Welcome to our wild & wonderful UK wanderings…
Hello, lovely readers!
Join us on our latest adventure — a journey across the UK, this time with the big G, the gorgeous man, who, when I quoted Mary Oliver’s The Summer Day (“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”), replied: “Exactly this. Exploring the world with you, starting with Britain, and our buddy Ian is joining us!
From the moment we surfaced from the tube at Westminster to our final toast on Portobello Road, this trip was a glorious mix of history, heart and hilarity. We wandered through centuries of stories – explored the Gothic grandeur of Westminster Abbey, meandered along Birdcage Walk, and watched the keys of the Tower of London lock history away for the night.
We strolled through Trafalgar Square and admired the Lions’ kitten paws, had a yarn with scarlet-coated Chelsea Pensioners and paused at memorials carved in gum-leaf granite. We lost ourselves in portraits of icons past and present, marvelled at the luminous Blue Lady at Somerset House, trawled our way through asian restaurants in Soho and sprinted for a Thames cruise in Ted Lasso territory.
Beyond London, the journey unfolded like a story book – punts and pranks in Cambridge, bling races and ghostly alleys in York, volcanic castles and spy-holes in Edinburgh and a gold overload in Windsor. From the decks of HMS Victory to the quiet reverence of the Mary Rose, and the iron pride of HMS Warrior, every stop shimmered with history and humour.
It wasn’t just sightseeing, it was a celebration of friendship, discovery, the joy of saying ‘yes’ to the moment and stealing wifi to blog the journey along the way!
The Chapters So Far…
- London’s Blinged-up Beating Heart – Westminster – where the Houses of Parliament compete with Big Ben’s brand new bling
- Cannons, Captains & Clever Engineering – Portsmouth – three warships that rewrote history in wood, sail and steel
- Scarlet Coats & Sparkling Stories – meeting the Chelsea Pensioners over a well-earned G&T
- Lions, Lamp Posts and London Legends – Trafalgar Square – where Nelson keeps watch, lions have cat paws and lamp posts moonlight as police stations.
- Brains, Bridges & a Bed to Die For – Cambridge – from King’s College Chapel to a punt gone wrong
- When Monuments Speak – what London’s memorials whisper if you pause long enough to listen
- Britain’s Family Album – The Portrait Gallery – from Shakespeare to Bowie
- Dreams, Breaths & Blue Light – Somerset House’s luminous lady invites us to pause and imagine.
- Keys, Lanterns & Late Night Rituals – The Tower of London’s nightly Ceremony of the Keys.
- Pints, Punts and Plenty of Ghosts – York – a weekend in the UK’s most haunted (and most pub-filled) city.
- Pints, Pubs and Pub Runs – From Ted Lasso’s ‘Believe’ to a mad dash along the Thames
- A city of Stories, a Castle of Secrets – Edinburgh – witches, wars, and a sneaky spy hole in Britain’s most besieged fortress
- Crowns, Clocks and Cozy Cafes – Windsor –
from bling and butter pats to one poor chap lighting 300 fires – Windsor Castle at its royal best.
A Barrel of Thanks
And of course, this adventure wouldn’t be complete without a massive barrel of gratitude to our fabulous hosts, Adrian and Christine. There to greet us as we popped out from tube at Westminster, there for that very last pint at Notting Hill, you were our guides, chauffeurs, planners, and partners in mischief.
You gave us the best of London – from surprise French cannon bollards (the last ones standing!) to VIP Tower of London key handovers, from drinks on Thames-anchored ships to Richmond river cruises, a peek inside the Australian Embassy, and even the secret tip for Horizon 22 – the city’s best complimentary view.
Add in perfect pub roasts, route-planning apps, and endless laughter over a Charcuterie board at the end of a long day, you made our trip extraordinary.
Thank you, dream team! Our door is always open when you next land in Oz.
Up next:
- A row of pastel facades and pretty pubs in Notting Hill
- A bird’s-eye view of the City of London – the smallest city in the UK
Grab a coffee, indulge in a bit of escapism and feel free to share your own fun stories and recommendations in the comments!
out and dive straight into the Fringe buzz.
After lunch, pints, and lots of laughter, we made a beeline to the White Cross Pub to rendezvous with our host Adrian (who’s basically family now). He’d just told us we are running late for the Thames cruise back to Westminster – cue the classic dilemma: drain your pints in one gulp, carry them with you like juggling grenades, or leave them behind as sacrificial offerings. We opted for speed (sans beer), sprinted the 800 metres to the dock, hopped aboard mid-boarding, and collapsed into deck seats. Evidence of gasps + apologies? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely. Because, dear readers, we made it. Believe!
The Women of World War Two Monument
Of course we wrap the day with a perfectly crisp Gin & Tonic in a typical British Pub and settle down for a long overdue catch up with C and A, our lovely hosts. Aussies themselves, here for a work post and packed with the knowledge of true locals. They’d already stocked us up with Tube apps, and all things designed to keep the ball rolling as we launch into three weeks of exploration.
