Long and rambly holiday blog...
Sep. 11th, 2010 07:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
susie_floGood evening, dear fiends! I hope you’re all having fun.
I am exactly halfway through my hol and am killing a bit of time before dinner. I have a glass of wine, a nearby Spod and a view of the sea. ‘Tis nice. So I thought I would make use of my netbook and post an aide memoir that I can refer back to with misty eyes on the cold, wintry days to come...
Today has been an outstandingly lazy day... the sort of day that other people have on holiday, but which is normally completely alien to me (scorchio weather and dozing for hours on sun loungers). I’d normally go stir crazy at the very suggestion of such a thing, so it’s entirely possible I have been taken over by aliens.... eek.
Anyway I shall go back a step and waffle on a bit about week one. (Pics to follow)
The Eurostar journey from London was tranquil and pleasant. Unfortunately I proved myself to be the most pathetic woman in the world by blubbing for half of it. It’s all G’s fault. He put some movies on my netbook for me to watch, and one of them was a story about a pair of tiger cubs called “Two Brothers”... which turned out to be a total blubfest from beginning to end. It’s also a compete load of anthropomorphised bollocks (please refer to “most pathetic woman in the world”). You can’t take me anywhere. I think the stewardesses thought that G and I were having a very quiet domestic.
Anyway I pulled myself together in time for arrival at gorgeous, beautiful Avignon. I can’t quite explain the romantic love I feel for France... as far as I can remember, it’s just always been there, but I suspect it may have started with the Madeline books I read as a child. As soon as I get the faintest glimpse of pavement cafes, blue road signs and curlicued balconies I could literally hug the town to death. The walk from the train station to our hotel was lined with second hand book stalls. I even spotted a cheesy classic that would make![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ms_siobhan stop in her tracks. “Diana – Princesse de Coeurs”. (I do regret not buying it for you Siobhan... but it was a massive big hardback and our suitcases were stuffed slightly beyond their capacity.)
The Avignon hotel was really lovely. Hotel booking is always such a chancey thing, but this one turned out to be perfect... one of those hotels where you feel like you live there almost straight away and start thinking of it as home. It was located on the Place de L’Horloge and had a gorgeous comfortable bed with fat, plush pillows. We checked in, showered and pretty much went straight back out for a cold beer in the square. Our three days in Avignon were hot... 31 degrees each day.
One one of the days we visited Arles and bimbled around the Roman ruins and pretty back streets. I loved it. By mid afternoon we were dying of thirst and stopped for a beer in the famous cafe painted by van Gogh. We hung around in the square after that and did a cryptic crossword and I wrote a postcard torosamicula , before wandering slowly back to the station for Avignon.
The day after we lazed around Avignon until mid afternoon, admiring the trompe l’oeil window paintings that are dotted around the buildings and loafing for a couple of hours in a lovely public park. Later we decided to wander over the Rhone to Villeneuve les Avignon. I had read a bit about it and had been vaguely baffled by the fact that everyone kept talking about driving there... even though it’s about a 40 minute walk away. Suffice to say I am no longer baffled. You certainly can walk there, but yikes – it is not a pleasant experience. The Rhone is extremely wide and you need to cross two bridges with a fairly large island in the middle. Both of the bridges have narrow, scary pavements with traffic thundering past the whole time. When you get to the Villeneuve side, the pavements run out entirely and you sometimes have to walk on the road. It’s really not designed for pedestrians until you get into the historic centre of Villeneuve. Still.... once there, we found a delightful, crumbly set of little residential roads. It looks like a picture-book view of rural Provence, and is worth a visit just for that. Also the walk back made us feel less guilty about troughing on a 3 course dinner in Le Petit Peche. We reckoned we’d walked about 6 miles. That night the weather broke, and I lay awake for many hours, listening to a colossal thunderstorm outside the window. I don’t remember ever experiencing thunder and lightening over such a long period before.
