That’s been a decidedly odd few months. And, writing as I do in October, continues to be so.
I’m working from home for the first time in my life and initially discovered separating one from the other annoyingly difficult. This I’ve come to terms with by burying my work laptop in the deepest, darkest corner I can find once my working day is over. In a one bedroom flat this has meant a little creative thinking.
I’m based in our kitchen/diner; Sus is set up in the bedroom. With a recently acquired executive chair no less. Sus, who’s a total guru in all things project management and expertly delivers project management courses, has taken to the home working lark splendidly well and would have no qualms with this way of working becoming her norm.
After rebooking a Seville trip for February 2021 – a re-rebook a distinct possibility – we decided on a September staycation. The New Forest is the new Seville.
Lymington
West London to Lymington took us a remarkably reasonable hour and 45 minutes. Britannia House (www.britannia-house.com/), our B&B, was ideally located 2 minutes from the harbour, 2 minutes from the high street and 20 seconds from the train station.
The posh Victorian bit was one side of the residential street, the less posh bit (part of a small apartment complex) was on the other. We were in the less posh bit, having booked late, though this proved a splendid base for our 4 night stay. And there was off street parking. Beware of centrally located establishments advertising ‘self parking’. Self parking often necessitates driving around your chosen destination desperately searching for that elusive spot less than a 2 mile hike back to your chosen place of rest. And morning fry up. We checked in and chatted with our ever amiable and helpful host Tobi before exploring the very un-mean streets of Lymington.
Lymington is a picturesque Georgian town set on the equally picturesque Lymington River on the equally picturesque Solent. Lucky Lymington. The old town quay was indeed quaint though, surrounded by pubs and independent shops, annoyingly busy. Clutching our packed lunches – anything remotely perishable from our fridge – we moved on. As we were – and still are – playing ‘avoid the human’ game a little more space was needed to enjoy the fruits of my morning labours.
We car and people avoided along a busy road, passed a very private yacht club before discovering a small though lovely park overlooking the marina. No suitable water facing perch was available so lunch was eaten facing a row of pretty houses that unlike us did face the water. After deciding on a favourite (thinned to 2 fortunate contenders) and a very pleasant 15 minute amble – the marina on one side, a large outdoor pool on the other – we came upon an impressive working boat yard. A number of organisations were based there along with a tempting selection of dry docked boats one in particular Sus took a liking to.
More ambling took us through attractive neighbourhoods and returned us to our B&B. Once refreshed we explored the quaint and attractive Georgian high street before a long walk (cue more pleasant neighbourhoods) brought us to a craft beer haven. Actually it wasn’t. However there was just enough to entertain my beer snobbery. And the food was excellent.
Beaulieu – Cars, monasteries and green bits
The following morning, after heroically dispatching the first of 4 splendid fry ups, we drove to Beaulieu and our allotted time slot. Sus is still trying to understand how a word spelt Beaulieu is pronounced ‘Buley’. I explained the whole English destroying the French language thing though she’s still a tad vexed. I felt it counterproductive to argue that as an American her fellow countryman had mangled any number of words and spellings.
The short drive takes one through a sliver of the National park that is the New Forest. Horses and donkeys amble randomly oblivious to traffic and humans alike. Can’t say I blame them. With thousands of acres to munch on one does wonder why their chosen and presumably choicest green bits have a tendency to cause a traffic jam. Neither of us cared – the horses are beautiful and the donkeys utterly adorable. The latter show a curiosity that means windows are better left closed.
Beaulieu is an 8,000 acre estate housing the National Motor Museum, The Palace House and the ruins of Beaulieu Abbey. There are lots of green bits too.
My car test was passed at 17 and a full bike license collected at 21 – though I’d been riding motorised 2 wheelers since the age of 12. I’m huge petrol head and the National Motor Museum is a mecca for such as I. Sus, who has only a passing interest, indulged me. For 2 hours. There are nearly 300 fabulous cars and motorbikes on show with a fondly remembered favourite around every corner. If you love cars then please do go. If you love someone who loves cars please indulge them.
A petrol head I may be but I’m a petrol head fully embracing the electric car revolution. Electric cars are capable of ludicrously quick acceleration and with ever improving battery technology it is only a matter of time before they ride and handle as well as their petrol cousins. Most importantly electric cars, though not without their own issues, are considerably environmentally kinder to Mother Nature. And the petrol engine will live on in the wonderfully diverse and often eccentric classic car world.
Suffering a tad from combustion engine fatigue we emerged into the outside world, gratefully removed our masks enabling a leftovers chow down. Refreshed we headed to what is left – thank Henry VIII and his libido – of the 800 year old monastery. To our surprise much more survived than either had envisioned. The original monk’s refectory survived, became the parish church and is now a popular wedding venue. The cloister walls remain and, 800 hundred years later, still are an oasis of tranquillity. However, it is only when one explores the pretty gardens that you understand the sheer scale of what was once here. It must have been magnificent.
Palace House, once the gatehouse of the medieval Beaulieu Abbey, was upgraded to the Montagu family home in 1538 and remodeled Victorian style throughout the 1800s. Because of this deeply unpleasant lurgy, queuing was necessary. We both preferred the atmospheric abbey and, though the pub might be beckoning and the kids demanding their iPads, the Palace House is a worthy indulgence.
We wandered back via the lovely Beaulieu River millpond which that lucky Palace House overlooks. The weather had become a little annoying with the vast majority of day trippers deciding on a direct route to shelter. A shame (for them, not us as we were virtually alone) as it’s a pleasant stroll. It’s hard not to notice (unless you’re embedded in your iPhone) the intricate wood carvings fashioned into branches of dead trees across numerous, managed open spaces – parks, National Trust properties, common, heaths. These are fabulous, creative pieces of art and Beaulieu has a few of its own.
Beaulieu is a truly magical day out – and it is a day, plan on it. It’s not only the amount of entertainment on offer it’s the sheer diversity of that entertainment. Beaulieu is not a cheap option, especially for a family, though bringing one’s own lunch will help in mitigating this. And if you did decide to pop back within a year of your visit – and still have your original tickets – entrance is free. Very civilised.
We celebrated with wonderful fish and chips from Elderflower restaurant. Being a take out, and as such understandably not encouraged at our B&B, we ate ensconced in our car overlooking the harbour.
Towns, villages and pedaling
The next morning, once a nourishing fully monty had been dealt with, we journeyed into the New Forest. First up was Brockenhurst – underwhelming with an overwhelming bakery; then came Lyndhurst – larger and prettier; and finally Burley – small, pretty with bike hire. The young chaps at the bike hire were friendly and efficient; we were quickly furnished with our mounts and let loose onto New Forest cycle paths. This was the first time either had been a something with pedals for an embarrassingly long time.
We rode along established cycle paths and ventured off road actually losing any inkling of a path at one point. Though the trails were virtually human free traffic was always audible. Never were we in danger of being eaten by a hungry and grateful mountain lion. We did rest briefly to eat those delicious muffins.
1 tree, 2 bikes, no muffins
I’ve 2 brothers – I’m the eldest – with less than 3 years separating us. We’re close in a middle class, middle aged English kind of way. Both are keen cyclists, middle brother prefers road biking – which I don’t totally get; youngest brother prefers mountain bikes – which I do. I sent a picture of our hired bikes. They sneered. Seems snobbery runs in the family. However, Sus and I were amazed how easily we came to grips with our 2 wheeled chums. We loved the whole experience.
Our day’s drive was wonderfully interspersed with the beautiful New Forest landscape of unenclosed pasture land, heathland, forest and occasional water. Plus those randomly roaming horses and donkeys. That scenery undoubtedly stole the show.
Where’s the chippie?
Back in Lymington we popped into Solent Cellar for a glass of wine. M&S provided dinner.
Conversation, wildlife and pork pies
Breakfast passed pleasantly nattering to our fellow B&Bers. Socially distanced fellow B&Bers. Post socially distanced breakfast we drove to the National Trust Northern Commons confusedly not located in Yorkshire but in the very southern New Forest. To be honest we never properly found it or them. Perhaps they really are in Yorkshire. However we did discover the wonderful Blashford Lakes.
Hampshire and Isle of Wight Wildlife Trust (www.hiwwt.org.uk/) manage over 50 nature reserves – Blashford Lakes is one consisting of 159 hectares of what were once lifeless gravel pits. Woodlands, lakes and grasslands make it a haven for wildlife particularly migrating birds. And again we had the place pretty much to ourselves happily wandering for an hour and since made a small donation.
Next up, pork pies. Award winning pork pies. I’ve had a fondness for pork pies since birth though, appreciating such are not one of life’s healthy pleasures, eat lamentedly few. Nevertheless, an awarding winning and nearby farmshop was shouting my name. I purchased an artery worrying 2 pork pies, one sausage role and a cheese and onion pasty. The pork pies were delicious though the sausage role and cheese and onion pasty were perhaps even better – eaten over a couple of days to prevent a pork induced heart attack.
Ringwood Brewery (www.ringwoodbrewery.co.uk/) was only minutes’ drive away (rude etc). I acquired a 4 pack of their traditional English ales all since proved an excellent alternative to the equally excellent modern session pale ale.
Returning to Lymington via that gorgeous New Forest scenery, and after a brief hiatus to freshen up, we went shopping. Without buying anything. Blubambu (https://www.blubambu.co.uk/) severely tempted both with its stylish furniture crafted from reclaimed wood. Temptation may become reality at their next sale.
An excellent wine flight was provided by The Cellar along with conversation with locals including Stephen Lees a well known artist. Check out his shop opposite, you won’t be disappointed. Waitrose provided dinner.
Last breakfast, checkout, a beach with no name
After our final breakfast Tobi pointed us towards a beach frequented by locals and not necessarily by tourist hoards. We checked out and drove straight there.
Beautiful
We’ve visited some fabulous beaches over the years including Bondi, San Sabastian and those of Rio de Janeiro – though Rio itself was a huge disappointment. This small estuary beach in the southwest of England is one of our favourites. And it doesn’t even have sand.
The tide was out exposing small green hummocks encircled by water channels and small pools. Mud was prevalent as my shoes can testify. Predominately a pebble beach it backs onto a private wood and large 18th century country estate.
Visible from the beach were the Needles, sailing boats and the Isle of Wight. Having recently visited the latter both felt the island somewhat improved from distance.
