The very cool Cafe en Seine...
Christmas lights...
Thursday, November 29, 2007
DVBLINN
With our walking shoes on, we went south down a Sandymount Canal; then up north of the Liffey to Parnell Square, past a ridiculously tall, smooth and metallic Republican pillar, into the General Post Office, which turned out to just be a general post office (despite its infamy) and then cruised into the bars....
The very cool Cafe en Seine...
Christmas lights...
The very cool Cafe en Seine...
Christmas lights...
"Where do I go from O'Connell Street?"
"Can't you take the bus all the way to Grafton Street?"
"No, the bus finishes at O'Connell Street"
"OK, so get the bus to Grafton Street"
......
"I'm on O'Connell Street and heading south to cross the bridge... I'm crossing the River Liffey now... where are you?"
"I'm heading up towards the bridge to meet you"
"Which side of the road are you on Jane?"
"I'm not sure"
"What do you mean you're not sure?!"
......
"OK Jane, you need to head back the way you came, I think you're going the wrong way!"
So I was the first-time visitor to Jane's new city Dublin, but she's the one who got lost! Although it wasn't Jane's navigational skills per se, but rather a heady mix of Irish nightlife and release after a week's work. I took a late Friday plane and Jane had made it clear she had no intention of remaining sober for my arrival.
Aside from touring more bars and clubs than many cities have over the weekend, I did accomplish some would-be tourist activities, such as eating a forgetable Irish breakfast (who serves baked beans these days?), walking Jane north of the river for the first time - to the GPO (focal point of Republican Irish dissent over the past century): we also went around the cobbled streets of Temple Bar and sampled the 'odd' Guinness.
It was great to spend a bit of time over on The Isle, and experience the Irish hospitality which puts the English to shame!!
Back I am now in London, with not too many euros left...
"Can't you take the bus all the way to Grafton Street?"
"No, the bus finishes at O'Connell Street"
"OK, so get the bus to Grafton Street"
......
"I'm on O'Connell Street and heading south to cross the bridge... I'm crossing the River Liffey now... where are you?"
"I'm heading up towards the bridge to meet you"
"Which side of the road are you on Jane?"
"I'm not sure"
"What do you mean you're not sure?!"
......
"OK Jane, you need to head back the way you came, I think you're going the wrong way!"
So I was the first-time visitor to Jane's new city Dublin, but she's the one who got lost! Although it wasn't Jane's navigational skills per se, but rather a heady mix of Irish nightlife and release after a week's work. I took a late Friday plane and Jane had made it clear she had no intention of remaining sober for my arrival.
Aside from touring more bars and clubs than many cities have over the weekend, I did accomplish some would-be tourist activities, such as eating a forgetable Irish breakfast (who serves baked beans these days?), walking Jane north of the river for the first time - to the GPO (focal point of Republican Irish dissent over the past century): we also went around the cobbled streets of Temple Bar and sampled the 'odd' Guinness.
It was great to spend a bit of time over on The Isle, and experience the Irish hospitality which puts the English to shame!!
Back I am now in London, with not too many euros left...
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Sun in Southampton
Unemployment was leaving me feeling restless in London, for which the only known cure was more travel - even Anthony's suggestions that I catch up on the last century worth of top films on DVDs weren't quite sticking (although some of you will be impressed, others envious, that I - yes, me, really! - watched 5 films in one week!). So I decided I would take the next bus to Southampton on England's south coast to visit Christine, a friend of mine from Copenhagen. Easy as that! Shunning the titanic museum (this is the port from where it set sail) we spent far more time at the German Weihnachtsmarkt (Christmas market) - bringing back memories of last year's Christmas in Thüringen. Southampton's weather didn't disappoint - the day itself was sunny - and as the dark and rain set in, we set ourselves in a tent smelling of Glühwein and of course had a couple with rum...!
The sunny side of Southampton...
The sunny side of Southampton...