There was a time pre marriage when my darling travel buddy Jenny would plot and plan the entire, and always on point, itinerary while I would simply swan up at the designated departure gate and get us into the club lounge. I compensated by scrambling to the top of those 300 steps to capture the perfect shots for our socials and the Blog. A role I gladly executed after spectacularly failing at the one job she had given me during our last journey (Venice Accom with zero steps and a spectacular view of city please = the steepest steps up to and after the elevator stopped plus a view to die for only observed after climbing out the kitchen window and up yet another flight of stairs to a tiny platform roped off with hazard tape = very unpopular Jane) Soooo! In the absence of my trusty travel planner, Jen, I resorted to AI…
Having now embedded itself in my psyche, the results of my rituals are already quite impressive. Angst replaced with calm, the small stuff no longer sweated, my barn full of fucks now saved for seriously deserving situations. ‘It’s ok, it will all work out’, my new mantra. Even when this blog returned a ‘fatal error’ message, which would typically result in a ‘Kevin’ from Home Alone, I calmly jumped on Fiverr, found a WordPress superhuman, and within 24 hours, prob solved. Ahhh!
Awakening to my inbuilt alarm, I’m already smiling at our puppa’s joy as I don sneakers and sunscreen, clip on her brace, and head out for a 30 min puppy pee-mail stroll. Then, up to the rooftop gym for a quick 30-minute workout, cossie change, sauna chat with the silver fox, and a couple of laps in the pool with just enough time to dry while indulging in a little five senses* ritual. By 8 am I’m positively vibrating with energy when I hit the desk. Night rituals wrap up with the odd lazy Yin Yoga sesh, notes in the gratitude journal, an electronics curfew and a snuggle and chat with the fox before drifting into slumberland. Repeat.
Pre arrival, do a quick research into local markets, festivals, cultural events, and best spots to sample local cuisine. Create a ‘rough’ plan as you want to have wiggle room for exciting alternatives that might pop up. I check Google Maps to plan my route and use ‘Ulmon Pro – city maps to go’ for planning walking tours. Brushing up on local etiquette and customs helps too!
If the staff 
The next day, take a hop-on, hop-off bus tour to get the lay of the land. This recon gives you instant bearings on where to start and end your day’s adventures. A great way to cover a lot of ground and see the major landmarks before deep diving with walking tours. VoiceMap Audio Tours and Guides is a great app to take you on those adventures without getting lost or needlessly backtracking.
Oh yeah! I love to dive into the local food markets. Cheap, fresh and wonderful for discovering new flavours while absorbing the language, the smells, the beauty and textures of the fare on offer. Listening to a stall holder passionately describe the best way to cook a meat cut to a fellow local, while others wait patiently for their turn instantly puts you in the moment.
Chef Grégoire Berger’s “11-wave” experience begins with a slap, albeit of the edible variety. The emulsion-like amuse-bouche, presented in a clear, dissolving sachet and aptly named Slap of the Ocean, is eaten in the total darkness of the “plankton” room. “Don’t be scared,” says the hostess with a laugh as she swirls glowing liquid in a glass orb while an automated recording explains the experience. The scene is being set. Next to Atlantis The Palm’s Lost Chambers Aquarium, 
After the amuse-bouche, we’re led to the dining room for the 10 remaining seafood courses. A humpback whale and ethereal crimson-red Spanish fighting fish are giants among the 65,000 other sea creatures in the aquarium in front of us, which comes courtesy of a cleverly placed large-scale digital animation at the back of the room that’s reflected onto the glass.
Those taught not to play with their food will need to reconfigure their manners at the mind-bending, seven-course interactive experience 
“I’ve always looked at a restaurant as a theatre,” says Vladimir Mukhin, head chef of Russian-born concept 
Scratch that Parisian itch at Montrachet, one of our most acclaimed French restaurants offering a seasonal French menu both traditional and contemporary. Foie gras, lobster tartare anyone? Pair this with Beluga caviar and your favourite French wine. Montrachet’s tasting menu features a six-course meal, where you’ll enjoy flavourful yet delicate French cuisine from start to finish. Yet to experience this one as I just can’t move past their famous double baked crab and cheese souffle, however that caviar coupled with a delectable french wine is beckoning!
Joy epitomises the degustation menu, proving that great things really do come in small packages. The compact 10-seat restaurant holds a six-star culinary experience in its intimate omakase-style offering, lovingly served up by founding chefs Tim and Sarah Scott. Whereas other degustations are served under dim lighting with a moody ambience it’s all in the name here at Joy – a unique degustation experience that’s more quirky than imposing.
Fitted out to resemble Brisbane’s historic trams, this 12-seater restaurant welcomes passengers aboard at revolving locations around the city to a first-class dining carriage experience. Da Biuso serves Mediterranean-inspired fare, with a paired wine option curated from a glorious list of Italian drops – some of which are exclusively sourced for Da Biuso. The menu changes with the seasons, so expect the likes of oysters all’onda, a spritz cocktail with Australian scampi, and Tasmanian lamb in a balsamic bone reduction.
Ok, so you’d prefer to treat your travel buddies at your Air B&B? Make your next dinner party one to remember with an exquisite degustation thanks to the brilliant chefs at Cuisine on Cue. Course after course of high 
As you know, I’m passionate about exploring the world and love to showcase the hidden gems on this blog. Well! Scratching an itchy foot while lamenting to my travel bud Jen about the drought between trips, the woman said, ‘Hon! You live in a city full of action, yet you don’t share any of those adventures?’ A Sydneysider having FOMO about the vibrancy of my hometown Brisbane? Unusual. She’s right, though.