Two small SUVs were parked on the beach accompanied by 2 fisherman preparing their rods and tackle. Cows lounged amicably close by. An actor might seem smaller in real life, our four legged milk producing chums don’t. When one of these lumbering beasts wandered your way, possibly because you’d strayed near a calf, you didn’t hang around to ask why they preferred a beach to a field.
We had a stroll, the sun was shining. A perfect ending to our time in the gorgeous New Forest. We both adored the area – for me perhaps even beyond that perennial people’s favourite, the Cotswolds.
Staycations are nothing new, to us or to anyone else. However, the inability to travel to the more exotic has necessitated longer and more frequent trips within one’s own country. Where ever you live in this troubled world you will have discovered or had reinforced the beauty and diversity of your homeland. Familiarity does not always breed contempt but an appreciation of what you might already have. And that’s a huge positive.
The drive back to West London was painless and we were happy to be home. Nevertheless the New Forest made a huge impression on me and we’ll certainly be back.
I’ve chosen not to dwell on COVID-19 and have only mentioned in passing. Nevertheless we’re both fully aware of the truly unpleasant nature of this virus and hope you and your families are safe and well.
And my thanks for reading this blog – I genuinely do appreciate it.
Wishing all good health, Tony and Sus
Bilbao – San Sebastian – Bilbao
When travelling abroad we endeavour to pick places yet to be blessed by our presence. Unusually, this trip, we chose as already visited bit of Basque.
Our reasoning; a dodgy shoulder kyboshing skiing, generous flight and hotel deals plus a chance to further explore an area we’d both loved. A democratic 3 nights in each.
And, only adding to the reader’s excitement, for the first time, I’m including the odd photograph. For those interested in what we look like there might even be a Sus approved mugshot. Please don’t become too excited.
Bilbao
Arrival and Re-acquaintance
Our outbound flight was scheduled for late evening on 8 March – I was genuinely concerned the deeply unpleasant coronavirus would decide otherwise. It didn’t.
Yet another strike by French air traffic controllers did. Though only for an hour. Is it instinct? Was it because it was Sunday? I doubt the strikers themselves remember.
A short bus trundle trundles one from the airport to the centre of Bilbao. A shorter non-motorised trundle to our hotel. Tiredness and the lateness of the day meant only a 45 minute stroll re-acquainting ourselves with the city. On our last visit we’d discovered the wonderful Bodega Urbana – superb wine and service. Tragically it has since closed its doors for good. More tragically still, the Hollywood burger bar a few doors down was thriving. And had been since 1971. Spanish teenagers love that authentic taste of America. I could have cried.
New town, old town, concrete beanstalks and tasty breakfasts
Less than 30 seconds from our hotel is Sua San or Susan’s as it became known (https://suasan.com/). We ate breakfast there the following morning and the following, following morning. The food is neither clever nor healthy but is cheap and tasty.
With morning ablutions completed we continued our Bilbao re-acquaintance. The Bilbao’s shopping and commercial districts are agreeably agreeable coming liberally garnished with late 19th and 20th century architecture.
Meandering but gravitating towards the old town we discovered steps. A lot of steps – a concrete and less plant based beanstalk. Once we’d clambered to the summit it started to rain. Heavily. A tree provided cover until this weather malfunction rebooted. The panoramic views across Bilbao and the surrounding hills were (thankfully) agreeably pleasant. Sus loves funiculars. I prefer beer. Bilbao does have one. It was being renovated. In a sudden (and rather too late) flash of insight we realised said stairs were the free, healthy and open air option.
On our previous visit we contrived to completely circumvent the old town (Casco Viejo). No idea why and so, having descended from Mount Bilbao, we headed directly there.
With the exception of the Catedral de Santiago, dating back to the 14th century, Bilbao old town is not actually that old. Dating back to the 19th century some cities would consider it their new town fit only for peasants. Oh the shame. And this older Bilbao quarter was devastated in a 1983 flood necessitating major restoration. And the first street we happened upon was rather run down and rather closed.
Do not be put off. These so called seven streets are a charming place to wander window shopping and shop shopping with sustenance needs thoughtfully met by numerous bars and restaurants.
Craft beer and chocolate
Google discovered Singular (http://singularbar.com/) a cracking craft beer bar with a relaxed vibe and great music. After a thoroughly deserved beer or 2, and equally deserved pintxos (Basque for tapas) or 2, we wandered over to Azkuna Zentroa – Bilbao’s Contemporary Culture Centre. Though devoid of culture or culture types at that particular time, and reminding me a little of an underground carpark, it’s a genuinely impressive space. The centre incorporates early 20th century wine and oil warehouses with the 43 pillars holding the structure up individually decorated. There’s also a swimming pool on the roof with swimmers clearly visible from below – a human aquarium. Prefer fish.
We both adore chocolate, a genuinely life affirming pleasure. Searching for a little sweetness in our lives we stumbled across a local chocolatier and, feeling a need to investigate, popped in. As is our way we began chatting with the 2 charming young ladies behind the counter – one surprisingly English, the other Spanish. They offered us a sample, then another, then another. Sus, by this time was feeling a little guilty. Me less so. All is fair in love, war and chocolate. After spending an enjoyable 20 minutes chatting and sampling we made a purchase or 2, said our goodbyes and left. The chocolate was excellent, the company perhaps more so.
Unfortunately neither remember when we went, where we went or what it was called.
For stupidly expensive but stupidly fabulous chocolate take a peek at Melt (https://www.meltchocolates.com/), a London based chocolatier. Though only a rare treat this is the finest chocolate either has ever eaten.
Our final stop that evening was the Penguin Bar – another craft beer spot which, on arrival, we recognised as a previous haunt. Yet more taps of beery loveliness to choose from. Back home brewery/tap rooms offer samples to the uninitiated and beer snobs alike. In Spain trying means buying. Or certainly did in the Penguin Bar. You live and learn.
Bustling Bilbao, bus station, bus journey
The following morning we checked out and moseyed on down to the bus station. Which had moved and improved since our last visit. Tickets bought we had a couple of hours free before our hour and a half bus ride to San Sebastian – trains are a pain and do not take the strain on this particular Basque A to B.
The latest incarnation of the bus station is perfectly pleasant though not a place either wished to devote 2 hours of our lives. Thankfully, habitually travelling light enabled us, even with luggage, to explore Bilbao’s close by Alameda de Recalde district (City Centre). This bustling neighbourhood, though not architecturally grand (Croydon rather than Venice), comes with a wide and tree lined main thoroughfare, local shops, cafes and bars. We liked it.
We sat in the main square for perhaps half an hour watching a world, seemingly consisting almost entirely of the older generation and often with carers, wander by. Slowly. At 55 I was just a babe in arms. Surreal, uplifting even, one was very much aware of one’s own mortality.
I loathe littering and litterers – ignorance and an utter disrespect for the environment and those inhabiting it. It’s not as if bins and, better still, recycling are complex concepts to grasp. Anyway – and who doesn’t enjoy a righteous rant to make themselves feel a worthier human – the assortment of roads, towns and villages between Bilbao and San Sabastian were probably the cleanest I’ve witnessed anywhere. The journey was only let down by one stretch of the river (which we followed most of the way) that had acquired an unfortunate plastic habit – the unlucky recipient of same plastic holidaying downstream.
San Sebastian
Digs, pintxos, new town, old town
Our self catering digs, a 5 minute walk from the bus station, was from a time architecture took an extended holiday. A large 70/80s vintage block of flats only town planners of the day could love. And, preferring a semi in the ‘burbs, certainly never lived in. The interior, or at least the fragment owned by Atotxa Rooms, was an antidote to our ‘70s town planner chum – modern, clean with shower, air conditioning and TV all functioning splendidly. Alas, not always a given.
Our ever helpful hosts explained where we were, where everything else was and how to get to everything else. Atotxa Rooms is situated on the wrong side of the Urumea River for most of the loveliness, including the old town, San Sebastian has to offer. Dishearten not, all that charm is walkable within 15 minutes. And having to cross the Urumea everyday is never a chore, only a delight.
Fortune favours San Sebastian. There’s an attractive Centro, a 19th century old town and the Bay of Biscay. And, perhaps a tad selfishly, San Sebastian has the Atlantic Ocean on its doorstep along with one of the most beautiful beaches – La Concha – of any town or city visited. Though said beach does have an unfortunate habit of mostly disappearing at high tide.
We had a quick recap of Centro (new town) before an indulgent recap of old town. Centro, though with shops familiar to consummate consumers everywhere, is splendidly likable with handsome architecture, immaculate streets and easy strolling. Though not entirely immune the old town has avoided the worst ravages of tourist tinsel and corporate indifference. The streets are narrower, the architecture prettier and resident eateries some of the choicest on offer. The vibe is bustling, the feeling is local.
The Spanish have tapas. The Basques have pintxos. Though similar to the untrained eye (mine) these little bundles of joy are differentiated by regional variances common throughout Spain. Pintxos are available in the vast majority of bars largely doubling up as cafes. You get down with the locals, whilst enjoying that well deserved break, by standing up with the locals. For those needing to park a posterior many establishments do offer seating.
And, with one exception we lived on these little beauties. I love the little buggers though Sus is less keen. As a vegetarian – occasionally tempted by our water loving ancestors (she’s partial to fish and chips) – her options were somewhat limited. Often to Spanish omelette. Undoubtedly delicious (cooked recently at home) if a tad tedious when the only alternative.
Early evening was upon us. Gandarias (https://www.restaurantegandarias.com/es/), recommended by those nice people at Atotxa Rooms, is a well known cafe, bar and restaurant. It’s an ideal spot, located in a typically beautiful old town building, perfect for pintxos and wine bashing. We duly indulged. Standing obviously. The food was genuinely delicious, the wine decent if not fabulous.
We polished off pintxos at numerous café/bars while in Bilbao and San Sabastian and, nearly without exception, those bundles of deliciousness were indeed that. Gandarias and Sua San were 2 favourites with a third coming later.
It had been a long and enjoyable day. We strolled some more, ate some more, drank a little more before wandering back to our hotel. No complaints.
Rivers end, the Atlantic, 3 beaches and inconvenient tides
We started the following day with a healthy breakfast before hitting the not so mean streets of San Sebastian. San Sebastian has a charming riverside walk bringing one (if one is going the correct way obviously) to the end of days for the Urumea as she empties into the Atlantic.
