Dubai 2012
Folk had warned me that I would not like Dubai, that it’s all concrete and no culture. To hell with culture, for one of my holidays I just wanted fun and adventure, a bit of sun and sand and hanging about the sky. To a large degree Dubai is mainly about fun, but there is plenty of culture to be had too. It’s in the centre of the Arab world with Islam and ancient Bedouin villages. There are traditional dhow boats and abra water taxis, old souks and oriental food. They have not lost their culture to the modernism that abounds. The United Arab Emirates appears to me to be a well and wisely run country where there is the one leader, but there is also a system of partial democracy in operated. The Sheik had seen enough of problems in countries around him and was determined to let his people have a say in how the country should be run. He knew that the oil would run out and turned to tourism. I wanted to see it all for myself and have a great deal of fun in the sun as the nights were closing in at home.
I booked the trip myself with the aid of Gohop.ie, which makes it simple to calculate the total cost and co-ordinate the flight and hotel bookings in one step. Most of the travel brochures direct you to the very expensive iconic hotels in Dubai, but you can keep to budget easily with Gohop. I chose the direct flight with Emirates even though it was a little bit more expensive but by no means ott. The choice of hotels was almost too much, and I wanted one within hot weather walking distance of the sea. I had one tab opened with Gohop, another with Tripadvisor to avoid the thumbs down hotels, and the third with Google Maps to determine the location. It took me over an hour to pin down the Marina Byblos, but my provisional flight booking was held open during my search. This is the beauty of Gohop.
The Marina Byblos is a four star hotel about 15 minutes slow walking from the beach and right beside the Marina, which like the whole of Dubai, is a work in progress. I was delighted to be allocated a room overlooking the marina itself, as despite the name many buildings surround the establishment. In spite of the good reviews there were plenty of not so good ones. I must say I was totally delighted with the place and found my bedroom well equipped, spacious and delightfully decorated with aquamarine colours. In finish it was more 5 star than 4 star. There was complimentary water even though the stuff in the tap is perfectly safe, tea and coffee and bath robe and slippers and a convenient washing line which is all too often missing. The TV screen was large and with a good choice of channels and the bed was super comfy. Breakfast was ok rather than great. I couldn’t really take to the veal rashers, but there was enough choice to keep most people reasonably satisfied, and you could partake from 6 am to 11 am every day - that’s what I call choice. There was a rooftop pool, not very big but adequate and not crowded. Most guests are Russian and this cohort are not in the habit of hogging the loungers and they know how to conduct themselves with decorum.. Not that I spent very much time up there, but it was a nice place to have a pre-dinner swim in the dark. There was a good choice of eateries and night places in the hotel. There was a Russian nightclub and restaurant, but I reckoned I might perhaps be out of my depth there, so I gave my business to the Korean eatery and bar, and got some absolutely delightful food and drink for €20 during happy hour. I also visited the English bar which served me the most the most delicious pork roast I have ever enjoyed in a restaurant. The 2 pork cuts were like thin t-bones char grilled and the potatoes were like I have never tasted before so crispy and fluffy were they. This was served with a gigantic Yorkshire pudding, roast root vegetables and a lovely side of chunky apple sauce with clove. Gravy was served in a mini jug. My late Aunt Kay would have approved of this as she hated anything drenched in sauce of any kind!
But I still haven’t mentioned my flight with Emirates, which takes about 7 and a half hours. I am always impatient on flights across, and was much more relaxed on my return which was mainly in daylight. One thing I appreciated very much was the entertainment system, which included a camera view out from the front of the plane as well as true air speed etc. As an ex amateur pilot I enjoyed calculating approximate v1 and rotate speed etc. and viewing the accuracy of the descent of the 777 aircraft on the glide slope into Dubai using the papi lights. We were very slightly too high then got fractionally low, which told me the plane was being landed by hand rather than using the automatic system. Landings are always lovely on the 777. There was a 3 pin plug on the economy seat at your convenience, and incidentally 3 pin Irish and British are what’s used in UAE. The ICE screen seemed better than BA or Air France, and the food was definitely that bit better. Seat space was alas, similar. We passed very close by Baghdad whilst reading the news that a car bomb had just gone off there, and flew right over Basra on way to the Gulf. Wow, I thought, if we had an engine failure now?
There was a long queue at immigration, but things went very smoothly for my transfer to the hotel, which was a 30 minute high speed motorway drive away. I used Orient tours as my individual transfer method through the Isango booking service. The rep from Orient seemed to recognise me immediately and it was simplicity itself all the way to my hotel, and as I had pre-paid there was no chance of being totally ripped off. As a matter of interest taxis in Dubai are affordable and I was never ripped off during my stay.
On my first day I had a lazy late breakfast as I had arrived in at the early hours. I made my way to the beach by the newly constructed “The Walk” promenade, but it was quite frustrating to find that the only access I could find was via the Sheraton Hotel at the cost of €20. This pretty much doubled at the weekend. Still, it was a most exquisite beach of white sand and clear blue warm water and, as a lone swimmer, I could leave my items quite safely. Whilst I was swimming I noticed small aircraft taking off from a runway which projected into the sea quite nearby, and I wished I could join the passengers which availed of this facility to make a parachute jump. When I say this, I mean I wished I had the choice and courage to do this, because as things stand my eyesight is not sufficient to do this without glasses. Several ladies in Islamic black dress swam in the sea, covered from head to toe. This evening I took a rather exciting jeep trip into the sand dunes of the desert. Two people had warned me about how terrifying this particular ride is, and one lady said she was dreadfully ill and the driver would not stop. I prepared myself for this with a couple of Kwells as I am not the best traveller at the best of times, and that did the trick. The jeep itself was an excellent vehicle with super thick soft seats, with plenty of cushion to grab on to. Just before going off road the convoy of drivers let some air out of the tyres. I knew things were about to commence when we accelerated rapidly towards a huge sand dune, bounced up over the top and half sideways over the other side. This went on relentlessly for about fifteen minutes as I grabbed the thick cushion of the seat for support. Wisely I had not eaten since breakfast. The convoy came to a halt all in a row at the top of the biggest sand dune of them all and we took photos of each other and watched the sun set over the golden desert. Hoods were opened to allow cooling of the engines, before making the final sinking descent towards the camp where we ate a delicious barbecue dinner.
For my second day I had booked my first ever sea plane flight with Seawings, which has its base in the resort of Jebel Ali, some miles down the coast. I took a taxi to get there and just as I was getting out I managed to drop my wallet on the ground. The only id in it was my VHI health insurance card, and folk tracked me down by searching the resort for an “Irish looking female”. There was not a note missing from it. During our briefing all 9 of us, passengers, were advised that one among us should sit up front next to the pilot. With my flying experience I was determined that I should take this seat, and I quietly slipped up to the front of the Cessna Grand Caravan Floatplane. The Australian pilot stepped in after me and asked me what I had flown. He said “well this is just like a big Cessna 172”. Gently and slowly we took to the air and flew up over Palm Jumeirah, Burj al Arab, “The World”, and on by The Creek, distantly parallel to Dubai Airport’s runway where I had a bird’s eye view of the jets taking off. I envied this pilot his plum job, flying a nice single turbo engined aircraft without the worries of carb ice, and with the water to land on in the unlikely case of engine failure. I could see just how relaxed he was as he handed this nice stable aircraft in perfect weather conditions. We descended ever so gradually over the newly developing Palm Jebel Ali as we made our approach to land back on the water. I was a bit surprised to see wind surfers either side of our landing run, it looked just a bit too close for my liking, but at least we could have easily aborted the landing if needs be. The initial touch down was squishy, but this developed into quite a battering sensation as the water slowed us down. It had been a wonderful flight, a tame experience for an old airhead like myself! In order to get back to my hotel I had to rely on the resort’s luxurious limousine, which cost about the same as a taxi in Dublin.
Next morning was a very early risin‘, as it was the day of my first ever hot air balloon trip. I had set my arm to before 3 am as my pick-up time was 4 am. I was taken in a minibus about 50 miles into the desert. The lady sitting next to me was from Cork, and had taken a break from her work in Saudi Arabia during the holiday time of Eid, and I had a good chat with her. The minibus stopped to pick up our affable German pilot, Mike. We drove at speed through the fog of a temperature inversion. I was more afraid of the proximity of all the vehicles than the imminent balloon ride, though all vehicles displayed hazard warning lights. We arrived to a plain close to a Bedouin village where two balloons were being gradually inflated by the ground team. The second and chief pilot of the outfit, handsome Hungarian Peter, was awaiting us. The light was dim. The pilots applied the burners and the baskets turned upright as the balloons lifted from the ground. We were all urged to climb into the tethered baskets, which was a fair feat in itself, 20 of us in each. Peter took off first in his balloon. Then we were un-tethered and rose from the ground effortlessly. There was absolutely no sensation of ascent, just an appearance of things getting smaller below. It was surreal, like watching a movie screen rather than feeling part of it. That is, except when Peter applied the burner, that was like being set alight, so hot was the sensation. I was very glad to be at the edge of the rectangular basket. My friend from Cork was closer to the burner and hated when it was lit. We ascended to 4000 ft and watched the sun rise. Then we began our slow descent over the glowing desert dunes. Peter was in constant radio contact with our Mike and warned him about power lines and military areas. Our ride was to last about an hour, we had no control over direction, yet we had to land close to a road in a safe area. That was quite a lot to ask. The winds varied from zero up high to quite strong close to the ground, the opposite of what normally happens in other places. As we got lower we could see the footsteps of gazelles in the sand, and some greenery. Mike said that these were melons, and someone asked if they were edible. “Unless you are a local, you will spend three weeks on the toilet if you do!” he warned. We were asked to practise landing position. You have to face away from the direction in which the basket is travelling, bend the knees and pull hard on the loop of rope beneath the rim of the basket. I began photographing furiously as we got lower. A pack of camels ran scared. Mike shouted “adopt landing position!”. Then a sharp jerk, followed by the basket tipping backwards as we dragged along the ground. The basket went upright again and came to a halt, but you could feel the balloon trying to tug in the breeze. Myself and the Cork lady were asked to climb out (a very difficult task) before the basket was risen slightly and “walked” into a better position by the ground team. The remainder then disembarked. On the return journey in the minibus Mike had a good chat with us about balloon flying and said that UAE is very strict about aviation safety and that you have to take a separate exam to fly there. He warned us against being tempted to take balloon rides in Turkey as the safety standards are not good, materials used are sub-standard and maintenance poor. This is reflected in the cheap price. He advised that a lot of balloon pilots in Africa turn to drink as there is nothing for them to do after the dawn flight. Balloon flights are not feasible in the heat of the day as thunderstorms occur and the balloon will not rise well in the heat of the ambient air. Balloon pilots do not enjoy the swimming pools and facilities that the tourists do in Africa, but the life style and pay in UAE are very good, and they get back home to their countries of origin in the summer. I arrived back at the hotel at 9.30 am, in time for breakfast!
