I’m not dead yet!

… Some of you know the big secret – we’re back in Sydney.

But we’re not finished. I’m going to write a bit about Hong Kong, the last part of our trip, and then a few more things on the trip.

Don’t stop looking now!

Croeso i LOEGR…

Welcome to England, indeed.

We left Barcelona in a hurry not of our choosing. The cab driver, who at some point was having a conversation on three different communication devices (mobile phone no1 in one ear; mobile phone no2 on bluetooth; taxi radio) floored his horrible old taxi the entire way out to the airport.

We weren’t in a rush, but we survived in time to wait several hours for our flight to Bristol, England (from where we would visit Cardiff for one more night in Europe). The flight, btw, was the flight no one would have cared about had it crashed; us and 98 19-22 year old British losers travellers with bad pink sunburns, bad minger accents and bad panama hats (guys, every one of them) or tank tops designed to show off beer guts (ladies, every one of them.)

The nice part was landing at Bristol International Airport, alive, and walking through the long lines to the front of the queue as the only International, non EU travellers.

We had a great night with the Welshman and the American, enjoying a night in Cardiff with good food and good wine (St Emillion red, for old times sake) and their good friends. One of them drank Fosters. Apparently he does it all the time. Strange.

That night I kicked the Welshmans ass at Sega Rally at his own house on his own stupid X-Box.

The next day we toured Cardiff again, seeing all the sights. Five minutes later, when we were done, we headed out into the green rolling countryside to stop at a good old Welsh pub whose name I’ve forgotten but was probably “The Horse’s Testicles” and had good local ale and food. We also got to listen to a trio of big elderly Welsh gents speaking to each other in Welsh, something I can now tick off my list of ‘things I heard happened but wouldn’t believe until witnessed’.

The goodbye was tough – they’re good people, and they were great and generous hosts who not only put us up but drove us to Heathrow.

We’ll see them, and the UK and Europe again. No doubt.

For now, though, it’s almost home… Hong Kong next for a few days and then… work on Monday. Crazy.

Next: Hong Kong, where Sezchaun food is on the menu.

Spanish food and wine…

Warning – boring post about restaurants so we don’t forget.

Spanish food was great.

I arrived with a checklist of foods to try in Spain. Tapas in a square at night with some wine, Catalonian restaurants, paella, sangria and also more wine. We managed to do them all.

The first night we arrived late and hit the Barri Gothic, winding through the streets before landing at a Tapas place near the Cathedral, early by Spanish standards, at 8pm. Food was fine – good chorizo, octopus, piquilo peppers, lamb with a Tarsus 02 Reserva Riberadel Duero.

Saturday morning we went to the Boquiera Markets (supermercat) and walked through the fresh produce before eating a heavy breakfast of fresh caught and cooked squid, sausage, peppers, and potatoes (with wine!).

After a long day of sightseeing, the next day we ate at Quo Vidas, a Catalonian old-school place where I had bull fillet and other great dishes and Skye also ate very well. The Heretet Newias 06 Monstat was a local grown Grenache that really worked with the meat.

The next day, around the harbour, we had a fantastic seafood paealla, matched to a good local chard/xarelo/macabeau (Descregut de Penedes) for lunch. That night was horrible – after the bullfight drama we set out from the hotel late, around 11, for some tapas but the only things around us on and off La Ramblas were horrible, horrible touristy tapas places. It was a sunday, see, and everything’s closed except the bad tapas. We finally found a place and had terrible food and excellent sangria.

Monday, we had one of the greatest meals of the trip, at Hofmanns, near Avenue Diagonal, a short ways away in the shadow of Gaudi’s unfinished masterpiece.

We’re not kidding – it was one of the best meals we’ve ever had and though not cheap, if you’re in Barcelona you will not do better. Fantastic staff who went above and beyond (see below) and sesnational food matched to a slightly underwhelming wine list that has a few winners like our local Teixar 06 (grenache).