The Urumea is not tidal. However, swells generated out at sea find their way back up the Urumea (sounds vaguely painful) causing dramatic changes in water levels. When the locals notice a larger swell there’s a headlong rush to the river by men and women dressed in tight fitting rubber and carrying what looks like ironing boards. The Urumea has become a surfer’s paradise, not a mildly disturbing local custom.
I was born and morphed into an adult in Sheffield, in the North of England. Though some (parents) may contend the ‘adult’ bit. Sus did her morphing in California. She grew up by the ocean, I didn’t. We both have a deep love of the sea. Tides slowly exposing land and equally slowly stealing it back has forever fascinated me. It’s a phenomenon I find utterly mesmerising, primeval, a living thing. And to think this magic has occurred for millions of years fills both with genuine wonder.
Anyway, after spending several minutes marvelling at this watery love-in, we headed towards La Concha beach. The beach is accessible via the town though we, like many others, chose the peninsula. The sun was shining, we had beautiful vistas over the Atlantic, it could have been worse.
Within half an hour, and after passing the small port and harbour, we strolled onto La Concha beach. This stunning beach very much reminded us of the equally stunning Bondi beach. Though Bondi beach keeps its dignity during high tide Bondi town is nowhere near as attractive as San Sebastian town.
La Concha is 1.5 kilometres of come hither goldenness and our arrival conveniently coincided with low tide. Because of that troublesome and afore mentioned high tide, the golden stuff stays wet between tides, making strolling a doddle. Those clever Basques think of everything.
And let’s not forget Santa Clara Island artistically placed in the middle of the bay. Talk about overkill. This little gem, part of a larger island chain, is 400 metres across and, with jagged cliffs, a green interior and encircled by water. Picture postcard does it a disservice.
Though uninhabited summer brings the tourist masses – temptations include a beach (again disappearing inconveniently at high tide), pleasant strolls and, naturally, a bar and restaurant. There’s also a small port and uninhabited lighthouse.
With floating platforms at opportune moments one can easily swim across to the island from the beaches. Or, for those wishing to preserve holiday haircuts, a regular boat service is also available.
After strolling pleasantly for 20 minutes or so (wishing we’d discreetly worn swimming costumes), we came upon a rocky promontory – submerged during high tide. An easy clamber and one finds oneself on Ondarreta Beach, which for all purposes, is an extension of La Concha Beach. At about 600 metres long it’s somewhat shorter and, because of the angle of the sun, less suitable for sunbathing aficionados and those wishing to imitate cooked beetroot. Neither is our cup of sand. It’s quieter and equal in beauty of its more illustrious neighbour.
On leaving the beach you enter an attractive residential neighbourhood which, certainly for Sus, has one of San Sebastian’s most attractive attractions. A funicular. The young chap taking our money was friendly, the 20 something operating this Victorian engineering masterpiece less so – perhaps contemplating that his life hadn’t quite lived up to his once youthful dreams. Or suffering from a hangover.
Views, views, views. And a funicular
The funicular rumbles and creaks its way up a predictably steep incline valiantly attaining the summit in a mere minute or 2. It’s genuinely great fun and a must if burdened with children. Once safely on flat land the visitor is confronted by a small and quite dreadful amusement park squarely aimed at young children. Mercifully, this being out of silly season, the park was closed. It proved the only touch of tackiness encountered in Bilbao or San Sebastian. Saying that, kids will quite rightly love it.
However, and worthy of their very own paragraph, were the views. Wow. Seriously, wow. San Sebastian, its 3 beaches, the Bay of Biscay, Santa Clara Island plus the Atlantic are all laid before lucky you. It brought to mind one of those beautiful, scale models. And, yep there’s more. Glance away from the always mesmerising wet stuff and you’re rewarded with green hills and mountains surrounding San Sebastian. Gorgeous.
Reluctantly leaving those various vistas we jumped on the funicular before leisurely (tiredness does that) walking through San Sebastian back to the hotel. After a spruce and reboot, and sticking to our riverbank, we determined to explore the local neighbourhood (Egia) and the adjacent neighbourhood (Gros) – the latter located alongside San Sabastian’s third beach, Zurriola.
Pick of the pintxos, Gros, a space for art
Fodder first. Bergara in Gros (https://pinchosbergara.es/). Which meant majoring on Gros and minoring on Egia – we’d show a little more love to Egia the following day. Bergara is not particularly traditional, overly bright and a little out of the way for those based across the river. Don’t be fooled. The slightly sparking white wine, using a grape local to the area, perhaps the best drink – my wine snob went missing when queried to the varietal – and the pintxos quite possibly my favourite. Sus would probably choose Gandarias as her top tip. Neither will disappoint.
Suitably fortified our exploration of Gros proper could begin. The area bordering Egia, and furthest from the beach, is not unlike Bilbao’s Alameda de Recalde district (scroll up about 1650 words) though a little less prosperous. Nevertheless, perfectly pleasant and where the local population (or part of it) go about their daily lives – without tourists somehow occupying the first 5 places of any queue.
Curiously (or maybe not), as you progress towards the sea and San Sebastian’s third beach (Zurriola), Gros becomes edgier, and let’s be honest, more interesting. Graffiti is common; litter more commonplace (I know, I know) and the populace more diverse. The older architecture is distinct with the shops and bars typically more idiosyncratic. There’s also a large square bustling happily with community – this slice of Gros has long passed up and coming and now considered hip and trendy. We slotted – self consciously – right in.
Strangely graffiti, though often silly and juvenile, offends considerably less than litter. And graffiti can be glorious, an art form very much deserving a place in art history. Who doesn’t love a bit of Banksy or marvelled at a colourful masterpiece brightening up a drab wall. Litter can never be glorious, only rubbish.
You emerge onto the waterfront to be confronted with a main though not especially busy road. If one chooses to navigate said road Zurriola beach is conveniently arranged before you. Peering out over Zurriola beach and the Atlantic Ocean is the Kursaal, a modern modernist structure, trebling up as a concert hall, art gallery and event host. There was a free art show. We popped in. It was enjoyable.
Beach number 3, surfing, more craft beer
Zurri beach – as it’s known by those of lesser years than myself – is 800 metres of sandy comeliness and, usefully, less impacted by high tides. Befitting the area it’s notably younger, hipper and edgier than either La Concha or Ondarreta beaches. Zurriola beach charms larger waves much favoured by surfer types. Who were numerous even on a damp, cool and breezy evening.
Peering out over the main road, beach and surfers is Kanabikana Craft Beer Shop (http://kainabikaina.com/). It’s a little strange. There are 3-4 small high tables without stools or anywhere else to plonk a posterior. Obviously a recent addition to Gros and equally obviously geared for take outs – the taps being set up to pour into assorted receptacles brought in by expectant punters. There’s also a decent selection of cans to run away with.
The proprietor appeared somewhat surprised when we suggested sitting (standing) inside to drink our chosen malted barley beverages – he warmed up over the course of our 2 visits. Amusingly, he needed to tap beer into a plastic bottle before pouring into glasses. A legality or practical problem we were never to discover. Nevertheless the views were always interesting and the beer from the 18 taps – certainly the few sampled – top quality. If you love beer go. If you don’t, don’t.
Egia, old town, a wine dearth and a solution
The following day was Egia day. Or at least the first couple of hours were. Egia is largely residential with a selection of local shops and bars. The community rises up from the river to, as is so often the case, loftier and posher residences. Of which a lucky few have far-reaching views back over San Sebastian. Egia is not especially exciting or especially architecturally fabulous and, located on the wrong side of the river, not a tourist tick box exercise. Nevertheless Egia made for an interesting excursion into tourist free local life.
We returned to old town and searched in vain for a wine emporium of excellence. One looked promising – an uninterested (‘we don’t do tasters’) and phone obsessed shop assistant ruined our wine sipping dreams. A second wasn’t open and a third had long ceased to exist. In a region famed for wine it came as a bit of a shock, that aside from the now defunct Bodega Urbana and possibly Bergara, the wine drunk in both Bilbao and San Sebastian was disappointing. If any of you know of a hidden gem in either Bilbao or San Sebastian then please do pass it on.
There is a solution. It’s the small town of Haro an hour’s bus ride from Bilbao. The scenery between Bilbao and Haro and the town itself are pleasant enough though motivation for such an outing are cunningly concealed on the town’s outskirts – a good 20 minutes’ walk from the centre. Haro is set at the heart of the Rioja wine region. Better still, the outskirts don’t consist of run down trading estates, but pretty bodegas representing many of the region’s best wine houses – including Muga (love Muga) and Cune. You can literally sway from one to another sampling their wares at very reasonable prices. Less Bermondsey beer mile more Basque bodega wine barrio.
We’d visited Haro on that previous jaunt to Bilbao. And don’t be suckered into taking an overpriced bodegas tour. It’s a simple do it yourself excursion and a marvelous way to spend a sunny afternoon. If you enjoy good wine of course. If wine is not your cup of fermented grapes this excursion will not be a highlight.
Having despaired of ever finding a worthy wine establishment – which was friendly, open or in existence – we grabbed a couple of cheeky pintxos before making for Gros generally and Kanabikana Craft Beer Shop specifically. It was still strange. Beer was still superb.
Architecturally attractive, with 3 beautiful beaches and surrounded by lush green hills San Sebastian is an awfully appealing place to find oneself for a day or 2. Undoubtedly and deservedly a tourist hotspot, and driven by the same, San Sebastian is both vibrant but remains remarkably livable. We certainly could.
Bilbao
Wonderful markets, wonderful food
The following morning an early bus took us back to Bilbao, a successful negotiation of the underground to our hotel. We were kindly allowed to check in and, once cleansed, headed to the old town.
And discovered the wonderful La Ribera market; supposedly the largest covered market in Europe. La Ribera, constructed in 1929, is very much a product of its time boasting elegant proportions and large, beautifully stained glass windows. Across the market’s 2 floors are numerous fishmongers and butchers. If your preference tends towards products once less alive cheese, vegetable and fruit stalls plus a bakery will happily take one’s money. The second floor has an area set aside to sample the produce in the shapely form of pintxos. Wine and beer are also thoughtfully available. Even the toilets were spotless.
