Author Archives: Cathy

Doing the snow dance in La Tzoumaz

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When: 16/03/2012

Where: La Tzoumaz, Switzerland

Stayed: Chalet Mandalay

 

Pink Panther, Double Espresso, Boy from Wanthaggi, Aimz, Lowbanger and Grant – 6 Aussies, 1 cracking Chalet, 2 boarders, 2 expert skiers, 2 battlers and 400km of ski runs on our door step. Life was pretty good for a week in La Tzoumaz.
Turns out La Tzoumaz is named after the word ‘tzoumer’ which means taking a break…ahhh the perfect place for our week in the snow. La Tzoumaz is 2hrs from Geneva and sits in the Swiss Alps, part of the Four Valley’s ski area which includes the famous Verbier ski resort. It is touted to have direct access to some of the best skiing in Europe – not too shabby!

We stayed in Chalet Mandalay courtesy of Justin’s very generous boss who built the property around 2 years ago. With 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms and every mod con and kitchen utensil that opened and shut (including a sauna and drying rack for our boots), we certainly weren’t roughing it. A 2min drive to the chair lift made ski access ridiculously easy and on top of that, we were treated to 5 star views across the valley. Just magic.In an attempt to find our ski legs with minimal carnage, day 1 we stayed local and played on the slopes between La Tzoumaz and Savoleyres. Perfect way to ease our way in. The 2nd day on the slopes was a big day of nearly 8 hours skiing. Visibility wasn’t great and unfortunately got worse as the day progressed. The last run of the day we were practically blind being unable to see one pole to the next. A tad scary when you’re not sure which way is down! The upside of the poor visibility was the enormous dump of snow that was heading our way…power of collective prayers?!

Despite the mammoth day, clearly we didn’t go hard enough because the energy reserves were well and truly stocked for the snowball fight to end all fights when we got home. Cheeky Fi sent a few well aimed balls at the boys as they headed off to get pizza for dinner. Female intuition saw Amy and I join the fight without the need to call for reinforcements. And so ensued a flurry of missiles from the balcony only ending when we realized the pizza might be getting cold. We declared a female victory given the boys felt the need to ask for a free shot at each of us because they couldn’t actually make contact. Ah the sweet smell of success!

When the snow came, it arrived in spades. We were treated to a god-sent dump of around 15cm of snow overnight. The area was completely transformed into a Winter Wonderland with our barometer  (beer on the balcony) showing us every few minutes just how heavily the snow was coming down. A shriek of delight rang out from the lounge room when the snow swallowed up the label. Opening the curtains in the morning was like being 5 years old on Christmas Day again. Fresh powder everywhere! Justin and I grinned, knowing we wouldn’t hurt ourselves falling over today. Shame our bodies were just a bit beaten to take to the slopes for the 3rd day in a row.

Luckily the next day provided equally good conditions. Freshly groomed slopes on a backdrop of blue skies and bright sunshine – heaven on earth. We were up and at ’em by 8.45am beating the locals onto the slopes. Soaring down with the wind in our neck gaiters, whooping with delight – pure joy. If we’d been golden retrievers our ears would’ve been flapping, tongues hanging out and tails doing circle work with unabated enthusiasm.

Unfortunately that unabated enthusiasm manifested itself with a ‘I’m invincible’ mentality. Oh dear. After oohing and aahhing at the sensational panoramic view from Mont Fort, one of the highest points in the region at 3300m, a little voice inside my head told me to ski down with the far more experienced group rather than take the safe option – the cable car. With moguls up to my thighs and a drop which looked every bit vertical I’m not sure why I listened to that little voice. Next time you can be sure I’ll shove a cork in it until it’s completely suffocated! The good news is I only fell once, losing my ski, ending up spread-eagled and taking a good 10mins to get on my feet again. The bad news is, I was so knackered once I got to the bottom that my legs had the shakes and I was almost ready to call it a day. It was 11am.

I soldiered on and boy am I glad I did because I would’ve missed the most extraordinary spot for lunch – Cabane Mt-Fort. After stalking some Germans we secured pole position of the lunch tables with front row seats to a view that was nothing short of jaw dropping. I won’t even try to describe it as it won’t do it justice. Let’s just say lunch included – a raspberry tart that Aimz will continue to dream about for many years to come, an off-piste display of gutsy skiers / boarders dropping off the side of the mountain, cheese fondue, mouth watering lasagna, killer apple tart and flawless coffee. Very happy little campers! Even the brash Aussie yelling at me to sit down couldn’t dampen the mood. Benny put him back in his place later that day with a verbal onslaught that made us all very proud.

Over the course of the week we spent 4 glorious days on the slopes (5 for hardcore BM), an afternoon in quaint Iserables where we helped the cafe owner make budget for the year and a day in Verbier where we basked in the sun over beers and said g’day to Sir Richard Branson jogging past. The rest of the time was spent eating like Kings in our Chalet, drinking our weary bodies to sleep and icing war wounds from the slopes. Sheer bliss!!

