk for exercise at least ninety minutes a day. Yesterday’s destination was our favourite bar, in the lobby of the Balmoral Hotel. It feels like a thirties time capsule with the same elegant style and sophistication of service you’d find on a Cunard liner of the period.

Today we’re trying to decide what to do for the rest of January. All the options will need to be within the UK as overseas travel complexity is too nervewracking to do twice (we hope to be in Italy and Spain jn February).

This afternoon we moved into an apartment five minutes walk down the road for six nights to give Jenny and Tristan a break from us. We’ll have them over for meals and pop into theirs to play with Ms E. It’s been wonderful to be able to reconnect properly as her memories are probably all based on video calls. We also enjoyed a grown-ups only lunch at The Black Ivy, outside of course. Meals out have been few and far between for Jenny and Tristan these past two years.

Our apartment building fronts Union Canal

Our view when we stepped out our door this morning

Stuart exiting The Black Ivy, Bruntsfield

We hope you and yours have kicked off 2022 in good health and spirits!

Plague Journey Part Two: Sussex, Somerset, Cornwall, Cotswolds and London

On January 3, 2022January 4, 2022 By Sharon TickleIn Uncategorized1 Comment

I feel inordinately proud of myself. We’ve just returned our rental car, an unassuming manual Ford Focus, after ten days of driving down single lane, hedgerow-bordered Cornish lanes, through heavy London traffic and on motorways, all completely without incident. (At least I don’t think I got pinged for speeding, time will tell.)

As the transport secretary on this expedition I’m trying to keep costs down so opted to be sole named driver (Stuart has night vision impairment courtesy of hereditary Fuch’s syndrome). Nineteen pounds more a day for an extra named driver is price gouging. It helped that Stuart performed his role as navigator very abley.

We took an enjoyable side trip from Lavenham to Ickworth National Trust Estate near Bury St Edmonds. Its grand 18th century house, the former home of the Marquess of Bristol, with Italianate rotunda and extensive gardens and parks, allowed us to stretch our legs and learn about Ickworth’s chequered history. As ever the stories of the ‘downstairs’ help were as interesting as those from ‘upstairs’.

Thence we went south to start the family visits of this part of the trip. First to our niece Rosie and her little family near Winchester. Rosie had birthed her first baby five weeks previously. We felt privileged to be able to meet Baby W at such a young age and to catch up on all the time we’d missed. Coincidentally while we were there, Rosie and Neil’s printed wedding photos arrived, the wedding in The Lake District we’d been forced to miss.

We stayed down the road at The King’s Head in Hursley. Hursley has historical importance to the Elliotts as Stuart’s father, Professor Bill Elliott, one of the earliest computer wizards, started IBM Hursley in the 50s and ran it for four years. IBM still has 3,000 or so employees at Hursley, one of whom is Rosie.

Apologies for not posting family photos. We leave the parents to decide what, if any, media exposure is appropriate for themselves and their offspring.

The King’s Head is under new ownership and management. We had personal service from the new manager as he’d given a lot of his staff time off. We ate and drank very well, mostly in solitary splendour as we were the only people staying in-house and Boris’ warnings to ‘stay at home’ had been taken to heart by the British public.

The dining room of The King’s Head, Hursley

Next port of call was Rosie’s brother Alex near Glastonbury for a lively family lunch at home. With three gorgeous children five and under there is a never a dull moment with Alex and Nicola.

I’d arranged accommodation over Xmas at The Pityme Inn, just down the road from the rental house above Daymer Bay, Cornwall, where Stuart’s brother James and his wife and family were congregating for the holidays. We were invited for xmas eve and xmas lunch so had plenty of time to catch up with the other niece and nephew and their partners and the two great nephews and great niece. I learnt that I still suck at advanced Lego but can string and tie a mean bracelet.

The weather these holidays has been almost unrelentingly bad; wet, cold and grey, but we did have a few hours respite for rockpooling and play on the beach with the kids and a couple of walks along the south west coastal path.

The small people didn’t seem to feel the cold until they were completely drenched

I marked xmas day with a dip in the sea. No one else was keen. At ten degrees celsius it is half the temperature of the ocean I am used to!

Rock was heaving with people and dogs, as busy I have seen it on previous summer visits. As the Brits are generally still not holidaying overseas a xmas by the sea has proven popular.

The staff at the Inn looked after us attentatively, offering a complimentary Buck’s Fizz with our xmas day breakfast and arranging plates of food for our xmas day dinner since everything would be shut. We were happily surprised by the quality of the food, especially the vegan dishes.

On Boxing Day we headed back north to rendezvous with old friends Anne and Charles in Chipping Norton, a Cotswold market town. We stayed two nights at The Fox, a landmark, historic pub in the town centre.

At check-in they explained that breakfast the next morning would be taken in a different room in the hotel as The Hunt had exclusive use of the restaurant and bar. My ears pricked up – hunting?! Wasn’t that banned?

The short answer is yes, hunting small mammals to death has been illegal in England since 2004 under the Hunting Act, however the loopholes and exemptions written into in the Act are driven through with hounds in full cry frequently. In 2012 The Heythrop Hunt Ltd, the name of the local hunt company, is one such. The huntsman and two members were found guilty of twelve counts of unlawful hunting with dogs on four occasions.

We expected to be woken to bugles, barking and the sound of horses’ hooves, but it wasn’t until we were returning to the town square after a soggy perambulation around the historic centre and St Mary’s Church that we saw horses and riders congregating outside The Fox.

We never found out if any hunting actually took place that day, rather it appeared more like an equestrian gathering as in Andalusian Feria, where smartly dressed riders and well groomed horses stand around and look at each other admiringly and are gazed upon by the public. We saw mums and dads walking their toddlers and small children on ponies decorated with tinsel. The only difference was the presence of beagles and, instead of sherry, thirty glasses of port poured and waiting for them in the bar of The Fox.

Because I’m staunchly opposed to blood sports and animal slaughter in general I won’t dignify ‘The Hunt’ with a photo.

Many convivial meals later, especially at Tite Inn, Chidlington, and after a very boggy circular walk to Upper Norton (apologies Anne and Charles) we had to farewell our friends and move on to London.