We were severely tempted. And proceeded to be severely tempted for about 15 minutes while deciding, not untypically, where to eat. Hunger and a slight feeling of embarrassment forced a decision. Sus decreed a non pintxo related meal – this being our last day in Northern Spain.
Google directed us to a vaguely downmarket – but transitioning upmarket – Bilbao neighbourhood a few minutes’ walk from both the old town and attractive Atxuri train station. The latter was built in 1912 and definitely worth a quick gawp. Our destination was Sokarrat (http://sokarrat.eltenedor.rest/en_GB/), a local and well thought of neighbourhood restaurant.
We wandered tentatively in. We called tentatively out – of life there was none. The chef, genie like, magically appeared and ushered us to a table. Not especially difficult – we were his only customers. A waitress appeared, again a little genie like, with a menu and wine list. The desert menu, rather charmingly was a handwritten scrawl. We each had a small starter, the seafood paella and desert. There was also a bottle of Lanzarote wine involved. At one point, the same chef, he was probably the owner too, came out to enquire about his culinary creations.
Sokarrat is not posh – more a hip café befitting the area with locals popping in and out (and back in) for a beer, coffee or a glass of wine. Diners are seated on mismatched furniture with the large open kitchen – and slightly scary looking chefs – clearly visible. Do not be fooled. The food was delicious, the wine excellent – the best we’d had in either Bilbao or San Sebastian. The staff were a delight and Sokarrat is rather splendid value. We would not hesitate in returning.
We left Sokarrat late afternoon and wandered, including a short hotel refresh, aimlessly for a couple of hours or so. Said aimlessness brought both to a decidedly edgy neighbourhood, an Aldi for snacks and Singular for a 2 half cheeky recharge. Returning to the hotel we indulged in a snack bashing session before retiring gracefully for the evening.
A strange day, kindness of strangers
Breakfast was weird. A group of perhaps 10 Mexicans, plus staff, were our only company. COVID-19 had reached Northern Spain. Spain would shortly be in lockdown.
Humankind is fucking up the planet; Nature may well be taking her revenge. And, I along with Sus, are part of the problem. We recycle, use recyclable products and avoid plastic wherever possible. However we love to travel. Often requiring planes.
In the UK, as presumably elsewhere, we’ve had the warmest Spring since quite possibly the Ice Age. Only to be told – quite rightly – not to go out for more than an hour. Nature may also be having a laugh.
The rest of the day was weird. Our flight home wasn’t until late that same evening and so, once checked out, we pottered over to Duesto, the neighbourhood we’d stayed our first time in the city. Duesto is a bustling mingling of locals and university students, liveable with easy access to Bilbao, and rather to our liking. In fact the Guggenheim is just a short stroll and is where, enjoying a coffee, you next find us. Oddly the museum was closed, their café open. A mixed message response to COVID-19. Boris has since become the master of such messages.
With the exception of Duesto Bilbao had felt unnaturally calm – little appeared open, people were scarce, traffic was light. This was Saturday.
Returning to pick up our bags we spied a lovely local bar considerately open. The pintxos looked tempting, a glass of wine more so. After partaking in a glass we collected our luggage and ambled to the airport bus stop. Again, as is our way, we chatted with 2 delightful university students teaching English abroad – one was English, the other German and spoke better English than I do. With their schools closed both were desperate to get home.
The bus duly arrived. There was a problem. Because of COVID-19 the driver, grumpily if understandably, would only allow passengers to board via the rear doors. He wasn’t accepting cash; only the requisite travel card. This we didn’t have. Joy.
Not only did our new found student chums pay for us using their travel cards neither would except a cash reimbursement. The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze and humble us.
We like Bilbao. A lot. It’s not a beautiful city just an agreeable one. As with Rome Bilbao is one of those rare places we both feel very much at home. Throw in San Sebastian and it’s a region we could happily live.
The journey to the airport, the flight back, even the trek from Gatwick to West London were all uneventful and straightforward.
Back in the distant 2013 we took a year off to travel (When we were in….). Whilst in India we met a couple strangely similar to ourselves. Spooky. We became firm friends and arranged to meet up again in SE Asia. A happy happening over a beer or several. Rich and El were also travelling for that same year (told you, spooky) but unlike us were doing it in three sections – popping back to Blighty every 3 months.
Six years later we were to do the same over a less ambitious 2 week period in September.
JORDAN
Amman
Our flight arrived at the less than convenient time of midnight. Public transport was somewhat absent. On the plus side Sus, in her infinite wisdom, had sorted an airport transport to our hotel. Not cheap but we’re totally worth it. Considerably more research than my meagre efforts meant Sus had pre-purchased the Jordan Pass which includes the £40 visa. Because of this foresight we sailed through passport control. More of that infinite wisdom thing.
We’d brought along an old iPhone and, with the help of our taxi driver, sorted out a sim card with data. This was our first purchase (£20) in Jordan and arguably the best value. As you will see.
The taxi ride to the hotel took about 30 minutes and, though we couldn’t see much, was straightforward. As you may remember I drink copious amounts of water and asked the taxi driver to suggest where might buy some of this magical liquid. Within a few minutes of leaving the airport he pulled in to a roadside shop (very India) buying several bottles and handing them to us. He wouldn’t accept any payment. He did accept a tip.
The hotel was basic but decent, the staff lovely. Our balcony overlooked the blue domed and imposing King Abdullah I Mosque built as recently as the eighties.
One peculiarity, which we’d come across in SE Asia, allowed no toilet paper in the toilet. There was a bin (thankfully lidded) once one’s nether regions had been cleansed. Jordanian sewage systems are not as robust as peoples’ digestive systems. Lovely.
An excellent (mainly) Jordanian breakfast was included along with views across Amman. Worst ways to start what became a very, very long day.
A 40 minute downhill walk (we paid later), mostly via a busy shopping street and the odd Amman neighbourhood, took us to the Citadel. And our first proper use of the Jordan Pass. The Citadel proved to be considerably larger than we first thought. And hotter. There’s Muslim, Byzantine and Roman ruins some dating back a mad 4,500 years. We meandered purposely (I know) for a good couple of hours finishing at those iconic Roman columns. Sus used her beloved selfie stick to take the money shot (her words). It was the last we saw of that selfie stick lost shortly afterwards. Sus was inconsolable. A small Archaeology Museum is worth a peek as are the surprisingly grand views across Amman.
Our second Jordan Pass treat was the magnificent 2nd century, 6,000 seat Roman Theatre. And this beast, though partly restored, is still in use today. Take heed town planners.
That modern affliction, fear of missing out, encouraged us to climb to the top. The gradient, added to the uneven steps (you’d be a little worn after 1,800 years), meant coming down was genuinely scary. There are also 2 small museums at the base of the stairs. We only went into the one which had a beautiful collection of traditional clothing, jewellery and equally beautiful mosaics (a particular fave of mine). Take the time to have a look.
It was late afternoon and we were starving. And hot. So we decided to walk another half hour (uphill obviously), through a thriving market, to Rainbow Street. We’d actually followed a couple for much of the way trying to pretend we weren’t following them. We decided to choose a different restaurant. Happily Rainbow Street boasts numerous restaurants and bars. The whole neighbourhood is most agreeable with tourists and locals alike choosing to eat here. We like to be on-trend.
Sus spotted a restaurant that was advertising grandmother’s cooking. Normally we might ignore such an obvious ploy but hunger made a snap decision. We sat outside, ordered 4 vegetarian sharing dishes, pita bread (which comes with everything in Jordan) and 2 fresh fruit juices – a measly £15 worth. The food was some of the best we were to eat in Jordan. And grandma really was there.
Now fully foddered another walk was needed. Half an hour largely uphill (what is wrong with building towns on a flood plain?) we arrived back at our hotel for a little air conditioned loveliness.
Shopping and shopping malls are not normally our glass of fruit juice. However, when they happen to be in a foreign country, they can be a curiosity. This particular specimen was 15 minutes from the hotel past some government buildings guarded by army types carrying large guns. The mall was part of a regeneration area with new apartment blocks and office space.
There was a sprinkling of local stores but most were western chains and fast food outlets recognisable across the world. It could easily be that shopping Mall near to you. There was also a large cinema. Many of the locals were dressed up – it was definitely a place to see and be seen. As I said, we like to be on-trend. However my highlight was a large supermarket. I love supermarkets. Not as much as I love the wife. Obvs. We rather enjoyed our hour there.
We learnt 4 things on our first full day in Amman – the Jordan Pass is a must; a local sim card is a splendid thing to have; Jordanians are a rather friendly bunch; and have a penchant for hybrid cars.
Finally back to…….zzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The breakfast and view were just as enjoyable as the previous morning. The traffic was not. We were catching a taxi (hybrid) back to the airport, leaving Amman not by plane but by car. Rental car.
There are some who believe Amman is not worth a look. I would disagree. It’s more Croydon than Rome though grants travellers an insight into a large, modern Middle East city. There are ancient sites to see and some likable neighbourhoods. A one night stay should do it.
Jerash and Dead Sea (briefly)
The chap at Sixt was delightful, so delightful in fact that he gave us an upgrade. To a larger (not necessarily a good thing) Chevrolet than presumably the very little one we’d booked. The Chevy (to his friends) Aveo was not a car you would ever buy but it proved to be well-mannered companion over the next few days. The air-con was particularly good.
Two hours in our new chum, including an unexpected and unwanted detour into Amman, took us to Jerash. A flash of the Jordan Pass and we were in. The site encompasses the ruins of the Greco-Roman city of Gerasa though evidence of occupation dates back as far as the Neolithic period or an unconceivable 7500-5500 BC. The evidence includes skulls of 2 unfortunate (and very old) individuals.
We meandered purposely (again) for a couple of hours taking in temples, a paved street, columns galore, 2 theatres and even the ruins of a hippodrome where blinged up, boy racer chariots competed. Guidebooks and similar can better describe the sites and history of Jerash. Suffice to say it is utterly beguiling. Go.
After another hour and 45 minutes in the motor we arrived at our Dead Sea resort – basically a luxury hotel complex built in the late nineties for a boom in all inclusive beach holidays. We did wonder if much of its custom arrives in coaches disgorging tour groups with both vanishing in a cloud of exhaust fumes a couple of nights later. We were staying only the one. Though would be back.