Top 10:
1. It can take 4 people to lock a door – the boy from Wanthagi being the ultimate door whisperer
2. Never embark on a snowball fight with 3 females with something to prove
3. 60 pounds for 3 takeaway pizza’s hurts but is not unusual in Switzerland
4. Stacking on the slopes is far better if someone is there to see it
5. It’s possible to fall spread-eagle style with bum in the air every time
6. Telling people you don’t like a nick-name will ensure it sticks…Grant!
7. Regardless of how new a Chalet is, you may still find a spider in your bed
8. There are 325 different ways to photograph a raspberry tart
9. Mess with Benny Maccormack at own risk!
10. Never get sucked in by the voice in your head – know your limits!

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A city full of surprises

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When: 01/03/2012

Where: Singapore

Stayed: Mandarin Oriental

Singapore knocked us for 6. Who knew that such a tiny city is actually one of the most progressive and cosmopolitan cities in the world?! Not a fishing village in site! I’ve heard Singapore be described as a ‘world class living environment’. It wasn’t until we arrived that I realized what that actually meant.

Ruthless efficiency at the airport, building architecture that’s out of this world, spotless streets, ability to loosen your grip on your handbag and a veritable melting pot of cultures. Chinese, Indian and Malay along with around 20% of the population being made up of expatriates from all around the world. The result is a feast of cuisines, a beautiful looking city and a type of harmony that only comes from multiple cultures co-existing in peace. Ahhh the serenity.

There are however distinctly two sides to Singapore. The ‘new Singapore’ sits on the Marina and if you breath deeply you’ll catch the scent of cash wafting off the water. Extraordinary architecture, designer brands tottering on stiletto heels and 5 star hotels oozing business men with big job titles. The Marina Bay Sands – a 5 star hotel / shopping centre / entertainment venue – wreaks of luxury and exclusivity and dominates the Marina scene. Shopping centre doesn’t really conjure up the right kind of image – think more designer brand exhibition. Felt like I should take my shoes off and put on a cocktail dress before entering the centre. Put it this way, Louis Vuitton thought it fitting to open a floating glass and steel crystal pavilion display in front of the centre… yup another world. Just take a look at the architecture of the building with it’s panoramic views, 3 hotel towers and a Sky park sitting 200m in the air – say no more. No wonder it’s touted as one of the most complex establishments ever built in the world.

Speaking of architecture, the helix bridge which takes you across to the Marina Bay Sands is the world’s first curved bridge. Inspired by the yin and yan concept, the design represents the structure of DNA and is said to bring wealth, happiness and prosperity to Marina Bay. Well it’s certainly ticking the first box.

Both of these captivating landmarks were clearly visible from the window of our hotel. Lucky little puppies to be staying in the Mandarin Oriental which is one of the more prestigious hotels in Singapore. Justin and I kept cutting laps of the hotel just because we liked being greeted in such a friendly way by the staff. It was such a pleasure to be in a country where people were smiling and genuinely hoping they could assist you. I asked one of the staff for directions to the shopping centre and she nearly jumped out of her skin with sheer delight, tripping on her traditional dress. From that I made a sweeping generalization that Singaporeans were the friendliest people we’d come across. My mate Jo (who has lived there for 4 years) quickly reminded me that we were staying in a 5 star hotel and probably not getting a real taste of the culture. How quickly we forget.

The shopping in Singapore was outstanding. In most of the other cities we’ve visited, shopping centers have been a pretty good barometer for the demographic in an area. However in Singapore, designer brands seem to be found on every corner you turn. It’s hard to believe many of these stores actually make money!

Orchard road, a famous shopping strip that stretches further than the eye can see is home to pretty much every major brand on earth. My heaven and Justin’s worst nightmare. The cabbie dropped us off at The ION Orchard centre – a complex with 8 levels (yes 8!) of shops. Love at first sight for at least one of us.

In a bid to sample some of the local cuisine from the original Singapore, we ventured to Lau Pa Sat – a street food market. Dinner for only a few Singaporean dollars – nice – and a sharp contrast to the eye watering prices we’d been paying around the Marina. Crispy carrot cake and Nasi Goreng were tasty but unfortunately we were punished with tummy pains all night. Needless to say, it was a short lived foray into street food. Straight back to 1 Altitude Bar with it’s million dollar views across the entire city. If you can cope with handing over your first born in order to get up there, you’ll be greatly rewarded. Simply magnificent city views and a vantage point that takes in all the highlights of Singapore.

