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Ferry to Skopelos June 26, 2008

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At midnight on Tuesday, the GA Ferries ship Ntaliana set sail from Thessaloniki for the overnight voyage to Skopelos in the Sporades, 9 hours south. For such a very large boat, finding it was quite a challenge. The big building with a sign which looked a lot like Passenger Terminal was a red herring and the ship itself was at the other end of the wharves. Wandering around strange docks on my own is one of my favourite ways to spend an evening.

I’d booked a berth in a 2-bed cabin, and either I had no roommate, or she didn’t show up. Or she did show up, saw my stuff and demanded another cabin. The bondage gear comes in handy sometimes. About twice the size of a Scotrail sleeper, with proper bathroom, it was all mine. The lack of a key was a bit odd, but I could lock it from the inside, though a trip to the deck involved carrying all my valuables with me. As I’m travelling like a branch of Dixons at the moment (laptop, phone, mp3 player, camera) the handbag was heavy. Convergence would help a lot - tech companies take note.

Leaving the port was wonderful. The big engines quietly churned and we had soon left the noise of the dock bars in the distance. The city’s lights glowed behind us, the Chalkidiki peninsula’s to our left, and a huge orange half-moon hung so low in the sky it could have been a mountain top. Chalkidiki is so built up now that there are lights almost all the way to the lighthouse at the tip.

Gulls surfed the air turbulence while fish jumped through our wake. Slowly, stars appeared. Its a long time since I’ve seen a lot of stars.

The sea was calm, and I slept well, waking up to full sunlight and the realisation that the porthole looked out onto a deck. Hello, Sailor, indeed.

First port of call was Skiathos, and then on through beautiful clear seas to Skopelos. The boat left me there, and headed on south to the Cyclades and Crete. It makes the round trip every couple of days, and I’ll get it back on Saturday. For €73, which is less than I paid for my hotel in Thessaloniki, its a great way to travel.

Back to the beginning June 22, 2008

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Right, lets start at the beginning. In the case of Thessaloniki, that’s an awfully long time ago. According to the Archaeological Museum, there have been humans around here for about 200,000 years, though the city itself was founded in 321BC by Alexander the Great’s brother in law, who named it after his wife.

The highlight of the Archaeological Museum is the Gold of Macedon, grave goods from the many graves which have been excavated. That of Phillip II is the most famous and, if I can sort out the bus timetables, is the plan for Tuesday. I’m charmed by the beautiful gold sheet work in crowns of delicate golden flowers. They look so fragile, but have survived so long.

After the museum, I head off to find the Roman city. The Palace and Arch of the 4th century AD emperor Galerius, who ruled as part of the 4-emperor tetrarchy, sit in the middle of the post-war apartment blocks which characterise so much of the city.

Arch of Galerius, with detail inset

A little further north is the Rotunda, which my guidebook tells me has the best mosaics outside Ravenna and Constantinople. Its a bit hard to tell, because the interior is covered in restorers scaffolding, but the bits I can see sparkle in gold. Like the Pantheon in Rome, this building has survived intact from ancient times by being consecrated as a church, then becoming a mosque and is now a church again. The mosaics I can see look Islamic, rather than Christian, with birds and abstract shapes.

Rotunda

In between, there’s lots of sitting in coffee shops and enjoying the sunshine. Its still all very quiet, and clearly not a tourist town. Even the hotel seems to be more for business people than for tourists.

A small blow against the surveillance society March 26, 2008

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Blimey, the Information Commissioner might be effective after all. The beeb is reporting that BAA have decided not to fingerprint everyone going through the new Terminal 5 at Heathrow when it opens tomorrow. At least until they’ve worked out how to harrass passengers legally.

It is amazing that with a brand new terminal, BAA decided not to keep domestic and international passengers separate, so that the possibility of coming in on an international flight and switching boarding passes with an accomplice to get onto a domestic flight didn’t even arise. And this isn’t even about ’security’, just about the odd illegal immigrant. Is it really such an easy way to get into the country that it is worth hassling everyone? And shouldn’t they just recheck passports and boarding passes at the gates?

¡Feliz Navidad! August 11, 2007

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It’s only August, and already I’m thinking about Christmas.  I like Christmas itself in the UK, the cold weather, parties and the lights in Oxford St, and my sister does a great Christmas day, but the week or two afterwards are normally pretty bleak.  Friends are away.  As a freelance, I’d prefer to work, but often can’t.  Time to find some sun.
My Spanish is coming on well, and another language course would give it a real boost.  I’m thinking about Andalucia this time, because the weather will be better than in the North.  Possibly this one in Granada.