The trickiest issue is how much everyone will spend, say, on a villa in Bali or Santorini for a week. “One of the things that can make a group vacation weird or tense is money because people have different capabilities and levels of comfort around it,” says Ezra Woods, who co-owns the L.A.-based showroom Pretend By Appointment (this man goes on many group trips with an eclectic mix of folk and associated budgets). How will the monetary side be addressed?
staying together. Travelling as a group for adults does not have to be a slumber party. Golden went to Paris with friends one spring, and part of what made it successful was that five people stayed at a mix of hotels and rented apartments. Some would pilgrimage to Dries Van Noten together, others to the Pompidou, but there was no pressure to do any of it. Every night they came together for long dinners that started with seafood towers and steak frites and ended with cheese courses and pavlovas, and they talked about their days. A room of one’s own can also avert disaster: everyone getting sick of one particular person, whether the reason is the person is high-strung or won’t stop talking or is a chronic complainer. What level of privacy will you need?
The perfect stopover when flying between Europe and Asia, the Blue Mosque, famous for the intricate blue tile work covering the interior, is an excellent place to start. Pick the jaw off the floor from there and head over to the Hagia Sophia. Constructed in 537 A
recent lazy lunch, the girls and I were hoping to enjoy a vicarious holiday via our ‘just returned from a three-week European break’ friend. Instead, she confessed ‘It all went so fast, I feel like I have permanent jetlag!’ As we toasted ‘jetlag’ (any excuse) we ruminated on the question – how can we hold onto the buzz of a holiday rather than succumb to post-hol malaise? 
Already ticked these boxes? Time to dig a little deeper into the less touristy fare. My top 10 suggestions:
Being blinded by The Kinkaku (The Golden Pavilion) / Rokuon-Ji Temple
Marvelling at the Tsujigahana-Dyed Kimonos in the ‘Symphony of Light’ exhibit at the Itchiku Kubota Museum, simply breathtaking. Stay tuned for the full story. (Oh! And photos sadly not permitted, this one found on Google)
Lake Kawaguchi: 
Hey lovelies, we’re off on another adventure…to a country renowned for the depth of its gentle, respectful culture. To explore the juxtaposition between traditional tea ceremonies, Geisha, Zen gardens, tatami mats, bathhouses, Sake, cherry blossoms …and baby robots – Japan.
o somewhere else and thus the thrill at finally being shown the town, and by locals.
– Time with Kent’s family sharing fond memories
shuffled and/or dragged themselves and each other along, some waving placards bearing ‘Zombies Have Rights Too’, a van screaming apocalyptic rock followed by a few bored riot control police (who could make for tasty snacks later) hauled up the rear. But you know what? I just couldn’t help grinning right back at them for the Zombies were having an absolute blast!
st wine shops in town, several lush restaurants and A Priori Thé an elegant little rendezvous for afternoon tea.
s and the Mediterranean). Too late for the Poppies (May), Lavender (July) or Sunflowers already drying in readiness for reaping (Sept); instead I content myself with the glorious amber colors of Plane Tree leaves clustered across the long pond in nearby Cucuron while making a note to watch the movie ‘A Good Life’, parts of which were filmed here. Sadly, said trees across Europe are being destroyed by a fungus from the inside out. Equally so the thought of how badly this pretty little place was affected by the plague epidemic spread from nearby Marseille 1720-1.
Antibes and beyond on a good day. The restored walls and buildings crowding the lanes now house interesting hotels, cave dwelling art galleries and tourist driven gift shops and enticing little tree shaded squares dotted here and there make perfect ice cream retreats along the way. Reborn indeed.
Èze commune extends from Èze-sur-Mer on the Mediterranean up to Èze-Village and Saint-Laurent-d’Eze connects the two, along with a rather irregular bus service for those less willing to slog up a steep irregular pathway.
d her skirts to deliver Nana versions of a ‘brown eye’ and kept the tea pot perpetually hot and full. A delightful woman with an invincible attitude ‘Don’t like it? Well bugger off!’ A fine woman but I digress…
Of course you’re wondering why i’ve indulged in this sadomasochistic relationship with UP aren’t you.
d was the two butter pats in the mix; usually only proffered after one has begged, cajoled and thrown a small but noisy tantrum for the French just don’t get it. Mon dieu! Voulez vous le beurre??? Oui I bloody well want butter! But this time I didn’t, gave that fight up a while ago – I’m an undercover local now remember?
The sun is gloriously warm, the ocean a sparkling azure jewel, Yachts, pleasure cruisers, and colourful air beds upon which bronzed bathers are lazing bob gently on the swell, the Sancerre’s chilled to perfection and…Oh sorry, did I hear you say you’re too busy buying your ticket to read on? Please do for the Côte d’Azur, well Villefranche-sur-mer at least, is really rather special.