There’s certainly a lot to like about Singapore. Despite the rising cost of living in the city and the somewhat suffocating humidity, it’s easy to see why there’s such a large expat community. If the safe, clean, modern, culturally diverse, friendly nature of the city doesn’t do it for you then the cheap cabs most likely will! Especially if you currently live in London…!

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Living the dream in the Italian Alps

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When: 02/02/2012

Where: Champoluc, Italy

Stayed: Buena Vista B&B

Champoluc is the kind of place that gives you a good sharp kick back to the land of the living. Kitchen renovation? What kitchen renovation? How could you possibly care about anything so mundane when you’re faced with rockstar views and a peacefulness that forces you to breathe out London chaos and breathe in life again. This little pocket of beauty sits a 2 hour drive north of Milan, high up in the Italian Alps. Champoluc provides a gateway to the Monterossa ski region which opens up dozens of runs of varying degrees of difficulty – with more than enough options to keep you out of trouble.

Our trip to Champoluc had an interesting start to it. A car not prepped for icy conditions and an inability to access snow chains left us fuming at LocAuto (car hire) and feeling a tad nervous about the journey ahead.
Fortunately we made it to Champoluc unscathed despite the freezing conditions (-20 on the day we arrived). The luck stopped here however. With hindsight it’s a shame that the mounds of snow and icy road didn’t deter us from driving down to the driveway to our accommodation. Yup. Watching the speedo reach nearly 60kph while remaining stationery wasn’t an overly good sign in anyone’s language. Numerous trips up and down the vertical footpath to the local Garage, some serious lactic acid, several games of charades with the elderley italian mechanic, an hour of pushing, heaving, swearing, wheel spinning, aqua planing and revving – and finally we managed to get the car to the top of the driveway. Still no chains. Lucky for LocAuto we were 2 hours away.

The accommodation was very simple but importantly had a cracking shower and heating that managed to combat the -23 conditions. The star of the show was the view however. Opening the curtains to the outside world revealed an imposing mountainous backdrop, layered in meters of snow. The kind of view that catches you off guard every time you draw the curtains. The daily breakky was traditional and filled up our tummy’s nicely – though we did draw the line at cheesecake which was presented as the entree…hmmm not sure about that one.

Ever been so cold that you can’t actually feel your nose running down your face? Yep, a veritable snot fest takes place and you have no idea it’s happening right on your very own face – until you see the horror in your ski buddies eyes. Slightly disturbing and extremely disgusting but when your face is so numb with cold you’re only concern is ensuring absolutely no skin is exposed – and if that means simply pulling your neck gator up further to smother the tap attached to your face; so be it! The good news is, snot does not discriminate by skiing ability, nationality or class.
In theory -25 sounds cold. In reality, it’s an indescribable kind of feeling that embeds itself into every part of your body until you’re fairly certain that your blood may very well start to solidify. Despite roasting hot showers, open fires, heating on max and layers that rival the michelin man you never actually manage to feel warm. A constant battle to ensure you don’t reach the point of no return.

The skiing in Champoluc was phenomenal for those of us newly residing in the intermediate group. Red runs dominated across the region with a smattering of blue runs to help us find our ski legs. Day 1 was outstanding with very few people around to make us feel inadequate – always nice to warm up without the scrutiny of our European skiing friends. Plenty of room for us to snow plough to our hearts content, take lovely wide turns across the slopes and practice our entry onto the chair lifts. Let’s just say it was a good thing we didn’t have an audience for the ‘text book’ chairlift entry we had on the first morning. An ugly web of arms, legs, skis and stocks didn’t do much for our attempt at blending in!

The sun took the edge off the freezing conditions most of the day with only the afternoon becoming unbearable as it started to snow heavily. There’s only so long you can cope with sheer knife like pain in your fingers and toes. The final straw for me came as I lost complete control over one of my legs that decided it had had enough. I nearly did a cruciate ligament in my snow plough action to prevent going over the edge of the mountain. Unfortunately Justin bore witness to the drama and looked on in a mixture of amusement and horror as I only barely skidded to a stop in a tangled mess amongst the orange warning tape. Time for Apres Ski me thinks!

We had high expectations for the food in Champoluc. We weren’t disappointed. Not sure where else in the world you can waltz into a restaurant with polished floors, floor to ceiling glass and brand new modern furniture in your ski boots, eat from an incredible restaurant standard menu and only pay 10 Euro for it! Hotel Creforne – true love. Following apres ski at Lo Bistrot, each night we ate like kings and sampled a different wine from the local Aosta region at fantastic local restaurants such as Il Balivo and Brasserie du Breithorn. Divine.

All in all, close to the perfect Ski trip. We left Champoluc feeling revived, full of life and far more confident in our skiing ability. Even a 5hr plane delay in Milan and 2hr wait for our bags at the other end couldn’t put a dampner on our spirits. (Mind you Monday morning at work after getting home at 1am had a good go at it!)