Alternatively, walking would do me the world of good, and if the weather is good, getting outside a lot at that time of the year keeps the winter blues at bay.  I like the look of this, based in one place the whole time so if curling up with a good book appeals one day, there shouldn’t be a problem.  Quiet and relaxing.

Decisions, decisions.  And if anyone reading this has very good references and would like a central London flat with a cat to feed at that time of the year, drop me a line.

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Take the train to Spain July 2, 2007

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I wish I’d found this a few weeks ago Most of the online train sites either don’t work very well, or want to get you to pay a booking fee. This seems to work rather well though, and you can even print your tickets out at home.

I’m embarrassed I didn’t find it - I am sure I looked at SNCF, but think I was confused by wanting to buy a through ticket to Spain.

In fact, the easiest way to get by train from London to San Sebastian is:

London Waterloo (Kings X from 14 November) to Paris Gare du Nord on Eurostar
Paris Montparnasse to Hendaye on a TGV booked through Voyages SNCF. This cost about e90 each way, though discounts are available, and takes about 6hrs 30 minutes
Then the small but delightful Euskotren from Hendaye to San Sebastian.  Note that you need to go out of the SNCF station at Hendaye and turn right for the Euskotren.  It cost a mere e1.40, and the train leaves every 30 minutes.

Far more expensive and long winded than flying, but without the airport aggro, and you know you’re doing your bit for the planet. It feels like travelling too even though it can be done in a day, if you leave early. Personally, the chance to stop off in Paris is too good to miss.

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Pintxos and wines by the glass June 18, 2007

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I think I’ve got the hang of bars here.  You walk into a bar, order a glass of wine, and help yourself to the fabulous array of small things on bread, or wrapped, or filled peppers which alighn the bar.

But something was wrong.  The wines were awful, and I saw other people getting different ones.  And it feels a bit odd just helping yourself to food.

With the wines, apparently most bars will have a number of fairly set varieties available by the glass.  Rather than just ordering white or red, you can order in grades - crianza (2 years in the barrel), reserva (5 years in the barrel), gran reserva (longer, and less likely in a bar) - or by variety - Bordon, Cato from Rijoa for reds, Txakoli, Rueda for whites. 

And while it is fine to just take the pintxos, you can have a plate, and put 3-4 on it.  Apparently locals don’t do this, they have one glass and one pintxos per bar, and the evening becomes an extended pub crawl.  The glasses are small though so its not as bad as its sounds.  Most measures seem to be about 125ml, unlike the ridiculously large 175ml minimum in the UK.

Thanks to my ‘individual class’ tutor at the language school (more on this later) I have now practiced the whole coversation, and tried again this afternoon, with much better results.

me pones un Bodron  = May I have a glass of Bodron
me cobras? un bodron y dos pintxos = I’d like to pay for a glass of Bodron and 2 pintxos.
Don’t use please and thankyou, they think its odd the way we say it all the time.

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Aita mari - a table by the sea

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Give me good food, a decent wine and a view of the sea, and I’m happy.  And so, yesterday evening, I found myself upstairs at the Aita Mari, overlooking the harbour, something crisp and white from Navarra in one hand and a menu in the other.  It feels like holidays.

I started with a tower of vegetables, and I’d show you a picture, except that the laptop, having refused point blank to talk to my phone, is now being rude to the camera.  What’s a girl to do when her devices aren’t speaking?

I was amazed at the vegetables.  For a country which must grow half of europe’s greens, Spanish food often lacks more than a simple salad, and can be very meaty.  It might be the machismo thing, but it was good to see brocolli and cauliflower for once.

I then moved on to a filet of Lomo, a white, succulent fish.  I’m not great with seafood, and hate fish that comes whole, but ‘pescodo sin cara’ seemed to do the trick.  Filete was probably the word I was looking for.   It melted in the mouth, and didn’t leave enough room for postres.

Chanson et le diner avec mes amis Christiane et Jock June 16, 2007

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One of the best things about living in London, and prefering not to fly for holidays, is that holidays start in Paris, thanks to the wonder of Eurostar, and a few friends here.

I’m trying to plan a celebratory weekend with friends later in the year, and someone suggested Le Limonaire, in the 2nd arrondissement, a short trip from where I was staying in the 3rd.  We went to try it out.

Le Limonaire is everything you expect a Parisian cafe / bistro to be with one major exception.  Small, slightly run down, full of locals, good food and fabulous artists.  Dinner was a tuna terrine on salad, followed by a beef stew on rice and a creme brulee (at least one cliche allowed with every meal).  We started with a bottle of a fairly non-descript red the name of which escapes me, and then moved on to a carafe of the vin du moins, a fresh, clear beaujolais which was very drinkable on a muggy summer evening.  We were joined by an older lady who lives locally and comes here often, but spoke no English - she’d hated it at school.