We jumped in front of an afore mentioned coach party, checked in and headed to the beach. There was a sign, as one strolled to the beach, telling eager guests they had arrived at the perimeter of hotel property. That same eager guest still had 100 metres walk, over undistinguished ground, to the sea. Fifteen years ago this undistinguished ground had been under water. The Dead Sea is receding by about a metre a year. It’s literally drying out. It was quite eerie following the contours of what once had been seabed. And rather sad.
I did have a dip (more on our return) though Sus was content to stay on the beach. Then happy hour, or at least amused hour, beers and a surprisingly decent light supper before bed.
We love a leisurely breakfast when travelling. And after a second stroll to the beach, that was exactly what we had.
Petra
Buffeted up, we waddled to the car and headed to Petra. The unimaginably named Dead Sea Highway had picturesque views of the sea on one side and arid mountains on the other. Until we hung a left and started to climb up and over those arid hills (mountains?). The road, unlike the easy-going Dead Sea Highway, was a rather cantankerous winding and steep thoroughfare. The views however were wonderful. Back home we drive a wonderful Mini Cooper – not one of those ridiculous SUV versions – but a 10 year old two door. Lydford (as we call the little guy) adores twisty bits. The Aveo didn’t. I briefly lost the back end when braking late into a corner. I slowed down.
The Jordanian Works Department has built a number of well maintained highways though neglected to include anything that connects them. On several occasions this necessitated negotiating sometimes pleasant, often non-descript and occasionally ugly small towns to do so. You might argue it makes the drive more interesting seeing the real Jordan and all that. You might be right.
We stopped in one of these small towns to pick up a six pack of 1.5 litre bottles of water. The lad behind the counter was friendly, the price of the water friendlier still. An absolute bargain at 2JD.
About 60km from Petra Sus was becoming bladder challenged. Usually it’s me. Just as the situation was going critical we found a Rest House. The toilets were clean, the coffee proper and juices excellent. Additionally the shop sold surprisingly good quality local arts and crafts – expensive though.
Shortly afterwards we arrived at our Petra Hotel – the advertised free parking a little exaggerated. We abandoned the Aveo in front of the hotel, checked in and, with the help of one of the staff, made the car appear a little less abandoned. Petra awaited. As it has for some considerable time.
Our hotel, deliberately chosen for its proximity to Petra, was a mere 5 minute walk to the entrance. Our Jordan Pass included a two day pass which bizarrely is only a few quid cheaper than the 1 day pass. This encourages visitors to rest their weary bone in Petra for the night helping the local economy. Makes sense.
Once passes and passports had been scrutinised (one chap failed to make it beyond the entrance) we were let loose in one of the world’s most celebrated ancient sites. It wasn’t to disappoint.
We arrived mid to late afternoon so the crowds had lessened as had the infamous heat. The entry ticket actually includes a short horse ride. We, as most people seem to do, declined. There’s also an opportunity to have yourself (and a friend) pulled along in a carriage by one of these unfortunate creatures. I know a little about many things and a lot about a very few. Horses I know only the obvious – they’re bigger than a cat and don’t speak a word of English. To my untrained eye most appeared OK but there were definitely a couple that were not. It’s unnecessarily cruel to subject these magnificent beasts to the heat, an oft unsuitable surface and fat people. With the growing awareness of animal welfare a majority of our fellow Petra explorers would seem to concur.
There are a number of trails in Petra, this being our first day, we stuck to the Main Trail. Your journey starts down a gravel path with tombs on both sides leading into a limestone canyon (Siq). After about 30 minutes the canyon shows tantalising views of the Treasury (the photo always on a friend’s Facebook page) and ending in a large open area fully revealing the Treasury. A stroll through another short stretch of canyon opens up to the Street of Facades and the third Roman Theatre of our trip. A touch greedy. Croydon is crying out for a Roman Theatre.
The desert gorge, where you can still see the water channels, is a wonderful introduction to Petra and the Treasury is everything you’d expected. However, my favourite was the Street of Facades culminating in the Roman Theatre.
The trail continues, we didn’t. We were conscious of the time and had the whole of the following day to explore. We walked back up the trail – and up indeed it is, as down it had been. A little beyond the entrance is a small, modern museum. Give it a whirl.
We made the mistake of asking the hotel reception for an eatery recommendation. Which they did and we wished they hadn’t. Not awful, just a tad mediocre.
The following morning, fortified with a buffet breakfast, we headed out to Petra. It was around 10am, as I said, we do enjoy our leisurely breakfast. Particularly when it’s included. Tastes that much better.
We followed the same route as far as the Roman Theatre before climbing up to the Royal Tombs along the Al-Khubtha Trail. The climbing isn’t especially difficult, finding the route up is. Whilst being bemused, a couple, plus a guide, strolled confidently past us. We discreetly, as discreetly as one can 10 feet behind, followed bringing back memories of stalking the couple in Amman. Their guide was understandably a little miffed though relented somewhat as, reminding me of a particularly bad seventies sitcom, we did our best to avoid them once at the top.
The Royal Tombs are large and atmospheric – even the ones smelling of donkey wee – their elevated position keeping tourists hoards to a minimum. Staying away from the edges (mountain goats we are not) we explored the numerous tombs and gazed down upon stupendous views back along the Street of Facades and Roman Theatre. These were worth the entrance fee alone. The sheer number of tombs is genuinely astonishing and it’s when one realises just how massive the Petra site actually is. We bravely (obviously) clambered down by a different route returning to the main path which, at this point becomes the Colonnaded Street.
The Petra Colonnaded Street is similar to the Jerash Colonnaded Street. Just not as good. The roadway isn’t as defined and the columns only half columns. I might sound disparaging, and probably unfairly, as anywhere else this colonnaded street would be extraordinary. Unfortunately we had visited Jerash. However one does pass the intriguing sounding Nymphaeum, a couple of smaller ruins (Market area, Garden and Pool Complex) before arriving at the fabulous Great Temple (Qasr al-Bint). Jerash who?.
We climbed into the temple and on finding shade at the back demolished our pilfered breakfast – bread, cheese and the ever versatile egg. Hard boiled on this occasion. Fried would have been a little messy.
After our second breakfast, exploration continued of this huge temple complex some of which is fenced off for renovation. And made a new chum. I’m not fond of children, babies even less so. I do, however, love dogs. Our new friend thankfully was furry with 4 legs. He was one of the many mongrels scraping a living amongst ancient ruins and modern tourists. After I’d given the little guy (he wasn’t actually that little) water he followed us for a while. A reversal for us. I was sad to say goodbye.
As were saying goodbye to one chum, we discovered another. This time without fur and just the 2 legs. George was Irish, tall and a little like chum number one, very good natured. Bizarrely we’d heard about an Irishman travelling around Jordan by taxi (not unusual) from a Dutch/German couple we’d encountered at the bladder rescuing Rest House on the way to Petra. George was indeed that mystical Irishman. More bizarrely still the 3 of us re-encountered that same couple later in the day. Travel serendipity at its finest.
George was to join us. And I’m very glad he did. He changed, for the better, our plans for that day by persuading, especially me, to take the Ad-Deir trail to the Monastery – 800 plus steps dispersed randomly along a winding path. In the midday sun.
In preparation we applied suntan lotion, drank water and offering manly encouragement to each other set off. I’ll not lie, this is a proper workout and not for those less able or unused to exercise. It took the three of us about 35-40 minutes passing stalls flogging overpriced water and the usual tourist trap crap. Probably made in China.
Once tired, sweaty and dehydrated tourists clamber to the top they are presented with a large flat area partly covered by a steroid version of a stall. Plus the Monastery. It’s larger and less ornate than the Treasury though for Sus and I more impressive. It almost has a sense of calm. We took a 20 minute break before resuming our seemingly endless need to climb. This was a relatively short stretch to the highest accessible point offering remarkable views back across the arid and rather beautiful landscape. A stall cum sitting area dispensing tea and trinkets for a price somehow manage to perch itself at this very spot. I might dislike their wares but you can’t but help admire their tenacity.
The hike up to the Monastery is an absolute must. Plan it in or you will be disappointed.
Two things sprang to mind clambering back down. It was a lot easier than climbing up and donkeys. These poor creatures are made to climb up and then back down those 800 plus steps ferrying an unworthy and often overweight human. Sections of the trail aren’t easy for hooved animals and the sun can make it stupidly hot. It’s cruel. It’s wrong. One donkey, with an overweight passenger, refused to climb down a particular steep section of the trail. I cheered.
Many of the donkeys looked desperately unhappy and a few looked malnourished. One abject creature was tied to a post by its halter with only a foot of rope for movement. I wish now I’d videoed this sad creature – it was only when we left did I realise there was an official process to complain. Again, it’s heartening to see that the vast majority of our fellow visitors walked up. Those who made a donkey do their work should be ashamed.
We retraced our step to the Great Temple before heading up to the 6th century Byzantine Church. Though the ruins are impressive what really impresses are the stunningly beautiful mosaics preserved after being buried by successive earthquakes. This is just a short detour from the main trail and very silly to miss.
What we hadn’t initially realised was that the Al-Khubtha (Royal Tombs) Trail was a trail of 2 halves. As the great Jimmy Greaves once said. And so, against my somewhat (and ignored) grumpy protests, we climbed once more. Not by stalking a guide but by some conveniently obvious steps. The tombs, like all the others we’d ventured into, were carved out of the rock. These particular tombs had a bonus feature – a wonderful display of mineral coloured rock running through the walls and ceiling. It was quite stunning. It reminded me of pictures, having never been, taken of the Northern Lights.
Outside the tombs 2 oriental girls asked a young Saudi chap for a selfie. That young Saudi chap was Argentinian and called Gaston. Book and cover etc. Gaston was to become our third new chum of the day. He had hoped to make it to the Monastery, we dashed those hopes. And so, after agreeing he should pop back the following day, the fab four went to the pub. Sus and I had spent fully 7 hours in Petra, George had spent even longer.
The pub, the oldest in the world, imaginatively re-purposed a number of tombs for seating areas. Unnerving perhaps but the original patrons no longer had need of a seat or cold beer. We, however, very much did. For a companionable hour we sat outside sipping Petra Beer – not a beer I would ever buy but perfect for that moment in time.