View from Alexander Pope Hotel to the Thames

From our base at The Alexander Pope Hotel opposite the Thames in Twickenham we visited Jean-Louis and Liz in East Sheen and Maria and Colin in Ealing. All these friends in England had been at our wedding weekend and had popped up many times in our lives since, despite never living in the same country as us after 1982. After everyone has weathered Covid (touch wood) it’s been especially good to give them all hugs.

As ever the London winter weather was not conducive to outdoor activity. Nothing for it but to indulge in a leisurely Italian lunch at Massaniella in Church Street, Twickenham. Their homemade pastas, olives, and red wine from Puglia improved the complexion of the day enormously.

Now we’re killing several hours before our flight Stansted-Edinburgh. Our almost daily LFTs have been negative thus far, we hope our luck holds for Hogmanay with Tristan and family.

Plague Journey Part One: Australia to Suffolk, England

On December 29, 2021December 29, 2021 By Sharon TickleIn Uncategorized8 Comments

It’s been almost two years since my last international travel blog post. Recall that Australia closed its border to international arrivals, including its own citizens, in March 2020, and only opened up again in November 2021.

I approach this account with trepidation. Covid has taken so much from so many it almost didn’t feel right publishing again. There’s one reader however who is adamant that I do, my mother. At 91 and 92 my Mum and Dad, whilst they are in good shape and live independently in their own home, are resigned to never travelling overseas again. Xmas lunch across the border with my oldest sister will be the furtherest they’ll have been during the pandemic. So this is for you Mum.

Certainly this trip started like no other. The multiple regulatory hurdles we had to jump were daunting, but clearly not insurmountable because we’re here in the UK and, touch wood, everything has gone to plan, almost.

For those also contemplating pandemic travel to the UK from Australia our experience went like this:

We’re both triple vaccinated and we made sure our vaccination record was on our Medicare online profile.

Stuart booked return flights Ballina-Sydney-Dubai-Manchester. The first leg was with Jetstar and the international sectors with Emirates Business Class. Pre-Covid we would never have been able to justify the expense but when every decision hinges on infection minimisation Business was a no brainer and the routing via Dubai appeared preferable to Singapore.

We obtained the international vaccination certificates via the Australian government medicare website.

Three weeks out from departure the UK required a lateral flow test to be done before the end of day two after arrival. These were duly bought through the UK government provider website, a random, ridiculous exercise if ever there was one, and sent to our son’s address in Edinburgh for us to self-administer during self-isolation.

Ten days out Boris changed the test to a PCR so the $150 for lateral flow tests went down the drain as I bought PCR test kits and again had them sent to Tristan. (In case you are wondering why we didn’t just go to a testing clinic, these are few and far between for arriving travellers and the Manchester Airport testing clinic booked out the day the appointments went online.)

Within 48 hours of departure we were required to complete UK online passenger locator forms that link the pre-departure and the arrival PCR tests with the arriving passenger.

In the two days prior to the first flight the UK requires travellers to take a $150 private pathology PCR test, the result of which was uploaded to our mygov online profiles. Unfortunately my tester made data input errors and the lab texted me a negative result as per a regular public test, not the one emailed to travellers with a link to a special number that UK immigration can see. By the time the lab’s information line opened for me to try to rectify their mistakes we were just a few hours from our first flight……

In Sydney airport the confirmation email of my negative result arrived, hallelujah! (Note: There is a private testing clinic adjacent to Sydney airport that does walk-in tests for AUD45 with results returned within a few hours, so our Bus Transfer driver said.)

We took every possible precaution, social distancing wherever possible and wore masks except when we were eating or drinking so were horrified to see the packed queue to have our paperwork checked by Emirates staff prior to joining an equally long business class queue to check in for the Dubai flight. We rationalised that the likelihood of getting covid within Australia would be comparatively low compared to everywhere we went subsequently, but it made us anxious to see so many people crowded together, many of whom weren’t properly masked if at all.

My mild-mannered Englishman nearly got into a punch-up with another passenger when he complained to a staff member that the man had pushed ahead of him with his entourage of 15 family members. A staffer escorted us to first class check-in and then safely detoured us away from the man. Stu had eyes on the back of his head for a few hours after that.

On board we relaxed a little since the aircraft ventilation is good compared with buildings. Our time in Dubai airport was brief and the Manchester flight was similarly incident free. Flight crew and fellow passengers observed covid-safe etiquette.

At Manchester Airport there was no queue at the non-UK immigration desk and the officer could see all our documentation on his screen. Within two minutes we were at the baggage carousel and fifteen minutes later we were outside and being greeted by the Emirates chauffeur who took us to the train station.

I’d booked train tickets online in Sydney Airport however because the arrival process was so fast we realised we could catch a train leaving two hours earlier and arrived in Edinburgh at 3:40pm. The hardest part of the journey was wearing the P95 masks for the three hours on the train. I have nothing but admiration for health are and emergency workers who do up to twelve hour shifts wearing them. Only about half the passengers were masked. One group of young people not far from us were having an unmasked shouting conversation that seemed to go on forever.

Because our three-year-old granddaughter in Edinburgh is unvaccinated and had been hospitalised with a non-Covid viral chest infection just three weeks ago we agreed with Tristan that we’d self-isolate in a hotel nearby until we got a negative day two PCR test result plus a negative lateral flow test on the day we moved in with them. Unfortunately when we arrived we missed the 4:30pm pickup from the collection box which was a taxi ride away from our hotel thus extending our hotel stay another night. All up that exercise cost us more than $600.

Happily the PCR tests were negative as were the rapid antigen (we took some with us and Tris also gave us some) and we moved in with our son and his family for a reunion dinner and a whisky around the firepit in his garden.

As it’s the week before xmas our plans had to dovetail with Jenny’s family who celebrate in Cambridge at her parents’ home. Tristan talked us into riding in the back of their camper van for the 6.5 hour journey. VW Transporters have a bench seat up front – occupied by Tristan driving and Jenny and Miss E, while we rolled around in the back with my feet well clear of the floor. Are Germans all six feet tall? As in so many car journeys pre-downloaded pod casts saved my sanity. I particularly recommend my sister Maria’s ‘This Working Life’ on Radio National, ABC. We will fly back to Edinburgh.

Tristan dropped us at our accommodation, Christ’s College, Cambridge, which like all the old colleges is in the town centre. I had no idea one could stay at Christ’s until it popped up on a booking.com search. As one of the College staff explained over breakfast next morning, the vast majority of students vacate their rooms when term ends, allowing the College to offer bed and breakfast for most of the holiday period. They do close altogether for Xmas-New Year.