After having an awesome dessert (the magic crystal ball sugar explosion!) I asked the sommelier, who’d been very nice the whole evening, how it was made. How did they fashion a perfect spehere the size of a softball out of sugar and then fill it with various ice creams and sorbets… without missing a beat, he offered to show us. Then and there. Took us into the kitchen and asked the head chef to make one for us. Which he did.

Unbelievable.

Anyway, we loved the food here. The touristy areas are overrun by cheap, cheap tapas, but again – what can we expect? It’s hard to find a good little tapas amongst the sea of uniform crapness, but when you do, they’re winners. And Quo Vadis and Hofmann were some of the best meals we had.

Next: Cardiff for a night with friends, then out of Europe, onwards to Hong Kong … Chinese food, a big change.

Hot Spanish Nights, waiting in line…

Today: Barcelona

Barcelona has been three days of hot days, hot nights, mostly good food, walking and above all, waiting in line.

I really like this town; I’ve liked it since I read about it, so many times. How many great books or events took place here? Lots? Lots.

It’s big. It’s sprawling and it’s got some great stuff to see, great stuff from a mountain, cable cars, stadiums, the most unbelievable church I’ve ever seen (that’s still only halfway built after 100+ years) and dark, gorgeous laneways that snake through the city leading suddenly to plazas or churches or statues.

The food markets are unbelievable in terms of fresh produce of all kinds, humanity and great food.

The only problem is, everyone else knows about the places you want to visit. And they all want to visit too.

So, you wait in line.

And you wait. And you wait. And you get through the ticket line, to wait somewhere else for an hour. And you wait some more.

I’m not kidding. The Gaudi church? One hour for tickets, one hour for the elevator. Camp Nou? One hour for tickets, forty minutes to enter. The cable car that delivers the greatest views of the city? Closed, of course, from 12 to 3, then open for an hours wait in line, an hours wait to get the car and at least that much to get back on from Montjuic.

I can’t complain – I’m here in July, one of the tourists waiting in line too.

But it’s hard, I think, after three weeks in the smaller cities of France where tourists were around but much thinner on the ground, to wait. And to fight through the crowds everywhere.

I’m loving this city and the food we’re eating is (with one real exception) unbelievable. The bullfights were incredible.

But we’re out of here tomorrow, and I think that’s not a bad thing. If one more German pushes his way into line, I’d be living the rest of my life in a Spanish jail.

There will be bigger Barcelona posts coming…

Tomorrow: Cardiff (yeah, Cardiff)

Toro…

Tonight we went to the bullfights.

They were quite confronting. Skye lasted maybe five minutes before leaving for the hotel in tears.

I was a little troubled too, but I stayed. I needed to see it.

They were amazing. Horrible, cruel, torture… heart wrenching at times.

But also beautiful and awesome.

I’m not going to write too much; it’s a point of interest to many. But it’s something I am glad I have done and something I don’t need to do again.

Below are some confronting photos. You’re warned: Don’t look if you don’t want to see some of what happened.

If you want to look, you need the password. It’s:

torotoro

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Bye France, thanks for the good time…

Collioure deserves more than this but our internet is limited and Barcelona waits.

Way down south on the Mediterranean is the French town of Collioure, nestled in Catalonia.

It’s gorgeous, with a harbour ringed by natural cliffs and guarded by a huge medieval wall. The waters inside are dotted with small sailing craft, swimmers and huge yachts that have stopped for lunch on the way north or south along the coast.

We arrived early and walked the town, having a local bottle of wine and a couple of great Catalan sandwhiches (She had French sausage and garlic and butter; I had pate and pickles, both on the delicious long rolls so available here). We walked, we relaxed, we saw the sun come out…

Our small hotel, on the southern cliffs, promised every room (of the 9 of them) looked out on the sea, and they were right. On the balcony or the bed in the small rooom, the sliding doors open, there was nothing before us but the blue ocean and quiet. How romantic? Yep.

Dinner, at a michelin starred Neptunes, was no less fantastic on a balcony over the harbour, with lobster (langoustine!) and a tower of pippies and another sensational local Collioure wine (name to come) and company, then a stroll along the rocks.

At one stage, we went swimming in the Med, leaping from rocks at the base of our hotel in waters that were cold but sparkling clear.