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
November 14 at the Roundhouse
Honey now if Im honest
I still dont know what love is
Another mirage folds into the haze of time recalled
And now the floodgates cannot hold
All my sorrow all my rage
A tear that falls on every page
-- The Other Side, David Gray
I fell in love with David Gray again last Wednesday night at the Roundhouse in Camden, he played first a supurb acoustic set including Shine, Aint No Love and Babylon... The second set, full of band and keyboard, left me gaping at an amazing rendition of Nightblindness, and finished with Please Forgive Me, to which the crowd rocked... although V was upset not to get his favourite: Say Hello Wave Goodbye.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Smooth Changeover
Suffering from the loss of Claire (back in Australia) and Laff (last we heard he was hot-air ballooning over Kenya, and we're hoping that since then he hasn't been eaten by a tiger or joined any fundamentalist African Liberation Fronts) we have recovered slightly with the entrance of new housemate Katie, pictured here showing V how to do the washing up
Good Timing
We're in the last few kilometres of our hike in the Sierra Nevada mountains and we return to mobile phone reception. Fran calls Pablo and he confirms we should be there at 9pm...
The scenery is beautiful and the cliffs rise dramatically from the riverbed below. We make our away longer the river first, and then double back - and up - to get a view back down on the gorge we have just travelled.
Back in the base town of Monachil, having successfully navigated our way through Los Cahorros, it would be nice to get a drink, but everythings closed for siesta time. It's after 5pm and the shops should have reopened. Long siestas in small towns, I muse.
The night before, after a sensational lamb tajin at a Morrocan restaurant sandwiched between the Albayzin and Sacromonte districts of Granada, we passed a bar pumping with live music. Its great, laid-back and funny listening to the Spanish belt out covers of some english classics like Bob Marley. Three Spanish guys, including Pablo, must have taken a shine to Francesca, meanwhile the group evolves to include a Swede, an Argentinian and more - all have moved to this hippy town of Granada for the lifestyle. Away from Madrid, away from Barcelona, away from Buenos Aires, away from the Swedish countryside. Granada, home to the Alhambra, has that kind of attraction.
We ended up walking the Ruta de Los Cahorras on a recommendation of one that group, and similarly, we ended up at Pablo's restaurant. He's a chef there, the views are supposed to be great - of the hilltop Alhambra - and the food is meant to be top notch. A little expensive perhaps, but Pablo assured us he would look after us.
And so we arrive at nine, as Pablo had asked. He was to have the best table ready for us. Curiously, most of the restaurant lights were off. the aging plaque on the wall says it should be open from 8.30, but we're the only ones here. This could become a little awkward.
Someone ushers us in and explains something in spanish, we think she says to wait half an hour. Meanwhile they're still setting up. This is crazy, these Spanish really earn their reputation for doing things just a little differently, just a little late I jest with Fran...
OK, so we're gonna go somewhere else for a drink first...
And then we finally see Pablo. It's only 8 o'clock he says apologetically. It turns out Fran and I have been one hour ahead of everyone else for the past 2 days. The end of daylight savings made a fool of us! Just goes to show how unimportant time is when you travel...
The meal was sensational, and many thanks to our friend Pablo!
The scenery is beautiful and the cliffs rise dramatically from the riverbed below. We make our away longer the river first, and then double back - and up - to get a view back down on the gorge we have just travelled.
Back in the base town of Monachil, having successfully navigated our way through Los Cahorros, it would be nice to get a drink, but everythings closed for siesta time. It's after 5pm and the shops should have reopened. Long siestas in small towns, I muse.
The night before, after a sensational lamb tajin at a Morrocan restaurant sandwiched between the Albayzin and Sacromonte districts of Granada, we passed a bar pumping with live music. Its great, laid-back and funny listening to the Spanish belt out covers of some english classics like Bob Marley. Three Spanish guys, including Pablo, must have taken a shine to Francesca, meanwhile the group evolves to include a Swede, an Argentinian and more - all have moved to this hippy town of Granada for the lifestyle. Away from Madrid, away from Barcelona, away from Buenos Aires, away from the Swedish countryside. Granada, home to the Alhambra, has that kind of attraction.