Our plan for the next day had been to catch a train to Nice.... however the SNCF national train strike meant that we had no choice but to do it by car, and we made the foolhardy decision to do it via the Alps. Luckily the rain cleared up shortly outside of Avignon, and we had a couple of hours of rural Provence before it became properly mountainous. While we were on flat round, we drove past fields of lavender that had already been harvested and sunflowers at the end of their season. I was sad to miss out on the riot of colour that must have been stunning a couple of months earlier, but the scent of lavender was still strong and filled the car. The rest of the journey could be summed up as “Wow/Oh my God/Don’t look down, we’re about to die/Ooh, look at that, it’s gorgeous!” I took a lot of pics out of the moving car and if they turn out ok I will post a few when we’re back. But really there is no way they will be able to convey the scale of that landscape.
About halfway through the Alpine journey we stopped at a place called Moustieres-Sainte-Marie, which looks like a cross between toytown and fairyland. It really is the most ludicrously pretty place you could ever imagine. It’s built into the side of a mountain and full of twee little shops and cafes. Every lane has dramatic views across the landscape, and at one point we noticed a little school and wondered how they prepare the children for the squalor of the real outside world... or whether they just never leave. I am being entirely flippant because the truth is I’d love to go back and spend a day or two there, fully enveloped in the twee. I might do one day.
We arrived at Nice by late afternoon and dropped the car off at the station, then walked to the hotel. It was ok... but not a patch on the lovely one in Avignon. It did the job for one night and we had a nice meal in the Coeurs Saleya before being up and away early the next day by train.
It’s interesting how easy it is to cross the border from France to Italy by train, with no need for a passport. My mind immediately wandered in the direction of crime and possible getaway plans. I think there is definite mileage in this, especially given how bureaucratic and inefficient the French public sector is.
Unfortunately the journey to Santa Margherita was fraught with lengthy delays... apparently related to flooding from the storms. The longest leg was spent in an old-style train carriage with some lovely Australians, so we had quite a nice time despite the delays. Our destination was Santa Margherita Ligure, a coastal resort near Genoa.
Arriving was a revelation... Santa Margherita has one of those few, precious stations where you get off the train and say “Wow!”. It’s on a hill overlooking the harbour, so the moment you exit the train, you are treated to a stunning, panoramic view. The weather was back to being Scorchio, so we had a lovely walk to the hotel and all was well. The view from the bedroom is mind-bogglingly gorgeous. After we’d settled in, we went wandering for a drink and I ordered a Negroni on an empty stomach and discovered that they are mighty alcoholic! The next afternoon we caught a boat to Portofino, which was rather a heavenly experience. It’s another town full of glitzy boats and stunning residences for millionaires.
Santa Marg and Portofino are places that are full of 90% very rich people... and 10% ordinary people/tourists. On our first day we spotted a man who looked like the Italian Peter Jones... (aka a complete cock in a designer suit, suffused with self-love and jangling his boat keys.) It’s a beautiful area... but in all honesty, it would be a bit TOO perfect for me in the long term. It reminds me a little bit of Monte Carlo... squeaky clean and entirely devoid of poor people. It does make a lovely area to relax in for a few days, and you can pretend to be a millionaire, but I think if I spent more than a week here I’d be craving a bit of dirt and ordinary life.
Ligurian food, however, is absolutely divine and I will NEVER tire of it! I am 100% in love with Pesce alla Liguria... simple baked fish with potatoes and olives that tastes so amazing. I sometimes lament the fact that no amount of skilled cheffery can make fresh fish, fruit and salads taste as good as those that you eat on holiday, where everything was grown or caught locally that day. I also love the fact that the menus around here often just say “grilled fish”... rather than “bream” or “sole”... and you just get whatever fish is in season and has been caught that day. As instructed bymia_oia I had Trenette al Pesto for lunch, and it was very lovely indeed.
Tomorrow we are heading to Bergamo, for the start of week two. I am looking forward to hanging out withmia_oia and him indoors. Have no idea what to expect of Bergamo... am excited to find out! After that we’re spending 3 days in the lakes, and finally a day in Verona.
This is the longest and most extravagant holiday I’ve ever taken... am making up for an entire adult life hampered by responsible cat ownership, where we only allowed ourselves a week off at a time.
God knows whether any of you bothered to read this load of old waffle, but if you did, thank you - and I look forward to seeing you soon back in Blighty.