With the detritus of beach pleasure released, they then crafted little divots from the pebbly surface in which to park said bottoms. The hollows clearly weren’t suitably sized for once towels were spread; both pairs began to grind side to side until satisfied. It was not a pretty sight or sound. Ocean view thoroughly obscured, I recompensed with the shade they afforded and a delicious little piece of eavesdropping. And that’s when I discovered they were from the cruise ship…
‘Which side of the ship do we need to be on to see the Panama Canal?’ asked one of the other in a strong Texan voice. ‘Other’ didn’t have an answer; she was busy planning her outfit for this evening’s disco theme. Emitting a small shudder from the question intimating one G&T too many and a vision best erased, I gathered my sarong and departed. I had to. Just knew I would not be able to contain myself should ‘other’ ask ‘What happens to the ice sculptures when they melt?’
The locals smile a friendly ‘Bonjour!’ They happily relieve you of your strangled french and enjoy testing their english.
Had the cliff clinging ‘Via dell’Amore‘ (the Lovers Walk), a narrow pathway linking Riomaggiore and Manarola, not been closed I would have walked the pathway and admired the spectacularly romantic sunsets. Instead, a leisurely stroll through the village before returning to the train.
The village, again tucked into a tiny crevice has quaint lanes so narrow, the jumble of tall buildings clinging one atop the other, almost touch, held strong only by random stone archways. Cool, dark and perfect for dodging the drips from washing strung high above. I smile at Nona’s sweeping doorsteps and search for the little surprises that whisper of the village personality.
Quaint, sheltered between large jagged rock formations, smeared with bright towels and sunbathers and topped with teens daring to dive into deliciously cool water between rowboats of softy hued blue yellow and red. They do, to the raucous cheers of folk lining the narrow side steps leading to the cliff walks.
Sip ‘Aperol Spritz’ (Prosecco, Aperol, soda water), appears de rigueur, tastes like Campari (gak!) and settle in to admire sunset (and hoover complementary chips and focacia cubes, cheap nosh)
One of the buzzwords on the internet is ‘dream.’ Make your dream come true, visualise your dream, indulge your dream. There are programmes, foundations and projects called Dream as well as Rebuild the Dream, Dream Hotels and Dream Travel. The focus now on making your dreams come true is incredible. So to coin a lyric from Les Miserables, I dreamed a dream and joined the Dream Team…I created my dream job.
Several writers, along with a British Creative Writing teacher that I have worked with in the past, agreed to join me for five days of lectures. We learn in the morning, write in the afternoons and have guest speakers at night. As time goes on, more writers and creative writing teachers have joined my team.
Whereas the studio in Monterosso had only one small avenue of natural light and fresh air, making for a musty, dark abode but saved by the spectacular view from its tiny terrace, this one if full of light and fresh air. Elegant in its simplicity, comfortable and soothing to the soul. Its the white. A white that conjures up visions of crisp white Greek villas against a deep Mediterranean backdrop. Only this one’s on the Italian Riviera.
As for the color of the octagonal bell tower above the quaint little church off to the side of the square with its slate scalloped dome? It variegates from a rich king island cream at sunrise to a soft dusky rose as twilight settles. Ah! proprio bella!
Another dip and back on deck for a lazy float on down past Corniglia and Manarola to Riomaggiore and back to Monterosso al Mere, admiring tiny little beaches along the way that mountain goats would find challenging yet the locals have conquered…and some of them are nude.
Have I told you about my little nest? My abode? The one I sacrificed my first born to rent? Eh! eh! And you thought Port Macquarie Holiday Inn was a tad on the dodgy?
ce you persevered you’d be sleeping in the bathtub for there’s only one bed, a permanently folded out sofa protruding from under thewardrobe cupboards. And it’s mine. I’ve grown quite fond of my bed…and the bedspread. It closely resembles a green and orange checked picnic blanket and is complimented with matching lime sheets the texture of table cloths. Thread count? Let’s just say, exfoliation while you sleep.
I grasp enough to respond with ‘massiccia!’ (massive) as we drive up and around Italy’s main military and commercial harbor which hosts the arsenal of the Italian Navy, ‘mozzafiato! (breathtaking) while hugging the coastline affording spectacular views of warships, yachts and mussel beds and ‘e cosi bella!’ as we slip down into Porto Venere.
put the hot frothy milk and two sugars his crusty old friend, the one with the blood red eyes and shock of white hair, was drinking into the ‘baby-chino’ category? Or should I have kept my mouth shut?
life-threatening failure to connect. Si! ‘Sufficiente per il vostro bisogno!’* Type this into trusty Google Translate and one MiFi purchase, SIM transfer, new 10G iPhone SIM for critical ‘Where the fuck am I?’ Google Maps and ‘No I didn’t ask for a washing machine!’ Google Translate later, problem sorted. Happy days. Then my mouse died.
ool, musty air and eclectic homages including a wooden model of a ship suspended between two of the six sets of chandelier candelabra. A nice respite from the heat outside. I’ve put a euro in the box and lit a candle for Kent, a ritual that follows me everywhere and contributes to the maintenance of buildings such as these.
ith fleshy red truss tomatoes, fresh Mozzarella cheese, bunches of basil, olive oil, rock salt and juicy nectarines at the market while basking in the robust fragrance of the cured meats and huge wheels of cheese vying for attention alongside wooden utensils and kitchenware. Pronunciation gleaned from absorbing the clatter of Italian bartering and greetings. Buongiorno! No! Meno! Prego! Si! Si! Grazie! Ciao! Arriverderci! Softer, less speed and blended enunciation than that of my recent sojourn in Florence.