We ended up walking the Ruta de Los Cahorras on a recommendation of one that group, and similarly, we ended up at Pablo's restaurant. He's a chef there, the views are supposed to be great - of the hilltop Alhambra - and the food is meant to be top notch. A little expensive perhaps, but Pablo assured us he would look after us.
And so we arrive at nine, as Pablo had asked. He was to have the best table ready for us. Curiously, most of the restaurant lights were off. the aging plaque on the wall says it should be open from 8.30, but we're the only ones here. This could become a little awkward.
Someone ushers us in and explains something in spanish, we think she says to wait half an hour. Meanwhile they're still setting up. This is crazy, these Spanish really earn their reputation for doing things just a little differently, just a little late I jest with Fran...
OK, so we're gonna go somewhere else for a drink first...
And then we finally see Pablo. It's only 8 o'clock he says apologetically. It turns out Fran and I have been one hour ahead of everyone else for the past 2 days. The end of daylight savings made a fool of us! Just goes to show how unimportant time is when you travel...
The meal was sensational, and many thanks to our friend Pablo!
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Friday, November 02, 2007
A different Homage to Catalunya
A somewhat parochial bunch, the Catalans. During the Spanish public holiday, shops stayed open. Catalan flags fly from the windows, and they say "molt bé" instead of "muy bien". Yet, as I once again point out to Anna, they still have Spanish passports.
Fran and I cruise along the coast from Barcalona to Blanes and take the bus further on to Lloret del Mar, which can only be described as a beautiful location with every touristic ruination imaginable, mainly at the hands of the English and the Germans. The main drag is gaudy with neon lights, discos and casinos. But Anna thankfully lives at the far end of town, with a view to the beach, and besides, it's October and there aren't too many tourists. We can't speak Spanish, but Catalan has so many similarities to Italian to make our passage trouble free.
We made it to the nearby towns of Girona, where the majority of our day was spent inside a restaurant, and Figueres, home to the Salvador Dalí museum. After a night (and morning) out with Anna, Sergi and Estel (the Copenhagen Catalans) - a night that involved a big dinner, amazing sangria, free fiery shots, a club with more free drinks, churros with chocolate for breakfast, and a lift home from Anna's crazy friend on his way to hunt rabbits - we woke up just in time for a late afternoon Paella in the neighbouring beach town of Tossa del Mar. And so we spent some lazy days...
...And of course there was Barcelona itself, Fran and I couldn't get enough of the lifestyle: in the mornings we would check out the sleek curves of Gaudi structures, the winding alleys of El Reval or El Barri Gòtic; whereas in the afternoon we'd meet our friends after uni and head for tapas, or a wine bar, or both, and then some...
And while London was getting colder, and darker, and wetter, Barcelona was full of sunshine, except for this exception:
Fran and I cruise along the coast from Barcalona to Blanes and take the bus further on to Lloret del Mar, which can only be described as a beautiful location with every touristic ruination imaginable, mainly at the hands of the English and the Germans. The main drag is gaudy with neon lights, discos and casinos. But Anna thankfully lives at the far end of town, with a view to the beach, and besides, it's October and there aren't too many tourists. We can't speak Spanish, but Catalan has so many similarities to Italian to make our passage trouble free.
We made it to the nearby towns of Girona, where the majority of our day was spent inside a restaurant, and Figueres, home to the Salvador Dalí museum. After a night (and morning) out with Anna, Sergi and Estel (the Copenhagen Catalans) - a night that involved a big dinner, amazing sangria, free fiery shots, a club with more free drinks, churros with chocolate for breakfast, and a lift home from Anna's crazy friend on his way to hunt rabbits - we woke up just in time for a late afternoon Paella in the neighbouring beach town of Tossa del Mar. And so we spent some lazy days...
...And of course there was Barcelona itself, Fran and I couldn't get enough of the lifestyle: in the mornings we would check out the sleek curves of Gaudi structures, the winding alleys of El Reval or El Barri Gòtic; whereas in the afternoon we'd meet our friends after uni and head for tapas, or a wine bar, or both, and then some...
And while London was getting colder, and darker, and wetter, Barcelona was full of sunshine, except for this exception:
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