On day four, I kept to the theme of high places by visiting the tallest building in the world, the Burj Khalifa tower. It was also an opportunity to use the wonderful modern metro train which uses identically designed stations. The Jumeirah Lakes Towers Station was a 10 minute walk from my hotel, and I quickly sussed out how to use the system. I said to myself “well now, the Burj Khalifa is located…yes at Mall of the Emirates, so there I got off and walked in air conditioned comfort into the salubrious shopping centre. I kept looking out for the appropriate signs, only to discover that the Burj Khalifa is situated in the Dubai Mall, a few miles further. For speed I got a taxi, as I had an allotted time slot for the visit. I had to queue for the best part of an hour before reaching the famous fastest lift in the world. I was astonished that there was almost no sensation of ascent in the lift, except for a bit of ear popping. It is engineered to have a gradual acceleration and deceleration, and the only way you can detect the speed is the floor counter display. There’s no time limit at the top, but there is only so much time you actually want to spend up there. However I managed to spend the next six hours wandering around the extensive and amazing Dubai Mall. Apart from enjoying some very tasty food in two of the very many restaurants, I spent not a dirham in the shops. There was so much walking between the outlets that I spent very little time in any one shop, except for the vast bookshop which was about double the size of Penneys in Dundrum. I watched people ice-skating on the Olympic sized rink and looked on as a diver fed the fish in the aquarium. The whole Mall is so vast that it dwarfs Dundrum, and even Blanchardstown. Everywhere I went I noticed that Islamic ladies were taking photographs of one another in front of iconic landmarks whilst covered from head to toe in black dress.
From one Burj to another. The following day I was booked on a half day tour of the traditional places in old Dubai followed by lunch in the Burj al Arab Hotel, one of the most opulent in the world. This day proved to be a little jinxed from the start. After the pick-up in the minibus we were left waiting in hot sun in a car park for an hour before the main coach arrived to start the tour. Some people began to feel unwell. When the microphone refused to work, the Polish guide said “what is the third bad thing that will happen?..today I feel we arte a little jinxed!” He advised me that I was the only one on the coach who opted for the lunch and I was marginally taken aback at the thoughts of dining alone in this poshest of places. We drove to the interesting Dubai Museum in the old Bastakiya are of town, followed by a cross-creek ride on an old abra boat to the spice and gold souks. I resisted the temptation to purchase anything glittery as I gazed at the largest gold ring in the world. Dubai, it seems, is full of world superlatives! The final stop on the tour was at the Burj al Arab Hotel. I was told to wait on the bus as everybody else went out to take a photo of this iconic building in the shape of a billowing sail. They were not going to be allowed inside, unlike myself who had an appointment for lunch there! The guide called me forth to walk to security with him. It was verified that we had an appointment inside. I accompanied him up the moving stairs past the aquarium and hordes of excited young Chinese visitors taking photos of each other in the lobby. We arrived at the reception of the Al Ilwan Arabian buffet restaurant where I was to enjoy my lunch. The young lady in charge said that she had a booking for four, “not just one”, a phrase she used repeatedly. I felt totally conspicuous and awkward. The guide urged me to take a seat on the mezzanine outside and I watched on for fifteen or more minuets as they argued. He stated that this situation had happened previously, but she would not budge from her position. Eventually I was invited in to dine, apologised to in a fashion, but time had eaten into my the lunch hour. The buffet was on its way to closing. It cost me €6 for a small bottle of Pellegrino fizzy water, but I had expected this. My stomach was in such knots that I couldn’t really appreciate the food and I started to wolf items down such that I quickly became overfull. There was lots of choice and very glitzy décor. I really couldn’t make a proper judgement on the food as I was prejudiced by events. I was offered coffee at a price, but I declined as there just wasn’t time to enjoy it. My “revenge” was to write my opinion on the comment card and on my Tripadvisor report. The manager replied back on the latter that I had not indeed been treated as a valued customer and that the person involved was being sent for retraining. I do hope she wasn’t given the boot, and maybe she was in an impossible situation herself and made a scapegoat; I just don’t know.
My final day was a an nice relaxing trip to the wealthy modern capital of Abu Dhabi. We had a particularly lovely and gentle guide from Sri Lanka. Our first stop was at the magnificent Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque. It was compulsory for all the ladies to dress in traditional black robes inside the bus before proceeding to the Mosque. One of the gentlemen had to wear a white robe as he had shorts slightly above the knee. The ladies might get excited! Our guide, being a Muslim, explained about the Islam phone app which points the direction to Mecca and reminds you to pray at the correct times during the day. The Mosque, a rather new building, is absolutely astonishing and worth the hassle of the robes and the gauntlet of humourless security guards that greets you as you enter. Our guide did have a sense of humour and shared a laugh as the ladies giggled in their newly donned Islamic dress. Our next stop in Abu Dhabi was the Sheikh Zayed Centre, a museum with gifts bestowed by foreign countries to the Sheikh, such as the Mercedes Maybach, various animal skins and other dubious goodies. We enjoyed a cup of Arabic coffee. Then it was to the Heritage Village, where I saw a cross camel threaten to bite anyone posing for a picture in front of him, but he never carried out his threat. I petted a lovely small native cow as well as a friendly local Garfield faced grey kitten. There was a small museum, craft buildings and a beautiful white beach with traditional Arab boats lying on the powdery sand. After lunch at the Marina Mall we drove along the beautiful modern Corniche road between the sleek city centre and another white beach before returning to Dubai.
I had so much fun in the sun that I was sorry to be going home the next day, but it was a holiday to remember with hardly a cloud in the sky.
Sunday 4 November 2012
Friday 28 September 2012
Belgium 2012
Belgium, September 2012
This year my annual leave has been reduced, yet little would you know of that with all my flying about! It will be further reduced next year, thanks to the Croke Park Agreement. With that in mind I was doing a routine check on the computer of the leave I had taken, when I noticed they had counted 3 of my free days, including 2 Sundays as Annual Leave. Thus, I discovered I had 3 more days of leave to take than I had imagined. What to do with them?
I’ve always intended to see Bruges, so why not now? Whilst I was at it I thought I may as well see the cities of Ghent, Antwerp and indeed Brussels. I took a look at the Aer Lingus website and found a reasonable fare direct to Belgium’s capital. Earlier in the year I had liked the Four Points by Sheraton Hotel which I’d stayed in during my visit to Beijing., especially the thick comfy bed. I noticed the Four Points in Brussels was rather cheaper than city centre hotels, so I booked there for 4 nights.
I wasn’t expecting too much from Brussels and my first impressions weren’t too good. The train from the airport to the city centre looked like something Hercules Poirot would have been at home in. It had the appearance of being a film set piece from the 1930s, with very dark green furnishings and a friendly-chappy ticket inspector who greeted his passengers with an upbeat Goedemiddag! Goedemiddag! He reminded me of a cartoon character from Tintin. A station guard blew a whistle to start the train, a real blast from the past. On a more serious note I had nearly fallen with my suitcase into the big gap between the platform and the steps up into the train. I had taken a lift from Arrivals to the train station, but could not find a lift down to the platform. Likewise in Gare Centrale, the city centre station, I had to drag my suitcase up escalators and indeed many steps. I wondered what wheelchair users would do - take a taxi I guess. Just outside Gare Centrale was evidence of a person having relieved themselves copiously on the pavement. One would think it were a field of cows. Much rubbish blew about too. It was not a great introduction to Brussels.
I couldn’t see a taxi, so I decided to walk the 2 kilometres or so uphill to Ixelles, where my hotel was located. I ran the gauntlet of shouting gangster types from an ethnic minority as I progressed. Things quieted down as I approached my hotel, and indeed a very nice French speaking gentleman offered help when he saw me glance at my map. Once in my hotel I got a lovely welcome from the reception staff and things went uphill from then on.
Next day was Car-Free Sunday and, apart from the double wheeled vehicles, I had the roads all to myself as I explored the city. Families poured into the centre in their droves of bicycles, others skate-boarded or roller-bladed whilst some came in on horseback. In from of the Royal Palace was a festival of farm produced Belgian food, with stands selling all sorts of edibles. Farm animals in small enclosures were petted by children. Merry-go-rounds swirled in action as jazz bands and classical artists played and families spread out their picnic rugs. It was a jolly nice atmosphere and not a single drunk to be seen anywhere throughout the city. I wandered down to the Grand Place, alight with Mexican music and dancing, with a Scottish Bagpipe band in competition. Such a magnificent sight was this most magnificent of European city squares. Manneken Pis, the peeing statue in the back lanes, sported a yellow and black ogre’s costume for the day. I do not know how anybody located their own bike at the end of the day, so many deep they were, in so many places. The sun blazed in the blue skies above, and I opted to stay outdoors and enjoy this terrific joyful atmosphere. I wandered back uphill to the European quarter to get a real-life perspective on the Berlaymont building, and the EU Parliament building, so oft seen on the TV news. I must have looked approachable as I was asked directions by several people. God only knows how, I must have a fierce frown with the pain of the broken blisters on my heels.
On Monday I took a tour to Antwerp, Belgium’s second city and centre of diamonds. The old city centre was so uncrowned compared to the capital., and was resplendent with beautiful old buildings including the crow-stepped gables typical of Flemish cities. I enjoyed seeing some fine Rubens paintings in the cathedral, and if more time had allowed I would have loved to have seen his house. It was lunch time and I was a bit peckish, so I enjoyed some freshly fried frites from a chip-shop on a quiet calm square. For a while I could have imagined I was in Jerusalem, so many were the Orthodox Jewish gentlemen who wandered through the streets. I hadn’t realised that Antwerp is a great centre of Judaism. It is also a city of diamonds, and I visited a diamond factory and outlet where one of our group, a Chinese lady, bought a little piece of bling.
On Tuesday I joined a tour to the beautiful cities of Ghent and Bruges. Both cities are graced by canals with boat tours and charming buildings. Ghent has the advantage of having far fewer tourists. Its buildings are larger and more sombre. Bruges is packed with visitors and has more intimate streets lined with petite buildings of pastel colours. It was everything I expected it to be and reminded me somewhat of another Hansa city, Estonia’s capital, Tallinn. Some folk on the tour noted that the air felt more crisp here, and our lovely soft-spoken guide pointed out our proximity to the bracing North Sea coast. I had seen Ghent under grey skies but was fortunate that the sun came out for me in Bruges, where I enjoyed a most lovely boat trip through the canals. Whilst in the main square I rook the opportunity to visit the Basilica of the Holy Blood where I paid homage to a vial of red liquid which is supposed to be the blood of Christ washed from His body and taken back to Belgium by the Crusaders. As I hadn’t seen any gardens in front of the houses in Brussels, nor elsewhere (although a wander through Google’s Streetview does reveal some) I was relieved to see many beautifully kept gardens surrounding the suburban bungalows of Bruges. It looked like neighbour was in competition with neighbour as each set each other very high standards in the art of topiary.
On Wednesday I returned to Brussels Airport on a more modern train from Gare Centrale, yet even it had steps down from the passenger compartment with a big gap to the platform. As I joined the check-in desk I noticed Irish MEP Brian Crowley in front of me. Being a wheelchair user I felt like asking him how he feels about the wheelchair-unfriendly train service, but I decided to leave him in peace.
