Stuart has seen the light! He’s become an e-mountain biking evangelist.
A short, late summer stay in Cortina d’Ampezzo proved to be one of Stuart’s best holiday ideas yet. We’ve hiked and skied in the Dolomites, but only cycled on a one-day guided tour in the western section some time ago. The steep gradients always put me off. The advent of e-bike day rentals has changed all that.
The northbound trail out of Cortina
Stuart’s choice of accommodation at the new boutique five star Dolomiti Lodge Alvera was an exceptional find. With only ten double rooms, a pool and spa and their ‘no kids’ policy it’s super relaxing. Breakfast is a la carte and you can dine in of an evening or not. We chose to eat in as we were absolutely knackered when we returned from our adventures on the mountains and couldn’t face the walk into town.
Deep peace 😁The lodge’s lobby-bar area with a 15,000 euro road bike as art installation.
Stuart reserved our bicycles from Snow Service opposite the bus station we arrived in from Venice. Their service and advice was top quality.
Stuart had never used all the functions on an e-bike before (you may recall that he tries not to turn it on at all….) so a quick tutorial was in order. For those in a similar situation they have five modes of power assistance. In ascending order: walk (when you have to get off and push the bike because it’s vertical or too technically challenging), eco, tour, EMTB, and turbo.
The only tricky one, as Stuart found out, was EMTB. It’s used for climbing steep trails such that the more pressure you put on the pedals the more power you get. The first time Stuart used EMTB it raced away from him dropping him onto his back. Luckily his backpack and helmet took the brunt of the fall and he only slightly scraped skin off two places and the handlebars.
We started with a relatively easy 60k ride to Dobbiaco and back on the same trail with a side trip to see the ruins of Castle Botestagno and the panoramic view from the peak.
There are two tunnels to traverse, one lit and one not!DobbiacoLunch stop in DobbiacoUn petit pichet de vin rouge…From Botestagno Castle
Next day we hiked from the top of Faloria cable car up to Tondi di Faloria dodging the remnants of ice and snow, then across and down to Rio Gere for a late lunch at Rifugio Rio Gere, before heading ‘home’ some 15 kms all up.
Atop FaloriaUp to Tondi di FaloriaRifugio Rio Gere
On our last full day we tackled the more challenging red and black bike trails from Cortina to Rifugio Sennes for lunch.
Shared hiking and cycling trail to SennesSo far, so easyRifugio SennesView downhill from Sennes
Everything was going splendidly until I led downhill for the loop return. On a black section I missed the left turn, instead continuing on another black trail that became dangerously technical (very steep with deep loose gravel and lots of steep, narrow hairpin bends with sheer drops off one side). The kind of trail you have to tackle standing on level pedals with your bum over the back wheel so as not to pitch forward, all the while braking carefully to avoid losing it in a slide. It’s a workout for the whole body and more challenging than cycling uphill (with power assist).
One of the most impressive views
By the time we realised my mistake we were at Rifugio Pederü near St Virgilio and it was too late and too daunting to cycle back up the 600 metres altitude we’d dropped down.
The last section before Pederü. It was too dangerous to stop on the technical sections….
We spotted an unoccupied taxi minibus parked by the rifugio and were just calling its number when 88-year-old Albert returned to his taxi. In German (this is the Sud Tyrol remember) Stuart negotiated/begged Albert to take us and our bicycles back to Cortina. We didn’t even ask the price we were so grateful we would be ‘home’ in ninety-five minutes!
Albert had never done that run and didn’t even know what to charge us. He asked some taxi drivers at the cab rank in Cortina who told him he should charge 210 euros. Stuart made the dash to the ATM as of course Albert didn’t have a machine.
I’ll be more careful trailfinding in future!
The heart of CortinaAll’s well that ends well!Final Cortina lunch at Restaurant and Hotel Chiasa Lorenzi
Another bus ride back to La Serenissima, Venice, with an overnight stay before our much anticipated sailing trip out of Marseille.
We shared a cafe bar with these tradies getting their caffeine shot before starting their work day.Thrilled to see this clever, funny novel translated into Italian.
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.
Mairena is marked by the tiny red dot
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.
Our apartment in MairenaJust the right size for twoGrapevine covered entry to our apartmentTraditional touches in the kitchenView from our sitting room-kitchenOur chimenea and view south
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.
Yep, that’s Stuart stretching!
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.
LarolesAlmond blossoms come in all shades of pink and whiteWe 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.Weir and stream en route to LarolesThe 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.