Since Stuart’s parents’ home for most of their married life was in Cambridge and he went to school at King’s College for four years Stuart knows it well and we’ve visited various Cambridge colleges previously as tourists, but staying there was something quite different. Wandering along lamplit cobbled paths at night through medieval arches and stumbling across Charles Darwin in his garden moved me unexpectedly. The Darwin depicted was 22 years old and contemplating his first big adventure, the voyage of the Beagle. How motivating it must be to be able to study in the same place as so many incredible minds.

Stuart exiting Porter’s Lodge entry to Christ’s College

This coming September Cambridge University’s student intake will, for the first time, be fifty per cent women. Let that sink in. In another fifty years time the portraits and statues of great men will be jostling with the portraits and statues of great women. How very right.

Stuart and I were living together in London from 1977 but married in Cambridge Registry office on December 20, 1980. We’d booked to celebrate our 40th anniversary last year by revisiting the sites of our nuptuals. Ever optimistic I rebooked for this year. We strolled around a quiet, cold, grey Cambridge and wandered down to the punting jetty. The boatmen were offering hot mulled wine and a warm blanket as inducements to take a punt but we were on a mission to collect our rental car and drive to The Swan Hotel in Lavenham, the venue for our wedding weekend and our home for the next two days.

The Swan is a Suffolk icon, a Tudor era inn which retains many original features. Now an expensive five star hotel (our modest room was AUD330 per night) after a revamp a couple of years ago we were pleased to see our private dining room still existed. Stuart’s memory for events long past is better than mine but we still struggled to remember exactly who was present as we didn’t have a wedding photographer or any of the wedding planning that happens these days. We think we chose The Swan because Stuart’s parents had taken him there once. In any event it was a rollicking party with most of the guests staying over.

I’d love to say we had a wonderful experience this time but honesty prevents that. Staff make or break a hospitality experience and the staff at The Swan (and there are many of them) seemed more interested in chatting maskless with each other than attending to their guests. Poor service and mediocre food and beverages are one thing, however their non-covid safe practices were appalling and downright dangerous.

As in Australia hospitality staff may secure an exemption from wearing a mask based on a number of reasons. Fair enough, however why you would allocate those people specifically to food service is beyond us. This happened at dinner and again at afternoon tea. When I asked the manager why this was allowed he said he could not discriminate. Nor could he say whether the non mask wearers were vaccinated or not. He tried to reassure me that their staff voluntary vaccination rate was ‘very high’ but would not say exactly how high. At that point we advised him we would be dining out and having our breakfast in the room.

At the pub down the road where we subsequently had dinner, The Cock Horse, staff were welcoming and followed covid safe practices. In conversation with our server we learned that a member of The Swan’s senior management was off sick – with covid19.

It’s a little unfair to compare Australia’s pandemic public health management with Britain’s, or more specifically England’s, since the British nations are able to vary them, but it seems to us, to misquote Paul Keating, that England has got the pandemic they deserve.

We’ve just done our self tests with negative results so we’re cleared to visit our niece Rosie, her husband and their five-week-old baby, Master W. Covid made us miss Rosie’s wedding despite it being rescheduled. This Xmas the most valued gift one can give is a negative lateral flow test done just prior to visiting loved ones.

In the UK the NHS administers the distribution of free self test lateral flow kits in packs of seven via chemists and GP clinics. You can’t buy them here. Currently there is a nation-wide shortage. We tried four pharmacies, all of which were waiting to be resupplied, before we got to Lavenham where happily the village pharmacist was able to give us a pack after I registered online and showed her my registration confirmation. We have five more reunions after we leave Rosie and then we’ll need a negative test before we can rejoin Tristan and Jenny for New Year’s Eve. Wish us luck!

Returning to The Swan with our prize, note corridor beams

A touch of frost the morning we left Lavenham

Innsbruck Overnighter and Farewell To Edinburgh

On March 21, 2024 By Sharon TickleIn Innsbruck3 Comments

It’s always a compromise to get into and out of the Dolomites from Edinburgh. A case of planes, trains, buses and taxis. This time we repeated an Innsbruck overnight stay with two trains onwards to Munich Airport and thence Easyjet to Edinburgh.

Last visit to Innsbruck we had fine weather. Not so this time. The cold rain couldn’t lure us outside. A delicious dinner at Madhubana Gujurati restaurant two doors down was as far as we got on our arrival evening.

Nala Individuellhotel delivered as promised. Quirky, attractive room features, including a huge bath tub and friendly staff, plus a complimentary half bottle of chilled prosecco on arrival. A steal 157 euros. We should have taken them up on their breakfast option. The Breakfast Club sounded better than it was…

Enough time for a quick wander around the downtown shopping district before walking to the train station. Easter is clearly not far away.

Ski buses heading off in several directions filled with skiers and snowboarders. If you look like a skier those buses are free. There’s a choice of several decent ski areas within 45 minutes. What a great life for the keen skier!

Second class journey to Munich with a sweet young German family next to us. Two-year-old Tommy took a while to warm to us, but eventually he sat next to me and we communicated in sign language.

Apart from a 40 minute delay caused by not exiting the train at Munich Ost/East for the airport connection (Stuart understands German, but apparently not train announcements) the trip was painless and we zipped through Edinburgh airport and into a high speed taxi to arrive at Tristan and Jenny’s in time to see Ms E before she was whisked off for the bedtime routine.

I am not sad to be leaving Europe after six weeks. I’m craving the sun’s warmth in my bones. I would love for our next visit to be in the summer time!

The final Edinburgh hurrah! Shopping on Princes and James Street and some bubbles at the Balmoral.

Spring Ski Report: Dolomites 2024

On March 18, 2024March 19, 2024 By Sharon TickleIn Dolomites, Dolomitisuperski, Skiing1 Comment

By Stuart Elliott

11-18 March

Here we are again in the Dolomites, after a two year hiatus; only this time we’ve returned to Ortisei and the outstanding Albion Hotel on a dinner, bed and breakfast package with minibus transfers to the ski lifts. It’s out of town, but who cares when it has a 20m outdoor pool with steam rising from it.

And if you need more steam, there is always the turkish bath, not to mention the various saunas and whirlpools.