Start early, finish late and much of what Petra has to offer can be seen in one day – our second day route for instance. Nevertheless, I would suggest a day and a half to 2 days for those taking things a little easier. Three days should be enough to walk every trail though ancient monument fatigue and heat exhaustion will have set in long before. For those wishing to live through the Petra experience pack copious glops of suntan lotion, drink enough water to satisfy a camel and wear comfortable shoes – flip flops or high heels make the coolest person look very silly. I probably drank 2 litres of water without ever feeling the need to urinate. A personal best demonstrating, even out of the hot season, how dehydrated one becomes.
My favourite part undoubtedly was the Street of Facades with a 3000 seat Roman Theatre thrown in. Sus’s was probably the Monastery. I’ve written 1,400 plus words describing just this one day which might give the reader a hint of our thoughts on Petra. Petra is a legacy of the Nabataeans, Romans and Christians dating back at least 2000 years. Petra is genuinely incredible – it’s worth all the hype and more. Please go.
Beers finished we headed our separate ways, a little sad though inevitable. A much improved meal in a rooftop restaurant rounded of our day splendidly.
Crusader Castles (2) and the Dead Sea (again briefly)
We’d risen, bathed, breakfasted and were on our way by 9.30am. Yes, we were proud of ourselves too. A 40 minute drive, via that barren but striking landscape, and less striking small towns, brought us to Shobak Castle. Shoback was built in 1115 by Crusaders and sits on a barren hill within a barren landscape. One does wonder why any invading hoard would hanker after it. We were mildly underwhelmed, Shoback being imposing as one approaches though less so from the carpark. We were short of time, only making it as far as the toilets just within the castle walls, before moving on.
A quirk of Jordanian main roads is what seems to be, and would be in the UK, a generous cycle lane. It’s not. On faster single lane roads one quickly learns to straddle this lane in order to let faster traffic pass. It soon becomes second nature though not a habit to continue once home. Mayhem and fines would inevitably ensue.
Roadside police patrols are also a common occurrence on most Jordanian Roads. Speeding is taken very, very seriously. I had radar several guns pointed my way and we were pulled in on 2-3 occasions. Only to be immediately sent on our way, sometimes without stopping, once the local plod realised tourists we be. However, if you do choose to channel your inner Hamilton, then expect to be nicked. And heavily fined.
We arrived into the grubby outskirts of Karak and headed towards our second Crusader castle of the day. Karak, it turned out, was a busy and bustling place a little at odds with the huge, mediaeval Crusader fort plonked in its midst. We were within 2 minutes’ walk of the castle when a car backed out of a parking spot right in front of us. Hesitate we did not.
Karak Castle was constructed a decade or two after Shoback Castle and has survived the abuses of man and weather better. It’s a bit of a monster (literally coming over the hill) and has been occupied by a diverse range of owners – though never seemingly for long – ending in the Ottomans. We spent an enjoyable hour or so exploring tunnels, vast rooms and pathways. Strategically dominating (what self respecting castle doesn’t) the landscape Karak has elevated views over the town, farmland and surrounding desert. Though the visitor centre was closed a small museum wasn’t. And was worthwhile of a short side trip.
If these 2 castles had been the first Jordanian attractions seen they would undoubtedly have beguiled. Unfortunately, and entirely unfairly, Petra, and Jerash, had spoilt us. However both, Karak in particular, are magnificent examples of Crusader Castles and deserving of your time.
We climbed into our gently roasted Chevy, wound the aircon to artic and headed back to the same Dead Sea resort hotel. We had spotted, on our previous stay, a shopping mall that looked vaguely intriguing. It started badly when charged 1JD for some bloke pointing out where we should park. It wasn’t to get better. There was a small, overpriced supermarket, a couple of upmarket (expensive) souvenir shops and several fast food joints. There were 2 pubs, The Rover’s Return (I jest not) and The Dubliner (still not jesting) literally next to each other. It really was that awful.
We beat a hasty retreat and drove the 2 minutes to our pre-Petra hotel. We checked in, splashed about in the outside pool area before tackling the Dead Sea. This was late afternoon but the temperatures were still in the 30s with added humidity from the salt water.
The sea, in reality an inland lake, is the lowest place on earth with a pucker inducing 34% salinity. Only bacteria and fungi call it home though the somewhat larger Homo sapiens are able to float on the surface. Bollocks I opinioned. Wrong. Not only could I float but stand upright without needing the sea floor. Once you emerge feels as if your skin is covered with a graphite film. A genuinely bizarre sensation. Swimming, however, would be a grievous error. That salt concentration and delicate eyes can never be friends. Eyes, nose and mouth will burn like fuck if water sneaks in. For most, including us, this fate is easily avoided.
The benefits of Dead Sea mud is often spoken about by numerous companies trying to flog the stuff. Conveniently an ample supply of this oft talked about black goo was happily bubbling from a well metres from the sea. We smeared the stuff liberally all over (no £5 jar for us) before sunning ourselves for around 5 minutes. I felt like a battered fillet. Which obviously led to a ‘I’m so travelled/humiliating’ selfie. Though you will have to have someone take it as you, hands included, are covered in mud.
Once dry we romped back into the sea and cleaned off again. The Dead Sea was an amazing experience. Unless you have a huge capacity for lying in the sun or floating in the sea 2 nights should do it. An undoubted highlight.
Madaba
And the next morning we did the same thing before a totally righteous and deserved breakfast. Mount Nebo was next. Actually it wasn’t. Another short detour took us to Mount Nebo, coachloads of devotees and an entrance fee – the Jordan Pass not being welcome. We’re not religious, the views were already impressive and we had a date with Madaba. We buggered off. No regrets.
Once parked up and checked in we bravely braved 35 degree heat to explore Madaba. Even the locals thought it unseasonably hot. We started at St George’s Church, finished with the hard to find Archaeological Museum with several slices of the Archaeological Park inbetween. St George’s Church was our only visited site that the Jordan Pass didn’t wield its magic. The cost was an extortionate 1JD each.
Madaba is mad about mosaics which are, as you may remember, a particular favourite of mine. They are stunning, even St George’s Church has an incredible mosaic map on the floor. Madaba itself is much smaller than Amman but very likable. Though the mosaics, quite rightly take centre stage, the town is attractive, friendly and walkable. Some travellers use it as a base to explore Jordan – it’s a short drive to the Dead Sea.
Back at the hotel we wallowed in air conditioned fabulousness before, this being our last evening in Jordan, heading back out for a beer. Sus had conjured up a craft beer place that looked promising. The hotel bar only had one beer on tap (Carakale proved better than Petra beer), was smoked filled with only 4 other patrons playing pool and becoming steadily drunker. We watched the deterioration. It might sound horrendous but was actually rather fun.
As we were leaving the leader of this motley bunch insisted on buying us a beer – he was absolutely captivated with Sus. On meeting Sus you might understand though I did wonder if a camel or 2 might be offered in exchange. Three could have swung the deal. We politely refused, several times, but eventually succumbed. I asked the lovely Thai barmaid to split a bottle and, after a number of toasts, we made our escape.
They’d been a friendly and surprisingly mixed gathering – our leader was Middle Eastern though not Jordanian, there was a Russian, another East European and a reasonably sober local. A memorable and enjoyable last evening.
Black Iris, the name of our hotel, conjures up spies and political intrigue. Away from my vivid imagination it’s an incredibly friendly place, has excellent rooms and an utterly delicious evening meal – as good as anything we’d eaten in Jordan along, strangely, with that very first meal in Amman.
That last morning we checked out, fuelled and dropped off our faithful friend and flew home.
Jordan is one of the friendliest countries either has visited, perfectly safe and a little bit exotic. Jerash, perhaps partly because I didn’t know what to expect, was my favourite. Sus would probably choose Petra. Both are absolute musts.
Very close behind are the Dead Sea – a great spot to relax – and Madaba and her mosaics. Karak is also worth a peek if you have time. Not being huge fans of organised groups (hence the car hire), or tents and having spent time in the Peruvian desert, Wadi Rum was never in our plans.
There are issues – plastic pollution, trash and unsafe tap water all spring too easily to mind. However, perhaps the biggest compliment I can pay Jordan is a desire to explore this fascinating region further. Jordan doesn’t have the natural resources of other Middle East countries and therefore heavily reliant on tourism. I suggest you help them out.
My name is Tony Leigh, my wonderful wife is Susan Tuttle. We
enjoy numerous interests and live in London, a city we love. We are a fit couple
of fifty somethings who love to travel.
This is blog is a travelogue of those travels.
Other Stuff
When looking for a place to stay, eat or drink we, like many
of you, peep at Trip Advisor. Human beings have an annoying tendency of
differing opinions to other human beings. This makes Trip Advisor a tad hit and
miss. Trip Advisor’s top rated eatery in
one particular town we visited was McDonalds. Enough said. We now only use it
as a reference point utilising local guides local, recommendations and
everything inbetween.
A place to stay, eat or drink will only get a shout out if
they’re particularly good or particularly bad. The vast majority of places stayed
at, eaten in or drank from are instantly forgettable. It’s often the people we
meet that make a place memorable.
The Trip
We landed in Venice on the 23 December and left Dubrovnik,
arriving inconveniently late into Heathrow, on the 13 January. Which also
happens to be my birthday. Only the flights, a hotel in Venice and car hire had
been booked in advance. We’d researched where we wanted to go, how to get there
and how long to stay but little else.
Italy – Venice and
Trieste
Courtesy of Ryan Air (reasonably efficient if not favourite
airline) we landed in the middle of nowhere. Also known as Treviso Airport. For
€12 each a coach (easily booked in the airport) takes the weary traveller to
the outskirts of Venice. A half hour walk (assuming no directional mishaps)
would have taken us to our hotel. We decided on a water taxi. This is an
expensive way to enter Venice but somehow feels the right way to enter Venice.
We spent the afternoon wandering around the tourist haunts –
St Mark’s Square, the waterfront and the remarkably tourist populated Rialto
Bridge. You need to do this if your first visit to the city. All truly are
magnificent.
As both have been to Venice a couple of times before (though
never together) the following day, our only full day in the city, we explored
outside the usual excursion tourist habitat.
We started at the wonderful Peggy Guggenheim gallery which
has a world class collection of modern art. Highly recommended. We then took a
circular route back to our hotel which, in reality was only a short stroll from
St Mark’s Square. Though the distances are actually quite small we explored for
around three hours. To be honest, this was our favourite part of a very short
stay in Venice. Though, to be clear, no part of Venice is tourist free.