Mairena under the bluest of blue skies
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 towerJubar church viewed from the other side
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.
Street in Laujar de AndradaxAnd 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…Coffee stop of our cycle tour – LarolesThe e-bikes were outstanding – comfy for bottom and hands, powerful when we needed it and safe brakesOur cycle lunch stop – Laujar de Andradax in front of the town hallPerfectly suitable tapas vegan lunchFountain in the plaza
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 rearLarolesOur 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.Water catchment above UgijarView 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.
And so the culinary magic begins…
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.
The small vegan version for me.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.
Go to whoah the paella took an hour.
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!
Lunch is served.
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
This leg of our two-month trip was all down to Stuart so he is guest blogger.
Our most recent stop was Madonna Di Campiglio in the Dolomites. I had read that it is one of the most beautiful places to ski in Europe and if it’s beautiful in winter surely it would be summer. And it is.
We arrived at the family-owned Hermitage Biohotel on a sunny afternoon and were immediately in awe of the view from our bedroom. Pine covered mountains rose from the valley floor to 2500m. Above the tree line the seemingly barren rocky crags so enigmatic of the UNESCO-listed Dolomites soared.
Only in Italy would you find an aquatic bicycle….
Next morning we were introduced to Mario, quickly renamed Super Mario, our cycling guide for the day. The itinerary agreed, we set off on our ascent to a lake. I had a wonderful time chatting to the 28-year-old ski instructor/hiking/cyclist as we pedalled up forest trails through kilometres of dense pine trees. Gradually the incline increased and Mario grew less and less chatty and was clearly struggling to keep up the conversation. Aren’t ebikes wonderful!? (Mario was unaided by any excited electrons).
Meanwhile Sharon was less happy. Having nearly been knocked off her bike by a rogue motorised vehicle within sight of the hotel she was in no mood to be trifled with. Super Mario was clearly treating our expedition as some kind of training ride. Anyway we eventually reached the lake which even I had to admit was less than awe inspiring covered as it was in algae.Sharon’s mood was further aggravated on our descent by some German mountain bikers passing her at high speed without so much as a“Guten Morgan”or“achtung”. The descent completed we were greeted with the news that we were now going to climb up another mountain for five kilometers, but then there would be lunch in a mountain refuge. This was the part of the day the clients had been looking forward to. So much so that we left Super Mario in our dust; never mind that we were using sport mode on the trusty ebikes.
Sadly lunch beside the Fortini cable car proved to be something you might find at a British motorway caf. An hour later we thanked Mario and headed off to recover in the hotel spa.Next day the sun was shining again and we set off up the same Fortini lift to the 2500m Groste station a chilly but starkly beautiful peak. We walked and clambered more or less on our own to the Tuckett Refuge, some 90 minutes from the lift. The scenery was spectacular and it was good to see the high elevation flora in good health and seemingly spreading further up the mountains. We watched roped climbers inch their way up the towers above the refuge.
Following refreshments we continued to traverse the mountain range then take a detour to get a better view of the westerly peaks. Another hour down the mountain we eventually reached the tree line just above our lunch stop at Canisei Refuge.placeholder://
Post lunch we returned to the village via the most glorious natural alpine garden, descending some 200 meters with snow melt tumbling over a multitude of rocks and precipices with several waterfalls of at least 50 metres. A great day other than the 90 minutes it took to do two short bus rides back to our car at the lift.
Next morning we woke to find ourselves in the clouds and rain pummelling the roof. This put our trekking plans to bed, and Sharon put herself in the same place. Later in the day the clouds lifted and we were gifted the view of those same awe inspiring mountains dusted with snow.Sadly next morning it was again raining so rather than explore what promised to be another magnificent trail it was time for Fam. Stuart to head off down the valley to seek the sun at one of Italy’s lesser known lakes.
PS Note that despite the daily exercise we left carrying at least two extra kilos from the fine vegan food and wine the Hermitage served.
I’m writing this highlights of 2018 on the verandah of Riverbend books in Balmoral, Brisbane, with a flaming red poinciana tree shading me from today’s 30 degree celsius scorcher. Summer is blasting Queensland with a vengeance. Thousands of hectares of forest burn as I sit here sipping green tea and hundreds of families face a homeless year-end holiday courtesy of climate change. Meanwhile the Australian Federal Parliament is imploding…..