Love from me xx
I am exactly halfway through my hol and am killing a bit of time before dinner. I have a glass of wine, a nearby Spod and a view of the sea. ‘Tis nice. So I thought I would make use of my netbook and post an aide memoir that I can refer back to with misty eyes on the cold, wintry days to come...
Today has been an outstandingly lazy day... the sort of day that other people have on holiday, but which is normally completely alien to me (scorchio weather and dozing for hours on sun loungers). I’d normally go stir crazy at the very suggestion of such a thing, so it’s entirely possible I have been taken over by aliens.... eek.
Anyway I shall go back a step and waffle on a bit about week one. (Pics to follow)
The Eurostar journey from London was tranquil and pleasant. Unfortunately I proved myself to be the most pathetic woman in the world by blubbing for half of it. It’s all G’s fault. He put some movies on my netbook for me to watch, and one of them was a story about a pair of tiger cubs called “Two Brothers”... which turned out to be a total blubfest from beginning to end. It’s also a compete load of anthropomorphised bollocks (please refer to “most pathetic woman in the world”). You can’t take me anywhere. I think the stewardesses thought that G and I were having a very quiet domestic.
Anyway I pulled myself together in time for arrival at gorgeous, beautiful Avignon. I can’t quite explain the romantic love I feel for France... as far as I can remember, it’s just always been there, but I suspect it may have started with the Madeline books I read as a child. As soon as I get the faintest glimpse of pavement cafes, blue road signs and curlicued balconies I could literally hug the town to death. The walk from the train station to our hotel was lined with second hand book stalls. I even spotted a cheesy classic that would make
ms_siobhan stop in her tracks. “Diana – Princesse de Coeurs”. (I do regret not buying it for you Siobhan... but it was a massive big hardback and our suitcases were stuffed slightly beyond their capacity.) The Avignon hotel was really lovely. Hotel booking is always such a chancey thing, but this one turned out to be perfect... one of those hotels where you feel like you live there almost straight away and start thinking of it as home. It was located on the Place de L’Horloge and had a gorgeous comfortable bed with fat, plush pillows. We checked in, showered and pretty much went straight back out for a cold beer in the square. Our three days in Avignon were hot... 31 degrees each day.
One one of the days we visited Arles and bimbled around the Roman ruins and pretty back streets. I loved it. By mid afternoon we were dying of thirst and stopped for a beer in the famous cafe painted by van Gogh. We hung around in the square after that and did a cryptic crossword and I wrote a postcard to
rosamicula , before wandering slowly back to the station for Avignon. The day after we lazed around Avignon until mid afternoon, admiring the trompe l’oeil window paintings that are dotted around the buildings and loafing for a couple of hours in a lovely public park. Later we decided to wander over the Rhone to Villeneuve les Avignon. I had read a bit about it and had been vaguely baffled by the fact that everyone kept talking about driving there... even though it’s about a 40 minute walk away. Suffice to say I am no longer baffled. You certainly can walk there, but yikes – it is not a pleasant experience. The Rhone is extremely wide and you need to cross two bridges with a fairly large island in the middle. Both of the bridges have narrow, scary pavements with traffic thundering past the whole time. When you get to the Villeneuve side, the pavements run out entirely and you sometimes have to walk on the road. It’s really not designed for pedestrians until you get into the historic centre of Villeneuve. Still.... once there, we found a delightful, crumbly set of little residential roads. It looks like a picture-book view of rural Provence, and is worth a visit just for that. Also the walk back made us feel less guilty about troughing on a 3 course dinner in Le Petit Peche. We reckoned we’d walked about 6 miles. That night the weather broke, and I lay awake for many hours, listening to a colossal thunderstorm outside the window. I don’t remember ever experiencing thunder and lightening over such a long period before.
Our plan for the next day had been to catch a train to Nice.... however the SNCF national train strike meant that we had no choice but to do it by car, and we made the foolhardy decision to do it via the Alps. Luckily the rain cleared up shortly outside of Avignon, and we had a couple of hours of rural Provence before it became properly mountainous. While we were on flat round, we drove past fields of lavender that had already been harvested and sunflowers at the end of their season. I was sad to miss out on the riot of colour that must have been stunning a couple of months earlier, but the scent of lavender was still strong and filled the car. The rest of the journey could be summed up as “Wow/Oh my God/Don’t look down, we’re about to die/Ooh, look at that, it’s gorgeous!” I took a lot of pics out of the moving car and if they turn out ok I will post a few when we’re back. But really there is no way they will be able to convey the scale of that landscape.