The following will not be worth reading unless you plan a visit to this part of the Dolomite Superski area (but the photos attempt to show off the beauty of this UNESCO World heritage natural paradise). The purpose of the report is to help us recall, for next time, the best skiing based around ideal and a bit off the beaten track lunch stops. Yes, we hope to return, despite advancing years, and yes it’s all about food, skiing (fast), Tyrolean hospitality and hopefully blue skies.

This is a summer hiking map, but you get the picture! This is only part of the skiable area.

Day One:

Seceda, Ortisei, cloudy with poor piste visibility in morning, snow icy at first. Coffee at Daniel’s and then lunch inside at Daniel’s. Bought Val Gardena day pass to test ourselves and the snow. All good!

Day Two:

Bus to Selva Gardena then skiied to Corvara. Bought Dolomiti Superski pass for five days. Mostly sunny, snow good though slushy low down. Lunch on deck at Ütia Crëp de Munt.

Day Three:

Seceda to Santa Cristina and Plan de Gralba. Fabulous La Logia 10.5k on return. Mostly sunny, snow good, though slushy low down. Lunch on deck at Grand Paradiso.

Day Four:

Selva by bus and skiied to Corvara to do a black run. Returned via pistes above La Villa into Corvara. Sunny, snow good though slushy low down. Coffee on deck at Ütia Crëp de Munt. Lunch indoors at La Stua Restaurant at Edelweiss Rifugio above Colfosco. New section of restaurant has contemporary design and decor.

Day Five:

Seceda to Santa Cristina and on to Campanillo/Competello. Sun, cloud, snow flurries then cloud and sun. Snow good though slushy low down. Coffee at Passo Sella. Excellent pizza lunch at Rifugio Freidrich August – The Yak (with real yaks!). Coffee and apfelstreudel at Baita Vallongia. Returned via Saslong.

Day Six:

Conditions sunny and ideal until 11.30am so we scorched it above Ortisei in the Fermeda / Seceda area and skiied one of S’s fave black runs. She now has an additional fave black at the top just below the cable car where she filmed one of her high speed descents. Coffee and lunch at Baita Gamsblut Hütte, a small, gemutlic restaurant half-way down the Gardenissima, the Seceda-Santa Cristina connector.

Day Seven:

Departure day, but not until the 3pm transfer to Innsbruch. Plenty of time for a last swim (her) and gym (him) plus a trip into town for new ski jacket shopping (him) and pizza and sacher torte lunch at Mauriz Keller.

Final comment from Sharon: Stuart did an exceptionally good job of organising our accommodation and ski tour guiding. So good in fact that I have secured his services again for Feb. 2025 before he pops off on his ski safari with his pals.

Our table for the week. Who doesn’t want a glass of prosecco with brekky?

Bologna Photo Essay

On March 11, 2024March 11, 2024 By Sharon TickleIn Bologna2 Comments

So many ways to travel to Ortisei in the Dolomites, from Jerez de la Frontera. Usually I argue for Venice. This time Stuart routed us through Bologna with one night and half a day to experience the ‘learned-red-fat city’.

He chose Starhotel Excelsior because it is opposite the train station for the next leg to Bolzano (and thence by car transfer). Excellent choice.

After two flights we were happy to sink into the ease of a hotel dinner starting with a generous pour of franciacorta.

Our Italian friend Francesca provided sightseeing tips, plus Stuart had done his own research. By starting early and breakfasting out we managed to cover central Bologna on foot with two sunny coffee stops and an apero, as well as shopping for Edinburgh granddaughter’s sixth birthday present, before heading back to the hotel to collect our luggage.

One indelible memory will be the well-heeled Italian couple who sat next to us for second coffee on Piazza Maggiore. Impeccably and expensively dressed; the signora wore a long wool skirt, blouse and three-string pearl necklace with gold clasp and filigree mabé pearl drop earrings. Signor wore a hand-stitched tweed jacket, cashmere sweater and snazzy sunglasses. She carried two newspapers in a plastic folder and proceeded to read them cover to cover whilst sipping an espresso. He sat with his face in full sun drinking coffee with the ocasional murmured comment, looking every centimetre the Italian Richard E Grant equivalent. Oh to be so sophisticated!

I don’t think they really appreciated that I kept her out of hospital this morning. When she went to sit down she only had three of the chair legs on the ground. I felt compelled to caution her before she took a tumble down the steps. They subsequently swapped places so he could get more sun and almost performed the same trick. Sophisticated but maybe not so smart?

Now we’re nearing Bolzano, snow-covered mountains left and right. Stuart is visibly excited to be back in his beloved Dolomiti. Such a big kid!

Dancing the blues away at Festival De Jerez 2024

On March 10, 2024March 10, 2024 By Sharon TickleIn Flamenco, Flamenco Festival, Jerez, Jerez de la Frontera, Uncategorized1 Comment

I began the 2024 Jerez festival fortnight in a state of mild melancholy. I didn’t have to look too far to figure out why. Two years ago to the day Putin unleashed the dogs of war on Ukraine. My beautiful flamenco friend in Kyiv, Olena, is still being bombed. And Netanyahu continues to prosecute his scorched earth strategy in Gaza. The weight of these horrors can’t just be shaken off. Added to that over the past twelve months the bells have tolled for three people who took their flamenco gifts with them. Sixty-three-year old Miguel Pérez, the guitarist who played at Manuel Betanzos’ studio every time I was there and supported countless emerging and established dancers and singers died suddenly of a heart attack late January. I remember swapping my three-month-old bicycle for ten of his CDs rather than sell it back to the bike store. Another Seville flamenco guitarist I admired in class and in tablao, Dani Velez, also died suddenly last year of carbon monoxide poisoning at home. And lastly, a dancer I didn’t have personal experience of, but knew as an integral member of the Estévez/Paños Company, Rosana Romera, aged 46, died unexpectedly too in January.

The blues lingered, but by focussing on the healing possibilities of music and dance I worked through the sadness. Friends, sunshine and fino helped too.😁

Tarantos in Bodega González Byass with Andrés Peña provided the perfect catharsis. Every single time I stood silently to listen to José Carlos García Pozo play his elegant falsetta at the beginning of the dance, tears ran down my face. Andrés gifted us nine minutes of beautiful Tarantos-tangos choreography, but even more importantly, he gave us insight into how to structure the piece and identify the breaks.