Leaving the folly of national politics aside, 2018 for us has been an epic year, most memorable as the year our sons became fathers to two bonny, baby girls, one in Melbourne, Australia in March, the other in Edinburgh, Scotland in April. We’ve watched on as Cameron and Tristan fell in love with their daughters and created warm, loving families with their beautiful, strong partners.
The year kicked off with my hairiest personal challenge yet, a month-long sailing adventure (sans Stuart), pushed by Tradewinds from Cape Town, South Africa, via St Helena to Cabedelo, Brazil.
Skyelark delivered her crew of six (pictured above enjoying our first beer in Brazil) another exciting passage filled with personal challenges, beautiful sunrises, sunsets, countless flying fish, dolphins and hilarious afternoon radio quizzes with the rest of the World ARC fleet. Swimming in the seemingly bottomless azure Atlantic Ocean a thousand sea miles from land while hove to was a unique and unforgettable experience for me.
With my favourite watch buddy, Tim (above) and Skyelark at anchor at St Helena.
A bonus was the too short time I had in Cape Town before the voyage to climb Table Mountain and tour the Cape.
Life at 63 really doesn’t get better than this, hands free Tradewinds sailing!
Once on land I was blown away by wildlife experiences in the water world of the Pantanal with real life Brazilian cowboy, Paulo.
And perplexed by Rio’s completely crazy Carnaval.
Rio’s beach culture is a little different from Australia’s but cruising the bay on an SUP made me feel right at home.
Back in Spain I sampled an alternative Carnival, in Cadiz!
And revelled in some of the world’s best flamenco amongst dear friends in Jerez.
maestro Angel Muñoz
Siblings Pilar Ogalla and Juan Ogalla after his knockout show.
Sandra Carrasco and Company
Triumphant husband and wife Pilar Ogalla and Andres Peña take a rapturous curtain call.
Completely different from Skyelark, but almost as special, was our week on the grand old dame, Irene of Bridgewater, out of Oban to Scotland’s Western Isles. As well as sailing we sea kayaked, hiked to breathtaking viewpoints, celebrated Stuart’s 67th birthday, and I swam an obligatory lap of Irene in very chilly waters.
A return to Paris for Roland Garros, this time with great friends Jean Louis and Liz, followed by a seaside sojourn in Ile de Re, showed off France at its very best.
My tennis hero, Rafael Nadal.
Slightly tipsy post prandial cycle home.
Portugal treated us well too with many kilometres of walking in Sintra and along the northwest coast.
Since our Elliott family reunion in the Dordogne in June (photos below) to mark Stuart’s brother James’ 70th birthday, we’ve been working to make our newly built home on Gypsy Hill in Broken Head, New South Wales, a comfortable place for friends and family to visit.
I take my hat off to Stuart who shepherded the project through to completion despite daily trials. Reviews thus far have been positive. The first inaugural flamenco weekend nearly got blown away in a tempest, but we pushed on with an intimate indoor evening of song, dance, poetry and castenet performances. Very special. Book club friends also pronounced the cabin and house very comfortable and we plan for mire of the same in 2019.
My second Byron Writers’ Festival was enlivened by outstanding authors, principally Michelle de Kretser, who went on to win her second Miles Franklin literary award for favourite book of the year ‘The Life To Come’. I urge you to read her work. Next year’s festival is 2-4 August. Don’t miss it.
We’re also glad to have made it to Tenterfield in September for the very first Peter Allen Festival, made even more special by being hosted by friends Suzanne and Tim.
A swift trip to the UK in November for our niece, Sally’s 40th birthday weekend celebration in the seaside town of Swanage, capped off the year’s travel perfectly. The Elliotts were on fine form with many tiny people being passed from arms to arms or chased around the house.
We’ll spend year-end on The Hill with Cam and family working on our croquet and boules skills and keeping a baby Melburnian cool.
2019 trip planning is well in hand with a six-week combo of Kerala, India, and skiing in the Italian Dolomites starting early February. My clinical drug trial, testing a brand new Rheumatoid Arthritis immunotherapy, will have finished by then. Regardless of the outcome we’re all systems go for another thrilling year. Hope you can stick around for the ride!
I’ve visited my last World Heritage site. There, it’s on the record. Admittedly I am a slow learner. My weakness for ‘top ten’ destinations has led me astray. No more. Henceforth and forthwith I shall be seeking out only third tier destinations, places of charm, beauty, historical and cultural significance, that don’t feature in any lists or weekend supplements and that definitely do not attract coachloads of selfie stick waving tourists.