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All I want for Xmas is 2km of vin chaud please

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When: 10/12/2011

Where: Brussels, Belgium

Stayed: Hotel Carrefour De L’Europe

Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus…actually I think that might be Justin wheeling his bag of newly purchased Belgian beers – looking every bit like all his christmas’ have come at once. Brussels promised to get us into the Chrissy spirit – and it delivered all things sparkly and tinsel related that we could hope for. I’d heard a lot about the Christmas markets in Europe and being a Chrissy fiend from way back, my expectations were very high.

We were welcomed into Brussels by an impressive light display staged in Grand Place. Set to an array of dramatic tunes, the Electrabel Lights show treated us to a spectacular arrangement of light beamed onto the surrounding buildings. With massive passages of light shooting straight up into the black sky with a winking lone star, it was hard not to feel a little sentimental about Chrissy. Snowflakes, criss crosses, dots, lace-like patterns and flashes of rainbow colors forced us to grin and bear the pain in our necks from tilting our heads skyward. The perfect introduction to Brussels.

Taking some local advice we navigated our way out of tourist ville to a modern looking Belgium restaurant called Viva M’Boma. Wow goes a little way towards describing the meal we had. Using all parts of the animal, this restaurant catered for the inner carnivore in all of us. Between us, our meals spanned horse, duck, pig, beef and chicken. Thank god for the waitress who very patiently explained the complicated menu in English – think we could probably be forgiven for not knowing the french translation for cow udder and pig testicle though…?

Our hotel was located on Grassmarkt street which was in a cracking location, being only a block back from the Grand Place. Being able to see the Grand Place from our hotel window gives you an idea as to how close to the action we were. The only downside being the frequency of car horns going off from around 2am onwards. Ahhh gotta love the liberal use of a car horn in the wee hours of the morning.

Saturday was a big day where we made it our business to engross ourselves in the local culture. We steadily made our way around a few of the local beer haunts including Moeder Lambic before moseying across town to the Christmas markets. Belgian beers and Vin Chaud (try it with Amaretto – who knew!) followed by the predictable cross section of Bratwurst, waffles and crepes. Our tummy’s might’ve been in turmoil but with over 2km of gluwhein, there was no slowing down.


The markets delivered stalls of handmade toys and clothing, meats, cheeses, bratwurst and a plethora of other consumable goodies. Fairy lights adorned the roof tops of the chalet-like stalls and paved a bustling pathway to a ferris wheel, standing grandly at the half way point. Coming from a family where I took (and still do!) great pride in decorating the house head to toe in tinsel and homemade tree decorations that only a mother could love, this was as good as it gets for me. Hurrah! Mulled wine was a big feature of the markets and of course we did our bit in supporting local business.

Our trip to Brussels wouldn’t have been complete without a comic strip tour of city. Feeling slightly dusty, Greg expertly navigated his old local hood and highlighted striking walls of comic strips, hidden in the nooks and cranny’s of the streets. An intriguing way of bringing to life the city’s well earned claim to fame for comic creation. Great stuff.

We farewelled Brussels in a fitting manor. A final beer in Delerium cafe – The World Guinness book of records beer hall with over 2000 beers on offer – followed by a quick dash to the chocolatier and beer supermarket. As they say ‘when in Rome…’
Chocker block full and slightly hungover but definitely feeling the magic of Christmas in our bellies, we packed ourselves off for the return journey.

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Just a touch, a touch of paradise…

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When: 18/11/2011

Where: Bellagio, Italy

Stayed: Borgo Le Terraze

La perla del Lago di Como… couldn’t agree more! Bellagio certainly lived up to the claim, being every bit the jewel of Lake Como.
Sitting at the intersection of the three branches of Lake Como, Bellagio separates the lake’s two southern arms. The result is some cracking views out to the Alps and expansive views down the waterways taking in numerous lakeside villages. It was almost impossible to take a bad photo in Bellagio, the scenery was draw dropping. The Autumn colors added to the spectacle with splashes of orange and gold in amongst the cobblestone streets of the village. Coupled with the sense of calm and peace massive expanses of water always seem to bring, Bellagio was simply divine. We had to wonder at times whether we’d stepped onto a canvas because surely this wasn’t real?!

For all it’s beauty, the drive up to Bellagio was….let’s call it, ‘interesting.’ It’s no secret that Italians like to drive fast cars fast. What we didn’t know is that absolutely no allowance was made for narrow roads with overhanging cliffs that are barely wide enough to fit a single car. Yep, you can imagine how it played out on the lakeside road to Bellagio. Despite being the most incredible scenery we’ve seen since visiting Lake Wannaka in NZ, we spent approx 60mins stressed out of our heads, sucking in our stomaches and leaning to the side of the car as we narrowly missed the oncoming traffic that refused to move over. Apparently if you’re local, there’s really no need to drive on your side. ‘No male!’