Andrés has been teaching via zoom with Flamenco en Red since the pandemic lockdown and continues to transmit his special brand of bulerias de Jerez all around the world. For the second year at the festival he organised a ‘convivencía’ lunch with music and dance at a Jerez tabanco for students to meet for real and dance to live cante and guitar. There must have been 60 people or so present and those who wanted to had their couple of minutes in the spotlight.

Luckily for us Ryo Kobayashi was launching his new album and invited Andrés to dance to the singing of the incredible Jesús Méndez in the Peña Flamenca de Bulerias. What a night, packed to the rafters!

Singer Luis Vargas ‘El Mono’ and guitarist Jose Carlos García Pozo with maestro Andrés Peña

My second week class choice had to be Manuel Betanzos with his Fandango-Bulerias por Soleá with Manuel Soto singing and Javier Ibañez on guitar. Observing how Manuel worked with the musicians to weave a Soleá verse into a Fandango then segue into a Buleria por Solea segment was fascinating. A real bonus was being able to take a private group lesson with Manuel Soto to learn the song with Javier supporting. Many thanks to Tania Goh for organising this rare opportunity! Stuart was listening in the bar outside and said we “sounded great”, high praise indeed!

The only negative aspect of classes was being located in Antonio El Pipa’s Danzaluzia studio for the second week. It’s dirty, rundown, and poorly lit. In three places the super hard wood flooring is giving way. After pointing out one especially dangerous area to the Festival staffer she got a piece of white paper and taped it over the offending spot so it could be avoided. Several of us have given feedback to the festival administration. I hope it’s rectified in future, especially for the teachers’ well-being, as they can spend five or seven hours in the studio per day for seven days straight.

Me 68 and Manuel Betanzos 54 years old – flamenco keeps you young!

Manuel Soto, Manuel Betanzos and Javier Ibañez

We have an exceptionally strong Aussie posse here, especially from Adelaide, and dear Francesca arrived for the second week. Plenty of opinions and personal experiences to listen to as we dissected, over drinks, the Festival and off festival performances.

Unfortunately every single dancer who was here for the fortnight succumbed to one illness or another, there are lots of cold viruses floating around, so I was literally the last woman standing at one point. Then Stuart arrived from Malaga with a raging chest cold! So far so good….

We squeezed in peñas between festival and off-festival shows.

The new Festival director chose, with one notable exception, who shall remain nameless, an excellent and varied line up of artists. I found it impossible this year to pick a favourite. It would be like choosing your favourite child so I won’t. In no particular order, of the twelve Villamarta shows, the ones I adored and would pay to see again in a heart beat were: Fuensanta La Moneta’s ‘Vinculos’, Patricia Guerrero and Alfonso Losa’s ‘Alter Ego’, David Coria and Company’s ‘Los Bailes Robados’, Estévez/Paños y Compañia’s “Confluence” and Compañia Mercedes Ruiz’ “Romanceros”. Mercedes was partnered by the captivating, clever José Maldonado. Together they created magic and his solos were memorable. Seventy-year-old Manuela Carrasco’s farewell Villamarta performance was hugely emotional for everyone present and her supporting artists were outstanding, but it is time for Manuela to bow out….

Other festival artists I especially enjoyed were the dancers, David Romero and Francisco Hidalgo.

We are now on our way to the Dolomites to see if there is any snow left!

Our flight to Madrid was loaded with amigas flamencas. Hasta la proxima guapas!

Monda Video Extras:

On February 26, 2024 By Sharon TickleIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

The first time I tried to publish the Monda blog with a video it crashed and deleted the whole blog post so I have put a few videos here, if you are interested, that really give you a taste of Monda’s goats and narrow roads!

Disfrutar!

Wait for Stuart’s ‘Oh my god!’.

Castle In The Sky, Monda, Andalusia

On February 24, 2024 By Sharon TickleIn Andalusia, Monda, Travel3 Comments

We’ve unwittingly exchanged one UNESCO World Heritage site for another, from Lakeland to the Parque Nacional Sierra de las Nieves, the UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in Southern Spain.

In Sintra we swore off UNESCO sites altogether as they are so crowded with people like us – tourists – but we keep stumbling into them. With 1,199 locations and rising I guess it’s not surprising.

This is Stuart’s week, and as usual, he researched exhaustively before settling on Hotel Castillo de Monda in the Andalusian village of Monda in the mountains above Marbella (closest airport Málaga). His track record in Spain is good, Las Chimeneas in the Alpujarras two years ago was a great success. This time he hit the jackpot.

The renovated 9th century castle first known as Al Mundat perches on the highest point of the whitewashed village with steep slopes on all sides. Stones of the castle have witnessed human occupation by waves of Muslim and Christian invaders until it finally fell into ruins and stood empty for 400 years. The site was privately purchased and building began in the 1970s before stalling for several more decades. Most recently three Dutch hospitality entrepreneurs bought and thoughtfully renovated the castle into a striking four star hotel which opened in 2016. It feels like a mini Alhambra, airy and relaxed, imbuing an ineffable sense of bien-être.

Our room has a large four-poster bed and mudéjar style fittings and tiles, with a large sunny balcony overlooking the tower. Immaculate gardens lead down to an azure salt water swimming pool. It’s unheated and judging by the effect on my skin the water can’t be more than 10 degrees Celsius.

We’re in residence for seven nights bed and breakfast. We’d planned on self-guided e-biking until the rental supplier let us down, ‘new bikes have not arrived’, so Shanks pony it is for now. Not great for Stuart’s dodgy knee, however he’s managed three longish hikes, two of four hours, without ill effects.

The first, towards Istán, joined up with a literal goat track. We heard approaching bells and gawked as a shepherdess and her three dogs herded about 500 goats down a steep slope and up the hill to join us on our trail.

The second, a loop from Monda to Guaro and back, combines a long distance walking trail and a mountain bike track. It took us along ridgetops with panoramic views and down valleys beside flowering and fruiting almond and olive groves. Pale almond petals showered the track like gentle pink rain. The last section follows an original Roman road with large stones worn smooth by the tramp of feet and hooves.

Both days the only annoyance was the frequent presence of menacing guard dogs (why always three hounds?), all mercifully contained. I mentally rehearsed my ninja backpack moves should any escape and attack us.