This year my annual leave has been reduced, yet little would you know of that with all my flying about! It will be further reduced next year, thanks to the Croke Park Agreement. With that in mind I was doing a routine check on the computer of the leave I had taken, when I noticed they had counted 3 of my free days, including 2 Sundays as Annual Leave. Thus, I discovered I had 3 more days of leave to take than I had imagined. What to do with them?
I’ve always intended to see Bruges, so why not now? Whilst I was at it I thought I may as well see the cities of Ghent, Antwerp and indeed Brussels. I took a look at the Aer Lingus website and found a reasonable fare direct to Belgium’s capital. Earlier in the year I had liked the Four Points by Sheraton Hotel which I’d stayed in during my visit to Beijing., especially the thick comfy bed. I noticed the Four Points in Brussels was rather cheaper than city centre hotels, so I booked there for 4 nights.
I wasn’t expecting too much from Brussels and my first impressions weren’t too good. The train from the airport to the city centre looked like something Hercules Poirot would have been at home in. It had the appearance of being a film set piece from the 1930s, with very dark green furnishings and a friendly-chappy ticket inspector who greeted his passengers with an upbeat Goedemiddag! Goedemiddag! He reminded me of a cartoon character from Tintin. A station guard blew a whistle to start the train, a real blast from the past. On a more serious note I had nearly fallen with my suitcase into the big gap between the platform and the steps up into the train. I had taken a lift from Arrivals to the train station, but could not find a lift down to the platform. Likewise in Gare Centrale, the city centre station, I had to drag my suitcase up escalators and indeed many steps. I wondered what wheelchair users would do - take a taxi I guess. Just outside Gare Centrale was evidence of a person having relieved themselves copiously on the pavement. One would think it were a field of cows. Much rubbish blew about too. It was not a great introduction to Brussels.
I couldn’t see a taxi, so I decided to walk the 2 kilometres or so uphill to Ixelles, where my hotel was located. I ran the gauntlet of shouting gangster types from an ethnic minority as I progressed. Things quieted down as I approached my hotel, and indeed a very nice French speaking gentleman offered help when he saw me glance at my map. Once in my hotel I got a lovely welcome from the reception staff and things went uphill from then on.
Next day was Car-Free Sunday and, apart from the double wheeled vehicles, I had the roads all to myself as I explored the city. Families poured into the centre in their droves of bicycles, others skate-boarded or roller-bladed whilst some came in on horseback. In from of the Royal Palace was a festival of farm produced Belgian food, with stands selling all sorts of edibles. Farm animals in small enclosures were petted by children. Merry-go-rounds swirled in action as jazz bands and classical artists played and families spread out their picnic rugs. It was a jolly nice atmosphere and not a single drunk to be seen anywhere throughout the city. I wandered down to the Grand Place, alight with Mexican music and dancing, with a Scottish Bagpipe band in competition. Such a magnificent sight was this most magnificent of European city squares. Manneken Pis, the peeing statue in the back lanes, sported a yellow and black ogre’s costume for the day. I do not know how anybody located their own bike at the end of the day, so many deep they were, in so many places. The sun blazed in the blue skies above, and I opted to stay outdoors and enjoy this terrific joyful atmosphere. I wandered back uphill to the European quarter to get a real-life perspective on the Berlaymont building, and the EU Parliament building, so oft seen on the TV news. I must have looked approachable as I was asked directions by several people. God only knows how, I must have a fierce frown with the pain of the broken blisters on my heels.
On Monday I took a tour to Antwerp, Belgium’s second city and centre of diamonds. The old city centre was so uncrowned compared to the capital., and was resplendent with beautiful old buildings including the crow-stepped gables typical of Flemish cities. I enjoyed seeing some fine Rubens paintings in the cathedral, and if more time had allowed I would have loved to have seen his house. It was lunch time and I was a bit peckish, so I enjoyed some freshly fried frites from a chip-shop on a quiet calm square. For a while I could have imagined I was in Jerusalem, so many were the Orthodox Jewish gentlemen who wandered through the streets. I hadn’t realised that Antwerp is a great centre of Judaism. It is also a city of diamonds, and I visited a diamond factory and outlet where one of our group, a Chinese lady, bought a little piece of bling.
On Tuesday I joined a tour to the beautiful cities of Ghent and Bruges. Both cities are graced by canals with boat tours and charming buildings. Ghent has the advantage of having far fewer tourists. Its buildings are larger and more sombre. Bruges is packed with visitors and has more intimate streets lined with petite buildings of pastel colours. It was everything I expected it to be and reminded me somewhat of another Hansa city, Estonia’s capital, Tallinn. Some folk on the tour noted that the air felt more crisp here, and our lovely soft-spoken guide pointed out our proximity to the bracing North Sea coast. I had seen Ghent under grey skies but was fortunate that the sun came out for me in Bruges, where I enjoyed a most lovely boat trip through the canals. Whilst in the main square I rook the opportunity to visit the Basilica of the Holy Blood where I paid homage to a vial of red liquid which is supposed to be the blood of Christ washed from His body and taken back to Belgium by the Crusaders. As I hadn’t seen any gardens in front of the houses in Brussels, nor elsewhere (although a wander through Google’s Streetview does reveal some) I was relieved to see many beautifully kept gardens surrounding the suburban bungalows of Bruges. It looked like neighbour was in competition with neighbour as each set each other very high standards in the art of topiary.
On Wednesday I returned to Brussels Airport on a more modern train from Gare Centrale, yet even it had steps down from the passenger compartment with a big gap to the platform. As I joined the check-in desk I noticed Irish MEP Brian Crowley in front of me. Being a wheelchair user I felt like asking him how he feels about the wheelchair-unfriendly train service, but I decided to leave him in peace.
Monday 13 August 2012
Isle of Gigha
Isle of Gigha - August 2012
I just love visiting islands, and have set foot upon quite a few Scottish isles to date. Scotland was the second country I spent my main summer holiday after I commenced my working life, and at that time I got a commuter ticket to visit the Highlands and Islands by boat, bus and train. I managed to see the Isles of Skye, Harris and Lewis as well as Orkney. Since that I have visited Scotland and its islands many times, but there is such an endless number of them it would take a devoted lifetime to see them all. You might recall that last year I called to Islay and Jura of whisky and deer fame respectively.
On the August Bank Holiday weekend I got this year’s fix of Hebridean island on the Isle of Gigha, midway west of the Kintyre Peninsula on the west coast of Scotland. On the Friday I flew on the first and cheapest flight with Aer Lingus on an ATR72 operated by Aer Arann. I am familiar with travelling on the latter airline and noticed they had cleaned up the normally grubby interiors to fit in with the Aer Lingus ethos.
I arrived in Glasgow in time for a leisurely breakfast which I took at the middling facilities at Glasgow Airport before took the commuter bus to Buchanan Bus Station. From there I caught an early afternoon Citylink coach destined for Campbeltown, but my get-off point was eight house village Tayinloan, some 20 miles or so from the end destination. The bus route is very scenic, passing most of the length of Loch Lomond, through the mountain pass by Rest and Be Thankful, and down the Kintyre Peninsula via Inveraray, Lochgilphead and Tarbert. The journey should have taken about 4 hours but a landslide at Rest and Be Thankful meant an extra hour of travelling. The ferry terminal was half a mile walk from Tayinloan, so that I speeded with suitcase to catch the second last boat to Gigha. It took just 20 minutes smooth sailing to reach the island and I walked uphill for less than half a mile to the Gigha Hotel.
The Isle of Gigha was bought over by the islanders from the laird, and more people have since settled there. The Hotel is community owned and therefore a feel-good factor about giving it your custom. It has a cosy bar, a wee lounge, a fairly large dining room and a good guest lounge. I was on a dinner, bed and breakfast single room package for £60 per night. Breakfast was substantial with decent options for evening meal, including the lovely island farmed halibut.
Having left very wet weather in Glasgow I had travelled under relatively clear skies, and enjoyed mainly fair weather for my three night day. The first morning was bright and sunny and I walked down the inviting path to the local cove of powder white sands on Ardminish Bay, named after the only village on the isle. A tortoise sand sculpture was etched out of the sand and a giant scallop shell looked very pretty nearby. In the near distance on the flat calm bay a row of sailing boats were moored in very safe shelter. I donned my bathing costume and waded out into the crystal clear bay with the icy water and some crabs nipping at me. In spite of the cold it felt very good to be there standing quite far out in the level bay looking around the the rocky shores dotted with sandy coves and a long jetty where children laughed as they launched themselves into the sea wearing hired wetsuits.
But I had more fish to fry and I walked on southwards past village houses with walls adorned with flourishing masses of red roses and orange mombretia and all sorts of wild flowers growing in the ditches. I bought a few goodies from an honesty stand, put my money in a box and took the due change. Onwards I passed a beautiful woods which would look dazzling with bluebells in May, my destination being the famed Achamore Gardens, pride of Gigha. Another honesty box was present for entry fees and souvenir booklets. In the gardens stands Achamore House, once manor of the laird and now a privately run bed and breakfast and production centre of floral essence. The gardens were thriving with all sorts of exotic plants which normally grow in more southerly climes. Gigha has a microclimate with little frost compared with the mainland. The photographs which I took best illustrate the range of plants, some of which I had never seen before. A beautiful walled garden was abundant with flowers.
Further up from the gardens I visited the ruins of 12th century Kilchattan Church, before succumbing to the temptation of seeking out a signposted craft shop. I walked past some beautiful self catering houses, and then heard a dog barking. The lady of the house came out and showed me into her aladdins cave of handmade goodies, some of which I purchased. She pointed out to the white bay beyond her, saying how lucky she was to be living in such a beautiful place.
Later I enjoyed an evening swim from a little cove by the campsite which was ablaze with bar-b-cues in celebration of someone’s 30th birthday. The whole community had descended down and music throbbed in the nearby Boathouse café-bar. The water felt rather less cold this time and a quick shower washed me down as I got out of the water. Close by a small hovercraft sat beached on the sand, presumably ready to participate in rescue missions along with the voluntary fire brigade.
I was quite worried about catching my flight back from Glasgow on Monday as my timings depended on the bus being fairly punctual. Everybody was talking about the Rest and Be Thankful landslide and how it closed the road for days the las time it happened. I had visions of having to undertake a lengthy and expensive taxi journey to catch a flight to Glasgow from Campbeltown near the end of the Kintyre peninsula. I had no access to the internet and texted my cousins, asking them to google the relevant information. Cousin Johnny texted me back with the happy news that the road had now opened. I could now relax.
Sunday was a duller day, but dry throughout. I decided to walk five miles in the opposite direction to the slightly wilder north end of the island, where a series of rocky headlands and beaches like. I have developed quite a few aches and pains all over my joints which my consultant believes to be rheumatoid arthritis, though I am awaiting test results before starting injections to counteract it. I am very stiff and out of condition when I awake, but normally I “thaw out” somewhat as I get a bit of moving about. This walk I undertook was really too much for me that day, especially the five miles back to the hotel. Afterwards I spent hours asleep and could hardly eat a bite. It taught be a lesson in moderation of exercise. The walk provided some interesting sights including a wonderful standing stone and an isthmus connecting a small isle with two sandy beaches either side. I got waving and chatting to the odd cyclist and walker and came across the most magnificently flourishing wild flowers, including the most perfect Scottish thistles. I saw black and white sheep, horses, ducks and geese, but strangely no chickens in spite of the fluffy island egg omelettes at breakfast.