Venice is one huge tourist trap. With reason. It has the
double whammy of beautiful buildings artfully interwoven with water in the form
of canals. Many of the shops sell tourist trap crap in the various forms –
food, drink and souvenirs. However there are a few outposts of quality
particularly around glass and clothing. And there’s D’Angelos, a small take out
place selling great value, delectable pizza.
Our hotel was also on a canal. When hotels boast of being on
a canal it’s like saying ‘the hotel is on a road’. Everything in Venice is
located on a canal, it’s just a matter of which one. Saying that, our hotel was
most agreeable reminding us both of hotels we had stayed in when on European
family holidays. Even the soap smelled the same.
The following morning, after half an hour walk (we beat Google’s
estimate by four minutes) from St Marks Square is the Mussolini era train
station. And a handsome beast it is too. We wandered into the ticket office,
bought a ticket to Trieste and an hour and 45 minutes later we were coming into
Trieste station. Total cost was €28. Marvellous.
Venice is not a green city in any sense. Green spaces are
rare with canals doubling up as the main sewage system. This does lead to a
slight whiff, sometimes more than a slight whiff of residents’ toilet
habits. However, if you haven’t been do
Venice than you should. Before it sinks. It’s a magnificent city.
Trieste. First impressions were it’s OK. Then we had a walk
about. They’re the remains of a small Roman Theatre, an elegant city centre and
a small but well proportioned older quarter. The main square, boarded on three
sides by grand 19th and early 20th century buildings and the other by the
Adriatic Sea, is particularly splendid. Trieste main square, glammed up for the
Christmas season, was one of the prettiest either had seen at this time of year.
The sea front offers an interesting (and cold in December)
stroll past old and new. Though much is open to the Adriatic, one of the newer
delights was Eately consisting of a collection of gourmet food, drink and
crafts in a handsome modern building. Annoyingly, to us and locals alike, this
temple to all things tasty was closed even though a notice on the main door
proclaimed otherwise.
A steep climb via steps or a marginally less strenuous climb
via a small park area takes you to a thoroughly impressive medieval castle and
slightly later church. The castle, which has later additions, wasn’t open on a
chilly December afternoon. However it’s an impressive sight and offers majestic
views back across the city. It was also a great way to warm up on a chilly
December afternoon. Or sweat profusely on a hot August afternoon.
We chose the steeper step route (obviously) and heavily
breathed our way past an area that may have been used by methadone users. There
were also a couple of needles for those presumably still on the hard stuff. A
reminder that Trieste is a port town that like many others has suffered its
fair share of hard times.
I’m a huge craft beer fan and, with the help of friends,
have even tried my hand at home brewing – with mixed and interesting results. My
IPA is an acquired taste and has a tendency to explode from the bottle. If like
me, you prefer craft beers to dreadfully awful generic lager may I strongly
suggest a visit to Hops Beerstro. The second ‘o’ has one of those continental
marks above it. Though that may be just a mark on the beer mat I borrowed. Your
inner beer snob will have a wonderful time. Mine did.
Food choices in Trieste consisted mainly of pizza, pasta and
tiramisu. Most of the restaurants didn’t open to 7pm. We were starving. It was
only about 5.30. We found Navigator (pun just realised), a restaurant
desperately vying for a USP in a city of generic Italian restaurants. Thankfully
the seafood pizza (me) and seafood pasta (Sus) were considerably better than
their rather sad branding.
Slovenia – Ljubljana
and Lake Bled
The next morning was another train leading to another city. Ljubljana
is the capital and largest city in Slovenia. Not that you would necessarily
know. The old town architecture swings from Art Nouveau to Baroque and anything
inbetween. It works rather well. There’s
also a huge castle above the town (where else) which, from a distance looks
spectacular. It dates back to the 11th century though much of what you see
today dates from the almost modern 15th century. We walked up (15 to 20
minutes) though there is a funicular for wimps. And old people. And people in
wheelchairs. And old people in wheelchairs.
Close up the castle still looks fairytale though on the
inside (there is a reasonable entrance fee) it looked and felt a little
sanitised. There’s an excellent restaurant (allegedly), an interesting museum
tracing Croatia’s history and the obligatory cafe. We popped up the tower for
the views and then popped back down, to what we felt, was the far more
interesting town.
Two days in Ljubljana meant a visit to a brewery and another
to a wine bar. Back in Blighty a visit to a brewery might mean cold premises,
interesting toilet choices and sparse seating. However, the beer nearly always
makes up for those minor inconveniences. Union Pivnica (which has another
outpost in Makarska where we’re currently staying) had beautifully climate
controlled premises, great loos and ample seating. And they serve proper food.
Unfortunately their beer, certainly the three we tried, was rather bland. The
owners had presumably visited a Brewdog but had left without tasting the beer.
Ljubljana’s reputation was saved by Slovenska Hisa, a
splendid restaurant that served hearty, local food and superb beer – try the
bizarrely and mildly worryingly named Human Fish and Reservoir Dogs breweries.
Both sound a little like death metal bands but please be assured – both
breweries produce cracking beer.
And a very special mention must go to Wine Bar Suklje (more
continental wackiness above the ‘s’). We walked in about 4pm when it was very
quiet. We had a flight of 4 wines, the first a little underwhelming, the
following three excellent. A bargain at €8 per flight.
A local, who was already a little tipsy (pissed) asked if he
could vape as it was markedly chilly outside. We had no problem (though neither
smoke) and thought nothing of it. As we were finishing the barman came over and
said the now considerably more tipsy (really pissed) local would like to treat
us to a sample on one of the best wines Slovenia produced.
No thinking time necessary.
And he was right. The wine was superb. Our tipsy chum next
offered to buy us a sample of the wine made by the owner of the bar. The owner
and winemaker came over himself, partly to stop our tipsy chum further verbally
molesting his customers (us). He was a youngish and affable chap whose family
owned a vineyard on the coast. His wine was agreeable, an easy drinker and French
in style.
A 40 minute bus ride from Ljubljana , the following morning,
took us to the Hammer House of Horror Lake Bled. Discovering the whereabouts of
bus stop taking one to Lake Bled was not as simple as one might think. After an aborted attempt the previous day
only Sus’s uncanny sense of direction got us there. I would still be looking. Take
advice.
In itself the bus ride is worth the very reasonable fare.
You pass through attractive scenery and villages before reaching the disappointedly
blood free lake. Lake Bled has a Bled
Island (surely a statue of Dracula?) which has a 17th century church
plonked on it. Might explain the utter lack of anything Draculaish. There’s a
mediaeval castle clinging to a rocky cliff and a backdrop of the Julian Mountains.
It truly is spectacular. An hour and a half leisurely wander takes you around
the 6 kilometres of the lake. Worth every step.
Sadly, this was our last evening in Ljubljana a city we both
very much liked. It’s very much a proper city which just happens to have a
pretty old centre. It’s friendly, walkable and rather fun. Go.
Croatia – Zagreb,
Funtana, Porec and Rovinj
A two hour, 15 minutes train journey from Ljubljana trundles
one nicely to Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. A new country awaited.
Zagreb reminded us of Linz in Austria. A city yet to be
fully discovered and perhaps appreciated by the masses. The capital is
distinguished by 18th and 19th century Austro-Hungarian architecture. There’s
the picture postcard favourite 13th century St Mark’s church (with the 18th
century tiled roof) and the rebuilt twin towered Cathedral of Zagreb. A
pleasing amble can be had exploring the area around St Mark’s.
There’s a Museum of Broken Relationships (probably not a
first date destination) and Tkalciceva, a street aimed squarely at the tourist
masses with its almost indistinguishable bars and restaurants. We did have a rather good coffee there
though.
However, the main square is impressive and, when we were
there, they had the best ice ring either have seen. There was a food and drink
market and an excellent live band playing in a park a short stroll away.
Reasonably close to the large daily market there’s Craft
Room – yep, you guessed it, a craft beer pub. The beer and chips were
excellent.
To be honest, a day is enough in Zagreb. Compared to
Ljubljana it felt strangely parochial and perhaps a little scruffy.
The following day we headed to Istria and, three hours later,
we arrived in the wonderfully named Funtana. There’s a Funtana Dinopark which
sounds like an episode from the wonderful Phoenix Nights. It was closed.
So was Funtana. This was New Year’s Day. However, Funtana is
a pretty village with wonderful views across the Adriatic. There’s a decent
size harbour, restaurants and bars all surrounded by green hills. We stayed at
a friend’s holiday home which was lovely. A little like Funtana.
Our second afternoon in Funtana was spent in the beautiful
Porec, a 45 minute drive away. Porec is lucky enough to have a UNESCO listed,
6th century basilica, the odd Roman bit, medieval towers and a lovely old town
dating back to at least the 18th century. If that’s not enough Porec happens to
be located on the Istrian peninsula adding watery loveliness.
The following morning our baby VW (the ironically named UP!
even though hills weren’t the little guy’s forte) took us to Rovinj another of
those pretty Istrian towns. It’s similar to Porec and worth a couple of hours
if you happen to have them spare. If you only have time for one choose Porec.
Croatia – Opatija,
Zadar and Nin
From Rovinj we blasted down to Opatija – or a sedate meander
in our mildly underpowered UP! The exclamation mark is VW’s, not mine. I dislike
exclamation marks. To be fair, we were to spend 1500 kilometres in the UP! and
all were stress free. The little guy was somewhat underpowered on motorways but
more than capable everywhere else. Third gear very much became our friend.
Opatija surprised us. Architecturally Opatija was utterly
different from Venice, Ljubljana and most of the other coastal towns. It has a
long bay much of which is fronted by grand late 19th century and 20th century
buildings. It feels very upmarket with elderly, well dressed (sometimes overly
dressed) ladies with small dogs frequenting upmarket shops and boutiques. We
were only there overnight but had a morning walk along the main street. Though
one night is enough we both thoroughly enjoyed Opatija. Our hotel was also
excellent with a breakfast my digestive system is still processing.
A couple of hours down the almost empty A8 we arrived in
Zadar. Because we were travelling out of season and Croatia has a total
population of a little more than 4 million people the roads (particularly the
motorways) were refreshingly clear of cars. We also contributed about £50 to
the road toll holiday fund. Probably a contributory factor. My understanding
is, in peak holiday season, the non-toll roads become a car locked.