Identified that if I sit in a particular spot, the lemon tree shading me won’t drop its burgeoning fruit on my head. Grapevines intermingle with the tree, its tiny buds due to produce around September. Almost within reach just below spreads an apricot tree, just one bough heavy with fruit barely noticeable to begin with, now blushing pink and ripe for the plucking. I’ll find a way!
Classic Ligurian dishes including Antipasti Mista – assorted seafood marinated in olive oil; Pansotti del noce – tiny fish every way; mussel laden spaghetti shared from a huge cast iron pot; a swordfish steak and a fresh gelato to finish, all washed down with homemade wine. Delicious. Bellisimo!
Tearing myself away from my new love, I make my way to the Piazza della Signoria to take a snap of a copy of Michelangelo’s Statue of David as photos are not allowed in the Accademia. 
A minor setback…rain! Bucketing! When yesterday there was none, today necessitating brollies, raincoats, and hoodies and we have ’em all…just back in Florence. Fifi is NOT amused!
While Fifi refuses to fight stairs in the pouring rain, Pix forges ahead to capture grey mist driven views of the usually vibrant hillside villages. Tiny softly muted houses clinging to cliff sides, boats bobbing in the turbulent harbour, fishermen waiting patiently for a break in the clouds, brightly coloured boats upturned and scattered across the rocks and slipway…the vision is beautifully raw, rugged and wild. Just imagine what it will look like on sunny days?
in heated hand gesturing argument. She walks away. He doesn’t follow…a relationship breakup with one witness…me. Tourists with brash American accents seeking off street leather outlets, gelato dripping down their arms. Mine’s in check.
Soldier’; monumental Memorials roll-calling the names of the thousands who can never be acknowledged with a cross or a headstone. Each site respectfully tended regardless of nationality interred, the Germans distinguished by grey crosses within a quiet field of their own. Like our own, they were just young men sent into the same bloody, senseless battles. Each one heartbreakingly young; seeing, experiencing and succumbing to horrors we can’t begin to imagine. But you probably know that anyway, a part of our ANZAC history…a raw, gut-wrenching sacrifice of human life.
tad larger than average but just a garden. Similar flora busily blossoming right under our noses in our own country…in our parks, over the neighbor’s fence, on window ledges, by the side of the road, heck even doing their bit in old tyres turned into swan shaped planters so frequent to the central west and many a Nana’s back yard. And all thanks to folk who share the same passion as Monet did. But how often do we take the time to appreciate a gardener’s efforts? I make a note to take the time to do so from now on.
Hello Bruges. Arriving at the ever so quaint ‘Cote Canal’ B&B, our gracious host Caroline welcomes us to beautifully appointed suites overlooking the canal while sharing the city’s highlights. We learn that Colin Farrell actually lodged in Fifi’s suite while filming ‘In Bruges’…the room also referred to as the honeymoon suite or ‘play room’. Hearing this my mind starts to wander …Fifty Shades of Grey…me and Colin, Colin and I. But I digress!
We also meet Fidel, a friendly Labrador quite famous for doing absolutely nothing but snoozing in the window facing the canal to the delight of boats laden with tourists plying the waterways. Commercials, the movie, postcards, tourism brochures all under his belt, a star completely oblivious to the paparazzi.
little place is Bruges! Orientate with a canal boat cruise, horse and carriagejaunt and a stroll across the ‘golden triangle’ scenic spots, iconic monuments, galleries and churches.
rm fluffy bed.
Squeals of delight, two stiff drinks, much reminiscing, a sound strategy for future catch up and a very fond farewell later, finally hit that fluffy bed with a deeply satisfying sigh.
At least we did, the experience quite possibly enhanced by the sleek jet boat and it’s handsome driver who gave us a tour of the Lake, let us loose in the petite village of Bellagio, ferried us to a most memorable luncheon experience at a lovely little cliff clinging restaurant in celebration of Donna’s birthday, discreetly pointed out places where many movie scenes have been shot and celebs have taken up residence, before finally returning us to the waterside door steps of the Relais Regina Teodolinda.
Imagine our relief when we stepped off our water bus on the Grand Canal, right at the door step of our latest digs…the beautiful Palazzo Giovanelli. An historic building, dating from the 1500s, painted with mythological figures by Zelotti, rich in charm and with a history that includes tenants such as the Mozart family and the King of Denmark, Frederick Christian IV and…us!
My Rapunzel moment was not without it’s challenges I must add. A flight of steps up to the front door, bathroom down a flight, bedroom up two flights, rooftop vista yet another. Not for the faint hearted yet affording the most magnificent 360 degree view across a tapestry of rich green undulating valleys.
Continuing on my ‘fabulous finds’ accommodation from our recent travels theme…la Minervetta deserves it’s ranking in the luxury bible…and in my blog!
an accomplishment! A converted manor and mill house surrounded by a pretty stream, necessary for the mill house’s original life, and the perfect backdrop for swans, geese and two very much loved Labradors.