My journey home went without event and I enjoyed the beautiful scenery at Rest and Be Thankful before returning to Glasgow for my flight home. The city was awash with powerful rain storms; now hadn’t I been lucky!
I just love visiting islands, and have set foot upon quite a few Scottish isles to date. Scotland was the second country I spent my main summer holiday after I commenced my working life, and at that time I got a commuter ticket to visit the Highlands and Islands by boat, bus and train. I managed to see the Isles of Skye, Harris and Lewis as well as Orkney. Since that I have visited Scotland and its islands many times, but there is such an endless number of them it would take a devoted lifetime to see them all. You might recall that last year I called to Islay and Jura of whisky and deer fame respectively.
On the August Bank Holiday weekend I got this year’s fix of Hebridean island on the Isle of Gigha, midway west of the Kintyre Peninsula on the west coast of Scotland. On the Friday I flew on the first and cheapest flight with Aer Lingus on an ATR72 operated by Aer Arann. I am familiar with travelling on the latter airline and noticed they had cleaned up the normally grubby interiors to fit in with the Aer Lingus ethos.
I arrived in Glasgow in time for a leisurely breakfast which I took at the middling facilities at Glasgow Airport before took the commuter bus to Buchanan Bus Station. From there I caught an early afternoon Citylink coach destined for Campbeltown, but my get-off point was eight house village Tayinloan, some 20 miles or so from the end destination. The bus route is very scenic, passing most of the length of Loch Lomond, through the mountain pass by Rest and Be Thankful, and down the Kintyre Peninsula via Inveraray, Lochgilphead and Tarbert. The journey should have taken about 4 hours but a landslide at Rest and Be Thankful meant an extra hour of travelling. The ferry terminal was half a mile walk from Tayinloan, so that I speeded with suitcase to catch the second last boat to Gigha. It took just 20 minutes smooth sailing to reach the island and I walked uphill for less than half a mile to the Gigha Hotel.
The Isle of Gigha was bought over by the islanders from the laird, and more people have since settled there. The Hotel is community owned and therefore a feel-good factor about giving it your custom. It has a cosy bar, a wee lounge, a fairly large dining room and a good guest lounge. I was on a dinner, bed and breakfast single room package for £60 per night. Breakfast was substantial with decent options for evening meal, including the lovely island farmed halibut.
Having left very wet weather in Glasgow I had travelled under relatively clear skies, and enjoyed mainly fair weather for my three night day. The first morning was bright and sunny and I walked down the inviting path to the local cove of powder white sands on Ardminish Bay, named after the only village on the isle. A tortoise sand sculpture was etched out of the sand and a giant scallop shell looked very pretty nearby. In the near distance on the flat calm bay a row of sailing boats were moored in very safe shelter. I donned my bathing costume and waded out into the crystal clear bay with the icy water and some crabs nipping at me. In spite of the cold it felt very good to be there standing quite far out in the level bay looking around the the rocky shores dotted with sandy coves and a long jetty where children laughed as they launched themselves into the sea wearing hired wetsuits.
But I had more fish to fry and I walked on southwards past village houses with walls adorned with flourishing masses of red roses and orange mombretia and all sorts of wild flowers growing in the ditches. I bought a few goodies from an honesty stand, put my money in a box and took the due change. Onwards I passed a beautiful woods which would look dazzling with bluebells in May, my destination being the famed Achamore Gardens, pride of Gigha. Another honesty box was present for entry fees and souvenir booklets. In the gardens stands Achamore House, once manor of the laird and now a privately run bed and breakfast and production centre of floral essence. The gardens were thriving with all sorts of exotic plants which normally grow in more southerly climes. Gigha has a microclimate with little frost compared with the mainland. The photographs which I took best illustrate the range of plants, some of which I had never seen before. A beautiful walled garden was abundant with flowers.
Further up from the gardens I visited the ruins of 12th century Kilchattan Church, before succumbing to the temptation of seeking out a signposted craft shop. I walked past some beautiful self catering houses, and then heard a dog barking. The lady of the house came out and showed me into her aladdins cave of handmade goodies, some of which I purchased. She pointed out to the white bay beyond her, saying how lucky she was to be living in such a beautiful place.
Later I enjoyed an evening swim from a little cove by the campsite which was ablaze with bar-b-cues in celebration of someone’s 30th birthday. The whole community had descended down and music throbbed in the nearby Boathouse café-bar. The water felt rather less cold this time and a quick shower washed me down as I got out of the water. Close by a small hovercraft sat beached on the sand, presumably ready to participate in rescue missions along with the voluntary fire brigade.
I was quite worried about catching my flight back from Glasgow on Monday as my timings depended on the bus being fairly punctual. Everybody was talking about the Rest and Be Thankful landslide and how it closed the road for days the las time it happened. I had visions of having to undertake a lengthy and expensive taxi journey to catch a flight to Glasgow from Campbeltown near the end of the Kintyre peninsula. I had no access to the internet and texted my cousins, asking them to google the relevant information. Cousin Johnny texted me back with the happy news that the road had now opened. I could now relax.
Sunday was a duller day, but dry throughout. I decided to walk five miles in the opposite direction to the slightly wilder north end of the island, where a series of rocky headlands and beaches like. I have developed quite a few aches and pains all over my joints which my consultant believes to be rheumatoid arthritis, though I am awaiting test results before starting injections to counteract it. I am very stiff and out of condition when I awake, but normally I “thaw out” somewhat as I get a bit of moving about. This walk I undertook was really too much for me that day, especially the five miles back to the hotel. Afterwards I spent hours asleep and could hardly eat a bite. It taught be a lesson in moderation of exercise. The walk provided some interesting sights including a wonderful standing stone and an isthmus connecting a small isle with two sandy beaches either side. I got waving and chatting to the odd cyclist and walker and came across the most magnificently flourishing wild flowers, including the most perfect Scottish thistles. I saw black and white sheep, horses, ducks and geese, but strangely no chickens in spite of the fluffy island egg omelettes at breakfast.
My journey home went without event and I enjoyed the beautiful scenery at Rest and Be Thankful before returning to Glasgow for my flight home. The city was awash with powerful rain storms; now hadn’t I been lucky!
Sunday 15 July 2012
China & Japan 2012
On 13th June 2012 I set off from Dublin Airport headed to Beijing with The Travel Department. The itinerary sounded particularly attractive, visiting China’s capital city and its famous attractions, the Great Wall, Shanghai, followed by a cruise to Japan and South Korea. A combination of culture and leisure, just splendid.
In Heathrow I joined the 10 hour British Airways B777 flight where I was stuck at a window seat, but could not avail of the daylight views most of the way thanks to the crew requesting that all window blinds be pulled down. Forget about films, the best in-flight entertainment to me is following the flight’s progress on the detailed map screen in front of me. Towards the end of the journey I could see we were make a long and circuitous descent to Beijing, and parts of the Great Wall were visible in the surrounding hills. Our captain apologised about heavy air traffic delaying our morning arrival.
Beijing Capital Airport is a revelation in terms of modernity and technology. It was a promising introduction to China. Our Travel Department Guide, Dennis Dai, was holding up a placard to identify himself in arrivals. His first advice was to make use of the modern clean self-flushing toilets in the airport as we would not be seeing such until checking-in to our hotel until the afternoon. We were soon to learn that squat toilets were the norm, and as often as not very unhygienic.
Our first sight in Beijing was the Bird’s Nest Olympic Stadium as we made our way to the Summer Palace en route to our hotel. Denis proved to be a very enthusiastic and knowledgeable guide, having a degree in English Literature and an ambition to engage himself in Celtic studies. He taught us a few basic Chinese phrases, including xie xie which means “thank you”., and warned us that the reply will sound quite like “bullshit”! He knew all the Irish colloquialisms and accents, and could do a perfect impersonation of a Cork or a Belfast accent. Best of all, he said “My Chinese name is Ning, my English name is Denis, but you can all call me Donnchada”.
We stayed at the five star Four Points by Sheraton Hotel in the business district of Haidian. The bedrooms were smart and luxurious with glass walled bathrooms. I was glad not to be sharing it, but there was a pull down curtain available. Some expensive shopping malls provided immediate retail therapy to the many shopping zealots in our group. Some of them brought a couple of empty suitcases and managed to fill them up over the trip. I really do not know how they got away without paying excess.
I just loved the Chinese food, almost every morsel of it. The style of eating appealed to me where small multiple portions of food are sampled without great mounds of any one item as we tend to have in Ireland. Breakfasts had great variety of both Chinese and western food, and evening meals were almost exclusively Chinese. It suited my dodgy stomach very well indeed, although most of the others had to resort to medications to calm upset tummies. The one thing I did not eat was shellfish and I think that was the others’ downfall.
Katie Melua was not quite accurate in her estimate of the number of bicycles in Beijing. There were not that many, though cycle lanes are provided but not used correctly. But the bicycles that did exist were respected, un-vandalised as they stood, many of them unlocked, on their stands. I have never seen so many cars in my life, decent sized cars, crowding out the monstrous boulevards of big grey square buildings. It would take nearly an hour to travel from our hotel to the restaurant, so great was the gridlock. However grey these boulevards are, they are invariably lines with trees and perfectly trimmed hedges, grass and flowers. There is an almost complete absence of litter and graffiti, with lots of people employed in cleaning the pavements. I congratulate each one of them.
Over the days we visited the principal historic sites of Beijing, starting with Tian-an-Men Square, an unattractive plain open space relieved by the imaginative planting of flowers. More enlightening was the Forbidden City, also called the Imperial Palace. This is a city-within-a-city, a huge complex of red walled, red Oriental roofed buildings. We walked from one open air enclosure with palace buildings at either end/or sides, to the next. The sun was blazing 41C, we were sipping water but trying not to drink to much of it for fear of needing to spend a penny as the toilets are horrendous. I managed to go the whole day without need of a loo, not a very healthy boast. This Forbidden City was wonderful, but it reminded me of a recurring silly nightmare of a city I can’t get out of.
Nest day we visited the Great Wall, another impossibly hot day for such activity, but it was wonderful to get into the mountains. En route we called by a jade carving factory and the Sacred Way, a beautiful promenade of statues overlooked by willow trees. At least the loos were clean in these places, although toilet paper was not the norm. I have to confess that I climbed no more than a handful of steps at the Great Wall. For a start the metal handrails were burning hot, and I always need to hold these, especially coming down, as I have variable binocular vision and inflammatory arthritis often makes it a fairly painful experience. The steps were very deep and uneven. I just did not want to risk an needless fall. Instead I sheltered behind one of the towers where a nice crowd of young Chinese people shared the shade with their frail grandparents who used wheelchairs. They helped their elderly relatives to take a few wobbly steps on the Wall before returning to their wheelchairs. Many photographs were taken. It was obvious that it was a lifelong ambition for these for to accomplish this, and that they could not have made this achievement but for the wonderful kindness of their grandchildren. There were smiles all around and I think I achieved more by witnessing this than if I had climbed to the top-most tower.