Inevitably our frustration at staring death in the face on every corner translated into some serious stress. After several heated exchanges debating whether driving or being a passenger was worse, and a close call on a key throwing incident – a relationship saving roadside stop and coffee ensued. Breathe it out kids.

Our accommodation, Borgo Le Terrazze, (village terraces) was situated just outside Bellagio with the most spectacular views you can imagine. Lying on the bed gazing out the window was like staring at a painting. Pulling the curtains back in the morning with the mist starting to lift off the lake, a loan ferry motoring across the water and the mountains looming in the background was simply captivating. It’s hard to describe Bellagio without sounding contrived but it really was just a little slice of Italian heaven. Easy to see why the likes of George Clooney chose Lake Como to set up a home away from home!

With very few people around, we pretty much had free run of the restaurants, wine bars and coffee shops that were still open outside of peak season. True to form, we ate pizza and pasta and drank local wines from one end of the town to the other. All in the name of supporting local business of course! Aperitivo et al provided so many free aperitifs with our drinks that we felt the need to keep checking whether a food order had been placed by mistake. Salami, olives, chips, toasted cheese thingys, 4 different types of risotto – unheard of generosity! Salice Blu was exceptional and the young chef Luigi, blew us away with his personalized approach to taking orders and creating masterpieces from local produce.

It would be very easy to spend weeks moseying from one town to the next around Lake Como. A ferry ride to Menaggio that stopped at Verenna on the way gave us a glimpse into the pockets of lovely little villages that grace the lake. You might come home with ill fitting pants due to the volume of food, and a migraine from the drive up there but even the most cynical tourist couldn’t deny the sense of peace and wonder that Bellagio brings over it’s guests.

 

 

 

 

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Joining the Brits abroad

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When: 20/10/2011

Where: Alicante, Spain

Stayed: AC Hotel Alicante, Marriot

For us, the town of Alicante felt a bit like receiving only the bottom half of a muffin to eat. Probably sounds a tad harsh, but we couldn’t help but feel like some of the best parts of the Spanish culture had disappeared, leaving in its place a dated and slightly over-commercialised town that was set up to cater for Brits abroad (and unsuspecting Aussies…). The facade in the town was run down in parts and much of the advertising looked like a throw back to the 90’s. After the pristine streets of Stockholm, Alicante looked like it was in desperate need of a good scrubbing behind the ears and there was a faint scent of forlornness about the place. However the old town still retained some of it’s quaint charm with cobblestone streets and enough alfresco dining to keep even the most persistent restaurant hopper interested. The beach was clearly the hero of the town with red and shiny tourists giving their skin a good beating before heading home. After all, if you’re not sunburnt you haven’t really had a holiday…

The unexpected welcoming committee set an interesting tone for the trip. After the initial shock at seeing 4 prostitutes strutting their stuff out the front of our hotel, we moved to a state of amusement followed by awe at the impressive tone of the bare gluteus maximus we had a clear view of. Was it a man or woman? Who cares, props for keeping it in such great shape and having the guts to go pant less on a main road!

The hotel we stayed in came complete with all the mod cons you’d expect from a new hotel that specialized in the corporate crowd. Slightly snooty staff, over-priced drinks, hallways so dark you can’t see your nose and a phone requiring an operating manual to call reception. Gotta love a modern hotel. All was forgiven however thanks to the incredible breakfast spread and roof top pool and bar which became our stomping ground for the next 3 days. This turned out to be a saviour of sorts given the proximity of the hotel to the rest of the action. The reviews on trip advisor assured us the location was spot on for town and beach access – all very accurate; IF you had a car. Not sure what’s more disappointing – the location of the hotel or the truth to the rumors that Trip Advisor is unreliable…

In our usual ‘we’re not really tourists’ style, we made it our business to find the little local gems to eat and drink at. The first night we fought gallantly against the tide of restaurant owners trying to pull us into their haunts. By following the dolcit tones of a local, we discovered a hole in the wall tapas eatery that blew us away – Cerveceria Sento. Patatas Bravas, lamb burgers, balsamic chicken and meat straight off the hock – all very simple but oh so very good. We failed miserably on the second night as we succumbed to the bright lights and sales pitch of a young spaniard in what turned out to be a tourist trap. The english menus and the hawkers pacing up and down the footpath should have been warning enough to steer clear. We were punished accordingly with paella that was barely edible and a bill that was twice the price of our meal the previous night. Oh how we continue to learn the same lessons when travelling…
Despite our hit and misses on the eating front, Carrer De Castanos provided a welcome plethora of drinking holes each night. The generosity of ‘Jim’s’ tapas with the G&T and beers kept us coming back for more. This is the Spain we grew to love last time around!