Our feigned nonchalance quickly turns to discreet awe as we stroke the furnishings, marvel at the tailor made wallpaper emulating sheer lace drapes, examine pristine white bathrooms and exhaust our cameras capturing the exquisite details before finally settling in to our respective abodes…mine has a red theme, my friends a rich buttery yellow…to appreciate small trays bearing more sweet treats, red roses and a personal welcome letter from our host.
Quirky situations – a shower recess so small that dropping soap meant poking ones butt out the door to retrieve, another resembling a space capsule that washed places you hadn’t thought shower nozzles were designed for, a loo in a cupboard, another under the sink, opera singing dogs, steps so steep ascent demanding all fours, a wonderful host waving an enormous British flag to herald the entrance, a delicate lace doily serving as a curtain.
Touching memories such as the dear little French man who happily assisted with automatic petrol pumps and an unexpected health emergency, private tour guides who went way beyond expectation, wait staff with wry senses of humour, Dicky stepping up with the most beautiful gestures…just when he was due a fork stab in the eye.
Pixies choice but lacking that private lounge. The Lotus, Casino, the armadillo like esplanade theatre, Helix Bridge, the Merlion, the Singapore Flyer taller than London’s eye, and a harbor full of massive containers waiting to purge.
Sadly, Dicky says Paris doesn’t compare to Rome and London and of course he’s right in a sense…each city proudly displays it’s own unique charms, specific and historical originations and cultural variations…and therefore can’t possibly be compared to another. Fifi suspects Dicky has fallen under the city’s spell however, as he gifted her with one of the much coveted Hermes bangles at the top of the Eiffel Tower…collective sigh…
We’ve left just enough leather on the soles of our shoes to take an evening cruise down the Seine to enjoy the city’s illumination as a rich crimson gold sunset falls. And beautiful it is…but it’s the flirtation of the Eiffel tower’s hourly twinkling that brings a tear to our eyes on this our last evening in this charming city.
Well not quite… cab ride back to the left bank to resume our shop trawl in St Germaine followed by a glass of bubbles at home whilst we gloat over our beautiful imaginary outfits and accessories…then debate the arduous task of where to dine this eve. The volume of restaurants in our arrondissement, the Latin Quarter, is overwhelming. Bruna to the rescue.- Monsieur Lapin!
Fifi’s been yearning for Lapin (rabbit) and so it shall be…on B and R’s recommendation the quaint restaurant Monsieur Lapin doesn’t disappoint…Crispy Rabbit Pie, a perfectly risen Soufflé a robust Sauvignon Blanc from the south of France all suitably satisfy Fifi’s needs. A fun girly day, a lovely dinner, celebrating days also spent learning about key pieces in the Louvre, exploring the Jardins Luxembourg, Parthenon and Basilica du Sacra Coeur...our work here is almost done!
rter, action central, meeting place to bring in the weekend…close to the Seine, a hop from Notre Dame, stones throw from the Louvre and a skip to the Musee de Orsay.
Exquisite lingerie and Dyptique candles…check; long, long walk home through the streets of Chanel, Dior, Cartier, Hermes…check; a linger on the Pont Neuf to absorb the Parisian culture…check, Centre Georges Pompidou to view the best modern art exhibition…check, Sephora, the absolute in cosmetics and fragrance…check; ‘goldfish’ photographic moments at the foot of the Eiffel Tower and all rounded off with a juicy steak washed down with a petite little vin Rouge and bed!
languages, so much to see, yet we’ve seen so much…saying goodbye to our beloved Poppy car a poignant experience, revisiting our Blog affording us opportunity to differentiate between primacy and recency.
Friendly people who chuckle at our attempts to grasp this new language and quickly adjust to fluent English to make us comfortable, the city clean, so clean, the traffic calm…and then there’s the Reuss river…crystal clear, icy blue in hue thanks to the water flowing directly from alps to lake.
those in Prague and Vienna yet displaying a uniqueness all their own..quite special actually.
service sandwich and French X Factor on the Bang and Olufsen telly, snuggled under the perfectly fluffy Swiss doonah, nestled between perfectly feathered Swiss pillows. Fifi’s legs need recuperating from all that walking and as this country appears to be the most expensive in Europe, may have had to do Swiss dishes for a week to pay for that chunk of melted Swiss cheese. Instead think of waistlines. Oh wait…waistlines??
Dicky has become the Gordon Ramsay of the Italian highway; Ducky never, ever wants to drive cliff side again…he holds up the traffic doing 20 km around those cliffs you see, and he’s not fond of the impatient drivers tooting, flashing their lights and signaling abuse behind him. Bella, Fifi and Pixi have each perfected the semi silent scream, discreet white knuckling and grabbing just the right amount of change from the car kitty within seconds for the endless tolls. Driving Italian roads is definitely not for the faint of heart.
first courses arrive before second and not all at once; never to change your mind for the original dish will always turn up…or nothing at all; never to expect butter…or plates, salt or ground pepper…but a great deal of bread (a symbol of welcome) and always a very, very large bottle of olive oil, along with ‘gas’ or ‘non gas’ water. Ordering a liqueur coffee is definately worth it though… just to watch the look of incredulity cross their faces.