Sintra, Portugal, was the last straw. We stayed slap bang in the picturesque historical centre for four nights on the advice of a Portuguese masseur I met in Edinburgh. I had chosen the apartment partly because it promised ‘parking nearby’.
From 11am to 4pm Sintra’s streets are crammed with French, Chinese, Japanese, Koreans and Indians. Eurovision, which was on that same weekend in Lisbon, may have swelled numbers, but I think the overcrowding is typical. If you still insist on going this is my advice:
Don’t take a car, catch an early train from Lisbon. The city fathers in their wisdom changed the traffic routing one month ago thereby creating a circuitous one-way system through narrow, cobbled streets that has caused chaos.
When we arrived by rental car late at night (as arranged) and tried to locate our apartment from the detailed instructions we’d been emailed they made no sense. You guessed it, the one way system changes rendered our instructions useless. We did the sensible thing, parked the car and persuaded a taxi driver to take us as close as he could to our address.
We got up before 8am and moved the car, but still had to feed the metre every four hours until we stumbled on an undercover car park that let us park the car for two days (doesn’t operate on weekends – go figure).
Sintra old town with its steep, cobbled streets and thousand year old national palace is atop a hill, surrounded by a further series of hills. The other two walkable major sites, the 10th century Moorish Castle and the hymn to Romanticism, the 19th century Pena Palace, are a bracing one hour walk up hill and forty minutes down.
Sintra National Palace below.
Castle of the Moors
Palacio Da Pena
The most impressive palace and gardens though are those of Monserrate (constructed and further developed between1790-1949), the legacy of three Brits with deep pockets, Gerard de Visme, William Beckford and Francis Cook. I don’t advise walking to Monserrate as you’d have to navigate narrow streets with no footpaths and huge tour buses whizzing past. The number 435 round trip bus ride costs 10 euros and leaves from the train station. If you do nothing else go here and explore the house, have a snack at the tranquil cafe and stroll the extensive gardens. It is the least busy attraction, you could even enjoy having a picnic on the lawn, the staff seem very relaxed.
I couldn’t bring myself to buy anything in Sintra’s kitsch souvenir shops, but in Sintra New Town I found a hypo-allergenic wool shop run by Maria Luisa who knits all the sweaters she sells. I bought a tiny, green button up matinee jacket for our Melbourne granddaughter. Melbourne’s capricious winter is fast approaching.
Hill walking in Sintra prepared us well for the next phase of our holiday, Atlantic Coast walking. We stayed forty minutes drive down the road near Azoia and Cabo da Roca, the most westerly point of the Iberian Peninsula.
Tall, handsome, German, Pascal, a former media lawyer, has created a secluded, quietly luxurious, small country hotel. Quinta Da Cabo has just eight rooms and spacious common areas, a huge pool, tennis court and gym. We stayed in the Ferdinand Magellan suite which stocked biographies of the famous Portuguese navigator and sea captain general in three languages. I chose Laurence Bergreen’s 2003 account of his most famous voyage, ‘Over the edge of the world’. The book tells the story in some detail but also raises many questions. How I wish I could have interviewed every one of those 18 survivors (from 320) of the first full circumnavigation, as well as Magellan’s wife, who died in Lisbon the same year as Magellan was murdered on Mactan Island in the Philippines.
Our first half-day walk started with coffee and cake overlooking the ocean pool at time warp Muchaxo Hotel’s bar, Guincho Beach. We headed northwards on a well marked trail almost to Azoia then back to Muchaxo for lunch. We watched kite surfers soaring in strong onshore winds and a class of novice surfers tackle fearsome surf. These beaches are not for the faint hearted. We passed only a handful of walkers all day. Wildflowers are spectacular at this time of year.
Next day we took Pascal’s advice and walked from Azoia to Praia Grande and back on a mostly coastal path. One of the highlights was an almost vertical staircase connecting the clifftop to the beach. About halfway down/up a viewing platform allows you to see massive dinosaur footprints in the cliff face.
We had the best lunch of the trip afterwards in Refugio da Boca in Azoia. Portugal respects the fine tradition of the long lunch with white table linens, attentive service, several carefully considered courses, and copious quantities of alcohol. Somehow we managed to digest lunch in time for sunset drinks and vegie burgers up the hill at Moinho D Quixote. This eclecticly decorated bar-restaurant and the nearby Refugio are reason enough to stop off at Azoia.
Our final day spent in Cascais was another perfect blue sky day. We were content to stroll the seafront, smile at the lifeguards guarding precisely nothing and no one, and hunt for lunch in the back streets. We found a family-run Sicilian restaurant serving the best aubergine and tomato spaghetti I can remember eating.