Some very welcome sunshine, a good book, a bar on hand for afternoon beers and a refreshing pool on our doorstep rounded out our trip to Alicante. Despite some of our reservations about the town and volume of tourists, Alicante provided just what the doctor ordered for us at this point in the year – relaxation.

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Land of the beautiful, clean, safe and expensive

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When: 19/08/2011
Where: Stockholm, Sweden
Stayed: Park Inn, Hammarby

Before going to Stockholm, I pictured the city being full of blue eyes and blonde hair. In reality, add to that bronzed, fit bodies with legs up to the heavens and you have a pretty accurate picture of the general population. People watching was a premium experience with the sidewalk doubling as a catwalk as the locals strutted their stuff. We couldn’t work out whether there’d been a huge amount of incest that had taken place or people simply looked very similar. Justin astutely pointed out that ‘Sweden’s next top model’ would be extremely competitive and probably a little unfair to contestants considering the questionable calibre in other countries. Yep we dealt with all the big issues on this trip.
We stayed in a part of Stockholm called Sodra Hammarby-hamnen which was south of the central part of the city. Turns out this was quite a new area, not unlike the Docklands in Melbourne where everything is shiny and new but you could shoot a cannon through the area and not hit anyone. Unfortunately it felt a bit like death by apartment with very little atmosphere. Nevertheless, city access using Stockholms god sent transport system was very easy. As most people know, Stockholm is composed of 14 islands with around 30% of the city being made up of waterways. Needless to say, the best way to see Stockholm is by boat. Being out on the water gave a real sense of just how beautiful the city is.
Cruising between the islands of the archipelago and gaping at the huge summer houses that adorn the islands made us seriously question whether it would be feasible to relocate our lives. We were quickly brought back to reality by the tour guide who informed us that due to the ice in Winter (which can spread as wide as 2.5 miles!), quite often the only way to get around is by helicopter.

Apparently the island inhabitants have ‘the right’ to call for a helicopter should they need transport.
A very foreign concept to us Aussies that’s for sure. 
Back on land and we discovered just how different each part of Stockholm is. Gamla Stan (old town) with its cobbled streets, over priced restaurants and souvenirs, was a magnet for the sensible shoe wearing tourist. Djurgarden, home to a few of the big museums such as Vasamuseet and Nordiska museet ,was very pretty but also crawling with camera bearing visitors. We almost added ourselves to the roll call at Vasamuseet where the oldest ship in history is on display; apparently it sailed for only 20mins before sinking back in the 16th century. However we left skid marks on the ground in our haste to get away once we saw the length of the queue. We decided to ‘get ourselves some culture’ at a local bar instead.

The suburb of Ostermalm appeared to be more of a local haunt with designer stores, upmarket cafes, some fantastic restaurants and people wearing far more inappropriate footwear (sure sign of locals). We set up camp in Nya Lydmar, a flashy hotel bar, one rainy afternoon and rubbed shoulders with some glamorous locals over a couple of obscenely expensive glasses of wine. Drinking outside our means we shortly hot-footed it back to Sodermalm which has more of a Bohemian feel to it – and doesn’t  give you heart palpitations every time the bill arrives. After receiving some local advice from a friend of my brothers (Jo), we bar hopped our way around this area – Sodra Bar and Och himlen darbill bar to name a few. For dinner we emptied our pockets at a local favourite – Hjordis.

All in all we declared Stockholm in the top 2 of all time favourite cities. If you can suck up the exorbitant prices – the surprisingly friendly people, extraordinarily beautiful, safe and clean city and sensational food are well worth the re-mortgage on your house.

Stockholm top ten:

1.Fully expect to feel like the ugliest person on the street
2.Don’t dilly dally because the public transport timing is incredibly precise and won’t wait
3.Don’t expect to find Swedish food in Stockholm – apparently the Swedes don’t really eat it
4.Some of the Swedes speak better English than we do; pack your best English so you don’t put yourself (and our country) to shame
5.Play spot the rubbish on the street and you’ll be pretty bored
6.Ostermalm and Sodermalm provide the best catwalks
7.Expect to feel like you’ve been robbed on return
8.There are several bars masquerading as ‘Sky Bars’ in Stockholm – beware
9.Unlike London, when the forecast says rain, it’s not kidding so pack your umbrella
10.Unlike London, there’s no need to padlock your handbag to your body in Stockholm

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Scoping out retirement options in Provence

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When: 19/07/2011
Where: Provence, France
Stayed: Cote Provence, Le Thor