Unlike sleepy Guaro, Monda village has a few lively bars and restaurants but none open at night during winter. La Luna cafe-bar by the ancient laundry is the best spot for eavesdropping on shouty Andalusian conversations and watching the passing parade of cyclists, octagenarians and tractors. Los Carboneros bar-restaurant by the statue memorialising generations of charcoal makers was the ideal spot for a late lunch post hike.

Now we have a rental banger to explore Marbella, Tolox and the coast. Stuart braved the wheel on the wrong side of the road with a stick shift. He resolutely keeps his eyes on the road which is fine, but means he has no idea what speed he is doing. In addition to navigating my job is to tell him to slow down!

For a city mired in corruption for decades Marbella’s old town centre around the Alameda and Plaza de los Naranjos and sea front seems to be surprisingly well maintained and very tidy. After a coffee in Plaza Victoria, window shopping and a visit to the Church of Carmen it was a time for a pre-prandial and more people watching. Dutch and English are overwhelmingly the most common languages, but we found an Italian run bar on the promenade serving the prettiest Aperol Spritz.

Restaurant La Terraza, one floor up, overlooking the beach was a top spot for lunch. Their 15 euro three course set menu is good value. Our Dutch neighbours, an elderly couple, reminisced about when they owned a time share apartment in the building housing the restaurant. They holidayed there for thirty years and sold it recently, staying instead down the coast in Fuengirola. Their adult offspring are sadly no longer inclined to vacation with their parents, preferring winter ski hllidays. Aaaah kids!

Heading into the hills once more we tackled the 11k Sendero de las Cascadas above Tolox. It’s been a dry winter hence waterfalls are much reduced, but we climbed 600 metres with vast views and even managed to walk half an hour without hearing or seeing any indicators of civilisation. For the first time we encountered wildlife; a slim, patterned snake basking on the trail, a long line of fuzzy caterpillars and a couple of lizards. Then we happened on more goats noisily foraging on our track!

Today Stuart was keen to cycle east along the coast from Málaga town centre. Unfortunately today was designated a farmers’ mass protest day. Police closed the centre to traffic to allow a convoy of honking tractors and backhoes to drive by cheering crowds. Like their counterparts in France and Italy, Andalusian farmers are demanding more flexibility from the EU regulators, more control of Non-EU producers who farmers say are undercutting them, and greater government assistance in a time of high fuel prices and ongoing drought.

After a short delay we were on our rental bikes and off for a 30k round trip punctuated by lunch at a seafood restaurant where Stuart’s desire for a plate of white bait was satisfied. The few scenic sections of rocky coastine and a bicycle path through tunnels were pleasant, but overall I find Málaga’s beaches depressing. The dirty brown sand and rocks graded by machine hardly warrant the descriptor of ‘beach’ for this spoilt Australian.

One final lazy day in the sunshine lapping up castle life then we head our separate ways for a bit. Stuart flies to the UK for business meetings and rugby viewing with Charles, then some cycling with Jean-Louis, while I train it to Jerez de la Frontera for, you guessed it, the 28th Flamenco Festival fortnite! Hasta luego!

The Lake District, Cumbria, England

On February 17, 2024February 17, 2024 By Sharon TickleIn The Lake District, Travel2 Comments

It feels like we just got home from our last trip but snow and flamenco call so we are back in Europe starting with a family reunion. Edinburgh is a great city in all aspects of the adjective, however we were looking for a three generation family rural vacation somewhere new to us. It’s been 45 years since Stuart visited The Lake District and I have never been.

As it was Edinburgh half-term holidays (I am still getting used to having school age grandchildren) I booked five nights in a family room plus a double room at Embleton Spa Hotel, Embleton, near Keswick in the north western section of The Lake District. It’s the less populated, less popular section of UNESCO World Heritage listed The English Lake District, but still beautiful countryside and blessedly quiet in February.

The hotel sounds rather grand but it isn’t. A family-style, dog-friendly three star establishment, I chose it for its indoor heated swimming pool and a reasonable room rate that includes a hearty cooked breakfast. I figured we would have a pleasant start to every day no matter the weather outside (temps ranged from 4-8 degrees celsius). This proved exactly right. Five-year-old Ms E and I swam every morning, usually before breakfast. Mummy or Daddy would join us sometimes and Pop Pop went to the gym. We’d congregate for a multi-course slow breakfast before braving the chilly, and often rainy countryside.

We were lucky in having niece Rosie and her family close by visiting Neil’s mother in Cockermouth. We managed two family gatherings, including an outing to Lingholm Kitchen and Gardens. Lingholm house and gardens was Beatrix Potter’s holiday house for twenty summers of her life. The gardens were the artistic stimulus for Mrs Tiggwinkle. The estate has created Mr McGregor’s Garden complete with glasshouse, but the winter planting is rather sad looking.

It was a soggy outing to Lingholm but fun!

Two other successful family outings were to Whinlatter Forest Park with its Gruffalo Trail and Wild Walk for children and lovely Lake Buttermere.

At Buttermere Ms E opted to play by the stream and lake edge with Mummy while Tristan, Stuart and I perambulated the five miles around the lake. The still water looked inviting but I hadn’t come prepared to swim. It’s a popular wild swimming spot but no one braved it on the day we were there. The water never warms up as it is constantly replenished by snow melt.

Lunch at Sykes Farm featured hot pies made on the premises and homemade ice cream. Apparently it’s never too cold for ice cream in Cumbria.

On another very wet day when Tristan needed to work in the room, Ms E and Mummy spent several happy hours in the Keswick Pencil Museum while Stuart and I caught up on correspondence, reading and napping!

A trip into Keswick for lunch and shopping was another highlight. You can do a lot of damage to your credit card in Keswick’s multitude of classy outdoor wear shops. I restrained myself to restocking my travel library at the brilliant Bookends.

Now we’re on the move again. Tristan and family just dropped us at Penrith North Lakes Train Station to catch the Transpennine Express train to Glasgow for our flight to Malaga this afternoon. We’ll be back in Edinburgh for a proper farewell in a month’s time.

Around The World Part Four: Chasing Sloths in Costa Rica

On December 17, 2023December 18, 2023 By Sharon TickleIn Costa Rica, Travel1 Comment

Make a cuppa and buckle in, this is a long one!

Joining a group tour is a lottery, just like crewing with strangers. I’ve had my share of that lucky dip on many sailing trips with generally happy results. And I was fortunate with my solo G Adventures overland trip in Southern Africa in 2011. Then I travelled budget-style with a bunch of friendly young folk. I thought it was worth another shot.