Once again Portugal proved to be an excellent choice for an early summer walking holiday; scenic, quiet trails, great hospitality and plenty of sunshine and sea air.
It’s set us up nicely for our next adventure, sailing the Inner Hebrides off the west coast of Scotland.
16-19 May, 2017
Eurostar Paris to Ashford International Station in Kent was over in a flash. A local train to Eastbourne, where sister-in-law Catharine met us, was followed by a quick stop for lunch and to collect groceries ordered online at Tesco. By 2:30pm we were in situ at Beachy Barn cottage, East Deen.
Sussex Heritage Coast on the south coast of England is a new area to us but a favourite for Catharine, so we were happy to have her plan our three-day stay.
East Deen has to be one of the sweetest English villages, a bit Midsomer Murderish, but lovely nonetheless. The Tiger Pub, Walker’s Rest and Beehive Cafe & Deli sit on three sides of The Green, while the fourth is notable for a rose-covered stone house with a blue plaque. It reads, ‘Consulting Detective and Bee Keeper Sherlock Holmes retired here’. It seems Sir AC Doyle based Sherlock’s final home in the country on this house, now a rental property management office. Art imitating life.
The long evening allowed plenty of time for me to walk from the village to Belle Tout lighthouse and on to Birling Gap. The public footpaths are not as easy to spot in this part of the world but as much of the Downs is treeless there is good line of sight.It’s eerie that I serendipitously read Fay Weldon’s ‘Life and Loves of a She Devil’ when in Britanny only to find that the lighthouse she modelled her ‘tower house’ on, Belle Tout, is a few kilometres down the road. It was moved inland from the crumbling chalk cliff in 1999 but is again uncomfortably close to the cliff edge. It is in private hands with unfriendly ‘KEEP OUT’ signs so I made do with a quick peak.
At 5pm the surf was up at Birling Gap. Wetsuited surfers dashed from the National Trust car park out to the aerial staircase and down the long flight of stairs to the shingle beach. In the distance sheer white cliffs rose and fell as far as the eye could see. Alfriston was our focus next day starting with coffee at Badger’s. The photos don’t lie, this is a destination tea shop and garden. And Vegan Molly Cake!
Alfriston has a magical bookshop too. New and second hand treasures on two floors with reading nooks.We walked from Alfriston Green via the church and the National Trust’s 14th century Clergy House (the Trust’s very first property) through river meadows to Litlington pub, The Plough and Harrow, where Catherine and I left Stuart to his ale and continued the circular walk back to Alfriston.
Siblings at the Clergy House
On our return we found Stu dozing on the beer garden lawn. It’s a good life!
With changeable weather forecast we visited Michelham Priory at Upper Dicker (stop tittering), before venturing up to a ridge of the South Downs for Catherine and I to walk down to Charleston House to meet Stuart who had the car. As you’ve no doubt guessed Stuart’s knee is still not cooperating. He’s limiting his walking until he gets back to Australia to investigate what’s going on.
Whilst Henry VIII’s reformation emptied its coffers and destroyed many of its 13-16th century buildings, what remains of the Priory, including its water mill, moat and gardens, have been sensitively restored by the Sussex Archaeological Society and opened to the public. It was pure pleasure to explore the house and grounds and meet the staff (in character).
A Witching Jug
From the misting rain of the Downs with only sheep and cattle for company we descended into green farmland near Lewes to take refuge in the tea tent of Charleston House before the heavens opened. A literature festival (Barry Humphries is the star talent on the final evening) was about to kick off, marquees were being erected and extensive building works are in progress to expand the estate. Stuart heard a figure of ten million pounds being spoken of.
With Catharine at The Beacon.
As the home of Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant, both post-Impressionist painters, Charleston became a country get away for London’s influential Bloomsbury Set, a friendship with benefits group of artists, writers, critics, economists and philosophers, which the sisters, Vanessa Bell and Virginia Wolf, had been integral to establishing.Charleston is open March to October with entry to the house only by pre-booked guided tour. Entry to the garden, cafe and shop is free, as is the parking. The Charitable Trust operating Charleston has a busy annual program of festivals, workshops and other activities. We’ll return to do it justice some time in the future.
Squeezing out the last of the lovely coastal England experience we walked along the esplanade at Eastbourne past the Grand Hotel, the bandstand and down to the recently restored pier.