Thanks to a couple of good movies and outstanding reviews from friends, our expectations for Provence were unreasonably high. I’m happy to report (and somewhat relieved) that we were not disappointed.Our accommodation was based in the Vaucluse region of France – about an hour north of Marseille and 30mins East of Avignon in a small town called Le Thor. Without a ‘Sat Nav’ in our hire car, we were relying on the traditional methods of reading maps to navigate our way from the airport. (What?!) Challenging at the best of times, but throw in a foreign language and the right hand side of the road and things start to get very interesting. Driving through acres of orchards, lavender fields, vines and corn fields – we wondered if we were lost on the set of a french movie. Fortunately we discovered our bed and breakfast, ‘Cote Provence’, sitting like a terracotta beacon in amongst the vineyards. With crickets chirping in the background, two little toy dogs running up to greet us, a pool peaking out from beside the house and our host (Mireille) calling out ‘bonjour’ we instantly relaxed knowing this was home base for the next 4 days. The 18th century house was typically provencal, with shutters over the windows, dark pink and orange façade, beautiful large floor tiles, exquisite gardens and restored antique furniture. Bunches of lavender lay all over the house and I tried in vein not to recall the movie which claimed lavender is used in Provence to keep out the scorpions…
First stop in Provence was

 L’isle sur-la-sorgue, also known as ‘Little Venice’ due to the centre of town sitting within the branches of the river. The main village was a 15min drive from our digs, and was where we proceeded to gorge ourselves on Vaucluse wines and produce for the next few days. Tempting you riverside and then winding through the narrow streets, the local market boasts the most incredible array of colors and smells. Olive oils, tapenades, cheeses, olives, dried fruit and charcuterie – the choices were overwhelming. Inevitably we got overexcited and spent enough to sustain the local economy for the next month. Oh but it was worth it! As Justin aptly put it, ‘you’re best to lose 5kg before arriving in Provence because that way you only have to lose 10kg when you return home’. Yep, the jeans are cutting into my tummy as I write this.
The day after we arrived in Provence happened to be Bastille day. As part of the celebrations in L’isle sur-la-sorgue we were treated to the sights and sounds of the local marching band; complete with resident beauty queen and baton twirling girls. After observing with interest for 10mins or so we declared the hiring policy of the group to be quite ‘diverse’. Unfortunately none of the participants looked to be particularly happy about having to cut laps of the town so we’re not too sure whether there was also a mandatory component to the policy?!

You would be forgiven for thinking the phrase ‘Most beautiful village in France’ was seriously overused in Provence. It appears in the description of so many towns that you begin to wonder whether there’s been a misprint in the tourist brochure or the editor was just a bit lazy. That is of course until you start personally working your way through each of the villages…
Gordes, a village comprising drystone architecture and perched on the side of a towering hill was breathtaking. Roussillon, with its ochre washed façades exhibiting a brilliant spectrum of orange and red colours, surely has been cut out of canvas and glued in amongst the greenery of the surrounding orchards. Menerbes, a quiet and somewhat deserted village stands majestically and begs you to sit and have a wine gazing out over the vineyards below. And Fontaine-de-Vaucluse where the spring originates, leads to the meandering river which weaves itself between the houses. All incredibly beautiful, quite unique and yet unmistakably Provencal. It would be very easy to spend a month driving from town to town across southern France admiring the countryside – except for the stress associated with avoiding the oncoming traffic on the narrow roads. Apparently not everyone feels inclined to slow down and move over when faced with the prospect of a head on collision!

As per usual, the language barrier provided some serious comedy value for us. Our host at Cote Provence spoke excellent English however she was 1 of probably 10 people in the entire town that did. Sitting at breakfast with a French couple and running out of conversation after ‘bonjour’ made for a slightly uncomfortable start to the day. We spent the next 20mins stealing smiles between us and trying to pretend that this was a completely normal situation to be in. I desperately wanted to ask the couple about their croissant eating technique and how they managed to eat the pastry without spilling a single crumb. Instead I had to resort to peeking out the corner of my eye to watch the tearing / wrist action incognito. Not sure why, but Justin and I felt the need to speak in whispers around the house as a result. Perhaps to try and mask the fact that we knew such little french and were firmly entrenched in the category of ignorant tourists – a title we have carried like a burden for the last few trips. A local put it succinctly by responding to my question of ‘parlez-vous anglais?’ with ‘no, parlez- vous francais?’. Fair enough too.

Having said that, it’s amazing how long you can carry on a conversation just by observing facial expressions and body language and by throwing in the odd ‘oui’ and ‘merci’. That is until you’re required to initiate the conversation. Case in point – sitting at a wine bar full of locals, edgy house music in the background, plate of charcuterie to nibble on; we practically blended in!. Until our glasses ran dry and we were required to order another round. (Cue the dramatic music.) To Justin’s credit he had a stab at speaking French – unfortunately he ran out of vocab after the opening “Excusez-moi….a….un….one of the same please”. Fortunately the barman spoke significantly better English than we spoke French!

After 4 days of relaxing by the pool, pounding the windy roads amongst the orchards, eating enough cheese and bread to rival a small community, and discussing whether it was feasible to retire in our 30’s, we packed up and headed for the airport. Merci and au revoir Provence…for now at least.