We enjoyed a lovely dinner which featured Peking Duck among other delights. The duck was far superior to any equivalent I tasted in Ireland. It was crispy, yet melt in the mouth. After this meal some of us opted to enjoy a brilliant Kung Fu show in the theatre next door. However this was the first instance where we were ripped off by having to pay two thirds more the local folk. It is understandable that we should pay more, but not three times the price, surely?
The following day we were taken on a delightful rickshaw ride through the Hutongs or lanes of old Beijing. Everybody thought this was the most enjoyable aspect of Beijing. I shared my rickshaw with Paddy from Mayo, the only other solo traveller on the trip. The cyclist was a charming man who wanted to know what part of Ireland we were from. The trip through the old lanes was such a contrast to modern Beijing! I noted quite a few dogs in this district, and none of them was a mongrel. Most puzzling of all was the presence of a rare perfectly clipped and groomed Bedlington Terrier from Northumbria. These dogs are very difficult and expensive to obtain in Ireland and even Britain, from where they originate. The well cared for dog was walking the lanes along with other breed such as the ever popular Red Poodle, another rarity. I asked where all the cats had gone and I was advised that they live on the roofs of the single storey buildings, keeping the mice and rats at bay. There are not that many dog owners, but those who do own them treat them like children. No wonder since they are only allowed one child. A lot of the Chinese think it barbaric to eat dog or cat, as practised by some people in the south of the country. On this tour we visited a traditional old house with a courtyard. These courtyards get filled with snow in the winter, but the thick walls prevent the rooms getting too cold in winter and too hot in summer. Our last visit in Beijing was to the Temple of Heaven, set in a park. Remarkably a group of Chinese people were singing Jingle Bells and we all started to laugh; they joined in the good natured laughing.
Our flight from Beijing to Shanghai took just two hours. Check-in was a breeze, very efficient and superbly organised. Three of our group had brought cigarette lighters in their main luggage through Dublin and Heathrow Airports, but they did not escape the notice of Beijing Airport. The officials are really very pleasant in China, but I suppose they can afford to be, as they have such immense suppose from their technology. I was really comfortable travelling with China Eastern Airlines. Their safety card featured extensive photographs in lieu of obscure drawings, and the video featured an aircraft being evacuated. The meal on board was memorable for all the wrong reasons. It was the first flight of the day to Shanghai. And featured a breakfast of congee purple rice porridge, a brown boiled egg embedded amid fresh raw celery, a strange type of burger, a yoghurt and mineral water plus two servings of coffee.
When we landed in Pudong Shanghai Airport Denis introduced us to our guide in Shanghai, Eugenia. She and her father suffered from having being well educated. They were both sent to remote cities, with little chance of spreading their knowledge too far. She said things have changed a great deal for the better.
We boarded the Maglev Train in Shanghai Airport and travelled at fastest, 431kph, to Pudong in the midst of the modern side of Shanghai. It’s smooth, fast and magnetically levitates as it goes, but is a bit of a white elephant as it goes well far from the city centre.
Once on board our coach we travelled to the cosy and beautiful Yu Gardens on our way to the hotel. Skies were grey and spewing rain, as Denis had described the Shanghai climate as “Irish weather”. The Yu Gardens are typical Chinese gardens with as many buildings as plantations, but they were absolutely delightful and the bazaar or shopping area surrounding them somewhat reminded me of Chester in England. Following was a visit to the silk centre where we learnt abut the production to silk and some folk bought silk duvets.
We stayed at the Radisson Blu Hotel, Century Park, Pudong. Shanghai proved to have even more trees, topiary hedges, bushes and flowers than Beijing, but the architecture here is far superior and way more imaginative. It is as city that clearly reminds me of Singapore. The hotel was superb, but with similar bathroom arrangements as Beijing. In the evening we enjoyed a river cruise on the Huang Pu which travels between the modern Pudong area and the old European style riverside area of the Bund. A magical one hour cruise, but it cost two three times the price that it cost the locals, typical of the way foreigners are treated in China.
One night spent in Shanghai, we went through the lengthy but very polite process of embarking on the Voyager of the Seas, belong to cruise company Royal Caribbean International. We were scheduled for a five night cruise to Fukuoka and Nagasaki, Japan, and Jeju Island in South Korea. First of impressions of the ship were just ok, compared to my first sort of cruising experience on the Hurtigruten line of small ships along the Norwegian coast the previous year. I preferred the latter, smaller, more discreet ship, but I would have perfectly enjoyed this cruises were it not for our the abundance of fellow cruise passengers who hailed from rural area of China and who just simply did not know how to conduct themselves. Soon I learned to having my breakfast delivered to my cabin as it was such a nightmare to try and queue up for food in the breakfast café only to have your plate robbed to taken right out of your hands. The Chinese (“culchies” as Denis described them) elbowed their way in lifts, queues, spat everywhere, and made life generally highly unpleasant on board. The staff were wonderful, and my cabin attendant made creations of all types of towel animals such as the chimpanzee! Generally speaking, food was mediocre.
Our first port of call was Fukuoka in Japan, overcast with grey skies. Apparently we had been very fortunate to have escaped a typhoon. Aside from grey skies, Fukuoka was very enjoyable and I visited Ohori Park Japanese gardens, Fukuoka Tower and a lovely Shinto Temple. I learned that folk who follow the Japanese Shinto faith have to be buried under Buddhist rites as the former don’t accept death.
shows dining room food
We had a short enough voyage onwards to Nagasaki. The shows in the ship’s theatre proved to be very entertaining, and the bars were quiet almost to the point of being vacant owing to the Chinese people’s fondness for remaining in the Casino.
I opted for the full day tour of Nagasaki, which ironically omitted the Peace Park and Atomic Bomb Museum. Instead we visited the Mount of the Christian Martyrs and its Museum, the cable car to Mount Inasa, then followed by a fully Japanese meal in a hotel on the side of the hill. We were thrilled to see at close proximity a brown kite with yellow beak fly right by the window on its way to its nest. The Japanese people proved to be absolutely delightful and as delightful as the Cambodians I had experienced the previous year. Lastly we visited the very interesting Nagasaki Museum of History and Culture. It had been a beautiful and utterly pleasant day, but all hell broke loose as we tried to re-board Voyager.
Re-boarding the ship was an utter nightmare I prefer to forget. Eventually I got to my cabin only to find that my next tour to Hallim Park on Jeju Island in South Korea had been cancelled. In one way I was disappointed, but in another way relieved not to have to face a repeat of re-boarding the ship. The letter suggested I might like to go to the Customer Desk to try book a different trip on Jeju, but I was not in the mood for queuing again down at the desk. I vowed to make the most of an empty ship the next day.
In the morning I enjoyed a lie-in and looked out at the distant city buildings of Jeju. Voyager was moored in the docks, well away from the city centre. The quayside was empty and I decided to venture out just to be able to say I had set foot on South Korean soil. Just above me was a hillside with a white lighthouse perched half way up and a long road curved behind to the city. I did not venture far as there seemed to be just miles of dockland and I had no Korean money to hire a taxi. I returned to the Voyager rather quickly and had a swim in the pool under the muggy grey skies. I very much came to regret that I did not book an alternative trip as I heard favourable accounts of how the others had got on . They all agreed it was the only time on this holiday that they witnessed pastoral scenes of horses and cows in the fields. Most went to see what they described as the most impressive temple of the whole trip together with a volcanic coast that closely resembled the Giant’s Causeway and a Teddy Bear museum.
A day later we returned to Baoshan port in Shanghai, where disembarkation was a remarkably smooth process. Our group were kept well distanced from the mobs and it was a joy to be back in this great city. However, a middle aged couple from our group were initially denied re-entry to China because they had omitted to obtain a double-entry visa. The Travel Department had emphasised the importance of the double-entry visa, so they really only had themselves to blame. We couldn’t help feeling sorry for them as there was great uncertainty as to what would happen next. They wanted them to return to Japan on the ship, but they reckoned they would have jumped off ship rather than go through another similar cruise. An emergency visa was processed by the Chinese Embassy in Dublin despite it being a Sunday and after several hours of being denied access to food, water, toilet, seat etc. they were allowed through and got a taxi to the hotel.
In the meantime our coach departed for Shanghai city centre to visit the Oriental Pearl Tower, the magnificent Shanghai Museum and Xintiandi. I mustered up the courage to walk out on the glass floor in the Pearl Tower with the city far beneath me. The city’s smog helped to kill the sensation of such elevation, so it was not such a big deal for someone like me with a fear of heights. (Yes I know I flew airplanes, no bother). I fear heights I’m not attached to.
The Radisson Hotel was well located and had a similar bathroom arrangement. The food was equally delicious. Most of the hotel had a white/black theme. In the evening I went for my usual buffet delights. As I was carry my plate of food from the buffet to my table my foot rolled over at the bottom of the two steps. I had only recalled there being one step, and the white-black-white colour scheme failed to draw my attention to the second step. I ordered some wine and finished feeling pain for the moment.
The journey home was painful for the fact of my injured foot as it swelled throughout the twelve hour journey. Worst of all was the traipsing through Heathrow from Terminal 5 to Terminal. An xray next morning proved the damage was simply soft tissue injury which took a few weekks to recover.
In Heathrow I joined the 10 hour British Airways B777 flight where I was stuck at a window seat, but could not avail of the daylight views most of the way thanks to the crew requesting that all window blinds be pulled down. Forget about films, the best in-flight entertainment to me is following the flight’s progress on the detailed map screen in front of me. Towards the end of the journey I could see we were make a long and circuitous descent to Beijing, and parts of the Great Wall were visible in the surrounding hills. Our captain apologised about heavy air traffic delaying our morning arrival.
Beijing Capital Airport is a revelation in terms of modernity and technology. It was a promising introduction to China. Our Travel Department Guide, Dennis Dai, was holding up a placard to identify himself in arrivals. His first advice was to make use of the modern clean self-flushing toilets in the airport as we would not be seeing such until checking-in to our hotel until the afternoon. We were soon to learn that squat toilets were the norm, and as often as not very unhygienic.
Our first sight in Beijing was the Bird’s Nest Olympic Stadium as we made our way to the Summer Palace en route to our hotel. Denis proved to be a very enthusiastic and knowledgeable guide, having a degree in English Literature and an ambition to engage himself in Celtic studies. He taught us a few basic Chinese phrases, including xie xie which means “thank you”., and warned us that the reply will sound quite like “bullshit”! He knew all the Irish colloquialisms and accents, and could do a perfect impersonation of a Cork or a Belfast accent. Best of all, he said “My Chinese name is Ning, my English name is Denis, but you can all call me Donnchada”.
We stayed at the five star Four Points by Sheraton Hotel in the business district of Haidian. The bedrooms were smart and luxurious with glass walled bathrooms. I was glad not to be sharing it, but there was a pull down curtain available. Some expensive shopping malls provided immediate retail therapy to the many shopping zealots in our group. Some of them brought a couple of empty suitcases and managed to fill them up over the trip. I really do not know how they got away without paying excess.