Started the day gazing at the sun glistening on the lake over fresh juice, eggs and pastries before boarding the quite delectable Marco’s boat…Fifi and Pixie think he may be Ducky’s gift to Bella for it’s her birthday tomorrow. Our gorgeous captain who will cruise us up to Como, down to Bellagio then over to Crotto dei Platani our lakeside restaurant where, surrounded by 1,200 meter high mountains, a spectacular view of the snow tipped Italian alps in the distance and the Swis
s alps behind us, we will celebrate…Happy birthday Bella!
We get the gos on celebs. George isn’t home. A ‘serious’ chap, Matt Damon a ‘funny’, Julia Roberts ‘crazy’, Jennifer Anniston and Angelina Jolie both in town at the same time? ‘awkward’, Brad’s kids? ‘too much’…
here so many film segments have been shot we immerse in a major deja vu moment.
Now to explore this beautiful part of Italy, our last brush with the craziness of Italian drivers, the passion of the people, the food…oh the food!
later to take an evening ride through the canals. It’s rather cramped for five in our Gondola, a deft balancing act managed well by our punter Stefano who uses elbows and feet to buffer our passage through the narrow canals, at the same time serenading us with some zesty ‘O Sole Mia’ Italian opera that would do Pavarotti proud.
to a gin martini with ‘drive by’ tonic we are giggling within minutes in the majestic Hotel Palazzo Giovanni. In celebration of our Fifi’s milestone birthday, Ducky surprises her with a pre planned upgrade to an exclusive suite where Murano Chandeliers delight and luxury abounds. A further Gin Martini over restaurant choices before Ducky finally exercises authority and insists on a Chinese nosh. The guru of this gastronomic pleasure and one must bow to the professional.
On every corner couples earnestly argue over maps in an effort to find their way home through narrow winding alleys and over the many bridges.
arters reside in the tower! One suite, an urgent need to grow Rapunzel hair should the need for a quick escape arise, and a rising trepidation for the tower is reported to be haunted! Pix occupies her reticence by climbing the narrow, winding stairs to the very top of the turret where the view is absolutely breathtaking. Undulating hills of multiple hues ranging from pastel golds to deep lush greens striated with pencil pines between which narrow roads meander. Picture postcard perfect.
ced…or maybe that’s the atmosphere?
Just one problem…La Minervetta has the dates wrong. Much drama later and despite efforts to placate, we find they can only accommodate two of our three parties tonight for, in their books, we aren’t due to arrive until tomorrow.
Spectacularly historic city, recycled and built on top of itself over and over thus jam packed with cars simply because attempts to build underground carparks and train lines results in even more ancient archaeological finds…easier to cover it over and try again elsewhere.
A good portion of the women are over bronzed, fond of lipliner, sport bleached hair, excess bling and don’t appear to age well. The guys? Not too bad. Fifi loves the city, Dicky says it’s ok but full of ‘wogs’…bless! Ducky and Donna enjoy but we suspect the former is still smarting from the vegetarian restaurant…
72AD! And that some 5,000 wild animals were put to death in the 100 day opening celebrations; that 70,000 people could be seated within 20 minutes; that awning segments were hoisted across the roof to provide shade…and that most of the marble facade was pillaged to build St Peter’s Basilica. Yes, we are in awe of the brilliance of Roman construction.
assimo, originally used for Chariot Races, now the venue for all celebrations including Live Aid.
Finally back to the Piazza Navona which sits over another ancient stadium, to view the magnificent fountains there then make our way to our guide recommended restaurant for lunch. It’s vegetarian…and a smorgasbord…Ducky has a mild panic at the thought of ‘eating at the trough’ and ‘no meat’ throws him into a total tailspin. Never the less, he perseveres and we compensate by agreeing to eat at ‘guaranteed meat’ Hard Rock Cafe this evening.
nto chaotic traffic and arrive intact at the foot of the magnificent Vittoriano or National Monumento, dedicated to the fallen soldier, one of the newest buildings in Rome, opened in 1927. View the remains of the Roman Forum, temples, house of the Vestal Virgins and Basilica Aemilia from Palatine Hill then on to the Pantheon followed by the Trevi fountain…
Beautiful, strangely displaced amongst dense buildings, and crowded with fellow tourists. Shed a tear in fond memory of Pixi’s last visit with Kent and a happier time when we tossed a coin and promised each other we would be back. Instead, posing on the rim we reserve a space between us for our mighty fallen, now with us spiritually, throw our coins in the fountain then join the masses to pose on the famous Spanish steps.
A €7 cup of tea…tis a tourist trap after all…then on the train home to regroup, share room service and sigh… exhausted and satisfied with the day’s haul of little gifts, cheap handbags and Bella’s lovely piece of bling.
Ducky and Bella have a mini meltdown trying to negotiate the Garmen’s interpretation for it talks the local language. Dicky’s purchased his first dodgy watch, quite chuffed with his bartering, while the girls stare at endless bent statues.
Further direction confusion for the street on which our accommodation resides in Tuscany is not recognized by navigation equipment. A quick trip through someone’s back yard and there it is. Ducky & Bella find their way cross country and all in need of a stiff drink stat! A thorough exploration of the Villa and vista…and it is exactly as we imagined Tuscany to be. Beautiful! Sipping our calming G&T, all agree…we could quite happily live here.