The Grand Hotel
Then it was goodbye to the seaside as we drove to The Griffin pub restaurant in Fletching for lunch en route to London. The Griffin’s beer garden has to be one of the most picturesque and the food was outstanding.Thank you Catharine for a wonderful introduction to this very special part of Great Britain.
“Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost!
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!
Not all your rage, as now united, shows
More hard unkindness unrelenting,
Vengeful malice unrepenting
Than heaven-illumin’d Man on brother Man bestows!”
As an instant expert in the most appropriate mid-winter attire to wear in Edinburgh (having survived five days in zero and sub zero temps) I offer the following suggestions should you plan to visit the windy, frozen north.
Top to Toe Attire (For the ladies):
…………………………………….
Close knit winter beanie and balaclava for super windy days
Wool scarf or muffler
Waterproof jacket that reaches at least to the knees
Two layers on top, cotton next to skin and then a wool or thermal sweater
Warm gloves, preferably lined
Waterproof pants
Wool socks
Low heeled lined waterproof boots (snow boots are best) with a good gripping sole
Now you’re comfortably kitted out you’re ready to tackle anything Scotland throws at you. Trust me, as Robert Burns noted above, it can be brutal!
Tomorrow we’re flying to the Canary Islands to sample three of them and soak up some sunshine before returning to Edinburgh for another few days. We’ve had a fabulous time here with Tristan and Jenny, filled with lots of bracing walks, art galleries, cosy pubs and hearty meals.
Here are some of the places we liked the most.
Bar Soba, Asian Street Food at 104 Hanover Street, Edinburgh
The Law hill walk, North Berwick
North Berwick Beach would be sweet in summertime!
The Herringbone cafe/restaurant in North Berwick is outstanding.
Two views of the Forth Rail Bridge from Queensferry.
Walking along the Leith River and through Dean Village.
Kay’s Bar on Jamaica Street where I fell in love with Laphroaig Whiskey.
Calton Hill
King James’ unicorn at Holyrood Palace.
Climbing Arthur’s Seat (said to be a corruption of Ard-na-Said which is Gaelic for Height of the Arrows).
14th Century gastropub Sheep Heid Inn, Duddingston Village.
Duddingston Loch
Last walk through town.
The Skating Vicar, an iconic oil painting by Sir Henry Raeburn, is one of the most loved artworks in Edinburgh. The vicar is skating on Duddingston Loch. This print was in the Salisbury Arms.
Choosing children’s names is best undertaken with due care and concern for their future. That’s why we named our second son after a character in a TV series.
We couldn’t agree on a first name from the baby book we used to name our firstborn, Cameron, however we could agree on Tristan, the name of the feckless but loveable young trainee vet in ‘All Creatures Great and Small’.
The series, based on the best-selling book, is set in the glorious Yorkshire Dales. Each episode found us glued to the small screen as Siegfried and Tristan Farnan, and James Heriott tore along impossibly narrow dry stone walled lanes up hill and down dale at high speed to deliver calves, stop foot and mouth disease and treat ‘flop bot’.
Thirty years later we’ve finally visited the Yorkshire Dales (an attempt in the 70s was aborted when Stuart ate toxic mussells) to tramp through snowy fields and sup local ales in front of crackling fires. As luck would have it we drove up from Cambridge during the post-Xmas 2014 big freeze. We missed the blizzard but passed abandoned cars along the highway.
With the benefit of local knowledge for trip planning, courtesy of friends from our California days, Linda and Colin who live in Yorkshire, we stayed two nights at The Cow and Calf Hotel, tucked into Ilkley Moor.
On our first morning we woke to bright blue skies and freezing conditions, snow still crunchy underfoot. Perfect conditions to hike up to the Cow and Calf Rocks and on to the crest of the moor passed by fell runners and their dogs.
With Linda and Colin as our guides we went on to Bolton Priory (established 1154) to stroll the National Trust grounds and visit the active, small, stone priory church with its wall paintings by Thomas Bottomley.
I’m deep into the Shardlake series by CJ Sansom on the recommendation of my well-read friend Anne. This series of historical crime fiction opens during the dissolution of the priories and monasteries by Henry VIII. It’s especially interesting if, like me, you’ve read Hilary Mantel’s Thomas Cromwell books. I walked through the ruins and graveyard imagining it both in its prime, as an Augustinian centre of worship and wealth, and during its destruction, as the building was stripped of precious lead, the canons pensioned off and the Priory’s servants cast out to their own devices.