I just loved the Chinese food, almost every morsel of it. The style of eating appealed to me where small multiple portions of food are sampled without great mounds of any one item as we tend to have in Ireland. Breakfasts had great variety of both Chinese and western food, and evening meals were almost exclusively Chinese. It suited my dodgy stomach very well indeed, although most of the others had to resort to medications to calm upset tummies. The one thing I did not eat was shellfish and I think that was the others’ downfall.
Katie Melua was not quite accurate in her estimate of the number of bicycles in Beijing. There were not that many, though cycle lanes are provided but not used correctly. But the bicycles that did exist were respected, un-vandalised as they stood, many of them unlocked, on their stands. I have never seen so many cars in my life, decent sized cars, crowding out the monstrous boulevards of big grey square buildings. It would take nearly an hour to travel from our hotel to the restaurant, so great was the gridlock. However grey these boulevards are, they are invariably lines with trees and perfectly trimmed hedges, grass and flowers. There is an almost complete absence of litter and graffiti, with lots of people employed in cleaning the pavements. I congratulate each one of them.
Over the days we visited the principal historic sites of Beijing, starting with Tian-an-Men Square, an unattractive plain open space relieved by the imaginative planting of flowers. More enlightening was the Forbidden City, also called the Imperial Palace. This is a city-within-a-city, a huge complex of red walled, red Oriental roofed buildings. We walked from one open air enclosure with palace buildings at either end/or sides, to the next. The sun was blazing 41C, we were sipping water but trying not to drink to much of it for fear of needing to spend a penny as the toilets are horrendous. I managed to go the whole day without need of a loo, not a very healthy boast. This Forbidden City was wonderful, but it reminded me of a recurring silly nightmare of a city I can’t get out of.
Nest day we visited the Great Wall, another impossibly hot day for such activity, but it was wonderful to get into the mountains. En route we called by a jade carving factory and the Sacred Way, a beautiful promenade of statues overlooked by willow trees. At least the loos were clean in these places, although toilet paper was not the norm. I have to confess that I climbed no more than a handful of steps at the Great Wall. For a start the metal handrails were burning hot, and I always need to hold these, especially coming down, as I have variable binocular vision and inflammatory arthritis often makes it a fairly painful experience. The steps were very deep and uneven. I just did not want to risk an needless fall. Instead I sheltered behind one of the towers where a nice crowd of young Chinese people shared the shade with their frail grandparents who used wheelchairs. They helped their elderly relatives to take a few wobbly steps on the Wall before returning to their wheelchairs. Many photographs were taken. It was obvious that it was a lifelong ambition for these for to accomplish this, and that they could not have made this achievement but for the wonderful kindness of their grandchildren. There were smiles all around and I think I achieved more by witnessing this than if I had climbed to the top-most tower.
We enjoyed a lovely dinner which featured Peking Duck among other delights. The duck was far superior to any equivalent I tasted in Ireland. It was crispy, yet melt in the mouth. After this meal some of us opted to enjoy a brilliant Kung Fu show in the theatre next door. However this was the first instance where we were ripped off by having to pay two thirds more the local folk. It is understandable that we should pay more, but not three times the price, surely?
The following day we were taken on a delightful rickshaw ride through the Hutongs or lanes of old Beijing. Everybody thought this was the most enjoyable aspect of Beijing. I shared my rickshaw with Paddy from Mayo, the only other solo traveller on the trip. The cyclist was a charming man who wanted to know what part of Ireland we were from. The trip through the old lanes was such a contrast to modern Beijing! I noted quite a few dogs in this district, and none of them was a mongrel. Most puzzling of all was the presence of a rare perfectly clipped and groomed Bedlington Terrier from Northumbria. These dogs are very difficult and expensive to obtain in Ireland and even Britain, from where they originate. The well cared for dog was walking the lanes along with other breed such as the ever popular Red Poodle, another rarity. I asked where all the cats had gone and I was advised that they live on the roofs of the single storey buildings, keeping the mice and rats at bay. There are not that many dog owners, but those who do own them treat them like children. No wonder since they are only allowed one child. A lot of the Chinese think it barbaric to eat dog or cat, as practised by some people in the south of the country. On this tour we visited a traditional old house with a courtyard. These courtyards get filled with snow in the winter, but the thick walls prevent the rooms getting too cold in winter and too hot in summer. Our last visit in Beijing was to the Temple of Heaven, set in a park. Remarkably a group of Chinese people were singing Jingle Bells and we all started to laugh; they joined in the good natured laughing.
Our flight from Beijing to Shanghai took just two hours. Check-in was a breeze, very efficient and superbly organised. Three of our group had brought cigarette lighters in their main luggage through Dublin and Heathrow Airports, but they did not escape the notice of Beijing Airport. The officials are really very pleasant in China, but I suppose they can afford to be, as they have such immense suppose from their technology. I was really comfortable travelling with China Eastern Airlines. Their safety card featured extensive photographs in lieu of obscure drawings, and the video featured an aircraft being evacuated. The meal on board was memorable for all the wrong reasons. It was the first flight of the day to Shanghai. And featured a breakfast of congee purple rice porridge, a brown boiled egg embedded amid fresh raw celery, a strange type of burger, a yoghurt and mineral water plus two servings of coffee.
When we landed in Pudong Shanghai Airport Denis introduced us to our guide in Shanghai, Eugenia. She and her father suffered from having being well educated. They were both sent to remote cities, with little chance of spreading their knowledge too far. She said things have changed a great deal for the better.
We boarded the Maglev Train in Shanghai Airport and travelled at fastest, 431kph, to Pudong in the midst of the modern side of Shanghai. It’s smooth, fast and magnetically levitates as it goes, but is a bit of a white elephant as it goes well far from the city centre.
Once on board our coach we travelled to the cosy and beautiful Yu Gardens on our way to the hotel. Skies were grey and spewing rain, as Denis had described the Shanghai climate as “Irish weather”. The Yu Gardens are typical Chinese gardens with as many buildings as plantations, but they were absolutely delightful and the bazaar or shopping area surrounding them somewhat reminded me of Chester in England. Following was a visit to the silk centre where we learnt abut the production to silk and some folk bought silk duvets.
We stayed at the Radisson Blu Hotel, Century Park, Pudong. Shanghai proved to have even more trees, topiary hedges, bushes and flowers than Beijing, but the architecture here is far superior and way more imaginative. It is as city that clearly reminds me of Singapore. The hotel was superb, but with similar bathroom arrangements as Beijing. In the evening we enjoyed a river cruise on the Huang Pu which travels between the modern Pudong area and the old European style riverside area of the Bund. A magical one hour cruise, but it cost two three times the price that it cost the locals, typical of the way foreigners are treated in China.
One night spent in Shanghai, we went through the lengthy but very polite process of embarking on the Voyager of the Seas, belong to cruise company Royal Caribbean International. We were scheduled for a five night cruise to Fukuoka and Nagasaki, Japan, and Jeju Island in South Korea. First of impressions of the ship were just ok, compared to my first sort of cruising experience on the Hurtigruten line of small ships along the Norwegian coast the previous year. I preferred the latter, smaller, more discreet ship, but I would have perfectly enjoyed this cruises were it not for our the abundance of fellow cruise passengers who hailed from rural area of China and who just simply did not know how to conduct themselves. Soon I learned to having my breakfast delivered to my cabin as it was such a nightmare to try and queue up for food in the breakfast café only to have your plate robbed to taken right out of your hands. The Chinese (“culchies” as Denis described them) elbowed their way in lifts, queues, spat everywhere, and made life generally highly unpleasant on board. The staff were wonderful, and my cabin attendant made creations of all types of towel animals such as the chimpanzee! Generally speaking, food was mediocre.
Our first port of call was Fukuoka in Japan, overcast with grey skies. Apparently we had been very fortunate to have escaped a typhoon. Aside from grey skies, Fukuoka was very enjoyable and I visited Ohori Park Japanese gardens, Fukuoka Tower and a lovely Shinto Temple. I learned that folk who follow the Japanese Shinto faith have to be buried under Buddhist rites as the former don’t accept death.
shows dining room food
We had a short enough voyage onwards to Nagasaki. The shows in the ship’s theatre proved to be very entertaining, and the bars were quiet almost to the point of being vacant owing to the Chinese people’s fondness for remaining in the Casino.
I opted for the full day tour of Nagasaki, which ironically omitted the Peace Park and Atomic Bomb Museum. Instead we visited the Mount of the Christian Martyrs and its Museum, the cable car to Mount Inasa, then followed by a fully Japanese meal in a hotel on the side of the hill. We were thrilled to see at close proximity a brown kite with yellow beak fly right by the window on its way to its nest. The Japanese people proved to be absolutely delightful and as delightful as the Cambodians I had experienced the previous year. Lastly we visited the very interesting Nagasaki Museum of History and Culture. It had been a beautiful and utterly pleasant day, but all hell broke loose as we tried to re-board Voyager.
Re-boarding the ship was an utter nightmare I prefer to forget. Eventually I got to my cabin only to find that my next tour to Hallim Park on Jeju Island in South Korea had been cancelled. In one way I was disappointed, but in another way relieved not to have to face a repeat of re-boarding the ship. The letter suggested I might like to go to the Customer Desk to try book a different trip on Jeju, but I was not in the mood for queuing again down at the desk. I vowed to make the most of an empty ship the next day.
In the morning I enjoyed a lie-in and looked out at the distant city buildings of Jeju. Voyager was moored in the docks, well away from the city centre. The quayside was empty and I decided to venture out just to be able to say I had set foot on South Korean soil. Just above me was a hillside with a white lighthouse perched half way up and a long road curved behind to the city. I did not venture far as there seemed to be just miles of dockland and I had no Korean money to hire a taxi. I returned to the Voyager rather quickly and had a swim in the pool under the muggy grey skies. I very much came to regret that I did not book an alternative trip as I heard favourable accounts of how the others had got on . They all agreed it was the only time on this holiday that they witnessed pastoral scenes of horses and cows in the fields. Most went to see what they described as the most impressive temple of the whole trip together with a volcanic coast that closely resembled the Giant’s Causeway and a Teddy Bear museum.
A day later we returned to Baoshan port in Shanghai, where disembarkation was a remarkably smooth process. Our group were kept well distanced from the mobs and it was a joy to be back in this great city. However, a middle aged couple from our group were initially denied re-entry to China because they had omitted to obtain a double-entry visa. The Travel Department had emphasised the importance of the double-entry visa, so they really only had themselves to blame. We couldn’t help feeling sorry for them as there was great uncertainty as to what would happen next. They wanted them to return to Japan on the ship, but they reckoned they would have jumped off ship rather than go through another similar cruise. An emergency visa was processed by the Chinese Embassy in Dublin despite it being a Sunday and after several hours of being denied access to food, water, toilet, seat etc. they were allowed through and got a taxi to the hotel.
In the meantime our coach departed for Shanghai city centre to visit the Oriental Pearl Tower, the magnificent Shanghai Museum and Xintiandi. I mustered up the courage to walk out on the glass floor in the Pearl Tower with the city far beneath me. The city’s smog helped to kill the sensation of such elevation, so it was not such a big deal for someone like me with a fear of heights. (Yes I know I flew airplanes, no bother). I fear heights I’m not attached to.