I will mention our accommodation (Zederia Accomodation). It
was an apartment – basically a large bedroom and bathroom. This was better than
most and we were shown around and given Zadar tips from the lovely Inga. Apartments
are common in Croatia and Montenegro (and often come with as small kitchen)
often dominating accommodation in historic areas of towns and cities such as
Kotor and Dubrovnik. I can’t help feeling this rips the soul from these
historic centres and we – tourists – are the reason.
Unfortunately for Zadar, Croatia picked the losing side in
World War Two, caught the wandering eye of the RAF who then made a bit of a
mess. Thankfully enough of Zadar’s old bits survived and the town boasts Roman
ruins, medieval churches, cosmopolitan cafes and quality museums all set on a
small peninsula. The Roman ruins were discovered, somewhat ironically, because
of the bombings. Silver lining and all that.
There’s a promenade along the Adriatic with marvellous views
across the water to the settlements on the other side of the peninsula. You may
hear eerie reverberations – this, thankfully is not the locals, but a sea
organ, the first of its kind anywhere in the world.
Nin is about 15 kilometres from Zadar and recommended by one
and all. It’s the oldest royal town in Croatia with a ruined Roman temple, the
9th Century St Church of the Holy Cross (the smallest cathedral in
the world – allegedly) and restored cobbled streets. Queen’s beach, situated in
Nin Lagoon, is one of the few sandy ones in Croatia. The water is shallow and
the medicinal mud plentiful. Every mud bath comes with stunning views of the
surrounding mountains.
Unfortunately we chose the coldest day of the three weeks.
Perhaps ever. The place was deserted, everything was closed and it was fucking
freezing. Nevertheless, we did a quick walk around. Sus, who feels the cold
much more than her hardy husband (California versus Yorkshire), buggered off
back to the car after an indecently short time. I, bravely, battled on and walked
around the town by the water. It was indeed beautiful though neither would rush
back.
Croatia – Makarska,
Pogdora
Two and a half hours or a little less than 210 kilometres, largely
down the E65, brought us to Makarska. With the exception of the impressively
barren Biokovo Mountains that surround Makarska and the obligatory Adriatic
panorama the town is a little underwhelming. It’s very much a beach town with a
small limestone oldie bit, a similarly small harbour and an agreeable
waterfront promenade which meanders around the modest bay.
Unless using Makarska as a base to explore the Dalmatian
Coast a couple of nights will suffice. Makarska is not horrible, and makes an
excellent stopover on the way down to Montenegro, it’s just not especially
pretty or architecturally interesting. The views, however, are.
Montenegro – Kotor,
Budva
It’s about a month since the trip and I contrived to omit
both Montenegro and Lake Bled from these scribblings. A lake is perhaps
forgivable but a whole country?
Makarska to Kotor (surprisingly located on the Bay of Kotor)
is a four hour plus drive down the E65 – you will learn to love the E65 if you
drive down the Croatian coast. More quality time with our UP! Bizarrely,
because of the brutal Balkans War in the 1990s, you leave Croatia, pop into Bosnia
and Herzegovina, pop back into Croatia before meandering into Montenegro. I can
tell you little about Bosnia and Herzegovina apart from its unsurprising similarity
to Croatia. It used to be the same country after all. And we were there for less
than half an hour. Twice.
Kotor’s old town, encased by staunch, defensive walls, is a
collection of mediaeval streets, squares and Romanesque churches. If this isn’t
enough, Kotor is surrounded by water and mountains. It is genuinely gorgeous. Cruise
ships arrive with the regularity of the Victoria line. Thankfully not when we
were there.
We spent a number of hours during the next few days
wandering around this mediaeval gem. Like everywhere else, little was open
allowing us to enjoy the splendour of the place without the distraction of tourist
hoards searching for the next Lonely Planet must do.
One numbingly cold evening the main square hosted a local
band. The annoyingly good looking, English speaking and undoubtedly charming
lead singer also played lead guitar. Brilliantly. Their covers of 1970 rock
classics made for a mildly surreal experience. I remember a number of food and
drink stalls. Everything was free.
Another day, another old town. This time Budva, less than 25
kilometres from Kotor. The road between Kotor and Budva is, I sincerely hope,
an anomaly. It travels through what looks to have been a failed business
enterprise zone. Some businesses have
set up including a very disappointing hypermarket. However, there are far too
many gaps, an occasional half built, abandoned building with litter strewn everywhere.
The whole area is a little grim.
Budva new town is non-descript and, for many over developed.
It houses abundant, shops, bars and clubs. Add into this hedonistic mix
numerous beaches, a stunning bay and glorious weather and you have party
central. Though not when we were there. Mercifully.
The old town, parts of which date back to mediaeval times, is
parked on a small peninsula and surrounded by 15th century walls.
Five gates are the only way in. Being pedestrianised Budva old town is
enjoyable to stroll round. As you would expect, there’s no shortage of bars,
restaurants and souvenir shops waiting for the unwary. The Citadel provides,
for those who paid the small entrance fee, unparalleled views back across the
Adriatic and the town.
I was unaware, until researching for this blog, that much of
the old town had been rebuilt after a devastating earthquake in 1979. Unlike
Dubrovnik, it doesn’t show and still worth a gander. Nevertheless, unless
you’re a super cool party person it may be best avoiding the peak summer
season.
Montenegro – Perast, Risan,
Tivat
The following day was wet, blustery and cold. The weather
was never to improve. A little unenthusiastically, we climbed into our faithful
UP! and headed up the coast. We were to
have one of the best days of those three weeks.
Perast a few kilometres, and a short drive, from Kotor is a
UNESCO world heritage site. It’s a 17th and 18th century town
masquerading as a village with numerous churches and Baroque palazzi. The only
road (paved track) in or out separates it from the Bay of Kotor which, in turn,
is surrounded by mountain scenery. There are two picturesque islands, one man
made (with obligatory legend) housing a 15th century church, the
other natural boasting a 12th century monastery. Both can be visited
in the summer, neither could be visited in January. On the plus side both islands are clearly
visible from shore. And we had the
freedom of the parking bays.
Perast is often called little Venice and it’s easy to see
why. The town, bay and mountains make it one of the most beautiful places
either has been to.
Onwards to Risan. Risan is not a Perast. Not even close. Risan
was once a bustling Roman town, the oldest settlement on the bay. Today a huge
abandoned hotel on the sea front stands testament to its current state. However,
one thing Risan does have that Perast does not is Roman mosaics. And, for a
small entrance fee tourists, can view this stunning reminder of those glory
days. We were the only visitors, a shame, the mosaics are beautiful.
Our final stop that rainy day was Tivat, a mere 12
kilometres from Kotor. Tivat is a modern and non-descript place with one
redeeming feature – the naval base has been sexed up and is now a stylish, uber
posh Marina. There are upmarket flats, upmarket shops and an upmarket delicatessen
which was surprisingly good. We nipped into the upmarket Crush Wine Station to
warm up, dry out and enjoy a couple of the local vinos. However, the undoubted
stars of the show were the mind boggling super yachts moored in the marina. A
few years ago we were captivated by the motor yachts at the London Boat Show.
These Tivat residents were on a completely different scale. Smart car versus
Range Rover.
A proper travel day.
Croatia – Dubrovnik
If you only do one thing in Dubrovnik have a stroll around
the city walls. It’s expensive (everything in Dubrovnik is) but gives fantastic
views of the old town, the Adriatic and the surrounding hills. And then lose
yourself (and you will) in the beautiful streets of the old town. Once you find
yourself passing the same souvenir shop for the fifth time head up to the fort
– those of you who are Game of Thrones devotees will be particularly excited.
There’s the Rector’s Palace, another expensive option, though worth a peek if
you’ve run out of ideas.
We didn’t but it’s worth considering the Dubrovnik Card if
you intend to visit the many attractions the old town has to offer. We, by
accident, walked to a second harbour about 40 minutes from the old town. Though
quite pretty, with large banks and shopping malls, the area felt more a
commercial centre. Again, if you’re running out of tourist delights, it might
be worth a stroll.
Kawa sits just outside the city walls and sells only
Croatian goods – handbags, scarves, oil etc. They also have a cracking
selection of local craft ales and a small selection of similarly local wine.
This may not be the cheap option but it’s certainly the quality option. And a
huge improvement on the omnipresent souvenir shops selling tourist trap crap.
Most of which is probably manufactured in China.
Old town Dubrovnik is undeniably beautiful (even the newer
bits aren’t exactly horrible) plonked in an equally beautiful setting. We found
it a little soulless. Too many tourist apartments, too many bars, restaurants
and shops peddling the same tourist rubbish. Much of the old town was rebuilt
after the tragic Balkan wars of the early 1990s giving an almost Disney feel –
especially with Games of Thrones and, to a lesser extent, Star Wars advertised
everywhere.
That’s a shame. I suggest you avoid the summer (and therefore most of the cruise ships) and overcrowding. But go. Dubrovnik is worth it.
Final Thoughts
Favourites. Probably Ljubljana and Lake Bled closely
followed by Kotor. Porec and Opatija also made a favourable impression. Zadar and
Trieste were agreeable places to spend time. There was nowhere we hated, Zagreb
and Makarska only underwhelmed.
On that very first morning, during the boat ride into
Venice, we’d chatted to a lovely young, English couple. He was a line backer
sized black guy; she was a diminutive (and much prettier) Muslim girl. Partly
because of their obvious size discrepancy (and it was considerable), perhaps a
little unusual. What was more unusual, striking even, was the utter lack of
ethnic minorities in any of the local populations of the countries we visited.
With an odd exception in Italy. Living in London specifically, and the UK
generally, this was a genuine culture shock.
However, this was a fabulous three weeks. And travelling out
of season certainly has its advantages – lower prices, a lack of other tourists
and little need to book months in advance. There are obvious disadvantages –
unpredictable and interesting weather, shorter daylight hours and closed tourist
attractions. It was cold though only occasionally bitter (Nin) and there was
only one truly miserable day. The closure of some tourist attractions, bars and
restaurants was of no concern. Many of the bars and restaurants were tourist
traps and I don’t remember one closed tourist site we’d have visited even if
open.
For us the pros outweigh the cons and we’d not hesitate to
travel at this time of year again. And remember we chose the Adriatic, not
Northern Europe. For a reason.
Tony's Travel Blog 