With Linda and Colin at The Priory
Lunch in The Snug of The Fleece in Addingham introduced us to the largest Yorkshire pudding I’ve ever seen, as well as delicious Copper Kettle and Black Sheep beer.
A Yorkshireman and some of his favourite things.
Next day was similarly bright and even colder. A quick stop in Harrogate provided a coffee stop at the Rasmus cafe and design centre, followed by a peek at the Debenham’s sale. A sharply discounted Ted Baker dressing gown in the style of Obi Wan Kenobi will become our communal cosy garment in Tristan and Jenny’s Edinburgh apartment.
A borrowed scraper!
A cold Cupid and Psyche in central Harrogate.
The goal for our final day with the rental car was to drive to and walk in Nidderdale, a designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. We warmed up with leek and potato soup at the cosy Sportsman’s Arms at Wath-In-Nidderdale, before heading uphill across farmers’ fields for a ninety minute loop walk. As we walked we could hear the boom of guns in the distance. Not a good day to be a pheasant.
The afternoon’s destination, Masham, had to be abandoned as the tyres on our rented Seat failed to grip on a more or less deserted snow and ice covered road. The view from the highest point we could reach showed white hills as far as the eye could see.
We spent our third night in northern England in the Northumberland town of Wooler, an old mill town at the base of the Cheviot Hills, a popular walkers’ area. The No1 Hotel and Wine Lounge is interesting in a slightly Fawlty Towers way. Our bedroom had a freestanding tub, rhinestone encrusted bed cushions and a collection of dried branches suspended from the ceiling entwined with small white lights. Stuart said he felt like he was sleeping in a scene from ‘Day of the Triffids’.
On the advice of two local men I accosted in the street early next morning, we drove up to Wooler Common carpark which now doubles as a skating rink, to walk part of St Cuthbert’s Way. St Cuthbert (c. 634 – 20 March 687) was a monk, missionary, bishop and hermit during the early Northumbrian Celtic church formation and is regarded as the patron saint of Northern England.
Once again I was reminded of how hardy medieval folk were (and how soft I am) as we hiked uphill through mud and snow with the wind whistling across the moor. Oddly the gorse was flowering.
We heartily enjoyed our stopovers en route to Edinburgh and have added The Dales Way, a 78 mile walk, http://www.dalesway.org/route.html to our list of future adventures.
From Wooler to Edinburgh was an uncomplicated drive via Coldstream where we saluted the first of the Scottish flags flying proudly in a stiff breeze.
Slim Dusty sang, ‘There’s nothing so lonesome, morbid or drear, than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer’, but Slim never experienced a French ski resort with no snow the week before Xmas.
To make matters worse, it’s been raining here in Morzine (altitude 850metres). The little snow there is on the uppermost slopes is washing away. Attempts to make snow have failed and skiers who haven’t cancelled their trips are catching buses to Avoriaz where just two lifts are open. Quelle horreur!
Every cloud has a silver lining and ours has been enjoying mountain walks and the excellent food on offer in Morzine village. Like Meribel, Morzine is a favourite of the Brits, it’s only one and a half hours by car from Geneva to Morzine. Many of them own chalets, hotels, restaurants and bars, even a microbrewery. Others supplement the local tradespeople and the best massage I’ve had recently was delivered by Becky from Wiltshire.
British owned cafes/restaurants provide welcome variety on the traditional Savoyard fare with its heavy emphasis on tartiflette, lardons, fondue and saucissons.
Special mention for the following Morzine eating establishments for their vegan-friendly options:
– Best soup award goes to Dottie’s Cafe for their broccoli, lemon and tahini soup.
– Best main course goes to Bec Jaune microbrewery and restaurant for their ‘chickpea tofu’ Glory Bowl’.
– Best attempt to make a vegan entree when there was nothing on the menu goes to La Grange who produced a technicolour plate of heirloom vegetables with a side of roast potato wedges.
– And best customer service goes to the staff of our three star bed and breakfast Hotel Samoyede who provided me with avocado, tomato and olive oil each morning with a big smile. The soya milk I brought myself but they would have provided if asked!
I was only able to accompany Stuart on one walk, a gorgeous four-hour round trip trek to the Gold Mine Lake via a waterfall.
We were surprised on the descent by a motorless trike rider hooning by, closely followed by the van that had taken him up to the lake. Looked like dangerous fun but hey, if there’s no snow what’s an adrenaline addict to do?