We left for Barcelona excited, but with heavy hearts… our last night in France was perfect and refreshing. Though we didn’t want to leave and knew we were going somewhere special, Collioure was the perfect way to end our French trip.

Today, tomorrow, tomorrowx2: Barcelona, where bullfighting IS the menu.

We always take the weather with us…

We arrived in London and kicked off their nicest set of weather in years – it rained the day we were leaving but by the time we hit Paris we were back in sunshine.

Eight days later as we got to the train, the rain started to fall in Paris – no worries, we made it to nice weather in Reims.

Two days later… cold wet heavy rain, as we pull out of Reims station for Dijon. Warm in Dijon, for two days… rains on our car as we drive west into the Loire valley.

Beautiful weather at Chambord Chateau, beautiful again in Tours the next day and the day after that but drenching rains as we drive onto the highway for Bordeaux… clears up an hour out of Bordeaux, stays that way for us there and then up in the hills at St-Emillion… until that night overnight and the next morning where it’s sprinkling as we head back to Bordeaux for the train.

On the train? Rain starts as we leave Bordeaux, gone long before we arrive in Carcassonne… it does sprinkle for a few seconds in Carcassonne but then I think someone realised we were there and stopped it. Beautiful again the next day in the hotel pool. Starts to rain heavily that morning as we cruise down the coast… and it’s glorious sunshine again in Collioure.

So hot we actually swim in the Mediteranean and all night we leave our balcony door open to the soothing ocean sounds… rains, fat heavy and cold, at Collioure station just as the train to Barcelona pulls up.

Perfect weather in Spain, no rain on these plains… not till next tueday anyway.

Days and Knights in Carcossonne…

Today: Carcassonne

She looked at me walking along the castle ramparts and laughed.

“You’re cracked out on medieval stuff,” she said, and I laughed because it was true – when we walked up from the old town on Bastille Day and that sprawling, medieval castle came into view on top of that hill I felt ten years old and reading King Arthur stories all over again.

Then we got inside, over the freaking moat and through the defensive towers!, and onto cobblestone streets where every shop sold swords and bows and armour and I was loving it.

Well, mostly… I didn’t love the crowds on Bastille Day (the best and worst day to come here, She said) with wall to wall people, but we found a restaurant and had cassoulet (I liked it, She loved it enough to eat it three times out of three meals in the city) and some local Langeoudoc wine (not worth mentioning) and we watched fireworks and it was great.

The next day we moved hotels up to the city where we looked out on the walls towering above us, we walked back into the city in the oppressive heat where we got to see it relatively people free. We toured the battlements (awesome), went to a kitschy WWF style Knight show with jousting and axes and an eagle (double awesome) and had more cassoulet and shitty local wine and it was perfect.

It’s a massive tourist trap, maybe the worst kind of trap because they actually lock you inside the freaking castle with all the tourist vultures, but everywhere in France in July is bad and here they don’t push it enough to be tacky.

Meanwhile, the whole time you’re there, you’re in a freaking castle. Like, a real one, not some crazy thing in Victoria built by local dorks.

Also, I bought a padded chain mace and I have been beating Her with it every chance I get and it’s awesome – Max and Sunshine? You’re fucking next.

Also I did the French Knight routine from Monty Python about a hundred times and it was never not funny.

Now it’s morning and we’re off from Carcassonne, heading down the coast to the Mediterranean.

Tomorrow: Couillure for some more relaxing, a swim in another body of water I’ve only read about previously and a bottle of champagne for our last night in France.

Happy Bastille Day (for yesterday)…

Happy Bastille Day from Carcassonne…

A short post for a long day of travelling, walking, eating and drinking.

Last night we watched the Bastille Day fireworks go off from the old medieval castle that stands above the lower town. We didn’t have the best vantage point, the one from where you can see the whole city, but we had a pretty good one looking down a straight to the main section of walls.

Awesome stuff.

Tomorrow: Carcassonne post for real, including a running count of the amount of times Skye’s eaten Cassoulet (3 so far).