Ducky deserves this treat for he’s just survived his initiation into driving on the wrong side of the road, dodging oncoming maniacs at the wheel of flaming red Ferraris and random suicidal cyclists on switchback bends and narrow alleyways. And what an adorable place to do so! Absolutely recommended!
Negotiate our way to CinqueTerra, check in and as we explore our rooms, find Pixi’s is equivalent to a monastery… expecting a holographic cross to hover above the bed, and still pondering how to access the loo which is kinda under the sink…and as for the prospect of bending down to pick up the soap in the shower? The doubles have rooms a tad larger and as I visit, find Dickie pouring G&Ts atop his bedside table, which is actually a small fridge. Roaring with laughter, we down said aperitifs and toast our new country. Italy.
Quaint, medieval, walled, shades of Sarlat evidenced by narrow alleyways, fascinating shops, intriguing art and sculpture, all of us quite entranced. Tapas, Roquford salad, G&T then off to Monaco.
A napping dog in a pram, plump Russians in their undies along side gorgeous bodies in tiny bikinis.
When in France, one must reduce one’s bouffant to a chic pixie cut, just €35, cleverly orchestrated through elaborate sign language, gestures and a deftly murdered French pronounciation. A pixie for Pixie! Apt, the name coined by Fifi and Dicky after twice having to wee in forests.
Once settled, Fifi and I canvassed the local culture then settled into a corner bar to sip €2.50 vin rouge and indulge in a spot of people perving while Dicky napped. The exhaustion of navigating our way through the complexity of foreign signed highways, roads and skinny streets taking their toll.
Well deserved too after a long day exploring Chateau Feodal de Beynac, a castle originating in 1453 and where Joan of Arc was filmed. The view from here is absolutely breathtaking. Lost for words, we simply stare in awe. A ‘very’ scenic drive to Carcassone via Domme, as the Garman continues to confuse us and now secure in the quite magnificent Demeure Saint Lewis, our B&B for this evening.
reluctantly vacated in Mirambeau…but the lovely bottle of vin Rouge that’s fueled our giggly stagger back up through the tiny curved, cobbled and oh so quaint alleyways to our B&B, accompanied by a pretty impressive Quasi Modo knock off as the bells ring in the nearby church…more than makes up for the shortfall.
A steep and narrow cobbled street leads us to Le Lantern hidden behind a rustic wooden door leading into a quaint ivy shrouded courtyard. After meeting our hosts, their dogs Frodo and Phoebe (Frodo sings opera, has a spot on YouTube), throw the kit into our rooms, throw a robust red down our throats then head down into the village to feast.
Next morning we explore Chateau Puymartin, the engineering of its steep stacked stone roof of particular interest. Moving on we explore rock grottos where dwellers have carved homes into the sandstone cliffs.
While my companions were ‘gettin it on’ I wandered the les Fontaines Bleues – beautiful lakes of soft green dappled with the deepest azure blue, almost iridescent and unique to this region, and did my best to capture their depth of brilliance.The springs emerge within a gentle stream, surrounded by light forestry, neighbored by lush grape vines.
After the formalities of checking in we are shown our rooms and shortly after find a welcome tray with a bunch of red roses, petit fours and a personally written welcome letter from the owner. Our rooms are pure opulence…too, too over the top to describe…photos will have to do. Luxurious bubble bath in a great big marble bath, glass of wine, then down to the dining room where we indulge in a Degustation menu.
of Chateau Cheverny, located in Sologne near Blois. Now we are in awe…what a spectacular building, long yet shallow, each room filled with rich tapestries, opulent furnishings and an amazing history as one would expect of a home of this ancestry. This magnificent place has been in the Hurault family for 6 centuries, they live in one wing. Reminds me very much of Franz Josef’s palace in Vienna.
One million royal wedding revelers minus three…that’s us! Eurostar to Paris, Jen and I catch snippets of the wedding on the hire car office TV while Ross prepares the paperwork…we concur…Pippa’s frock is elegantly exquisite, Posh and Becks take the award for ‘uber cool’, Queen Lizzie quite resplendent in butter yellow…we learn later via Twitter that the newly married couple take Will’s Dad’s Aston Martin, resplendent with ‘just married’ balloons, for a spin and collectively conclude that’s a most impressive ‘finger’ to tradition.
our cards or take cash…a wonderful little Frenchman named Thierry coming to our rescue, sympathetic to our plight to the point of gifting us with freshly baked loaves of fabulous bread plus posies of Lilly of the Valley for Jenny and me…possibly resulting from our many broken French platitudes of appreciation translating to the equivalent of ‘marry me’…this beautiful man quickly dispelled the old ‘french are typically arrogant’ myth.
gin, Jenny a big bag of goodies for the Grandies, both satisfied with their conquest, Montague on the Park a quaint, elegant retreat providing a peaceful respite to a couple of very busy days. 
Later, reflecting on the splendor of the chapel’s interior my late PaHannah comes to mind. Pa, a church organ maestro, would have so enjoyed playing it’s magnificent organ pipes.