Unfortunately the sniffle I left Australia with developed into raging influenza that laid me low for three days. A trip to France wouldn’t be complete without at least one of us gracing the local GP’s office and it was my turn on this occasion. Ninety minutes of lying on the wooden bench in the doctor’s waiting room to obtain a prescription for drugs to treat my flu symptoms gave me ample opportunity to observe the staff at work.
As previously observed in French medical settings, the auxilliary staff are much more concerned about their colleagues than they are about patients. I overheard a conversation in English between one of the three receptionists and someone in a chalet who was calling on behalf of a British female guest who had fallen, hit her head, and now had trouble moving. The caller asked if a doctor could make a house call. The response was, in perfect English, that if the woman could walk she should be brought to the clinic and one of the two doctors on duty would see her in turn. There was no sense of urgency or concern in the receptionist’s words or tone of voice. And no suggestion that an ambulance might be in order.
Sick as I was it took a lot of self control not to get up and rip the phone from her hands and counsel the poor sod on the other end of the line.
Clearly the notions of triage and compassion have not reached the Morzine medical clinic.
Now we’re on our way to Paris by train to celebrate our 34th wedding anniversary in the City of Lights and Lovers. Yes, even old farts can be romantic sometimes!
Here are a few more faces of Morzine. I’d like to return one summer to walk and mountain bike.
Post Script by Stuart:
Strangers can be wonderful. On learning that I was skiing on my own (when I should have been attending to Sharon whilst she lay on her death bed), a group of Irish and Americans changed their plans to eat down the valley and joined me at a mid-mountain cafe so that I wouldn’t eat alone. I then learnt that I had been skiing in the same place and at the same time as the American some 40 years ago at the little-known resort of Chamrousse. Much reminiscing ensued to the dismay of the youngsters. They then insisted on accompanying me to the bottom of the run.
Stuart’s knee had not improved at all so he did the sensible thing and took the day off walking for the final day of the seven day walk. If the rest of us were to do a 14 miler it had to be today.
Marg, John and I agreed we’d give it our best shot and set off at 8:30am past the town hall and up the cliff above Porthleven beach. The town hall clock tower typically features in Porthleven storm photos of huge waves crashing over the sea wall that reach half way up the tower. We planned to rendezvous with Stuart at Lizard town for our pre-arranged transfer to Falmouth.
Once again it was a steep climb out of base and then a descent into the Loe sandy foreshore past the largest body of fresh water in England. Two hours into the walk Poldhu Cove and beach was a welcome morning tea stop. We counted four life guards and three bathers on the beach. Not a bad ratio.
Commemorative marker on the spot Marconi wired that famous ‘S’.
Two hours later we made striking Mullion Cove and ordered fresh cut sandwiches through the cafe hatch. Yet another climb to the highest point above Mullion Cove and we found the perfect panoramic lunch picnic spot.
Everyone was feeling fine so we pushed on to Kynance Cliffs. This is touted as the most beautiful part of the walk but actually I enjoyed the earlier days more. We encountered groups of six and more people wanding all over the path and sitting on cliff edges. I preferred having the path to myself or sharing it with cattle or sheep.
Afternoon tea at the National Trust cafe at Kynance Cove was busy, at least 50 people. We felt like we were back in civilisation and it was not a welcome feeling.
Our feet got a rest in preparation for the final slog while we watched kids jumping from high rocks into the sea and kayakers setting off from the cove.
The cliffs are badly eroding on this section. The geology had changed from hard rock to crumbly earth and the path has had to be moved back into farmers’ lands.
A welcome figure came into sight as we reached the one mile point out of Lizard Point. Stuart had strolled out to join us. We took the obligatory Lizard Point group photo to mark the most southerly point of the walk and trudged up the gravel path into town for more tea and scones. An uneventful taxi transfer to Falmouth had us in a hot shower in the guest house by 6pm.
Falmouth has an active dockside refitting all kinds of vessels and a lively arts community. A short walk down the high street and harbourfront settled us on Samphire as the spot for our final group dinner. Again we were lucky as the young chef offered an interesting locally sourced menu.
We said our farewells to Marg and John as next morning we were catching the train to Newton Abbot and then on to Brixham. They were flying up to Edinburgh to continue their travels.
We agreed that the week’s walking was rewarding and started to discuss the possibility of tackling some or all of the UK’s famous ‘Coast to Coast’ some year soon.
Stuart’s brother James was did us a huge favour by collecting us from the train station and transferring us to Brixham, Devon. Stuart was finally going to be able to do the voyage he had to pull out of last year. Brixham to Brittany under sail on the good ship Provident!
Never Ending Gap Year 