The Radisson Hotel was well located and had a similar bathroom arrangement. The food was equally delicious. Most of the hotel had a white/black theme. In the evening I went for my usual buffet delights. As I was carry my plate of food from the buffet to my table my foot rolled over at the bottom of the two steps. I had only recalled there being one step, and the white-black-white colour scheme failed to draw my attention to the second step. I ordered some wine and finished feeling pain for the moment.
The journey home was painful for the fact of my injured foot as it swelled throughout the twelve hour journey. Worst of all was the traipsing through Heathrow from Terminal 5 to Terminal. An xray next morning proved the damage was simply soft tissue injury which took a few weekks to recover.
Tuesday 15 May 2012
Inishbofin May 2012
Inishbofin 2012
Ever since the age of 11 I have wanted to visit Inishbofin, an island located off the coast of Connemara in the west of Ireland. 40 years back I was on holiday with my parents in Connemara when we came across the harbour at Cleggan on one of our drives. Dad had given me a map of the coast featuring Inishbofin and I saw that Cleggan was the jump off port. Lo and behold the ferry was at Cleggan getting ready for take-off to Inishbofin, and suddenly a strong desire welled up in me to board that boat. My parents had no intention of joining the last sailing of the day as we still had a night left to spend in our Connemara hotel before going home the next day. I begged to be let go alone and spend an overnight on the island. “Where will you stay?” Mum asked. “The hotel, if you give me the money” I suggested. Then Dad brought me close to the boat where I saw cattle being boarded. He got talking to the skipper, who said I would have to share the boat with the beasts. I liked cows, but not quite sure about the bulls. I made my own decision not to go on this occasion.
The years passed by, and in recent times a documentary tv program featuring the lives of Public Health Nurses drew my attention to Inishbofin. One of the nurses was stationed on the island and I got to see tempting glimpses of it. It reminded me that it was about time to pay a visit. The island has a very good website, easily googled, and provided me with all the info I needed on how to get there and where to stay. There are three hotels, a hostel of good repute, a restauarnt with rooms, various b&bs and places for self-catering. I chose the main hotel, Day’s Inishbofin House Hotel. I have come across people who have stayed in the earlier, more primitive incarnation of Day’s Hotel, but the modern one is a masterpiece of bright spaces with splendid views of the natural harbour. I chose to travel by public transport, taking the train from Dublin to Galway, and the modern Citylink coach onwards to Cleggan pier. The high bus enabled me to enjoy spectacular views over Lough Corrib and the magnificence of Connemara. A half hour smooth ferry ride brought me to Inishbofin where my suitcase and I were transported by the hotel minibus to my accommodation. It would have been worth my while opting for one of the south facing rooms with the harbour view, but I had to contend with the north facing view of the steep escarpment at the rear of the building. I had three dining options very close by - the dining room and bar of the hotel, or Day’s Beach Bar next door. Other more distant options are available. I was quite pleased with the food and breakfast could be as enormous or as modest as you wish, with plenty of choice.
I was booked in for the two main nights of the May Bank Holiday. The hotel provided me with a good map for walking the island and I set out on Sunday morning to explore, starting with the Cloonamore loop walk covering the eastern area. This brought me past a lake with swans to a pair of magnificent white beaches. The sun was shining, lighting up the sands. I wished that it were later in the year when the water would be warm enough for a dip. One brave soul in the distance was swimming from rock to rock. The Twelve toothed Bens of Connemara formed a pastel blue backdrop to this idyll. It reminded me of my childhood memories of Connemara with hardly a house to spoil the scene. Yet a neat row of houses formed the village of Cloonamore, set before a harbour of old boats, black currachs and white sand. I found myself greeting many a walker and many a cyclist. However the later had to dismount on some of the very steep hills and abandon their cycles at gates leading to rough tracks unsuitable for wheels. Walking is the best option. On this island. I came across quite a few houses advertising eggs and crabmeat for sale. The former were produced by the many splendidly colourful fowl cackling and crowing by the roadside.
Before commencing the west loop walk I took a peep at the airstrip. Sadly the proposed air service never materialised after most of the businessmen involved were killed or seriously injured when their Cessna Grand Caravan crashed on a demo flight when trying to land at Connemara Airport, having come from Inis Meain in 2008. The aircraft was overloaded and had attempted to land downwind. The wind had changed but the pilot failed to contact the airport for advice or to announce his intention to land.
The west loop brought me past the small Doonmore Hotel and some very modern houses before it turned from road to a beautiful turfy green path high up over the sea. Beautiful grassy slopes lead down to another splendid little beach which is not recommended for swimming. Then the path came to a headland and fearful of getting too close to the high cliffs I went slightly off piste. The character of the island was changing all the time as I went along. One side of me, cliffs, the other bog and barren hill. In front of me stretched areas of black bog, lake and wild mossy tracts. I got lost for quite a time, and thank God the weather was dry with stable skies or I would have feared getting trapped in quagmire. After forty minutes or so I rejoined the track which was raised above the bog. Back on the road again I made my way past the island’s largest lake, Bofin, and back to the civilisation of the church, community centre, provisions shop, post office and mini museum, and my hotel. According to the map and walk guide I had covered eleven miles by foot. I could have done more, but now it was evening and time for a tipple!
Ever since the age of 11 I have wanted to visit Inishbofin, an island located off the coast of Connemara in the west of Ireland. 40 years back I was on holiday with my parents in Connemara when we came across the harbour at Cleggan on one of our drives. Dad had given me a map of the coast featuring Inishbofin and I saw that Cleggan was the jump off port. Lo and behold the ferry was at Cleggan getting ready for take-off to Inishbofin, and suddenly a strong desire welled up in me to board that boat. My parents had no intention of joining the last sailing of the day as we still had a night left to spend in our Connemara hotel before going home the next day. I begged to be let go alone and spend an overnight on the island. “Where will you stay?” Mum asked. “The hotel, if you give me the money” I suggested. Then Dad brought me close to the boat where I saw cattle being boarded. He got talking to the skipper, who said I would have to share the boat with the beasts. I liked cows, but not quite sure about the bulls. I made my own decision not to go on this occasion.
The years passed by, and in recent times a documentary tv program featuring the lives of Public Health Nurses drew my attention to Inishbofin. One of the nurses was stationed on the island and I got to see tempting glimpses of it. It reminded me that it was about time to pay a visit. The island has a very good website, easily googled, and provided me with all the info I needed on how to get there and where to stay. There are three hotels, a hostel of good repute, a restauarnt with rooms, various b&bs and places for self-catering. I chose the main hotel, Day’s Inishbofin House Hotel. I have come across people who have stayed in the earlier, more primitive incarnation of Day’s Hotel, but the modern one is a masterpiece of bright spaces with splendid views of the natural harbour. I chose to travel by public transport, taking the train from Dublin to Galway, and the modern Citylink coach onwards to Cleggan pier. The high bus enabled me to enjoy spectacular views over Lough Corrib and the magnificence of Connemara. A half hour smooth ferry ride brought me to Inishbofin where my suitcase and I were transported by the hotel minibus to my accommodation. It would have been worth my while opting for one of the south facing rooms with the harbour view, but I had to contend with the north facing view of the steep escarpment at the rear of the building. I had three dining options very close by - the dining room and bar of the hotel, or Day’s Beach Bar next door. Other more distant options are available. I was quite pleased with the food and breakfast could be as enormous or as modest as you wish, with plenty of choice.
I was booked in for the two main nights of the May Bank Holiday. The hotel provided me with a good map for walking the island and I set out on Sunday morning to explore, starting with the Cloonamore loop walk covering the eastern area. This brought me past a lake with swans to a pair of magnificent white beaches. The sun was shining, lighting up the sands. I wished that it were later in the year when the water would be warm enough for a dip. One brave soul in the distance was swimming from rock to rock. The Twelve toothed Bens of Connemara formed a pastel blue backdrop to this idyll. It reminded me of my childhood memories of Connemara with hardly a house to spoil the scene. Yet a neat row of houses formed the village of Cloonamore, set before a harbour of old boats, black currachs and white sand. I found myself greeting many a walker and many a cyclist. However the later had to dismount on some of the very steep hills and abandon their cycles at gates leading to rough tracks unsuitable for wheels. Walking is the best option. On this island. I came across quite a few houses advertising eggs and crabmeat for sale. The former were produced by the many splendidly colourful fowl cackling and crowing by the roadside.
Before commencing the west loop walk I took a peep at the airstrip. Sadly the proposed air service never materialised after most of the businessmen involved were killed or seriously injured when their Cessna Grand Caravan crashed on a demo flight when trying to land at Connemara Airport, having come from Inis Meain in 2008. The aircraft was overloaded and had attempted to land downwind. The wind had changed but the pilot failed to contact the airport for advice or to announce his intention to land.
The west loop brought me past the small Doonmore Hotel and some very modern houses before it turned from road to a beautiful turfy green path high up over the sea. Beautiful grassy slopes lead down to another splendid little beach which is not recommended for swimming. Then the path came to a headland and fearful of getting too close to the high cliffs I went slightly off piste. The character of the island was changing all the time as I went along. One side of me, cliffs, the other bog and barren hill. In front of me stretched areas of black bog, lake and wild mossy tracts. I got lost for quite a time, and thank God the weather was dry with stable skies or I would have feared getting trapped in quagmire. After forty minutes or so I rejoined the track which was raised above the bog. Back on the road again I made my way past the island’s largest lake, Bofin, and back to the civilisation of the church, community centre, provisions shop, post office and mini museum, and my hotel. According to the map and walk guide I had covered eleven miles by foot. I could have done more, but now it was evening and time for a tipple!