About halfway through the Alpine journey we stopped at a place called Moustieres-Sainte-Marie, which looks like a cross between toytown and fairyland. It really is the most ludicrously pretty place you could ever imagine. It’s built into the side of a mountain and full of twee little shops and cafes. Every lane has dramatic views across the landscape, and at one point we noticed a little school and wondered how they prepare the children for the squalor of the real outside world... or whether they just never leave. I am being entirely flippant because the truth is I’d love to go back and spend a day or two there, fully enveloped in the twee. I might do one day.
We arrived at Nice by late afternoon and dropped the car off at the station, then walked to the hotel. It was ok... but not a patch on the lovely one in Avignon. It did the job for one night and we had a nice meal in the Coeurs Saleya before being up and away early the next day by train.
It’s interesting how easy it is to cross the border from France to Italy by train, with no need for a passport. My mind immediately wandered in the direction of crime and possible getaway plans. I think there is definite mileage in this, especially given how bureaucratic and inefficient the French public sector is.
Unfortunately the journey to Santa Margherita was fraught with lengthy delays... apparently related to flooding from the storms. The longest leg was spent in an old-style train carriage with some lovely Australians, so we had quite a nice time despite the delays. Our destination was Santa Margherita Ligure, a coastal resort near Genoa.
Arriving was a revelation... Santa Margherita has one of those few, precious stations where you get off the train and say “Wow!”. It’s on a hill overlooking the harbour, so the moment you exit the train, you are treated to a stunning, panoramic view. The weather was back to being Scorchio, so we had a lovely walk to the hotel and all was well. The view from the bedroom is mind-bogglingly gorgeous. After we’d settled in, we went wandering for a drink and I ordered a Negroni on an empty stomach and discovered that they are mighty alcoholic! The next afternoon we caught a boat to Portofino, which was rather a heavenly experience. It’s another town full of glitzy boats and stunning residences for millionaires.
Santa Marg and Portofino are places that are full of 90% very rich people... and 10% ordinary people/tourists. On our first day we spotted a man who looked like the Italian Peter Jones... (aka a complete cock in a designer suit, suffused with self-love and jangling his boat keys.) It’s a beautiful area... but in all honesty, it would be a bit TOO perfect for me in the long term. It reminds me a little bit of Monte Carlo... squeaky clean and entirely devoid of poor people. It does make a lovely area to relax in for a few days, and you can pretend to be a millionaire, but I think if I spent more than a week here I’d be craving a bit of dirt and ordinary life.
Ligurian food, however, is absolutely divine and I will NEVER tire of it! I am 100% in love with Pesce alla Liguria... simple baked fish with potatoes and olives that tastes so amazing. I sometimes lament the fact that no amount of skilled cheffery can make fresh fish, fruit and salads taste as good as those that you eat on holiday, where everything was grown or caught locally that day. I also love the fact that the menus around here often just say “grilled fish”... rather than “bream” or “sole”... and you just get whatever fish is in season and has been caught that day. As instructed by
mia_oia I had Trenette al Pesto for lunch, and it was very lovely indeed.Tomorrow we are heading to Bergamo, for the start of week two. I am looking forward to hanging out with
mia_oia and him indoors. Have no idea what to expect of Bergamo... am excited to find out! After that we’re spending 3 days in the lakes, and finally a day in Verona.This is the longest and most extravagant holiday I’ve ever taken... am making up for an entire adult life hampered by responsible cat ownership, where we only allowed ourselves a week off at a time.
God knows whether any of you bothered to read this load of old waffle, but if you did, thank you - and I look forward to seeing you soon back in Blighty.
Love from me xx
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-09-10 06:34 pm (UTC)I loved the food in Italy - so much better than it's English equivalent.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-16 01:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-10 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-16 01:40 pm (UTC)(I know, a bit pathetic)
no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 02:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-16 01:38 pm (UTC)