I also had AUD200 credit with G Adventures from a Costa Rica tour I had booked for myself many years ago that fell foul of life that happens when you are making other plans.

Stuart was slightly leery of going to Costa Rica. He kept confusing it with Puerto Rico and until we actually booked the flights I seriously don’t think he knew where he was going. He’s always been a ‘needs basis’ kind of guy and since this was my destination choice he was content to just go with the flow.

Our guided tour, Costa Rica Quest, would be nine nights, starting and ending in the capital, San José. We would loop north to La Fortuna, even further north to St Elena in Monteverde, then south west to coastal Quepos on the Pacific Ocean.

Costa Rica is only the size of pancake flat Netherlands, but its mountainous topography and roads rebuilt and repaired after every wet season make bus trips much longer than google maps suggest. Our group of 16 plus guide travelled in a different small bus with different driver for each leg of the trip.

The trip was structured with only a few pre-paid tours and one lunch allowing people to choose their own adventures in each location and eat according to their preference and budget. Costa Rica is unusual in that large groups can pay for food and drink individually at the cashier at the conclusion of the meal. It’s an honesty system that works well.

Stuart and I moved into the mediocre tour hotel the night before the road trip began and met our fellow travellers (those whose flights had not been delayed) and guide, Daniel, at a ‘getting to know you’ dinner at a nearby Mexican restaurant. Everything goes better with margaritas, beer and tacos. By the end of the dinner we could put names to faces and felt confident we were in good hands with exuberant, walking wikipedia Daniel Fernandez as our Chief Experience Officer (G speak).

By the 7:50am departure we had our full complement of travellers, a balanced mix of people from 26 to 72 (Stuart) with quite a few from Toronto (G headquarters), UK, and the US plus one Austrian woman. I was the only Aussie (this becomes important later).

San José to La Fortuna:

The first photo op was La Paz Waterfall right by the roadside. A male, long-nosed koati, a member of the raccoon family, scrounged for food amongst the cars and tourists and tried to hop onto our bus.

Next stop was an hourlong guided coffee tour followed by lunch at Mi Cafecito, a cooperative coffee bean processing plant, shop and cafe run by 24 small, local growers supported by G Adventures. We learned that it takes 12kg of hand picked red coffee fruits to make 1kg of arabica coffee. It’s backbreaking work paid by weight.

We are all coffee nerds now, or at least know how to distinguish between the three grades of coffee. There is a reason Starbucks coffee tastes like crap. Several of us won extra large glasses of coffee liqueur (delicious) for answering pop quiz questions correctly. That plus a glass of homemade cane sugar moonshine guaranteed a nap after lunch.

Suddenly the bus pulled off the road and the word went out, our driver had spotted a sloth high in trees across the road. Sinead from the UK was beside herself with excitement. It’s amazing no one got hit by a car as we all scrambled to see our first three-toed sloth. Daniel educated us on Costa Rican sloths, dispelling any romantic notions of cuddly creatures. Sloths are special in our family because our firstborn granddaughter took her very first steps walking towards her favourite toy, a plush sloth held out by her mum.

Sloth number one on the move.

By 2pm we were in La Fortuna which sits at the base of the Arenal Volcano. Still active, it last erupted in 1968 wiping out three villages on the opposite side killing 87 people. The summit is perpetually in cloud and steam.

Geothermal springs create hot spots in local streams and rivers and several resorts and business have opened hot springs.

La Fortuna (named for the natural abundance of the area) is a tidy town wrapped around a pretty central park. Our group spent some time at a local tour agency sipping more moonshine cocktails and booking our extra tours for next day. Costa Rica is like New Zealand in offering all manner of adrenaline activities. Our focus was wildlife so the ‘safari float’ sounded the best option. You don’t see much besides the rushing river on a white water river run and nothing but trees from a zipline.

I was happy to spend the afternoon by the pool at our hotel and was just finishing my laps when Stuart called me over to see a sloth hanging from a tree behind our hotel room. Two sloths on day one! In fact if you walked quietly around the garden there was plenty to see, including hummingbirds and a long trail of leaf cutter ants decimating a plant.

Five of us opted for the Peñas Blancas River float next morning, Gouri and Deb, a couple from Canada, and Natalie a young Canadian woman travelling solo. Our guide Aurelio had kayaked and rafted with his Dad since he was five years old. Although he would tell us to paddle a couple of strokes now and then we were clearly redundant as he could control the inflatable by himself.

The river water was clean with a fairly swift current but no rapids. We had just set off when we saw our first kingfisher. Thereafter every few minutes someone would call attention to something interesting.

The rarest sighting was of three neotropical river otters, two small ones and one large that quickly slipped into the river from the mudbank.

Next it was an osprey flying just above the river, a lizard held tight in its talons. Fun fact, osprey (unlike eagles) hold prey longways with opposite grips to improve flight areodynamics.

Our haul for the morning was two iguanas, one white-faced monkey, six howler monkeys, two cormorants, two tiger herons, a hawk, two ahingas, three toucans (in flight – black with yellow beak), three red-legged honeycreepers, six sandpipers, wrens, finches, countless swallows, and whilst not spotted, we heard woodpeckers and the loud clapping sound the white-collared manakin bird makes with its throat as it tries to attract a mate.

Two hours passed in a flash. We all agreed we could have happily floated all the way to Nicaragua.

Morning coffee and cakes at Milagro’s home and waterside cafe was enlivened by birds flocking around plantains spiked on nearby bushes. We saw flycatchers, several types of hummingbirds, a black bird with a red diagonal strip across its front, Golden Hooded Tanagers and lots of owl and yellow butterflies.

Milagro’s bird feeder.

Milagro’s yucca and banana cakes and fried plantain.

We bought a package for Los Lagos Resort and Hot Springs plus dinner and transfers and teamed up with Gouri and Deb. Since all of us have lived in Japan and experienced rotenburos we were disappointed with the artificial style of the springs. They seem aimed at people who aspire to sit in tepid water drinking umbrella decorated cocktails, or plunge down water slides. We climbed to the highest and therefore hottest pool and had a few means peace before a large group (in all senses of the word) Germans arrived.

In the interests of research I did try the longest slide, a full twenty seconds at high speed that runs through a black tunnel towards the end and dumps you in a cold pool. I forgot to cross my legs and close my eyes….