Monday 9 April 2012
Inis Meain, Aran Islands, 2012
The forecast warned of rain for my proposed day trip to the middle Aran Island of Inis Meain, but one of the staff of the Radisson Blu in Galway city advised me that the island comes into its own during the rain and that I would see for myself just what he meant. The Aer Arann minibus brought me from the city centre to Connemara Airport where I boarded a fully laden Isalnder aircraft which I was told was bound for Inis Mor, the largest of the islands. I argued that I wanted to go to Inis Meain and the staff advised me that the pilot would make a special diversion to drop me there later. I was disappointed to be in the very back seat. In my early 20s I flew light aircraft as a hobby until I was forced to give up on grounds of poor eyesight, and I remain fascinated by aircraft and like to be as near the action as possible. I envied the girl who got the "co-pilot's seat" up front. The wind was slightly lively and gave up a few false lift ups on our take-off from Connemara. Skies were grey and uninteresting. 10 minutes later we touched down on Inis Mor to unload the rest of the human and other cargo, and on board stepped two elderly gentlemen, islanders on their way to Galway. "We're going ilsnad hopping again, Kevin?" they asked the pilot. Take off from Inis Mor is always interesting as the aircraft lifts off at the point where the short runway dips down sharply. I got out at Inis Meain, expecting to be met by local men trying to tout their pony and trap service. But this island, middle in size but smallest by poulation, doesn't just do the touristy thing. There are no craft shops selling local wares, no transport services at all. I was offered a lift by the airstrip staff but I had come to walk the day for a day. I had been to Inis Mor and Inis Oirr, the smallest island, previously, so Inis Meain remained on my island agenda. The first thing that struck me was the sheer amount of grey limestone karts with its clefts and grykes. The area between the airport and the main housing area is flat and grey and unfertile, but interesting. Lots of wild orchids, primrose and other flora thrive in the area between the flat slab rocks and by the roadside. There is an amazing stillness and silence you dont quite get on the other Aran Islands, punctuated only by birdsong and the very odd car. Lichen stained drystone walls demarcate fields of poor soil and fields of no soil at all. The main pier and a silvery white beach lie at the eastern shore. On a warm summers day one could enjoy a nice swim here. In the north-east, near the airstrip, a most unusual beach of silvery-black sand curves in a convex fashion around sand dunes studded with yellow marram grass. I explored the roads around the main village area, traversing the island from east to west in a linear fashion. I saw Synge's thatched cottage, but it was not open this Easter Sunday. Behind another thatched house I met two very friendly and prosperous looking hens who were obviously looking for food, but they allowed me to pet their backs as if they were dogs. I met some friendly islanders too, who greeted me in the Irish language, which is spoken as a fisrt language here and deginitely not just for the tourists. One small shop serves the island and acts as the post office too. A church contains some really beautiful Harry Clarke stained glass windows. Some ancient churches lie in ruins, plus the odd megalithic tomb such as the "grave of Diarmuid and Grainne". Two forts dominate the hilltop area, the bigger being Conor's Fort, and most impressive it is. The walk all the high placed village area affords great views of the grey northern plane, as well as of the two other Aran Isalnds. My feet sore, my throat thirsty, I wandered into the cosy island pub for a Coca Cola. A fire was blazing at the end, and folk bantered away in Irish as a rugby match was playing on the television. When I emerged from the pub it was raining, and I soon saw exactly what the man in the hotel meant. The grey flat slabs of rock took on the appearance of big chunks of ice, refelecting as they did everything which stoodupright behind them... houses, walls, telegraph poles, animals. In places it looked like masses of flooded ponds, but this was all an optical illusion. The wind started stirring up as the rain got worse, but I had seen what I needed to, and was on my way back to the airstrip. I watched as the Islander wobbled its way down to the runway in the unsteady air. A couple of folk disembarked as I stepped on board. Two people were still on board, headed for Inis Oirr. This service was feeling ever more like that of the 14 bus. Three minutes bouncing through the murky air brought us to Inis Oirr where a further exchange of passengers resulted in a full load. The heavier cargo made for a much smoother ride to Connemara Airport. The bus back to Galway city had to make the journey specially for me as there was no one else on board, and the driver and myself enjoyed a really nice chat about all things aviatorial.
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https://skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=305c81a19c6efc80&resid=305C81A19C6EFC80!2516&parid=root
Monday 2 April 2012
My weekend in Venice 2012
My 3 night trip to Venice was remarkable for the fact that the splendid
weather was exactly the same as that in Dublin. However the Venetians
are concerened about the lack of snow in the mountains as it means that
the prognosis for a decent vegetable crop is very poor, and this will
badly affect the restaurants into the summer. I was amazed at the way
the locals were dressed in furs and other heavy clothes in the warm
weather, where the Irish are almost dressed for the beach!
I flew over with Aer Lingus to Marco Polo airport, and returned from the more distant Treviso with Ryanair. The timings of the flights suited the annual leave left available to me. I found the bus connections easy to/from both airports, although the trip to Treviso is that little bit longer. On my way into the city I though the bus had broken down as it slowed almost to a halt without obvious good reason. Then I saw a sign for the 30kph speed limit through a village. Everybody obeyed this speed limit, contrary to the reputation of Italian drivers. It was obvious that the Venetians are a very law abiding lot. The local crime rate is extremely low, and on the vaparetto water buses the seats dediacted to the elderly, disabled and pregnant remained empty in spite of the hordes on boarding standing in a crush.
Finding my accommodation at the historic and fairly priced 2 star hotel Al Ponte Mocenigo was some feat, and I failed miserably. I got the vaparetto from Piazzale Roma to the San Stae stop, and followed instructions to get to the premises. I ended up in circles, asking people who helpfully obliged in giving me directions. I kept missing the hotel, there was no sign of it down the myriad alleyways and across the many little bridges. A couple took pity on me as I sat exhausted on some steps with my suitcase and offered to help me. I phoned the hotel, and the manager came out to where I was sitting and brought me down an incredibly narrow alleyway to the hotel. A tiny brass lionhead beside the door had the name embossed, and the lion's nose was the doorbell. My bedroom was in an annex around the corner. It was well sized and a Murano glass chandeleier hung from the old beams in the ceiling, but there was only one tiny window giving me the sense of being in jail. It was a great, safe and quiet location.
Single vaparetto journeys are very expensive, so I bought a better value 72 hour pass, which covered me for all my trip. After settling into my room I took the vaparetto to Lido, the seaside island where Mum stayed when she was in her early 20s. She told me how 2 40 year old sisters from her work place, British Rail, asked could they join her for the holiday. Those sisters seemed ancient to her and they wore thick heavy stockings on the beach at the Lido, which mortified her! I had to make the pilgrimmage to that beach with those stories in my head. I smiled as I walked on Lido beach and waded into the shallow warm water which Mum spoke about. It reminded me of Dollymount, but with some posh hotels in the background.
The cheapest and nicest meal I enjoyed in Venice was the one nearest to my hotel, and had no name. I had to book a table in advance and had it for the night, with one single waiter dancing attention to everyone. My choice was grilled gilthead fish with potatoes and salad, my favourite dish of all time. Everywhere I went the coffee was superb, but varied in price from 80cent to €4! The latter price was in the Doges Palace, and not surprisingly the cafe was empty.
I really enjoyed the water buses, even though at times they could get very crowded, but everyone on board behaved in a very civilised manner. Dogs are popular everywhere, and I met a local pilot bringing the beautiful Pharoah Hound to work with him on a boat to the airport. The follwoing morning after I arrived I caught the vaparetto to San Marco and visited the San Marco Basilica and its Treasury, and then the Doges Palace. In the middle of my visit to the latter my phone calendar reminder rang the alarm that I was due to go on the Venetian Islands tour by boat. I had to cut short my visit and "rush" (vaparettos dont rush!) back to my hotel to retrieve the voucher out of the safe.I had mistaken the day of the excursion. I arrived at the departure point near San Marco just in time to join the beautiful excursion to Murano, Burano and Torcello. On Murano I saw a glass blower at work, on peaceful Torcello I visited the oldest basilica in Venice, and Burano proved to be the most beautiful and colorful settlement in the lagoon.
On my final day I largely took to my feet walking the various regions of the city from Dorsoduro to Canaregio where I visited the Jewish Ghetto area and had a kosher meal. In my ignorance I thought this was merely a historic Jewish area, but I could see how thriving the present Jewish community is, with its cake shops, restaurants, art and craft shops and of course synagogues. There were Jewish people everywhere, enjoying their happy peacfeul lives here. I walked the main throughfare of Venice and crossed the wooden Academia bridge, routing back through many pretty alleyways and piazzas back to my hotel. It was a real challenge finding my way back without getting too lost. Venice is the most fascinating maze in the world and one must come armed with a lot of patience!
The Venice Photo Album
I flew over with Aer Lingus to Marco Polo airport, and returned from the more distant Treviso with Ryanair. The timings of the flights suited the annual leave left available to me. I found the bus connections easy to/from both airports, although the trip to Treviso is that little bit longer. On my way into the city I though the bus had broken down as it slowed almost to a halt without obvious good reason. Then I saw a sign for the 30kph speed limit through a village. Everybody obeyed this speed limit, contrary to the reputation of Italian drivers. It was obvious that the Venetians are a very law abiding lot. The local crime rate is extremely low, and on the vaparetto water buses the seats dediacted to the elderly, disabled and pregnant remained empty in spite of the hordes on boarding standing in a crush.
Finding my accommodation at the historic and fairly priced 2 star hotel Al Ponte Mocenigo was some feat, and I failed miserably. I got the vaparetto from Piazzale Roma to the San Stae stop, and followed instructions to get to the premises. I ended up in circles, asking people who helpfully obliged in giving me directions. I kept missing the hotel, there was no sign of it down the myriad alleyways and across the many little bridges. A couple took pity on me as I sat exhausted on some steps with my suitcase and offered to help me. I phoned the hotel, and the manager came out to where I was sitting and brought me down an incredibly narrow alleyway to the hotel. A tiny brass lionhead beside the door had the name embossed, and the lion's nose was the doorbell. My bedroom was in an annex around the corner. It was well sized and a Murano glass chandeleier hung from the old beams in the ceiling, but there was only one tiny window giving me the sense of being in jail. It was a great, safe and quiet location.
Single vaparetto journeys are very expensive, so I bought a better value 72 hour pass, which covered me for all my trip. After settling into my room I took the vaparetto to Lido, the seaside island where Mum stayed when she was in her early 20s. She told me how 2 40 year old sisters from her work place, British Rail, asked could they join her for the holiday. Those sisters seemed ancient to her and they wore thick heavy stockings on the beach at the Lido, which mortified her! I had to make the pilgrimmage to that beach with those stories in my head. I smiled as I walked on Lido beach and waded into the shallow warm water which Mum spoke about. It reminded me of Dollymount, but with some posh hotels in the background.
The cheapest and nicest meal I enjoyed in Venice was the one nearest to my hotel, and had no name. I had to book a table in advance and had it for the night, with one single waiter dancing attention to everyone. My choice was grilled gilthead fish with potatoes and salad, my favourite dish of all time. Everywhere I went the coffee was superb, but varied in price from 80cent to €4! The latter price was in the Doges Palace, and not surprisingly the cafe was empty.
I really enjoyed the water buses, even though at times they could get very crowded, but everyone on board behaved in a very civilised manner. Dogs are popular everywhere, and I met a local pilot bringing the beautiful Pharoah Hound to work with him on a boat to the airport. The follwoing morning after I arrived I caught the vaparetto to San Marco and visited the San Marco Basilica and its Treasury, and then the Doges Palace. In the middle of my visit to the latter my phone calendar reminder rang the alarm that I was due to go on the Venetian Islands tour by boat. I had to cut short my visit and "rush" (vaparettos dont rush!) back to my hotel to retrieve the voucher out of the safe.I had mistaken the day of the excursion. I arrived at the departure point near San Marco just in time to join the beautiful excursion to Murano, Burano and Torcello. On Murano I saw a glass blower at work, on peaceful Torcello I visited the oldest basilica in Venice, and Burano proved to be the most beautiful and colorful settlement in the lagoon.
On my final day I largely took to my feet walking the various regions of the city from Dorsoduro to Canaregio where I visited the Jewish Ghetto area and had a kosher meal. In my ignorance I thought this was merely a historic Jewish area, but I could see how thriving the present Jewish community is, with its cake shops, restaurants, art and craft shops and of course synagogues. There were Jewish people everywhere, enjoying their happy peacfeul lives here. I walked the main throughfare of Venice and crossed the wooden Academia bridge, routing back through many pretty alleyways and piazzas back to my hotel. It was a real challenge finding my way back without getting too lost. Venice is the most fascinating maze in the world and one must come armed with a lot of patience!
The Venice Photo Album
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