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Stressing about relaxing in the Cotswolds

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When: 05/07/2011
Where: Chipping Camden, Cotswolds, England
Stayed: Cotswold House, Chipping Camden
Ok, so I know this is where I’m supposed to talk about how relaxing, quiet and picturesque the Cotswolds are. How the fresh crisp country air is rejuvenating, the cottages and cobble stone streets are straight out of an oldy worldy english movie and how the tea rooms are so quaint that you feel as though you’re at your Grandma’s pad. Yep, the Cotswolds are all those things and more but I’m ashamed to say that Justin and I spent a lot of the time waiting for something to happen.
We went from craving peace and quiet after feeling suffocated in London, to pacing the pavements looking for some action. The sad state of affairs is this – after years of city living, we appear to have evolved into beings who are incapable of relaxation.After swinging by Cheltenham for a homemade lunch of sandwiches and tea, popping into Broadway for scones and tea and expoloring the streets of Chipping Campden before having yet another cup of tea we promptly declared ourselves ‘tea-d out’. Time for a beer. We spent the next hour stalking people using our fail safe ‘follow the locals and you’ll find the best drinking spot’. Unfortunately the local demographic was a little removed from our age group and we ended up doing circle work in the streets, dangerously close to a tea room. We finally settled in a beer garden which backed onto a car park just opposite our hotel – it was basically empty but had no tea in sight so we were happy. With very little people watching to keep us interested we then scoped out the local restaurants for an early dinner. As always, a good bottle of red and copious amounts of food did the trick.

A trip to Stratford Upon Avon on the way home the following day rounded out our trip to the Cotswolds. Not sure what I was expecting to find in Shakespeare land but a carnival with all walks of life crawling the river banks wasn’t part of the picture. A child with his pants down, doing his business on the main street was the deal breaker. Gagging, we fled back to the car.

I feel slightly jaded that we’re unable to really rave about our trip to the Cotswolds. Perhaps the fact that we felt under pressure to come back feeling relaxed didn’t help. The underlying pulse of ‘in the Cotswolds you must relax, must relax, must relax’ of course has the opposite effect. Ah, let’s face it, relaxation will never be a strong suit of mine.

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Step aside Kate and Wills

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When: 25/04/2011

Where: Menai Bridge, Wales

Stayed: Plas Cadnant

 

Glenn and Sara’s wedding gave us 4 days of the ‘wow’ factor. In addition to their incredible wedding, every corner we turned in Menai Bridge, Bangor and then Conwy provided another take on the spectacular Welsh country side. I instantly felt my shoulders drop and the heavy London air exhale from my lungs as I stepped off the train in Menai Bridge. No wonder Kate and Wills chose this area to set up home!

Plas Cadnant Estate was where we stayed for the duration of our trip. What had been an abandoned, dilapidated run down old house only 16 years ago has now been converted into a warm and friendly bed and breakfast. Complete with Hogwarts style dining room, open fire and commercial size kitchen; the 12 of us staying there settled in beautifully. Little did we know on arrival that the house was nothing compared with the garden on the estate that surrounded it. So pristine were the surroundings that we kept our eyes open for the gardener with the nail scissors who was surely responsible for such precision!

Northern Wales provided the perfect setting for Glenn and Sara’s wedding and the weather god turned his smile on full beam for the big day. Who would’ve thought most of the Australian contingent would go home sunburnt from Wales?!  Apparently this kind of sunshine was unusual for the region; certainly had us fooled given it didn’t budge for 4 days straight!

It was no surprise to us that the lovely Sara was breathtaking as a bride – elegant, stylish and radiating happiness. Her glow matched only by Glenn’s cheshire grin as he proudly walked his wife from the church. The reception that followed at Caer Rhun Hall in Conwy felt like something out of a Jane Austen movie. Canapes and champagne on the grass outside the marquee in the sun as we marveled at the beautiful grounds of the estate. (Our ‘foliage’ shots unfortunately not doing the gardens any justice.) A grand marquee with rivers of white drapes gathering to points punctuated by chandeliers. With glimpses of the lush green estate though the windows of the marquee I simply couldn’t imagine a more beautiful setting for a wedding. And if the guests hadn’t been bowled over by the setting, they most certainly wouldn’t have stood a chance against the food – ‘falling off the bone’ lamb shanks followed by perfect crème brulee… wedding food will never be quite the same again. Who knew it was possible to provide quality restaurant standard food for 140 people!

The day was moving, exciting, beautiful, funny and just the tiniest bit injury prone (some of us got carried away on the dance floor – not quite as young as we used to be you might say…I blame the cracking music list that took no prisoners).

Thanks Glenn and Sara for an unforgettable weekend and day – we hope it was everything you were hoping for.

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