La Fortuna to St Elena, Monteverde:

To avoid unsealed, winding roads over the mountain range we took a bus ride, a boat across Lake Arenal (a dammed reservoir) and another bus through rolling green hills and ridge tops to St Elena for two nights. At only 500 metres elevation the temperature dropped five degrees and clouds and rain rolled in. Since we were here to experience the cloud forest we were well prepared.

Our G Adventure tour included the Kinkaju Night Walk. Split into two groups we were handed torches and followed our guide down dirt trails into a reserve. I can confidently assert that without a guide we would have spotted nothing. They talked to each other with walkie talkies passing on the location of birds, insects and other creatures.

Our guide, Joaquin, was a tad bossy. He would direct us to stand in a particular spot as close together as possible, train his scope on something then enlighten us as to what we should be looking at. Sometimes it was just the backside of a bird asleep high up in a tree. One of our group gave Joaquin their phone and he snapped close ups. At one point by a stream we were trying to see a tiny frog when clouds of mosquitos surrounded us.

Bark Scorpion luminescing under black light.

I was a bit surprised that guides were allowed to use a stick to attract tarantulas out of their holes. These spiders are almost blind so rely heavily on vibrations. I think it’s stressful for them and felt sad to see this was typical guide behaviour.

We were only back in our room a few minutes when I saw a whatsapp group message for help from two young women on our tour. They had a ‘huge’ bug in their room so could someone please come urgently.

Daniel didn’t respond straight away so I volunteered to assist. What I found was a large cricket very happy to be relocated by the old ‘piece of paper and a glass’ method. That simple act sealed my reputation as an Aussie animal wrangler.

Next morning we all went on the Aventura Hanging Bridges guided walk. This takes you from tree to tree, across wire mesh walkways and for the final bridge, a climb up inside a giant ficus.

In the afternoon while the adrenaline junkies were leaping, horse riding and flying about Stuart and I went on a private guided tour of Curi-Cancha Nature Reserve with Javier.

I put his age at about 28 and honestly if we didn’t already have two sons we would have tried to adopt him. It was such a pleasant and informative experience to walk slowly and quietly through cloud forest. At one point a French guided group came close to see what we were looking at. I suggested to Javier that we might try to lose them and he responded, ‘Of course! I can’t stand the French, they’re so loud’. Not what I was expecting, but we did thereafter manage to be on our own.

He made the life stories of the insects and birds we saw fascinating.

St Elena to Quepos:

Our last stopover was two nights at Quepos on the Pacific Ocean. The temperature climbed from 10 to 25 degrees in one day!

At our rest stop en route we strolled onto the bridge across the Tarcoles River mouth. Lying on the mud or floating in the shallows were seven huge crocodiles. Daniel said he had seen up to 40 there previously.

The highlight of Quepos, apart from its proximity to beaches, is the Manuel Antonio National Park which we would be seeing next day. It’s the smallest of Costa Rica’s parks so visitor numbers are tightly controlled.

Scarlet Macaws by the roadside outside Quepos.

But first we had a free afternoon and on Daniel’s advice booked a mangrove tour by kayak followed by dinner. Stuart was hesitant to venture onto the water after seeing the crocs but I persuaded him it would be ok in a group.

The guide and part owner of the business, Dennis, collected six of us for the short drive to a canal next to a sugar cane plantation. A cursory kayaking tutorial, a liberal spray of insect repellant, valuables put into Dennis’ dry bag, and life jackets on and we were on the water. The canal was being dredged as we paddled out to a tributary and the mangrove forest proper.

Maybe because I grew up on mangrove banked Brisbane River this environment was rather like my own backyard so not hugely impressive. It was fun to paddle and Dennis claims he saw a ‘five foot’ crocodile by the river’s edge that disappeared before any of us could spot it.

We could smell the sweet honey scent of the naturalised Indian Almond Tree on the river and later at the besch.

There was some excitement when a juvenile Jesus Christ lizard ran across the river after we startled it. They really do walk on water.

I got a bit cranky with Dennis on our hasty return (the sun was setting) as we had to wait in the dark for fifteen minutes while someone fetched Dennis’ car keys and we got munched by mozzies. All the bug sprays were locked in the car. Dinner was also perfunctory and mediocre. Overall not recommended.

By contrast our short walk through the national park was brilliant. Sloths, monkeys, koati and iguanas every few metres.

The mighty, sacred Ceiba Tree worshipped by Incas.

I love that no plastic or food is allowed in the park. The snack bar by the entrance is caged and is the only food outlet in the park. It didn’t however stop a cheeky capuchin trying to ferret out edibles from our group’s belongings on the beach.

The two beaches in the park truly are pristine.

We left two of our number in Quepos as they were staying in the north for a few more days. It felt like family saying our goodbyes. Strangers nine days earlier, we had come to rely on each other, enjoyed each other’s company and shared some mind blowing experiences plus so many videos and photos! I will miss our whatsapp group when it inevitably winds down. There is serious talk of a Toronto reunion next May. It would be wonderful to see that happen but sadly we won’t be there. Hopefully we will see some of them at Gypsy Hill one day.

Quepos to San José

With our farewell Mexican meal behind us we moved back to La Sabana Hotel and Suites for our final night in Costa Rica and I had to face the fact that all was not well with my insides. No, not what you are thinking, this was a constant abdominal pain under my ribs on the left side without the usual traveller symptoms.

It hadn’t eased 48 hours later, in fact it was worsening. Stuart was lounging by the pool reading his hotel book swap selection, but I couldn’t imagine flying in my condition so I asked the receptionist if I could have a doctor come to the hotel (I had seen the long queues outside the city hospital). She said, ‘Yes, no problem’. I swear it was less then fifteen minutes later that she rang back to check if the doctor could come up. In marched two smartly uniformed medicos, one a physician and the other a paramedic carrying an ECG monitor and all manner of kit.

The doctor took a thorough history and examined me, all in English, and ran an ECG (normal). She diagnosed acute colitis then whipped out a zippered nylon case containing countless clear plastic pockets of labelled medications. Choosing three for me she wrote the drug names and doses down so I could buy more at the pharmacy and left as swiftly as she came. No fee. Impressive public medicine!

When Stu came back to the room he was tasked with getting the medications and I tried to will myself into a suitable state to travel next day. Patagonia was calling!