After the meal the compere told us to turn off mobile phones and not to smoke, much to my amazement, given normal Parisian habits.  Apparently Paris too will have a smoking ban from Jan 2008, and join the league of civilised places discouraging that foul and obnoxious habit.

And then the entertainment started.

When two blokes took the stage with squeegee boxes, my heart sank.  But this was not the badly played piano-accordion of a thousand buskers who one gives money to in the hope that they would go away.  Instead, what followed was excellent, and absolutely at the limit of my French to understand.  It was obviously satirical, with songs about political figures, and although I couldn’t really get the jokes, the audience were having a great time.

Next up were two women, an Argentinian percussionist, Vanesa Garcia, and a chanteuse with a beautiful strong voice,  where I just sat and enjoyed the music, without worrying too much about understanding the words.

The third act was a male singer, who was apparently singing something quite obscene, but entertaining, and then finally a guitarist, who switched to a ukelele for a while, very funny with lots of silly noises.

With my limited French, I felt I missed out on a fair bit, but it was a great evening anyway - the music, the ambience, the food, trying to speak to people, spending time with my friends.  It must be fabulous to have something like this in your neighbourhood.

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Greek cruise ship sinking - a different view April 15, 2007

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It sounds like the Greek government’s press releases and the reports in the British papers about the Sea Diamond sinking last week may be rather wide of the mark, if this is anything to go by.  Greek ferrys and tourist shipping don’t have a pretty record, and it seems openness isn’t a strong point either.

All the best to this poor woman, and the other passengers.

Bubbles for a day October 10, 2006

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Early on a chilly Parisien autumn morning, I strolled to the Gare de l’Est and caught the train to Reims, the heart of Champagne. With the International Herald Tribune and an espresso in hand, the hour and forty minutes passed quickly and soon we were passing through Epernay with vineyards lining the sloping countryside.

I hadn’t been very organised, apart from looking through some websites before leaving London, so I was at a bit of a loss when I arrived. I know you could visit Tattinger with no appointment, but didn’t have a map or any idea about any of the others.

First stop then was the tourist information office. I figured it would be close to the cathedral, which was badly damaged during both world wars, along with the rest of Reims, and all its stained glass destroyed, but the building has been repaired and it stands looming gigantic over the city. There is a lot to see and do in Reims other than the Champagne houses - excellent museums and the cathedral - but I was here for the bubbles.

With the aid of a map and a bus pass, I managed to see three houses - Piper Heidsieck, Tattinger and Mumms.

The first was Piper Heidsieck, the first French champagne I ever tasted, back in the late ’80s on a wine waiters course I did in New Zealand. French Champagne was extremely expensive and not common in NZ then, at least not for me, and I still remember how it contrasted with the local methode champenoise of the day - dryer and with far smaller, more delicate bubbles.

The tour here is perhaps best described as touristy, if not tacky then definitely a created ‘Champagne Experience’. I don’t believe Piper Heidsieck actually make Champagne in central Reims any more, and instead they have turned the cellars into a series of displays. You buy your ticket and go down about 20 metres underground to the cellars where you board a small electric car and select your language. For the next thirty minutes or so, you are taken through the tunnels, and told the story of Piper Heidsieck and the champagne making process. If you’re on your own, as I was, this is a bit odd as the tunnels are dark. It’s not a trip for the claustrophobic.

Next stop was the venerable, and significantly more upmarket Taittinger. The woman on the door spoke such clear French that I decided to go on a French-speaking tour rather than wait until the afternoon thus rather over-stretching my linguistic abilities, but I managed to follow most of it, I think. This was a proper tour of the caves, down in the chisled limestone parts of which were originally the cellars of the church above, and the house of the Comtes de Champagne. The oldest part of the caves is an excavated pyramid dating back to the 4th century AD.

At about 15m below ground the limestone is permanently damp with mould growing prolifically, and the temperature consistently chilled. Rows upon rows of bottles filled the caverns, stretching out into the dark. Apparently there are 20km of tunnels here, filled with Champagne.

My third, and final, stop was at Mumm. This tour placed far more emphasis on the production of Champagne, and the industrial processes behind it. The house is a little out of the city, near the station, and it is clearly a working factory with great stainless steel vats which the other houses hide carefully from visitors view. Like Tattinger, it was a proper tour of the cellars, as well as a small museum of machines used in champagne-making, such as this device for moving the sediment into the neck of the bottles so that it can be frozen and expelled.

Of course, every tour ends with a tasting, though I seem to have caught the poor tour guide at an odd moment here.